Terrible Tad 9 to 10

By PatrickNaked

Copyright 2022 by PatrickNaked all rights reserved

Terrible Tad 9: A Streak of Bad Luck

After extracting oodles of information during extensive post-exploration interviews with our victims, I had come to the conclusion that most boys who had crossed the border into the land of adolescence celebrated their new-found sensations with acts of endless masterbation. Or, in the vernacular of our age, playing with themselves.

I had learned that some boys discovered that particular pleasure even before puberty pounced on them with its hormonal incentives. Some found it through happy happenstance, such as a boy innocently examining his little appendage and finding that certain moves and manipulations produced unexpected but exciting results. Others were introduced to the practice by older boys already experienced in the ways of the wiener. These older boys often expected recompense, the education they offered not being solely through the generosity of their nature. The rewards they received were usually commensurate with the pleasures they proffered.

Then there were the boys who were initiated by someone older still… someone well into adulthood. When one of our victims began to divulge this scenario, I would cut the interview short. There were areas of ugliness I wanted to remain willfully ignorant of.

It made me think of my aunt. It made me think of how my aunt apparently saw herself in me, being sure enough in that similarity that she prodded me into my current acts with her domination of poor Tad during his backyard bath.

It made me think of her lurid descriptions of earlier baths she had given him. Of how she made such an innocent activity as bathing a child sound so dirty that no bath could ever cleanse it from my memory. That had been one of those occasions when I had heard and understood all the words at the time, but not their underlying implications. Only later, when I had truly learned the language through conquests of my own, did the connotations become clear.

These thoughts roiled through my mind on an exceptionally hot and humid night a couple of months after Bath Day. I was laying, sweaty and sleepless, in a sea of clammy sheets. The muggy air smothered me like a wet suffocating blanket, making me agitated, almost panicky at the feeling of drowning in the thick, moist air.

As it often did under the heady influence of heat and sweat, my restless mind turned to thoughts of sex. On that occasion, the sex it settled on was the solo variety performed by those nasty little masterbating boys.

One boy in particular, Tad, kept taking the forefront, much as I tried to banish him. But I wasn’t entirely sure he fell into that category.

Was he one of them, or was he in the infinitesimal fraction of a percent who didn’t engage in the act of self-pleasure.

Tracie, Ellie and I had debated the subject and decided Tad was so self-obsessed, he couldn’t NOT perform the ultimate act of self-obsession. It was practically a foregone conclusion… but I wanted proof. I liked to be scientific when coming to my conclusions. I wanted to obtain empirical evidence.

I decided that the following night I would embark on a reconnaissance mission to the house next door. I had considered seeing if Tracie and Ellie could have a sleepover so the three of us could do it together. But I decided I wanted this one for myself. We could always do it again later as a group.

The houses on Willow sat on small lots. There was no more than seven feet between some of them. My house and Tad's were quite close. Our bedroom windows were on facing walls, but weren't right across from each other. If I leaned out my window, I could see his a few yards down to my left. We could only see a little off-angle sliver of each other's bedroom. That gave us enough privacy that on sweltering, sweaty nights like the current one we'd leave our windows open and the curtains pulled back to let in whatever little breeze the gods of Texas weather decided to grace us with. Sometimes this was the only way to sleep in the oppressive heat. I wondered what we would've done if our windows HAD been directly across from each other. Trade privacy for the ability to sleep at night? I couldn't imagine Tad, or me, making that concession.

I knew when his bedtime was, so a few minutes before I crawled out of my window and crept stealthily to his. There were a number of tall bushes lining his house. They gave me enough cover, I hoped, to see without being seen. His light was still on.

Still dressed in his day clothes, he was padding around his bedroom aimlessly. Picking up a comic book, putting it back down. Adjusting model cars on his shelf. It looked like he was doing anything to put off going to bed.

I heard his mother yell at him, "Tad, I can see your light is still on. Bedtime. Now. Don’t make me come in there." He sighed and glared at his closed bedroom door, but began to undress.

He pulled his t-shirt over his head and peeled it off. It was damp with sweat and clung to him, so it was a struggle to remove it. He held it up to his nose and sniffed at it, then tossed it on the floor. He unbuckled his belt and pulled it out of his pants. I was feeling all itchy watching this in secret. He undid his pants and bent over, pulling them down to his ankles. Still bent over, he held them in place on the floor while he pulled his feet out.

Now he was clad only in his white briefs and white socks. I liked the look. It went well with his white-blond hair.

He raised one arm up and sniffed at his armpit. He repeated this with the other side. He rubbed an armpit with his fingers, then sniffed his fingers. He was doing the things he NEVER would do in the presence of another person. I was right there with him inside his personal space and he didn’t know it.

I had learned much about boys by forcing them to divulge their private actions and inner thoughts during our interrogation sessions. It was always intensely gratifying to make them violate the sanctity of their own secrets.

But there was also satisfaction to be had by learning through covert observation. By insinuating myself into their world unseen, I had a singular perspective unavailable through even the most intensive interrogation.

Tad’s wasn’t the first bedroom window I had peeked through. The Society has spied on many oblivious boys. Through this, I had learned that someone alone in his own space is a different person than the one who walks out the door into the rest of the world. In private, he is free of the facade he feels compelled to hide behind everywhere else.

Tad, thinking himself alone and therefore facade-free, looked down at his underpants, then rubbed a hand over the little bulge in front. He rubbed it a few times, then pulled at himself through the fabric.

I hoped this meant the underpants would be the next item on the floor. For a tantalizing moment, it looked like they would. He hooked a thumb into the waistband of the briefs. But he didn't pull them down. He just pulled the front of the underpants out so he could look down at his boy parts nestled therein. He examined himself critically. Was he evaluating his size? Was he looking for the first trace of elusive peach fuzz?

Just as he was taking his examination further by reaching inside his underpants with the other hand, his bedroom door opened behind him, startling us both. His mother entered and looked sardonically at him. Tad whirled around, releasing the waistband.

"Mommmmmmmm." he squawked. I had heard that whiny refrain emanating from his house often over the years. He always managed to get three long syllables out of the word… Mahhh-ahhhh-ahmmmm. "I've told you to KNOCK. I'm in my underwear!"

“So, I see,” she replied. “In more ways than one.”

Tad looked down, apparently just then realizing he still had a hand shoved down his underpants. He wriggled it free and stared at her accusingly.

His mother didn’t comment further on where that errant hand had been. She just continued, "I've seen you in and out of your underwear a million times. If you'll recall, the last time I saw you OUT of them was that spanking you got just a couple of months ago." That would've been on the Sunday after the day at Aunt Martha's. She cocked an eyebrow at him as if to say ‘And I can do it again’.

Tad’s face was red. He now had his hands clasped in front of his crotch in the classic bashful boy pose. He informed his mother in that authoritative tone he always tried on us girls, “I’ve decided there’ll be no more spankings. I’m twelve years old now. I’m not a child anymore.” He looked at her defiantly.

The tone was as ineffectual with his mother as it was with us. She calmly told him that spankings would continue till they were no longer needed. And given their success, or lack thereof, at curbing his bad behavior, she would probably be administering them till she was too old and feeble to raise a hand.

Tad, perhaps angered by his embarrassment, rather foolishly stated, “If they don’t work, then it’s kind of stupid to continue them.” He immediately grimaced, knowing he had gone too far.

His mother’s expression, up to that point one of slight amusement at the silliness of her son, hardened. She countered his observation with a possible solution. “Maybe I just need to increase the frequency. One a day, perhaps?”

Tad backtracked. “No… no, that’s ok. In fact, I think that last one did a pretty good job. I haven’t needed one for weeks and weeks. But…” Suddenly looking uncertain and shy, he asked quietly, “Could you at least not do the hygiene checks afterwards anymore? I haven’t needed one in forever.”

His mother declared, “Nope. As long as I have you over my lap, it’s the perfect time.”

Tad ducked his head. “It’s just…. it’s a really, really, really private place.”

I hadn’t known about the hygiene checks. This was the kind of secret knowledge that made spying such a worthwhile pastime. I wondered if Tad’s mom really had continued cleanliness in mind or if she conducted the embarrassing inspections as an extra form of punishment. Either way… Good for you, Mom.

She told him, “When you’re old enough to move out and live on your own, you can have all the privacy you want. Until then, you have only what your father and I allow. If I want to check out your heinie hole an hour before your twenty-first birthday, that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

Wow, I thought to myself. Tad’s mom could be brutal!

She turned to leave, saying, “Go to bed. And keep your hand out of your pants.”

After the door shut, Tad muttered to himself, "I can't believe it. I don’t get ANY privacy." I had a brief, insane urge to jump up and yell, “SURPRISE! You don’t know the half of it.” The look on his face would almost make it worthwhile.

I was still waiting for the underpants to come down, and he faked me out yet again. He pulled the front of them out, and I tensed in anticipation. But he just stuck his hand inside again in a show of disobedience his mother safely couldn’t see. He turned to the door and said, “Hah.”

After that, the underpants annoyingly stayed where they were. He retrieved a white t-shirt and sniffed at it before pulling it on. What was with him smelling everything? Then he pulled on a loose pair of light gray sweatpants.

I recalled an argument I had overheard a while back between Tad and his parents. They were sitting on their back porch, so I heard more than I normally could when I eavesdropped on the house next door. Tad had announced he would no longer wear pajamas. PJs were for little kids. He was a young man now. He wanted to start sleeping in just his underwear like his father did. That’s how MEN slept. But his mother had vetoed that idea. They had finally compromised with the t-shirt and sweatpants. Once negotiations had concluded and Tad had stalked inside to his room, his father asked his mother, “What’s the harm in him sleeping in his briefs. Especially with as hot as it’s been lately?”

His mother said, “Being nearly naked in bed will give a boy his age ideas. And the more layers he has to go through to get to things best left alone, the less likely he’ll be to do it. I hope.”

That conversation has ALMOST answered the question of whether or not Tad played with himself. But it could’ve just been a mother’s suspicions.

Tad sat on the bed, slipped off his socks, then slid under the sheet. Like me, he didn't use a blanket. It was too darned hot. He reached over to the bedside lamp and turned it off. The moonlight, my accomplice, still provided plenty of illumination.

I waited for a while to see if any private pleasuring would commence. It began to look like the answer was no. But the evening hadn't been a complete disappointment. I had seen Tad in just his underpants and socks. I got to see him embarrassed by his mom. And I had learned about the hygiene checks. I couldn’t use that information to embarrass him without revealing how I acquired it, but knowing was good enough. And it would make a titillating footnote in the next Tale of Tad.

I was just turning away to go back to my room, when I heard him sigh loudly. I turned back to see him kicking his sheet down to the foot of the bed. He raised his hips up and pushed his sweatpants down. Then his underpants. He lowered his hips and sat up to push the garments all the way down to his ankles. Before he lay back again, he pulled his t-shirt up to his armpits. Despite still technically wearing clothes, he was naked for all practical purposes. And I was sure what that purpose was going to be.

I crept closer to the window… as close as I dared.

His skin looked so smooth. It was a cool blue in the moonlight. Even as my eyes were traveling up and down his body, his hands began to do the same. He started at his chest. His fingers circled the outside of his nipples a few times, then moved in tighter to play with the tips. Then he crossed his hands over to rub inside his armpits. Then down his body to his groin where he slid his fingers between his ballsack and legs. He turned his hands around so they cupped his balls. He squeezed and kneaded them. By then, his thing had risen to full extension.

