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“Don’t you dare say anything!†Terry told his sister.
He met Lily’s eyes as she looked down at him, a year and a half older and three inches taller. On the other hand, she was only a girl, wearing a girl’s long hair, a traditional girl’s skirt and blouse, and a slave girl’s collar with a ‘10’ age-medallion.
And on the gripping hand, as their father was fond of saying, he had played a mean trick on her. He felt sorry about that now, as well as scared of being found out.
A voice came from the doorway. “So, Terrance Dean Martinez, perhaps you should say something instead.â€
The voice was robotic by design. The speaker was Sir Alan-B, Terry’s robo-tutor. Now Terry felt more scared; he had been found out.
“Nothing,†Terry mumbled. “It was just a joke.â€
The other robot in the room roused. “We should depart, Lily,†said Sir Alan-A, his sister’s robo-tutor. Terry hadn’t shut him down, after all, and that meant…
“Yes, sir,†Lily said, and the two left the room.
Terry noticed that Sir Alan-B hadn’t used Lily’s full name: Rebecca Lily. She wasn’t in trouble. But he was. “It was just a joke,†he mumbled again. But Sir Alan-B must know everything, through Sir Alan-A.
“You were mean to your sister Lily,†Sir Alan-B said. “You were ungentlemanly. Not even boys should be ungentlemanly to female slaves. Not even when the female slave is their sister.â€
Sir Alan-B paused, letting this sink in.
“I will assign you a lesson on the Nineteenth Amendment, on Demancipation and why females were made slaves in the early twentieth century. Why women have two first names but no last name. This lesson is somewhat above your age level, but you will need to understand why it is ungentlemanly to be mean to female slaves.â€
Another pause, and Terry wished that Sir Alan-B wouldn’t do that.
“But first, you must learn that your mean trick was in fact ungentlemanly. Do you wish me to inform your father?â€
“No!†Terry said quickly. “Please no, Sir Alan-B.â€
“Very good, Terrance Dean Martinez. I will administer a non-parental punishment. Follow me.â€
“Yes sir,†Terry said miserably. But at least Father wouldn’t find out. He was on Luna now, with Momma (Father’s slave woman, Missie Pauline – although Terry was not supposed to use that name) and they had left him and Lily back home in Texas, in the care of their robo-tutors.
=O+O+O=
A few minutes later, and Terry was face down on the punishment bench. Sir Alan-B had made him take his indoor-shoes and his socks off before strapping him in place. Two straps with magnetic buckles ran across Terry’s back, two straps held his upper arms, two secured his wrists, and three straps each held his legs and ankles in place, his bare feet kept slightly apart. He felt the thick iris-clamps close on his two large toes and heard the half-imagined hum of the psi-circuits built into the bench under him. “Struggle, Terrance Dean Martinez,†Sir Alan-B commanded. “Struggle and know that you cannot escape your tickle-punishment.â€
Terry struggled. He could not escape. He knew that Sir Alan-B could sense this. Father had bought the punishment bench for both Lily and him, but only the robo-tutors used it. They could link with the psi-circuits and tell when the tickle-victim tried to lie. They could measure just how much their tickling punished. And they could set the psi-circuits to keep the victim from enjoying the tickle. Sir Alan-B never admitted to using that setting, but Terry knew it was there.
He had heard that grown-ups – especially grown-up slave women like Momma – enjoyed being tickled. But grown-ups were crazy. Being tickled was a punishment. And now Terry’s punishment began.
Terry felt the raking tickle run down the trapped soles of both his bare feet. It ran down them again, and again. Terry laughed, unable to help it. He squirmed, unable to help it. He laughed again, even less able to stop as the punishing tickle-torments raked his bare soles. They tickle-raked again and again, over both his vulnerable soles at once with the unstopping steadiness that only a robot could deliver.
The tickling went on. On and on and on. Sir Alan-B hadn’t said how long his tickle-punishment would last. That meant a long session, and while it was happening it would seem like forever.
The tickle changed. Now Terry felt the raking strokes alternate, first down his left foot and then down his right. This made each stroke a worse tickle-torment than when they both came together, as Terry was aware of the hard but light touches, starting at his toes, moving down the ball of his foot, down the arch, and ending at the heel. And then he felt his other foot receive the same treatment. His bare left foot, his bare right foot, his left foot again, both were tickle-punished in turn.
Terry wanted to beg Sir Alan-B to stop. He didn’t. He knew it would do no good. Worse, Sir Alan-B would chide him, adding a burning shame for his weakness to the torment of his tickle-punishment. Worst yet, Sir Alan-B might decided to make it a parental punishment after all; he might tell Father about Terry’s trick on his sister.
The tickle-punishment went on. Terry laughed each time he felt the raking tickle on his left foot and again when he felt the tickle of his right sole. The tickling went on, and then Sir Alan-B’s face appeared on the flat-screen before Terry – the avatar face of his robo-tutor, not the hardware face of plastic and metal.