Since getting my first look at Tad’s exposed boy parts that day at my aunt’s, I’d had the opportunity to analyze the corresponding anatomy of many other boys. I’d learned that wieners come in many sizes and a variety of shapes. One of the most obvious differences was in whether a boy had been circumcised or not. I had to solve the mystery of this particular variation by way of the local library, since most boys I interrogated didn’t know the answer themselves.

There was also diversity in length and girth. Some were long and skinny, some short and fat. But there were long and fat ones and short and skinny ones, just to make it confusing. No two were alike.

I also learned that age didn’t necessarily dictate size. Tad was twelve years old and had what I now considered to be an average sized thing for his age. But there were ten year olds with larger ones, and fourteen year olds with smaller.

I was really surprised to learn that a smaller one, when hard, could grow longer than a larger one when it too became aroused. Boys were so haphazard.

And the shape changes when hard were in more than just length. One would assume an arc, usually upwards. One remained relatively straight. A couple had been twisty-turny. One would stick out at a right angle to the boy’s body. One would hang down a bit. One would angle all the way up to lay flat against the boy’s belly.

The differences didn’t even end there. Coloration varied. One thing would be of the same general color as the rest of the boy’s skin. Another boy’s would be darker. Some had a wiener head that was much darker still.

I was fascinated with the assortment. I wanted to see every possible variation. I decided I’d be a urologist when I grew up so I could have access to lots and lots of wieners. And having the authority to order my patients to completely undress so I could handle and examine those wieners made it a profession practically custom made for my inclinations.

Now that I was seeing Tad’s thing for the second time, after so many other boys in-between, I had a good basis for comparison. I decided Tad was absolutely average. Which was fine. He was unique in so many other ways that had nothing to do with his wiener.

Watching through his window that night, I began to realize that the quirks that had always made him so irritating were actually the things that made him the boy I liked.

While I had been ruminating on wieners, Tad had been busy addressing his own. I returned my attention to what had brought me to his window.

He slid one hand over it from the base to the tip, pushing it all the way down to his belly, then releasing it as the hand journeyed back up to his chest. His thing bobbed up and down. His next hand followed, making the same maneuver. As that hand reached his chest to fondle a nipple, the first hand was making the trip back down to start it all again.

After making this circuit a number of times, he brought both hands to his face and sniffed his fingers. The boy was obsessed with his own smell.

He returned his attention to his body and did that circuit from groin to chest about five or six more times. I was too mesmerized to do a proper count. He was becoming more and more excited, breathing rapidly. He was thrusting his hips up and down ever so slightly.

Tad cupped his ballsack again, squeezing and pulling it. The fingers of his other hand gently ran up and down the length of his rigid thing. He brought the hand up to his face. At first, I thought he was going to sniff it yet again. But he spit in it instead. He wiped the saliva all around his thing before he began stroking it.

He pumped himself for several minutes, writhing about on the bed and making little noises of pleasure. He stopped a couple of times to renew his saliva. I kept hoping his mother would come back and discover him. THAT embarrassment would outdo even finding him with his hand in his underpants.

I could tell when he was getting close to squirting. He clenched his eyes shut and angled his head back further into his pillow. His whole body tensed as he lifted his bottom off the bed. A small geyser of goo erupted from the end of his thing. It spattered down on his belly and chest. He gritted his teeth, trying to be silent. I could still hear him moaning, "ahhh, ahhhhhh." I remembered that sound from the day he stood wet and naked before my aunt while her hands did more than just bathe him.

There were three eruptions. When it was over he lay there, breathing heavily, eyes closed. He was still holding his thing against his belly. It dribbled a little more stuff onto him. Some of the stuff that had spattered his chest and stomach ran down his sides to drip onto his mattress.

His mother HAD to know what he did in his bed at night. It wasn’t just a suspicion. She's the one who washed those sheets. Did Tad know she knew, or did he use that power of denial in the face of the facts I had witnessed so often?

He lay there for several more minutes. I thought he had fallen asleep. That would prove interesting when his mother came in to wake him in the morning. But eventually he roused himself. He squeezed and pulled at his thing, coaxing a few more drops of his stuff out. Then he reached under his bed and brought out a towel which he used to wipe himself down. It looked stiff and crusty, like this wasn't its first time cleaning a sticky boy. He had to turn it around a few times to find an area that was still soft and clean enough to do the job. He finished by wiping the stuff off his hand, then threw the towel back under the bed.

How many times had he used that towel? Did he use it till it was stiff as a board? Did he then sneak into the wash so his mother wouldn’t see it? I had a feeling she knew about it anyway. It was right there under his bed. I had learned from breaching many boys’ bedrooms to look under the bed or under the mattress to find what they thought they had so cleverly concealed. Boys’ minds all worked the same, and on a very shallow level.

Tad surely hadn’t cleaned himself sufficiently with the little bit of swabbing he had done with that nasty towel. His mother, who seemed so invested in clean heinie holes, really should teach her son to be a little more hygienic in his playtime, too. Though, imagining how awkward that conversation would be, I could see why she hadn’t. That’s where dad should come in and do his duty. Tell his son that REAL men properly cleaned the goo off their bodies after a rousing session of pump the peter.

I didn’t know how long Tad had actually been playing with himself. He had only turned twelve a few months ago. Maybe he was quite new to the practice and hadn’t worked out all the details yet. Maybe cleanup was the next item on the list to learn.

At least he showered in the mornings… I knew because I could hear his off-key singing through the open bathroom window… so he didn’t go to school wearing the sticky residue of the night before.

Tad pulled his clothes back into place and the sheet back over his legs. He rolled over onto his side, curled up, and was soon asleep, for real this time.

I watched him for a few more minutes, then crept back to my window and into my bed. The night seemed hotter, almost unbearably so. But I couldn't blame the increase in heat on Texas weather. It was all internal.

It was incomprehensible to me that watching Tad’s sloppy, unsanitary session of self-pleasure could arouse anything but disgust in me. But something else was indeed aroused.

When the Society forced boys to do what Tad had just done, or when we did it to them ourselves, the pleasure we derived was mostly through the act of domination. When we spied on boys through their bedroom windows or in the school showers, the satisfaction was in secretly violating their domain. But watching Tad that night provoked a different kind of pleasure, accompanied by a growing, disturbing need for more.

Tad had always seemed like a little brother to me. But what I was feeling as I drifted off to a fitful sleep was not sisterly in any way.

I had a dream of Tad’s slippery, sweaty body on mine, urgently sliding against my own bare skin. He was making little noises of pleasure. But also of frustration. He was trying to find that place. MY place. I felt his rigid thing gliding along my belly. Up, then back down, to either side. Rubbing into my thighs. It was dark. He was trying to find it by feel and instinct alone.

His sweat dripped down on me, mixing with my own. It ran down my sides to the mattress like I had seen Tad’s stuff do through the window. Was anyone watching US through the window? I tried to look, feeling anxious and exposed.

His hands cupped the outsides of my breasts. He squeezed and kneaded them, while still moving his hips in slow circles, seeking that special place between my legs.

I had one arm around his waist, pulling him to me. But my other hand was against his chest, pushing him away. Both hands slipped and slid along his naked skin, like his whole body was lubricated.

The air was growing warmer around us. Hotter. Like we were writhing in a furnace. Except the heat was moist and sensual. It moved along our skin like hands, urging us on in our illicit act.

Tad was grunting, making animal noises, becoming more frantic.

Then he was almost there. I felt the tip of it. He made a sound of triumph. “Hah.”

I forced myself to wake up. THAT could never happen. Not even in a dream.

The events of that night did NOT become a new Tale of Tad at the next story time. I only told Tracie and Ellie about it. But only of watching him through the window. I didn’t tell them of my reaction and the dream it inspired. That was private.

Tracie and Ellie were angry at me for going without them. I assured them I would take them along on the next excursion, and hope for a repeat performance. It turned out that wasn’t a problem. I hadn’t been lucky catching him doing it on my first outing. It was inevitable. Playing with himself was part of Tad’s nightly routine.

Watching it became part of mine. Sometimes the other two girls would accompany me. But whether they were there or not, I always was.

Every night, Tad would would climb into bed, turn off the lamp, and close his eyes… as if on THIS night he was going to be a good little boy and leave himself alone. But every night, after only a few moments, he would sigh and surrender to his adolescent urges.

It never got old. I never became blasé at the sight of that naked boy on his bed, indulging in himself. In part, because Tad didn’t have just one way of doing it. He cycled through a variety of techniques. One of my favorites was when he would get on his hands and knees on the bed. He would lay his special towel under him, and pump himself till he squirted directly onto it. I liked this method because of the angle from the window. I could see his cute little bottom, and his ballsack swinging back and forth as he stroked.

But also, spying was just an integral part of my nature. I liked knowing secrets. I like rooting out those secrets. Watching Tad perform that most personal act in what he thought was the privacy of his bedroom was what I was born to do. And as that bedroom was only a few steps away from my own, the proximity made a demand I couldn’t resist.

After watching him nightly for a week or so, I finally made the firm decision that Tad would never be fodder for the Society’s gristmill… at least no more than his regular appearance during story time. I swore Tracie and Ellie to secrecy about the window into Tad’s bedtime ritual. He would belong to us and no others.

I had already begun to feel guilty about sharing as much of him as I did with the Tales of Tad. And the photos. When we captured other boys and subjected them to the Society’s ceremonies, it was admittedly wicked… but it wasn’t a betrayal. With Tad, a friend, I couldn’t make that claim.

The other Society girls were becoming persistent in their inquiries as to when the Society would pay Tad a visit. Their appetites had been whetted by his many tales, and especially by those photos that illustrated his most epic tale ever. I had successfully deflected thus far, but I could see a confrontation looming. And perhaps a challenge to my position as leader. As usual, Tad was causing problems.

I often wondered if I would’ve realized my vocation as a voyeur and a scourge of young boys without the little nudge my aunt had given me with Tad’s backyard bath. Before that day I was already acting, to a degree, on those admittedly unhealthy interests with my participation in the pre-Society story time. And there had always been that vague sense of impatience… the growing awareness that those stories couldn’t fully satisfy the need inside me.

But would I have taken that final step over the line without Aunt Martha’s help? I’d never know.

And did I owe her thanks or recriminations? That answer would come all too soon.

Tension from within was straining the fabric of the Society. A small cadre of overly militant members was becoming increasingly aggressive in its demands to add Tad to our list of conquests. They already knew what every square inch of his body looked like from the photos, but they wanted first hand experience with him.

It had started with Tina and Patricia, but the number grew to include Barb and Linda. Though Tracie and Ellie would remain on my side, I could foresee a fatal schism forming if any more girls were recruited to the cause. Our society of like-minded girls, a cohesive company marching in lockstep over the the naked bodies of the boys we had beaten, could soon be forever divided.

I tried telling them that Tad was a personal friend and therefore inviolable. They countered with the unassailable fact that many had given up brothers and friends. Tad wasn’t special. He was just another entree on the menu.

The girls were becoming especially assertive in their demands because our latest meticulously plotted plans to ensnare unsuspecting boys had fallen to ruin. One boy arbitrarily changed his well-worn routine, walking home from school by a different path through the woods than the one he had probably taken for years. We were left lying in wait for an empty hour, sweating in the stagnant late afternoon heat. Becoming increasingly irritated, with only each other to vent our frustrations on, we fell into an almost silent squabbling as we waited to waylay a quarry that would never come.

That small schism was quickly, if only briefly, repaired as we made a collective vow… the elusive boy who had so rudely left us waiting would pay a price far beyond the usual when we finally managed to entangle him in our web.

It took a couple of weeks of scheming and the price of a new Polaroid to set our revenge in motion.

Falsely Accused and Badly Abused - The day after the plan was finalized, an office aide at our school delivered a phone message to the girls coach at the beginning of gym class. Apparently, her house had been broken into and the police were waiting for her there. As expected, she left the oldest girl… me… in charge before she left.

There was no actual break-in, of course. One of the jocks under our command had made the call to the school. Having hit puberty at around five years old, he had a deep enough voice to make it convincing. As the coach lived over thirty minutes away, she would be gone for over an hour.

After she left, both of our jocks dragged the struggling and very naked boy into the girls gym. He was held between the two bigger, stronger boys with his toes barely touching the gymnasium floor. He was crying and repeating, ‘please… please… please….” over and over, too stunned to manage anything more coherent.

His captors told the two dozen or so girls assembled therein they had seen the boy sneaking into the girls locker room with a camera, obviously planning to take pictures as everyone undressed and showered after class.

The jocks, being ever respectful of the modesty and dignity of young ladies, had followed the boy in to remove him from the premises. They found the little perv hiding with his camera, already naked… obviously in preparation of doing more than just taking pictures while he watched.

There was a collective gasp from the girls. Then a flurry of words as they gave voice to their disgust and outrage.

The jocks held up the new Polaroid camera, and several boxes of film, as proof. Who knew, they asked, how many other boys would’ve seen those photos if this depraved delinquent had succeeded in his nefarious scheme.

They suggested the girls would be well within their rights in exacting a revenge as humiliating as what he had planned for them. The jocks then left the terrified boy, plus camera and film, in the hands of the enraged and vengeful young ladies.

The boy finally managed something more articulate than ‘please’, but his tearful claims of innocence fell on disbelieving ears.

Once the hour long gym class was over with, and all the film had been used, the girls informed the exhausted, sweaty, sticky, thoroughly humiliated and red-bottomed boy that there would be repeat performances until all the girls in school, every single one of them, had their chance to show what happens to voyeuristic little miscreants like him. Otherwise, the principal would be told of his degenerate acts and he would surely face suspension, or even expulsion, from school. An arrest and incarceration in the boys reformatory were also within the realm of possibility. A boy like him would be bullied and beaten for the extent of his stay. And of course, he would be repeatedly violated at both ends, sometimes simultaneously. And then there was the shame he’d bring down upon his family. How his parents would disown him, wanting no relation to such a perverted little freak.

The boy was on his knees, his legs folded beneath his bottom, his head hanging low. His thing was tucked out of sight between his legs, as though trying to hide. It needn’t have bothered. The girls all knew it well by sight and touch by that point. It was as red from rough handling as his bottom was from the many swats it had received. The coach had a board in her office for just that purpose.

I took the lead and stepped forward to demand an answer… more punishment by his female schoolmates that, while unpleasant and painful, would end after all partaken? Or removal from school, the scorn of his peers, a downward spiral through the justice system, being brutalized and used for years by thugs and hoodlums, disownment by his family, and expulsion forever from decent society?

Given that choice, the boy quietly accepted Option A.

I had made a number of suggestions to the other girls about what to do and say in a way that wouldn’t seem as though I was giving orders… even as I actually was. I was in charge. They just didn’t know it.

As even a coach might become suspicious after being diverted by too many fraudulent phone calls, it was decided the sessions would take place outside of school, at a location of the girls’ choosing… where they would also have more than just a mere hour at a time to display their displeasure. Girls could attend as many sessions as they wanted till all had participated.

I suggested an old abandoned shack way out in the woods that I knew of. The Society had discovered it a few months prior, and had recently cleaned and tidied it up for this specific occasion. It was large and open, with plenty of light. And it could accommodate a large group.

Ellie also happened to be in that gym class. She assured the other girls she had an endless supply of Polaroid film, so every girl in school could have their own trove of photos as souvenirs.

The next session was held on Saturday in the shack. A girl, who was definitely Society material, brought a battery powered apparatus, suspiciously phallic in shape, which she had found in the drawer of her older sister’s bedside table. Along with it was a handy tube of lubricant. We made the boy take it both orally and anally. In that order… the girls were vindictive, but not completely psychotic in their cruelty.

He was first made to take it in his mouth and act as though he was pleasuring a partner. I had to take him aside and supply instructions as he had never even heard of the practice. After the oral encounter, lube was applied and a switch was turned on, setting it into vibrating mode. It then made acquaintance with his other end.

The apparatus… which we named Good Vibrations years before a song of the same name was released… made an appearance at each subsequent session. Every girl from school got her chance, multiple times, to plug the boy’s hole. His facial expressions and the gasping, moaning sounds he made never failed to elicit laughter as G.V. slid in and out in a simulation of sex. The act always left him hard and squirting, even without a hand pumping his peter.

I hoped the girl who brought it washed it afterwards each time before her sister put it to further use.

The introduction of Good Vibrations inspired the use of other objects. Anything of a similar shape would do, including cucumbers and broom handles. One girl brought two long, fat Christmas candles and a box of matches from home. My favorite photo of the boy was a side view that had him on hands and knees, a red candle inserted in his mouth and a green one in his bottomhole. He was literally burning the candle at both ends.

On one occasion, when my turn came, I decided to let him know why all this was really happening to him. After positioning him on his hands and knees, (that pose was, without a doubt, my favorite), and sliding G.V. into his hole, I began to plumb his depths faster and with more force than usual. He made little grunting noises in time with each push, and audible intakes of breath with every pull. The alternating sounds had all the girls surrounding us laughing hysterically.

He began sweating so profusely it ran off of him in rivulets. He was drenched in it, looking as though he had just stepped out of a shower.

I began to add revolving motions as I worked him, stretching his hole even wider. His grunts and gasps merged into one long crescendo that became so high on the scale that probably only dogs could hear it. His head was thrown back, his mouth was open, but all that emerged was that silent scream.

I heard one girl exclaim, “Look. He’s doing it. He’s doing it.” I knew what ‘it’ was, so I quickly looked beneath him. The boy was jetting his stuff onto the floor with such force I could hear it splatter. I abruptly extracted Good Vibrations. It was as though pulling the plug released his vocal chords. His voice instantly returned, dropping from that high pitched wail all the way down to a deep, low moan. He unconsciously grabbed his thing and pumped out the last few squirts, then collapsed into an insensible heap on the floor.

I leaned over him with my face inches from his own. His eyes were closed, so I patted his cheek with increasing force till they opened. Satisfied that he could hear and comprehend, I leaned further in to whisper in his ear, “This is all for making us wait in the woods.”

The look he gave me showed confusion. He had no idea what I was talking about. It didn’t matter. I knew.

Later, in a more rational moment, I began to wonder if the Society was making me a little crazy… if giving in to my monster’s mindless hunger and malevolent urges was making me into something possessed of those traits alone. And it wasn’t as though the pleasures it brought made the drawbacks worthwhile. The hunger was never sated. It was a constant gnawing need. And the small, ever dwindling voice of reason in my head begged me to never become someone who could remain undisturbed by the cruelty I was capable of.

After ten sessions, all of his female schoolmates in junior high had attended more than once. Many had made it to all ten. We kept a running roll call just to be sure no one was left out. Girls from the high school had also seen and participated in his repeated degradations. Everyone had photos to remind themselves, and the boy, of all that transpired. Quite a number of boys had seen the photos too, as some of the girls weren’t very discreet with whom they shared. This was fine, just as long as those pictures never crossed over the line into the world of adults.

We of the Society finally deemed the boy had paid the price for standing us up that day in the woods. We began putting out suggestions that perhaps playtime should come to a close before any adults discovered the activity. It took a while before word spread widely enough to bring it all to end. The unfortunate lad had to endure two more sessions, both more exuberant and extensive than the previous ten since the girls knew the good times were almost over.

Before he was released from his punishment, he had one last task to complete… writing ‘I AM A PERVERT’ twenty times in semen using his finger. His confession was witnessed by a crowd of girls two to three times the size of any previous gathering. He had to masterbate five times to produce enough of his stuff to finish. Even so, he didn’t quite make it to the end. But the audience took a vote and magnanimously allowed him that last cross of the final T.

Then everyone watched as he had to clean up his mess the way he always did. When the Society had tidied up the shack, we made sure the wooden floorboards held no splinters to pierce his tongue, so he was safe from harm, if not humiliation.

It didn’t matter that the sessions had ended. His misery continued through the rest of the school year, and on into high school. His female schoolmates never tired of reminding him of all they had seen, all they had done. Some of the boys who had seen the photos, and many who hadn’t, continually teased him, so he was never free of the taunts even when not in the company of females. There were even a couple of reenactments in the boys locker room, but with oral and anal insertions by things that were more than just phallic in appearance. I had our two jocks put a stop to that, and not by peaceful persuasion. That type of activity fell within the purview of the Society and any other girls to whom we extended authority. Boys tread our territory at their peril.

The name of the boy who had stood us up was Carter. That name would live on, a legend and a lesson, in whispers and giggles for many years to come.

He also served as a warning to any other boys who were less than reverent in their treatment of their female classmates. A girl had only to reach in her handbag and pull out a photo of Carter’s naked bottom, apparatus inserted, butt cheeks blurred as they jiggled to the vibrations. The attitude adjustment this inspired was instantaneous. The threat didn’t need to be spoken to be clear… the next butthole to experience Good Vibrations could be YOURS. Girls were using Carter’s misfortune to elevate themselves to their proper place in the hierarchy. The Society was proud to have fostered such assertiveness in our peers.


While Carter’s no-show in the woods would ultimately blossom into a story of unexpectedly epic proportions, (none of us had foreseen the arrival of Good Vibrations), at the time it happened it was only an added aggravation to the already frayed dispositions of the girls in the Society. Discord was brewing and was dangerously close to spilling over into open rebellion.

Our next conquest, I told myself, would be the cement that repaired the cracks in our foundation. There’s nothing like the mortified tears of a devastated, ruinous wreck of a boy to act as salve for the soul.

But our ill luck held firm as the next boy, like Carter, was a no-show. This one slipped through our clutches by way of an especially evil twenty four hour stomach bug. As I, and a few other girls in the group, had also recently experienced the gut wrenching convulsions of endless vomiting this vicious virus induced, we felt an unaccustomed kinship to the boy and gave him a break by crossing him off the list in perpetuity.

This act of kindness briefly brought us together in a shared sentiment, but the respite was all too brief. The old irritations arose and Tad’s name was once again spoken.

Carter’s Comeuppance was still in the planning stage, and no other boys on the list had been properly surveilled to the point where we felt safe in staging a strike. Still, I had to somehow channel their antagonistic energy away from Tad, and only serving up another boy in his stead would do.

I settled on a boy named Dwayne. We had gathered more intel on his habits and movements than any other target. I had been dubious of putting him on the list from the beginning. The Willow Lane Quartet had encountered him a number of times over the years at Aunt Martha’s. She hired him to help her out by mowing the lawn and maintaining the area around the pigpen and chicken coops.

On the days we found him there, he’d always join us in play once his work was done before bicycling home. He was a likable lad, and we always got along well. He was quite good-looking, too, in a strapping farm boy way.

Since he attended the only other junior high school in Hammond aside from our own, we had never met him outside of my aunt’s place. Even so, he seemed if not a friend, at least a friendly acquaintance… enough so that I felt a small twinge of guilt offering his name when the Society first compiled its list of possible conquests.