“Terry Dean Martinez, you are now learning that you must not be mean to your sister. Even when she is to be punished, it is not your place to punish her. Sir Alan-A will punish her, when necessary, just as I am now punishing you, for your transgression. Do you understand, Terry Dean Martinez?â€
The tickling hadn’t stopped when Sir Alan-B spoke. “Haha hee ha – Yes sir!†Terry managed to get out as the tickle-rake switched from his right foot to his left. “Hee hahahaha!â€
“Very good, Terry Dean Martinez. This tickle-punishment will last… undisclosed time. You will be informed of the time remaining when I sense that you are truly repentant.â€
“I’m-sorry-I’m-sorry-I’m-sorry! Hahahaha heehee hahaha!â€
The avatar face clucked. “You are repentant, but not truly repentant. Not yet, but you will be. Thus for now…â€
The tickle torment paused, and the avatar face vanished. Terry now saw a camera view of his helpless feet – and of the whirling tickle-brushes descending toward them. The view cut back to Sir Alan-B’s avatar face just before the brushes touched. Terry felt them, felt their tickle-torments punish his trapped and vulnerable feet. He exploded with laughter.
The voice of Sir Alan-B came faintly through from beyond the spinning tickle and Terry’s forced laughter: “Coochie-coochie coo! Coochie-coochie coo!â€
Terry struggled, trying to escape. That was normal. That was expected. “Struggle struggle struggle, Terry Dean Martinez!†Sir Alan-B said. “Coochie-choochie coo!â€
Terry could not escape. That was normal too, and part of the punishment. The straps held him on the punishment bench, with the magnetic buckles taking up any slack Terry managed to work into them. The straps secured his arms and legs and body, and the iris-clamps held the bare big toes of his bare feet in place for their tickle-punishment. Terry could not possibly escape, he was helpless until the tickle session ended and Sir Alan-B released him.
The whirling tickle-brushes wandered over Terry’s bare soles. All over both soles, tickling and tickle-tormenting, and tickle-punishing them. They wandered at just the right speed and to just the right spots, guided by the psi-circuits in the punishment bench and Sir Alan-B’s reading of them. Terry continued to laugh as they continued to tickle and tickle-torment and tickle-punish his bare boy-feet.
Terry felt the whirling brushes lift away, followed by a liquid wash. That wash only happened during a long punishment session. Like this one. Terry caught his breath, knowing – fearing – that his tickle-punishment still had a long way to go. But Terry kept himself from begging for his tickle session to end. He knew that begging would only make thing worse. It was hard, but he did it.
The flat screen showed a view of Terry’s bare feet again, and again showed the tickle-brushes descending toward them. This time however, the brushes were spinning much more slowly. Terry felt them touch, and giggled at their tickle-tease. The view of the brushes vanished, and Sir Alan-B’s face reappeared. It just looked at Terry, now, and that made his tickle-punishment more punish-y, without making the tickles crueler or meaner.
At first, the slow tickling was not quite as bad as the whirling tickle, or the raking tickle before it. It was still a tickle punishment, however, and it still forced Terry to laugh. And it went on. On and on and on. As it went on, it tickled more, without getting even slightly faster. And still it went on and on, tickling all over both bare feet. Tickling and tickle-tormenting, and tickle-punishing them with a deceptive slow softness.
Terry suddenly burst out, “I’m-sorry-I’m-sorry-I’m-sorry! Heeheehee haha hahahee! Tell Lily hahaha! Tell Lily please heehee that-I’m-sorry! Hahaha eee heeheeha! I’m sorry I was mean heehee to her! Heehahahaha haheeheehee!â€
“Very good, Terry Martinez,†Sir Alan-B said. Counters appeared on the flat screen, and the robo-tutor repeated two of the numbers: “This session is for fifty-five minutes, of which thirty seven have elapsed.â€
“Haha heeheehee hahahahaha!†Terry answered. Eighteen minutes of his tickle-punishment remained, and those minutes would last forever.
The slow spinning tickle lasted for another five minutes, tickling, and tickle-tormenting, and tickle-punishing Terry’s helpless bare feet. Finally, they withdrew to be replaced by another raking tickle. But this time the tickle-punishment ran across Terry’s feet instead of down them. Back and forth the teasing, tormenting, tickle-rakes came, shifting quickly between raking both bare soles at once and alternating between the two. Terry felt the light touch of each claw, as they made him laugh so hard that tickle-tears began to start from his eyes.
The countdown to the end of the session ran slowly, so slowly, and then Terry became aware of his feet and their tickle-punishment being shown on the flat screen. He could see the tickling as well as feel it, and he could hear it too: The flat screen’s speaker amplified the faint scratch scratch as he bare soles were tickled and tickled. Everything was now Terry’s tickle punishment for having been mean to his sister Lily, and he promised, promised that he would be a gentleman from now on. Even if he had only just turned nine.
The crosswise tickle-rake went on and on and on. Every minute felt like an hour, as Terry’s soles were tickled and tickle-tormented and tickle-punished. Terry didn’t want to watch the slow, slow countdown or the view of the tickle-claws in the flat screen. But he couldn’t stop feeling the tickle, and he couldn’t stop laughing. Laughing and laughing.
Ding!
The tickling stopped. The magnetic buckles released the straps holding Terry, and the thick iris-clamps opened and lifted away from his bare big toes.
Terry’s tickle-punishment was over.
(End)
. A Robot Boy Punishment Machine, what great fun and enjoyment for a Slave Master. 