A few nights back, my mother had phoned Aunt Martha to see if she could could drop me off there that Saturday while my parents attended yet another antique auction out of town. It would’ve been my first time back in her domain since Tad’s backyard bath. My aunt told her she and Dwayne would be occupied with rebuilding the fence around the pigpen on that day. I would just be underfoot. I had silently fumed at the suggestion I was nothing but an ineffectual female who couldn’t contribute. I didn’t actually WANT to work around that nasty pigsty and it’s grunting, grotesque inhabitants, but my aunt’s dismissive attitude stung. She was a strong, capable woman and it hurt that she saw me as something less.

If only I dared tell her of the trail of beaten boys I had left in my wake, I’m sure she would’ve been impressed. But even as I had come to see her as a woman of dubious moral character who could appreciate my own rather wicked efforts, one whose hand had helped steer me down that particular path… she was still an adult. The inherent aversion of a thirteen year old to bringing adults into their younger world and its affairs was an almost physical obstacle… one I couldn’t readily overcome.

Due to that conversation between my mother and Aunt Martha, I knew where Dwayne would be that Saturday. I also learned from the same exchange that he had to be home by six o’clock for supper.

I determined that Dwayne was going to be late for that meal. His bicycle trip back home would make an unscheduled stop. Normally, I wouldn’t arrange a conquest with such a conflict in its timetable, especially not when parents were involved. But I had a mutiny to quell before it became fully formed, and a troublesome young rascal named Tad to rescue from the clutches of my own Society.

We would provide Dwayne with an excuse for his tardiness… a punctured bicycle tire. That explanation wouldn’t allow enough time for one of our usual abductions. We couldn’t indulge in our amusements for any longer than an hour. We also had to allow Dwayne enough time to recompose himself after his ordeal. I doubted his parents would believe his demoralized countenance and haunted, red-rimmed eyes were brought on merely by a bicycle tire’s demise.

But my girls and I had a lot of anger to work off, so I was sure the ferocity of the encounter would more than make up for its brevity.

Tad might notice a change in Dwayne’s behavior toward us if we ever encountered him again at my aunt’s. But Tad’s attendance there had become sparse over the last year or two, and after the latest visit, I had the feeling he might never return.

I was beginning to have hope for a happy future. We had a handsome boy in our sights who was about to make a quick but satisfying meal for our monsters… the odds seemed impossible that we could have three no-shows in a row… and arrangements for payback against Carter, the boy who had started this losing streak, were coming along quite nicely.

But optimism offends the universe, and it will always deal out disappointment to bring balance back to the world. Dwayne was a no-show.

We had managed to gather every member of the Society and five of our stringers for Dwayne’s Downfall… an unusual occurrence. There was almost always at least one girl, often more, who couldn’t make it to a conquest due to scheduling conflicts. But this time we had the whole pack.

The trip to our waylay point was much longer than our usual jaunt. We usually just walked, but this trip would require wheels. Like Dwayne, we would be on our bikes. Some of the girls, not having bicycles of their own, had to ride precariously on the handlebars of others’.

As we left the city limits and got closer to my aunt’s area, the asphalt turned to uneven, pitted dirt roads. Many of the girls were unused to navigating these relatively rugged byways. There were a number of spills, usually involving the bicycles burdened with extra passengers.

By the time we arrived at our destination, a blind bend in a section of road that was perfect for an ambush, everyone was hot, sweaty, and irritable. A number of bruises and scraped knees and elbows rounded out the miserable mood. As we hid ourselves and our bikes in the dense trees that lined the lane, I experienced an almost prescient foreboding. The direction the day had taken seemed inalterable. We were once again locked in a nosedive towards disappointment and discontent.

Once the next two hot and anxious hours made it quite clear my premonition had been correct, everyone around me exploded in screaming arguments and accusations. Being the leader, when things went well I enjoyed most of the credit. But when events turned sour and tempers followed suit, I bore most of the blame.

It didn’t seem to matter that my record of accomplishments had been spotless until the last three missions. Under my command, we were a razor-edged scythe cutting a swath through the boys of Hammond. But the girls’ memories were conveniently short when they needed a target to unleash their pent up frustrations upon. And I, as frustrated as any, screamed right back at them, displaying a lack of dignity that made me cringe with embarrassment when reflecting on it later.

The trip back was made in a bitter silence, the lack of words more ominous than the overuse of them before. That silence, which extended for days, could well have signaled our Society’s end. But I had worked too hard and imbued that coalition with too much of myself to let it slide quietly into the grave. I set upon the plans for Carter’s Comeuppance with renewed zeal. I met with our two jocks and issued their orders. I used the cache I had set aside from portions of my weekly allowance money to buy a new Polaroid camera. I had vowed I would use that stash for only the most dire of emergencies. Current events qualified.

When all was in readiness, I called a meeting, one I hoped wouldn’t be the last. I had to beg and wheedle to get everyone to grudgingly attend. But when I laid out the completed plan and explained the probable implications for young Mr. Carter, I saw that special light rekindle in their eyes.

This was to be humiliation on a grand scale. Every girl in school would be witness and participant in Carter’s undoing. This could follow him for years. And if it finally faded from the minds of others, it would still be a parasite burrowed into his own brain, never letting him forget.

All that was left to do was tidy up the cabin. And then, of course, unleash the jocks. Those two beefy boys were ever resentful of being ordered about by girls, but they also had an undeniable enthusiasm for the substance of those orders. They were bullies. They liked power. Even as we took that power from them with the threat of their incriminating photos, they regained it by enacting our orders and grabbing the younger, smaller boys we set them upon.

It usually ended with them throwing the victim naked to the wolves in the school hallway. This time though, would be even better. Being part of the inciting event of Carter’s continual torment appealed to their brutal nature. They offered… more accurately, begged… to take an even more active part. They could hold the boy down during each session while the girls went to work on him. They could string him up like a piñata so the girls could beat on him with sticks. They made a few other increasing violent suggestions, almost salivating as they did so. I politely, but firmly, declined. After giving them the day and time to play their part, I left… feeling more than slightly disturbed.

Unlike the previous three failures, everything went according to plan. Even better than planned, due to the happy addition of Good Vibrations. The girl who introduced us to that special toy, Evelyn, was now the newest member of the Society.

It seemed that everything was once again right with the world.

Then, a few days after our third session with Carter, I received a note during history class summoning me the principal’s office. I felt a cold stab of fear, wondering if Carter had actually told of what we were doing to him. Or maybe one of the other boys? That was always a danger.

When I arrived at the office, Tracie and Ellie were already there, sitting on the hard, wooden chairs before the secretary’s desk. Their presence almost confirmed my fears, but I held onto a desperate hope. They both turned to look at me when I entered. Ellie appeared pensive, but composed. Tracie looked as though she could burst from anxiety at any moment.

The secretary pushed a button on the desk’s intercom, then said, “The third girl is here, sir.”

The voice of Principal Bartlett, rendered metallic and alien by the intercom, replied, “Send them in, Sarah.” When we didn’t immediately move, Sarah gave us a disapproving look. It was hard to tell if this particular look was significant since all of her looks were disapproving.

Tracie and Ellie got up, letting me take the lead, and we all filed reluctantly to the inner office door. It opened just as I reached it. I felt my heart skip a beat when I saw who was just beyond. Not Principal Bartlett, although he was there too, behind his desk. Before me was the thin, craggy face and droopy white mustache of Sheriff Brown.

This time my heart almost stopped. If it had, I would’ve welcomed death with my last, dying thought. It would be preferable to facing the disappointment and horror in my parents eyes when they learned what their daughter had been doing.

I heard Ellie’s sharp intake of breath behind me. I heard Tracie’s scream.

The Sheriff was quick to tell us, “You’re not in any trouble, girls. I just have a few questions.”

Dwayne hadn’t made it home for supper at all that night. He hadn’t been home in the days since.

When seven o’clock arrived on that Saturday and Dwayne hadn’t, his worried parents had phoned Aunt Martha. She told them he had left around five, telling her he was going straight home. She had seen him leave. By eight o’clock that evening, a search party comprised of all the neighbors in the vicinity was scouring the area, flashlights in hand, calling his name. Dwayne was always a very reliable young man, not given to boyish, irresponsible behavior. Everyone who knew him had the same sickening certainty… had he been able to make it home, he would’ve. Something had happened to the boy. Something bad.

The Sheriff didn’t know Dwayne personally, so he was convinced the boy was just another runaway. Hammond lost one or two boys a year to the lure of big cities and a better life. The Sheriff conjectured, and I silently agreed, that finding the first rarely led to the second.

He asked the three of us if Dwayne had ever mentioned running away when we saw him at my aunt’s. Did he seem to be a malcontent? Did he act like he was into hard drugs like that marijuana stuff?

We all told him truthfully that he never said or seemed any of those things. He was a hard working and convivial boy.

Aunt Martha had told the Sheriff that shortly after Dwayne left, she saw an unfamiliar sedan driving by her house in the same direction the boy had taken on his bike. Sheriff Brown didn’t place much importance on that. There were always cars on the road. It’s what roads were for. Besides, my aunt said she only glimpsed it for a moment and didn’t know the make or model. She couldn’t even recall for sure what color it had been.

Principal Bartlett didn’t contribute anything to the conversation. He was only there in loco parentis. And as Dwayne hadn’t attended his school, the boy and the mystery of his disappearance was someone else’s problem.

We hadn’t heard anything about Dwayne’s disappearance earlier for the same reason… he attended a different school. The local newspaper had only given it a small mention. And as the Sheriff was treating the case as yet another runaway, his investigation was proceeding at a crawl. His interview with us may have been his last half-hearted effort before going back to napping behind his desk.

After we answered his few questions, the Sheriff released us back to class. Tracie, Ellie and I had an intense whispered discussion on the way back to our respective classrooms. We were shocked at the disappearance of a boy we knew, even if contact with him had been minimal. But I think our mood was more one of relief that our secret was still safe. The summons hadn’t been because of the Society and its activities.

It wasn’t until later that night, as I lay in bed unable to sleep, that a cold shiver ran through me when I finally acknowledged the thought that was keeping me awake.

We had set up our waylay point midway between my aunt’s house and Dwayne’s. There was a single stretch of road with no turnoffs. We were in place by four-thirty. We arrived early just to be sure we caught him. If Dwayne had left my aunt’s house at five, he would’ve reached us about fifteen minutes later. He hadn’t. Neither had the mystery sedan my aunt claimed she saw.

The only conclusion I could come to was Dwayne never left my aunt’s house. And the sedan didn’t exist. I didn’t want to take these thoughts any further. And even if I did, what could I do about it? I couldn’t now inform the Sheriff that I and an entire mob of girls had been on that road at that time to see that there was nothing to see. He would ask what we all were doing there, and why neither I nor Tracie and Ellie had thought to mention this in the principal’s office.

I lay there refusing to think till exhaustion finally claimed me. I dreamed again of Tad. He was naked, as he always was in my dreams. He was standing, arms outstretched, legs spread wide. His wrists and ankles were manacled. Chains connected the manacles to tall, wooden posts on either side. I looked around and realized we were in my aunt’s backyard.

Tad’s body was wet and soapy. It glistened in the bright sunlight. I was rubbing the soap in by hand, all over him, the way my aunt had said she did when he was younger. Into every nook and cranny. He was trying to twist away from me, but the chains held him firm. I knew what I was doing was an act of betrayal. But I didn’t know why. I was just trying to get him clean. Rubbing the soap in everywhere. In his armpits. Between his legs. Deep in-between his bottom cheeks.

He was hard. He acted like he wasn’t enjoying my ministrations, but his thing told a different story. It wanted me to hold it, rub it, make it slick with soap. Stroke it to ecstasy. I took it in hand, but gasped when I realized it wasn’t my hand holding it. It was Aunt Martha’s.

She turned to me and said, “He’s dirty. Filthy. No amount of soap in the world will get this one clean. Look at his thing.” She squeezed it, making him cry out. “He always did this, then he turned on me and acted like he didn’t want it anymore.”

She twisted and Tad was thrown sideways to land in the mud of the pigpen. He lay there, face down, unmoving. The mud looked like it was rising up around him, creeping over his back and bottom. His arms and legs were disappearing into it. I knew then he was sinking and would soon be gone.

“Let him,” my aunt told me. “That’s were dirty boys belong.”

We watched till all that remained visible was a few tufts of white-blond hair. Then that too was gone.

I slowly awoke, feeling a deep sadness… as though it had been Tad, not Dwayne, who had vanished into my aunt’s domain.




Terrible Tad 10: The Jack of Diamonds

The weather had been unusually hot around that time. I had lived in Texas all my life, and wasn’t some feeble flower prone to wilting in the sun. But of late, the heat was too much for me. For anyone. The sun seemed to boil everyone alive in their own sweat.

I was continuing in my resolve to not think about Aunt Martha or Dwayne. That subject was so volatile that even the most tentative touch… the mere hint of speculation… carried the danger of setting it off like a bomb in my brain. So I walled them off, entombed them together in a compartment way back in the furthest reaches of my mind, isolated from the rest of my thoughts and the whole of my life. Aunt Martha didn’t exist. And Dwayne had disappeared for the second time.

Despite the heat… and in one case because of it… life was going well for the Society. The brief bit of bad luck that had plagued us earlier was just an aberration, weeks in the distant past. And the wounds inflicted by sharp words and pointed accusations hadn’t split further to forever divide us. I could still see the scars, and I would intentionally remain aware of them forevermore. They were a reminder of how quickly events, and friends, could turn.

Carter’s Comeuppance was coming along quite well. We were in our seventh session. We had told the boy his punishment would end when every girl in school had gotten her chance to be the consequence of his actions. We just hadn’t said it would IMMEDIATELY end.

Most of the girls had attended at least one session by that point. There were high school girls showing up. And even better, there were girls from the other junior high and high school from across town. We were making Carter famous, and yet, he didn’t seem at all appreciative.

The heat wave continued unabated. It had become a heat tsunami. Everyone was suffering. But one boy suffered from it more than most…

I was in the local park one day, walking my dog Barney, when I overheard part of a laughing conversation between two girls. I cautiously approached, telling them I wasn’t eavesdropping, but had nevertheless heard part of the conversation and was intrigued.

The girls, Sarah and Brandi, were from Dallas. Sarah’s family was visiting relatives in Hammond. Brandi’s parents had allowed her to make the trip with them. They were both twelve, a year younger than me.

Sarah and Brandi, still in a jovial mood, took me into their confidence. The boy who was the subject of their mirth was a friend. His name was Danny. They had known him most of their lives. Even though he, too, lived in Dallas and was unlikely to ever encounter anyone in Hammond, the girls asked that I not repeat a word of what they told me. They didn’t want him embarrassed further. At least, not by others. They were more than happy to keep teasing him themselves. In fact, they confided, Danny had six more years of embarrassment before he was free of a trap he had sprung on himself.

I was even more intrigued by that cryptic statement. I swore the story would spread no further. Truth was as much a victim of the Society as the boys it debased.

Sarah, Brandi, and Danny, all of the same age, shared a class right before lunch. The school’s air conditioning unit, old and overworked, had died the day before… another casualty of the merciless heat. Even with all the windows in the building open for a breeze that never came, it was sweltering inside. Teachers and students alike were withering, all vitality oozing out of their bodies along with the sweat. And with so many sweating bodies packed into that hotbox, the classes and hallways were awash in an atrocious stench.

When the lunch bell rang, the three friends held a whispered conference and decided they’d had enough. As the rest of the student body made its way to the school cafeteria, they escaped through a back door into the equally hot but much less odorous outdoors.

Sarah told the other two that her house was free. Dad was at work, her older sister was still trapped in the hotbox, and Mom was at a Friends of the Library meeting that was scheduled to last until five o'clock. Danny's mother was a member of that organization also.

The three had never before skipped school, and so were edgy with paranoia. They just KNEW the truant officer had psychically sensed the moment they crossed the school boundaries into the forbidden world beyond.

They made their way stealthily through town like escaped prisoners… skulking behind bushes, peeking around buildings, frantically dashing across the open spaces. They were sure the entire local police force had been alerted to the break out, and the manhunt was on, complete with helicopters and tracking dogs.

They attained the safety of Sarah's house without incident. Peeking out the front windows, they detected no signs of pursuit. They seemed to be safe. The escapees would worry about explaining their absence later. They could always claim to have succumbed to heat exhaustion, only regaining consciousness at the sound of the final bell.

Now they had all that extra free time, they just had to figure out what to do with it. They set up a Monopoly game on the coffee table in the front sitting room. Sarah and Brandi sat on the couch. Danny sat on the floor facing them.

There was a wide gap behind the couch between it and a bookcase along the back wall of the sitting room. That open area would become critical a little later in the day.

Five minutes into the game found them bored. Monopoly was just too dull after their adrenaline fueled escape.

Sarah packed up the game and carried it back to her bedroom. She returned with a deck of cards. Danny said, "Oooo, are we going to play strip poker?" He said it as if in jest, but he glanced furtively at each of the girls to see how they reacted to the question. Would they seriously consider the proposition? After all, they had already crossed the line into illicit behavior, becoming daring desperados with their felonious jailbreak. Would that embolden them enough to venture even further?

Danny had proven many times before that in poker, he was a much better player than the girls. If they accepted his invitation, he had no fear of having to expose more of himself than he was comfortable with, and every confidence that he would see everything the girls had hidden from him since they all became friends seven years before.

Sarah and Brandi had known Danny was obsessed with seeing them naked, long before the advent of puberty had added an extra urgency to his desire. They were amused, not offended, when their growing breasts continually drew his eyes when he thought they weren’t looking. Even more entertaining was his poorly concealed frustration at being denied even a glimpse at what made girls so different from boys, especially now that it was becoming more obvious with their developing bodies.

When they were much younger, he had tried many times to talk them into a game of ‘doctor’. He had always insisted that he be the doctor, never the patient. The girls had always declined, saying their health was perfectly fine. They were in no need of medical assistance.

He had tried the ‘If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine’ pact. He never proposed it the other way around, with him being the first to show, because he had no intention of following through with his side of the bargain. He would NOT suffer the embarrassment of GIRLS seeing his thing. His duplicity was as obvious to the girls as if he had stated it outright, so they never took him up on his offer. They probably wouldn’t have even if Danny hadn’t been so clearly deceitful. They were no more willing to reveal themselves than he was.

Once, just to confirm that Danny was being as dishonest as they suspected, the girls had countered his offer with the stipulation that he show first. And he didn’t even have to completely undress for them. He had only to pull his thing out of his pants. In turn, they would completely undress for him. They felt safe… mostly… in making this proposal. He had declined, the look on his face revealing the horror he felt at girls seeing even that much of him. They were secretly relieved. Being more honorable than Devious Danny, they would’ve completed the pact had he actually showed them his thing, much as they dreaded doing so.

On one occasion, when they were nine years old, Danny had embarrassed himself by asking the question that drove his determination to see the girls unclothed. They were in his tree house playing a game of Go Fish. The boy had been plainly distracted for the duration, and finally called a pause to the game. Red-faced and stammering, he asked Sarah and Brandi how they could pee if they didn’t have a peter. There couldn’t just be a hole there. The pee would run right out. Did they have to use some kind of plug?

The girls fell into a seizure of hysterical laughing, their faces even more red from hilarity than his was from embarrassment. When it became apparent the merriment at his expense was uncontrollable and wouldn’t cease anytime soon, Danny had left in shame, his question unanswered.

Now the three were again gathered around a deck of cards. But the game Danny only half-jokingly proposed was a bit more risqué than Go Fish. He was a little more knowledgable than his nine year old self of the anatomical differences between boys and girls, but that increase in understanding only made his desire more profound.

Brandi responded to his suggestion of strip poker, "You wish. If you didn't know for sure you'd win, you wouldn't want to play. Otherwise, we'd see how dinky your winky is."

"It's not dinky!" Danny fired back, then bit his lip at having responded. He was embarrassed the conversation had turned so pointedly to the subject of his peter. Girls shouldn’t even mention it, and certainly not speculate on its size.

Brandi leaned over the coffee table. “Prove it.”

Danny unconsciously placed his hands over his lap. This was NOT how this should be going.

Sarah held up her hand. "Children, stop." She told them what the cards were for. She had always dabbled in card tricks, and had just learned a new one.

She placed the deck on the coffee table and shuffled a few times. Then she picked it up, fanned the cards out, and told Danny, “Pick a card. Any card.” She told him to not let her see it. Danny chose one and looked at the face. It was the Jack of Diamonds. Brandi leaned across the table to look, but he held it away from her. "You'll find some way to tell her," he accused.

Sarah had him insert the card back into the deck. She shuffled a few more times.

"Now," she told the others. "I'm going to start turning the cards over face up, one by one. When I get to the card you chose, I'll let you know it's the one BEFORE I turn it over." Holding the deck in one hand, she began turning the cards over in a line on the table.

Danny asked, "If you get it wrong, what do I win?"

Sarah continued turning over cards. "Well, I don't know. What do I win if I get it right?"

At the very moment she asked this, Sarah turned over the Jack of Diamonds and laid it down in the line. She followed with two more cards. Danny almost let his poker face slip. She had turned over his card and passed it by. He knew he had already won, and he was going to make it really count. His hope for a game of strip poker hadn’t panned out, but the girls’ nudity could still be in the cards.

He said, "Time out. Before we go any further, we need to figure out what the winner gets."

Brandi said, "Jeez, it's just a magic trick, Danny."

"But we want to make it exciting, don't we?" Danny countered. "Let's give it some stakes. We were just talking about strip poker. So, if Sarah gets the card wrong, she has to strip." Danny couldn’t keep the eagerness off his face or out of his voice.

There was a long moment of silence as the girls looked at him, then each other. Danny began to think he had gone too far. Sarah told him, "Let me talk to Brandi for a moment." The two girls held a whispered conversation. They both kept turning to look at Danny in a most disconcerting way.

When they concluded their rather conspiratorial looking discussion, Danny told them, "So, y’all are a team now? It’s girls against the boy? Ok. Fine. If y'all are going to team up against me like that, then you'll both have to strip when I win."

Danny had fully expected them to balk at this. Instead, Sarah announced, "We’re agreed. The loser, or losers, has to strip. And that's all the way. Naked. Everything comes off. Pinky swear it?” This was their way of letting the others know something was serious. There was no backing down after a pinky swear. It was as binding as a blood oath, just without the pain and bleeding. Sarah and Brandi hooked little fingers together, then Sarah and Danny, then Danny and Brandi. They were now locked in with no turning back.

Danny was starting to be a bit nervous. This had been too easy. Neither girl had even blinked when he brought Brandi into the deal. But he'd seen his card, the Jack of Diamonds. Sarah had already turned it over and moved beyond. It was stupid to be nervous. He had already won. Even so, these were the highest stakes he had ever played for, and prudence demanded a closer inspection of all the elements… such as the fact that Sarah and Brandi had always demurred when he suggested any stripping games in the past.

But, instead of heeding the uneasy suspicion nagging at him, he let his obsession with seeing the girls completely naked overrule the more observant, analytical side of his nature that made him such a better poker player. He decided to make the stakes even higher.

He asked Sarah, "How sure are you that you're going to get it right? Want to sweeten the bet?"

"What do you have in mind?" she asked. She looked sidelong at Brandi with a slight smile.

Danny boldly declared, "The losers have to get naked and stay naked till four o'clock. That's about three hours." Sarah started to respond, but Danny spoke again, "And the winner gets to look at them all he wants. He gets to check everything out. And no hard feelings, afterwards. We're all taking the same risk here." Danny was sure that last statement wasn't true.

Brandi told him, "You really are a little perv, aren't you? Ok. Remember, you came up with the rules. If it turns out that Sarah and I win, don't get mad. No hard feelings, remember?”

Sarah looked at Danny. "Are we ready? Any more suggestions?" When he said nothing, she turned over the next card in the deck.

“Wait,” Danny called out. The girls both rolled their eyes. “I thought of another one. The losers have to get naked again on Saturday. And stay that way for three more hours. We’ll do it in the treehouse.” Danny seemed to have finished, but his face lit up with another idea. “And the winner can touch. You know… for repositioning, that kind of thing… so he can see everything. And the losers have to tell the winner anything he asks them. It’ll be like truth or dare, but you have to do both. You’re going to tell me all of your girl secrets.”

Danny’s treehouse was on the back edge of his family’s property, fifteen feet up an old oak tree. It was a derelict looking contraption of plywood and two-by-fours that was deceptively well constructed. Danny’s father had built it for him years ago. It was very private, concealed in the leafy crown of the tree.

The girls looked at each other. Sarah turned back to Danny. "You're really going crazy over this. But ok."

Danny was almost panting. This is what he’d spent most of his life yearning for. It was all coming together like the final pieces of a puzzle snapping into place. The unusually hot weather… the death of the old air conditioning unit… their unorthodox decision to skip school… the deck of cards… the magic trick… and lastly, the girls’ extraordinary decision to finally give in and accept the challenge of a stripping game. All leading to this moment. He was truly in fortune’s favor.

Brandi told him. "Seriously, Danny. You're digging yourself in really deep. If you lose, all these rules are going to bite you on your butt. Your BARE butt. Do you really want to take the chance of us seeing you totally naked? And now especially with us being able to touch you. Think about it.”

Sarah reminded him, “Remember how Billy Levine’s big sister made him pull his thing out in front of her and another girl or she’d tell their mom and dad he snuck out to play when he was grounded? Remember how she said he was so embarrassed he couldn’t stop crying? They just saw his thing. And that was bad enough. If we win, we’ll see WAY more than that.”

Danny just looked smug. "That's IF I lose, which isn’t going to happen.You know how the cards like me. But don’t worry. When y’all have to show it all, I won’t blab it everywhere like Billy’s sister did. Maybe just to a few select friends. Male friends. Let’s say… three of them." His face brightened with another idea. “I get to invite those friends over on Saturday so they can see too. I’ll swear them to secrecy.” He paused, thinking. “That’s it. No more new rules.”

Sarah and Brandi were trying not to smile. Sarah told Danny, “This means three more girls get to see you… all of you… if you lose. See and touch. And you’ll have to answer all our questions. Tell us all your ‘boy’ secrets.”

Danny just sat back and grinned. He could be so smug at times.

Sarah indicated the deck. "May I?" Danny waved his hand in a nonchalant way, granting her his permission to continue. She turned another card over. Then another. She was getting close to the bottom of the deck. Only about ten cards remained.

“Wait,” Danny said. Brandi muttered, “Oh, for God’s sake.”

Sarah asked him, “What have you come up with now?”

Danny looked very pleased with himself. “The losers have to strip for three hours, once a month all the way up until we graduate from high school, so the winner and his three friends can watch your progress as you develop.” The girls’ breasts had been growing that year, something that was NOT lost on the pubescent boy.

Just thinking about those breasts and how he was about to see more than just the bumps beneath their blouses was making Danny hard. He didn’t dare think about what else was soon to be revealed. He was more excited than he had ever been in his life, and his peter felt perilously close to doing more than just harden. It had become so ultra-sensitive, just the fabric of his underwear rubbing against it was bringing him dangerously close to an accidental eruption. He tried to hold very, very still… not an easy thing to do in his aroused and agitated state.

He was also glad to be sitting on the floor with the coffee table between him and the girls so they couldn’t see the bulge in his jeans.

A tiny voice in his head was urging Danny to call the whole thing off. If he began spontaneously spurting, he didn’t know if it would soak all the way through his underwear and his jeans, too. And even if a giant wet spot didn’t betray him, he was sure the expressions on his face would. Danny could tell the orgasm these sensations foretold would be intense. The girls seeing him writhing in rapture would be beyond humiliating.

But he was too close to realizing his goal to give it all up. He had to take the chance.

Sarah looked at him disdainfully. “You must really be sure you’re going to win this thing.” Danny nodded his head vigorously. She looked at Brandi, who shrugged her shoulders. “Ok, then. You may be insane, but your timing is good. The next card I turn over will be yours.” The moment had come.

She didn’t turn it over yet, though. She told him, “When Brandi and I discussed it, we decided we’d let you back out if you wanted. We’ll forget all about it. We just go back to playing Monopoly or something. No one has to be embarrassed today. Or once a month till graduation. "

Danny held up his little finger. “Pinky swear, remember?” He nodded at the deck and told her gleefully, "Turn it over."

Sarah's hand hovered over the deck. Then, with a quick glance to make sure Danny was watching, she reached over to the line of cards laying face up and flipped the Jack of Diamonds face down. She told him, almost regretfully, "We gave you a chance to back out."

Danny was stunned and silent. Brandi leaned over and said, "Looks like Sarah and I, and three girls of our choice, get to see if it's dinky or not." Even as she said this, Danny’s shocked realization of what had just happened made his peter shrivel with horror.

He found his voice. "No. No, that's not right. You… you cheated. You said the next card you turned over. That means the next one in the deck."

Sarah patiently explained, "I never said from the deck. Just the next one I turned over. Which was YOUR card. The Jack of Diamonds. And don’t even try to say that wasn’t the card you picked. I’ll kick your butt.” Sarah knew Danny well. She had seen him try to lie his way out of a predicament many times before. After a pause for effect, she stated, “We win."

Brandi smiled sweetly and told him, "You can start undressing now."

Danny looked desperate. He told them, "I… I wasn’t really going to make y'all do all that stuff if I won. I was just trying to scare you."

Sarah told him. "Yeah. Nice try. But like Brandi said, get naked."

For a while, Danny refused to move from his spot. He sat crosslegged on the floor, arms crossed over his chest, lower lip stuck out in a pout. He glared silently at the girls while they badgered him to honor his debt. When even the threat of forcible stripping and shredded clothing hadn’t moved him, Sarah repeated two words of such import and authority even Disingenuous Danny couldn’t resist them for long… pinkie swear. He slowly stood up and began to undress.

When he was down to just his briefs, Danny looked to the girls hopefully, saying, “Please. Seeing me in my underwear is embarrassing enough. Can we stop it at that? Pleeeeease?” A plaintive whine crept into his voice on the last word.

But the girls had already been generous enough in their earlier offer to let Danny gracefully back out of the deal. No more mercies would be extended. Besides, they were looking at a boy in just his underwear, an event neither girl could’ve dreamed this day would offer. And the next step would leave him without even that meager bit of coverage. They had no incentive to stop. Danny wasn’t the only one in the group who wanted to see what made the other sex so opposite.

The boy sighed and bent over, sliding his underwear down his legs. When they reached is feet, he stepped out of them. As he stood upright again, his hands moved over his crotch. The girls had gotten only a brief glimpse of what was hanging between his legs. Danny kept his head down, unable to look at the girls as they looked at his nakedness.

For both of the girls, Danny was their first bare boy. That their first was also one they had known most of their lives made the moment so much more potent. That he was suffering the fate he’d intended for them made it better. And the irony of him becoming ensnared in a trap of his own devising, bound by rules he had established, was even better still.

It was obvious that even with his boy parts shielded from view, the act of standing so entirely, absolutely naked before the girls was devastating to Danny. His body shook with silent sobs, and with his head still hanging down, the tears fell from his eyes directly to the sitting room rug.

Seeing him cry gave the girls pause. Danny was a friend… a very close one despite his occasionally conniving ways. They didn’t like to see him upset, even if the situation that brought forth the tears was one of his own doing. Brandi turned to Sarah, suddenly unsure. Sarah leaned in and whispered fiercely, “Do you think OUR tears would’ve made HIM stop?” Brandi nodded a silent answer and turned back to gaze at the naked boy.

Sarah ordered Danny to drop his hands to his sides. He resisted for a moment, but then complied without further prompting. They now had their first good look at his thing. And his balls.

Both girls already had a general idea of what a boy’s private parts looked like. A year or so before, Brandi had brought a book up to the treehouse. Within its pages was a photograph of a statue, Michelangelo’s David. The two girls had laughed as they looked over the naked male form. Danny had been quite uncomfortable. “They shouldn’t have pictures showing that,” he declared hotly. “It’s not right.”

Sarah reminded him that the art world contained many depictions of similarly nude females. “That’s… that’s different,” Danny retorted, his face burning. “You never see the women’s privates in those old statues and paintings.” He glanced at the photo again. “But a man’s… his private things… are all just… hanging right out there.”

Danny was reacting as though the photo was of him and not a statue of some distant biblical figure. Brandi, taking delight in his discomfort, made it even more personal for the boy. She pointed at the sculpture’s penis and scrotum, asking, “Does yours look like that?”

Danny bounded up from the treehouse floor where they were sitting. “You’ll never know,” he yelled. “Get that book out of my treehouse. It’s MY treehouse, and I won’t allow it.” He kept his back turned as the girls, giggling at the insecurity on display, began climbing down from Danny’s Domain.

Now they had a basis for comparison between David and Danny’s private parts, if only Brandi had known the direction the day would take and brought her book. She didn’t need it, though, to recognize the major difference… David’s were of cold white marble, and Danny’s were definitely of beige boyflesh. And she remembered David’s ballsack hanging way below his peter, while Danny’s was the other way around with the head of his peter extending beyond his balls.

David also had a bush of pubic hair above his peter. Danny was hairless. The girls didn't care. They had six years to observe all the changes the boy’s body went through as it progressed through puberty. And starting at his bare beginning made the journey all-encompassing.

Sarah told him to step back from the coffee table. She and Brandi then circled him like predators scoping out their prey, looking at all that skin on display from every side. Sarah belatedly remembered that she could touch, by Danny’s own decree. As she was behind him at that moment, she reached out to lightly brush her hand along his bottom. Danny gasped, and a tremor ran through his body. Encouraged by that reaction, she repeated the move, but more firmly. She squeezed one cheek, then the other.

Brandi was in front of the boy when she saw what Sarah was doing. So alien was the idea of being able to just reach out and make contact with the forbidden areas of a boy’s body, she too had completely forgotten. Danny’s peter was right in front of her. Did she dare?

The boys eyes had remained downcast till Sarah touched his bottom. Then his head jerked upright, his startled eyes now looking directly at Brandi. He saw where her own eyes were looking, and followed her gaze downward to his thing. That view was nothing new to him. He had seen it countless times throughout his life… when be undressed, showered, peed, or lately, when he did that thing he wasn’t supposed to do. He saw it so often he almost didn’t see it at all. But at that moment, looking at it while knowing a girl was looking at it too, he suddenly felt even more naked than before. Profoundly, unbearably naked.

To make it so much worse, he was acutely aware of the turnabout the cards had dealt him. After so many years of scheming to get Sarah and Brandi out of their clothes where he could study their mysteries, he was the one stripped of everything… the one being examined. He was amazed he could endure such humiliation and survive.

Brandi made a decision. She reached out and ran her forefinger down the length of Danny’s peter. To her amazement, and the boy’s horror, it began to lengthen and rise from the moment of her initial touch. By the time her finger ran over the ridge around its head, it was fully hard, staring up at the girl as though thanking her for waking it from an enchanted sleep.

For Danny, time slowed to a crawl, seemingly so he could fully experience every infinitesimal moment of this horribly humiliating event. What happened next took mere seconds, but were a slow, languid nightmare in the boy’s subjective perception.

Even as Brandi’s mouth was opening in surprise, her finger was still slowly rounding the head of Danny’s peter. Sarah, seeing Brandi’s startled expression, moved around to Danny’s front to gawk at the unexpected development that had her friend so transfixed.

As they both stared, fascinated by the before and after disparity, Danny’s face was scrunching up like a clenched fist, eyes tightly shut, mouth in a grimace. This wasn’t just from the mortification of becoming hard in front of his two female friends. His peter, upon rising for that second time, had instantly resumed its overly sensitive state from before, and he was desperately trying to forestall the inevitable.

To Danny’s confusion, the girls’ gaze upon his embarrassing arousal seemed to have the effect of arousing him even further. And Brandi’s touch upon it, still tracing its way to the tip, was like a finger slowly pulling his trigger.

He might have succeeded in holding back the tide through sheer, frantic force of will, but Brandi’s fingertip had rounded the head of his peter to touch the slit of his pee hole. Contact with that intimate opening tipped the precarious balance. Danny tried to cry out a warning, but his words became an inarticulate animal howl as his boystuff burst from him in an unprecedented explosive discharge. Brandi, standing directly in front of the muzzle, bore the brunt of the blast.

Thirty minutes later, the still naked Danny was sitting crosslegged in front of the coffee table again. His head was hanging so low with shame that his forehead touched the tabletop, surrounded by the cards that had brought him to his current state of disgrace.

He could hear Sarah and Brandi at the opposite end of the house. Brandi had taken a shower and was getting dressed in clothes borrowed from Sarah’s wardrobe. They were laughing loudly as they discussed what would forevermore be known as Danny’s Discharge. He supposed the sound of derisive mirth was preferable to the earlier cries of disgust and revulsion. But neither did anything to alleviate his feeling of debased dirtiness at what he had done.

The worst of it was what he had felt as he watched his strings of goo, still in that unnaturally slow motion, streaming out to splatter and splash the unfortunate Brandi from her hair and face, to her blouse and jeans, and down to her shoes, sparing nothing. It had been an insanely intense ejaculation comparable to none he had ever experienced. The burst of prolonged pleasure was so powerful it overwhelmed him, dropping him to his knees. This had saved Brandi from the last of the torrent, but the sitting room rug had suffered terribly in her stead.

While the girls left to get Brandi cleaned up, Danny had done the best he could with the rug, wiping up the splots and splatters with dish soap and towels. While he worked, the boy couldn’t rid himself of the disturbing suspicion that, accidental though it was, covering Brandi in his fluids was what made that orgasm so much more gratifying than any before. If that was true, what kind of person was he?

Maybe, he told himself, it had been so much more pleasurable because of the presence of actual, physical girls and not the illusory ones who populated his fantasies when he played with himself. His brain had noted their attendance and associated his ejaculation with having actual sex… with not just one, but two girls. No wonder it had felt so good. That must be it, he assured himself. The alternative made him someone he wanted no association with.

Sarah and Brandi returned to the sitting room and flounced down on the couch in front of the boy. Sarah announced brightly, “We’ve discussed it and we’re going to give you a break. Two, actually.” Danny still hadn’t raised his head from the coffee table. He still couldn’t bring himself to look at the girls after what he had done.

Sarah continued, “We’re not going to conduct any more inspections today, or engage in any of the games we came up with while Brandi changed clothes. You’ll have to remain naked, of course. You have about another hour.” Danny continued to stare at the wood grain of the table.

Sarah paused to look at him. “Danny… DANNY.” Hearing the sharp tone in her voice, he finally looked up.

“We know you didn’t do it on purpose. And while we meant to embarrass you, we didn’t want to do it THAT much. Although…” she looked reflective, “Now that you’ve done it, it shouldn’t be nearly so awkward the next time… or the time after that… for the next six years.” Danny’s head dropped back to the table with a thunk.

Brandi added. “On the other hand, the next time you spray one of us head to toe, things will get REALLY awkward. My uncle has a gelding knife. You know… like they use on horses to make them not so male anymore.”

Sarah continued, “The other break we’re generously giving you is it’ll just be us two girls on Saturday in the tree house. We’re going to wait till you’ve learned how to control yourself before we invite anyone else over into the line of fire.”

Danny looked up again and finally spoke. “Do you ever have to invite any other girls over? Can’t we leave it with just the two of you?”

“Your rules, Danny Boy,” Sarah replied. “If you hadn’t been so obsessed with seeing Brandi and me naked, and ESPECIALLY…” She stopped for a moment as anger crept into that last word. “Especially bringing other boys into it, you wouldn’t be the one sitting there bare assed right now.”

“I wasn’t going to bring other boys in,” Danny told her. “It’s the truth. I was just saying that.” He looked sincere. Sarah decided to discuss it with Brandi later.

“Anyway,” she said, “There’s more important business at hand. We have to come up with a reason for all three of us missing half a day of school. I can forge the notes. But we need a reason. Or three different reasons.”

Sarah and Brandi started thinking up excuses. Danny didn’t contribute much. He could only think of what the girls had seen and would continue to see for years to come. Not to mention the three other girls, identities to be disclosed at a later date.

A sound just outside the front door jolted him out of his wallow in self-pity. The girls snapped their heads towards the door also.

Sarah’s mother Kate was talking to someone else, “Thanks again for the ride.” The front door was already opening. Luckily, Kate was turned away, looking at whoever she had addressed.

The library meeting had ended way early. It was only three o’clock.

"Quick," Sarah hissed. “Behind the couch.” Sarah and Brandi practically somersaulted backwards over the couch. Danny had to first grab his pile of clothes from the floor, then he too vaulted over to land between the girls. They all sat with their backs to the couch and tried not to breathe.

Danny had barely made it in time. Kate entered the house, speaking to someone with her, “Come in and sit a while. Do you want something to drink?”

Her companion replied, “No, thank you. I just want to get these shoes off.” As soon as the kids heard the second person speak, they realized it was Danny's mother, Joan.

The two women dropped heavily to the couch. Joan resumed an earlier conversation. "As I was saying in the car, I just don't know what to do with the boy. And his father's no help. He's out of town on business half the time. So it's all up to me."

Kate told her, "I believe there are books for dealing with this kind of thing. Not in OUR library, of course.”

Joan told her, "I have two girls and they’re just perfect. Then Danny comes along and it's one problem after another. I love him, but dear Lord. You remember how hard it was for me to potty train him? I thought he'd still be in diapers when we sent him off to college."

Sarah and Brandi covered their mouths to stifle their amusement. Even with the perilous position they found themselves in, this little nugget of information was just too good. Danny cast sidelong glances at the girls, then pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face between them. Leave it to his mom to make the worst day of his life even more unbearable.

"Anyway, that was nothing compared to what’s been going on lately. When it first started a while back, Danny was as in the dark as I was. This was really something his father should've told him about. Or at least told me so I could be prepared for it. I had no idea boys would do that in their sleep."

The girls didn’t know where this conversation was leading. But Danny did. He almost jumped up from behind the couch to scream at his mother to stop. Being naked in front of everyone in the room, and all the consequences that would follow, was still preferable to Sarah and Brandi hearing what his mother was about to say. Far too much of him had already been exposed that day.

Joan continued, “Like I was saying, a while back, I heard him start yelling “Mom!” in the middle of the night. He was so loud, he woke me AND the girls up. Dear old dad, of course, was out of town. I thought maybe someone had broken into the house. I went running to his room, ready for anything. Or so I thought.”

Sarah and Brandi were listening intently. Danny, never a religious boy before, was praying for divine intervention.

“He was sitting up in bed. And the look on his face… like he was in a daze. I couldn’t tell WHAT was going on. Then he lifts up the sheet, looks under it and makes a face. I thought, oh great. I asked him, ‘Honey, did you wet the bed?’ He did that a few months ago. Had a potty training relapse. At twelve years old. He was so upset. Cried and cried. His sisters still won’t let him forget it.”

The girls were looking across Danny at each other in amazement. Danny’s face was the luminous red of a traffic light… which was appropriate as he wanted it all to stop.

“Anyway, when I asked if he’d wet the bed, he tells me, still sounding half asleep, ‘No. Not really. I don’t know.’” I told him, ‘You either wet the bed or you didn’t’. So I lift the sheet up and… Well, Danny insists on sleeping in an old pair of his dad’s boxers. They’re way too big for him. They fall right off when he stands up if he doesn’t hold onto the waistband. I think it’s just his weird way of being close to his dad. Lord knows, the man isn’t around very much.

“So I look at the mattress to see if he’s had an accident. And he has. But its not pee. I know right off what it is. He’s had… well, an orgasm. It all came out of the leg opening of those ridiculous boxers. He got it all over his leg, all over the mattress. It was a mess.”

Danny was holding his hands over his ears. Sarah was afraid he was going to start loudly chanting, “La la la la la la….”

“I thought he’d been playing with himself. I know boys do that, but I hadn’t known Danny was old enough for that yet. But he looked so confused, I could tell he’d been asleep. You know he walks in his sleep, right? A couple of times a week at least. I find him shuffling down the hall with those damn boxers around his ankles. Sometimes one or both of the girls find him like that. Whoever finds him has to lead him back to his room, pull his boxers up and put him to bed. The girls never had to wonder what a boy’s… you know, his tallywacker… looks like. Danny is a constant reminder. Anyway, he never remembers sleepwalking in the morning. We haven’t even bothered to mention it to him for years because he always refused to believe us.”

By the look on Danny’s face, some of this was as new to him as it was to the girls. After what his friends had seen earlier, Danny thought his sense of shame had reached its summit, but he found there were greater heights to be attained. He had just learned his two detestable sisters saw him naked on a regular basis. And put him to bed like he was a baby!

“So anyway, I’m wondering… I know he sleepwalks, but does he masterbate in his sleep, too? It wouldn’t surprise me. Why couldn’t I have had another girl?”

Danny, seized by an irrational impulse to escape this increasingly embarrassing situation, started rifling frantically through his wad of clothes till he found his underwear. Sarah realized he was going to try to get dressed behind the couch. She mouthed “No” at him silently. There was no way he could do it quietly enough to not alert the two women on the couch.

And what did he plan on doing if he managed to get dressed without their mothers hearing him? Get up and dash out the front door, leaving her and Brandi to face the music?

She grabbed at his clothes. He pulled them back. There was a silent game of tug-of-war for a few tense moments. Sarah prevailed, then put the bundle of clothes down on the other side of her from the now very angry boy. He tried to climb over her to grab them, so she shoved them under the couch where he couldn’t reach them.

Luckily, Joan’s droning monologue on the miseries of raising a son drowned out any noise they made.

Danny was still on his hands and knees, leaning halfway over Sarah. His face was about two inches from hers. He glared fiercely to intimidate her. She glared back with double the intensity. They locked gazes for a few long moments, then Danny’s desperation died within him. He almost collapsed in Sarah’s lap. It was then they both became aware of their uncomfortable proximity.

Brandi had already been struggling with that issue. While Danny had been on his hands and knees in his battle of wills with Sarah, one of his legs had ended up across her lap, and one was behind her almost under the couch. His bottom was right in her face. She was seeing much, much more of the boy than their inspection had revealed earlier. She could’ve counted the puckers in his hole if that had amused her. It didn’t. The view was indelibly etched in her mind.

Leaning back as far as she dared, she thought, ‘Danny can be such an asshole.’ Unfortunately, that thought DID amuse her. It launched her into a hysterical giggling fit. She clamped her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.

Sarah put both hands on Danny’s chest to gently push him back down to where he was sitting before. As her fingers touched his bare skin, his body sent a message to his brain: I’m naked and a girl is touching me. Again. And the result had felt so good the last time that his peter immediately stood up to beg for more.

As Danny sat back on his butt, almost landing in Brandi’s lap, Sarah dropped her hands from his chest. One of them brushed against his already eager appendage. Sarah was very much aware that her hand had just touched the boy’s thing. She hadn’t had her chance earlier after his rather enthusiastic reaction to Brandi’s contact, so her eyes were naturally drawn to it. Danny tried to hide it by pulling his knees up to his chin again, but was too late. He now knew for sure what he had almost intuited before… that a girl’s gaze upon his peter had the effect of a physical caress. That tingling feeling began again. He could tell he was already dangerously close to another discharge. Why was it happening so fast that day? It usually took him as long as two minutes, and that was with manual stimulation.

Both he and Sarah became aware of a strange chirping noise behind Danny. They looked over at Brandi to see if she had noticed it, too. But Brandi was busy convulsing with her hands clamped over her mouth. She was rocking back and forth, her face almost purple from holding in the laughter that demanded to be set free. Her little joke to herself about Danny’s bottomhole had burst the dam of her self-control.

The mounting fear of being caught skipping school had been gnawing at Brandi since their escape. Now, not only might she be discovered, it would be with a naked boy AND another girl, just to make it an especially immoral threesome. At the very least, her extremely religious parents would drag her off on a humiliating trip to the doctor to make sure her virginity was still intact. At worst, there was the high-security prison, otherwise known as the Melinda Adams School for Wayward Girls, that her older sister had already been consigned to for the crime of a being with a boy in the backseat of his car… a considerably lesser offense than a threesome behind the couch.

The tension, stretched to the point of snapping, needed some form of release. Brandi found it in a bad word play and the resulting attack of uncontrollable giggles.

Sarah and Danny watched her with growing alarm. Though muffled by her hands, her weird chirping noises still held the danger of alerting the women on the couch.

Luckily, Joan’s volubility was more than matched by her volume. “I had finally gotten Danny out of bed. Of course, as soon as he stood up, down went the boxers. By then, the girls were standing in the door, watching the show. And it was QUITE a show at that. Danny was still… hard. Out of all the times they saw him sleepwalking naked, they never saw him like THAT. I told them to go to bed. They both told me ‘No way’. Danny still looked half-dazed. He was staring down at the stuff still dripping out of him. Ugh. He asked me, ‘Am I sick? Do I have a disease?’ I told him, ‘Yes, honey, you do. Its called testosterone.’”

Brandi had just about got her giggles under control. Then she looked over at Danny and saw his thing sticking up. She clapped her hands over her mouth again for round two.

Danny’s mother continued, “I got the boxers and held them around his tallywacker while I walked him to the bathroom. I didn’t want him dripping all the way down the hall. The girls were watching and giggling.”

Sarah was making frantic hand motions at Brandi to try and make her stop laughing. Danny was pinching himself as he tried to make the tingling go away.

Joan was still talking non-stop. “I told the girls to stay away from his bed. I’d clean it up. I didn’t want them getting any of his stuff on them. I could end up with a two-headed grandbaby. When I finally got him into the bathroom, I shut the door to keep the girls out. They’d already seen more than enough. Their first hard tallywacker AND the stuff that comes out of it.” She paused, thinking. “At least it better have been their first.”

Danny was losing the battle. The feeling in his peter had progressed into a state of raw electric arousal like none he had ever experienced… better even in its pre-ejaculate stage than his explosive release all over Brandi had been earlier.

A sudden understanding came to him in an overwhelming rush. He couldn’t quell that increasingly erotic sensation between his legs because he was trapped in the situation that was feeding it. Sitting so naked between his two female friends with two women only a foot or so away was what was exciting him. Which made no sense at all. His embarrassment at that same situation was almost unbearable. How could something be so embarrassing and so exciting at the same time?

Joan wasn’t finished with her tale. “I got him in the shower and turned the cold water on him. THAT finally woke him up. And shrank his tallywacker back down to size and then some. Then I had to tell him what his father should’ve… what that stuff was. And it was the blind leading the blind. I had no idea at the time why he did it in his sleep.”

Brandi had finally noticed Danny’s clenched teeth and how his eyes were squeezed shut. She now knew the signs of an imminent eruption, having once been caught in the blast. Her laughter died instantly. She looked over to the equally alarmed Sarah.

“After I cleaned him up, I wrapped him in a towel and made him go sleep on the couch while I took care of his nasty sheets. Before he went to sleep, he begged me not to tell his sisters what happened. He’d been so out of it, he didn’t even remember standing there in front of them dripping. Just like he doesn’t remember all that sleepwalking he does. I think there’s something wrong with that boy’s brain.”

Danny suddenly opened his eyes and looked at Sarah with an insane urgency. He started pointing under the couch. When she threw her hands out, palms up, to indicate she had no idea what he wanted, he mouthed the words ‘my clothes’ at her.

“I’m sure that was the first time he’d had a… climax. But it certainly wasn’t the last. Now that he knows what it is and how it feels, I can’t get him to keep his hands off himself. Every day he gets home from school, he runs to his room saying he’s got a lot of homework to do. I wish he WAS as excited about homework as he is about what he’s REALLY doing. I’ve even barged into his room a few times to catch him while he’s at it to see if that embarrasses him into stopping. He’s embarrassed alright. Laying there on his bed with his jeans and underwear down, playing with it like there’s no tomorrow. He yells and tries to cover up. But the next day he’s back at it again. I’ve even dragged him off the bed right there and then and spanked his bare bottom. Does no good.”

Sarah had no idea why Danny needed his clothes, but she had an intuition it wasn’t to try and get dressed again. So she reached under the couch and pulled them out. Danny rifled through the wad of clothing while it was still in her hands. He pulled out one of his white socks.

“I took him to the doctor a couple of weeks ago about it. Danny didn’t know what we were going for. I told him it was a regular checkup. He was sitting there on the exam table, already embarrassed cause he was in just his underwear. He just about died when I told the doctor how he’s obsessed with his tallywacker.”

Danny quickly slid the sock over his rigid peter, seemingly just in time. When Sarah saw him convulse with the first burst of pleasure, she slapped her hands over his mouth to stifle the sounds she knew were coming. Brandi, also thinking quickly, threw her hand’s over Sarah’s. The only noise to escape was a subdued ‘mmmmmmmmm’.

“I told him I think he’s doing it at least twice a day. He does it right after school, and his showers are taking a lot longer than they used to. Then, for all I know, he spends half the night at it.”

Danny was squeezing the sock with both hands. He pumped himself into it four or five times, then leaned his head into the back of the couch and relaxed. After a few moments, he looked at each of the girls, chagrin written in red across his face.

“The doctor told me lots of boys masterbate often right after they start puberty. It should taper off after a while. But he said he’d go ahead and do an examination. He made Danny take his underwear off and lie down on the table. He was SO embarrassed. I don’t know why. I’ve seen more of him since the night of that… nocturnal emission, is what the doctor called it… than I’ve seen in years. Soft and hard. I’ve really gotten to know my son well.”

Danny looked down and started carefully sliding the sock off of his softening peter. Before he completely removed it, he squeezed out the last of his stuff, then wiped the tip of his peter with the soft cloth. He glanced at the girls again, self-conscious at them seeing his cleanup procedure.

“Then the doctor told him to stand up and then bend over the table. Danny looked alarmed and asked him why. The doctor was putting on an examination glove and then lubing it up. He said he was going to stick his finger up Danny’s bottom. I asked him what he hoped to find in there. He said it was a normal part of this kind of exam. Danny looked like he was about to bolt from the room, naked as he was. I had to threaten to spank him right there and then before he’d bend over the table. I felt a little awkward watching someone stick his finger up my son’s butt. But after all the problems that boy has caused, I kind of enjoyed how humiliated he was. Serves him right.”

Danny was holding the sock, wondering what to do with it. He didn’t normally utilize footwear when he played with himself. He just hadn’t wanted to leave streamers of his stuff across a rug he had just laboriously cleaned.

“And while the doctor was digging around in there, damned if Danny didn’t get hard again. This time it was MY turn to almost die. The doctor said sometimes that happened. Don’t worry about it. All well and good for HIM. He doesn’t have a twelve year old sex maniac living under his roof. It took about ten minutes before it got soft again so he could get dressed. He had to stand there like that the whole time. He tried to cover it up with his hands, but since it was sticking straight out, that didn’t work so well. A nurse came in at one point, and her eyes just about bugged out of her skull. Danny had been looking like he was about to cry the whole time. With the doctor, me, and that nurse all staring at him, he finally did.”

Danny rolled the sock up and set it on the floor. He had stopped reacting to all the information his mother was broadcasting to the room. There didn’t seem to be any point. He couldn’t stop her mouth. Once it started going, she usually couldn’t stop it herself. He just had to resign himself to the fact that Sarah, Brandi, and Sarah’s mom knew almost all of his most shameful secrets. And his mother would probably share what few were left before she was done.

Sarah and Brandi, unlike Danny, continued with their reactions, only theirs were of incredulous delight. Now that the most pressing dangers of Brandi’s giggles and Danny’s overactive erections had been dealt with, the girls were free to sit back and enjoy the monologue.


“I thought, just maybe being so humiliated at the doctor’s office will cure him of this masterbation addiction. But, NO. As soon as we got home, he was dashing off to his room. Even quicker than he usually does. I waited a minute, then intentionally walked in on him. And there he was on his bed, naked from the waist down, stroking away at it with one hand. His other hand was under his bottom. I won’t tell you what it was doing with it. Let’s just say that damned doctor taught him another nasty habit. I yanked him off that bed and gave him the spanking I had threatened him with earlier. Gave it to him twice. Then I dragged him off to the bathroom, tossed him in the tub, and scrubbed every inch of him clean. Especially that one finger.”

Yes, Danny thought, dear old Mom could always be counted on. The only secrets she hadn’t spilled were the ones she didn’t know about. Sarah’s mouth was hanging open, and Brandi had almost returned to chirping.

“So,” Joan asked Kate. “What do you think of all THAT?”

There was a long silence. Sarah had no trouble understanding why her mother was speechless. Finally, Kate ventured a question. “What did the doctor say after he examined Danny?”

“He said there’s nothing physically wrong, so there’s not much he can do. If Danny keeps masterbating as much as he’s doing now, or if he starts doing it even more… which would be practically impossible… then I should take him to a psychologist. There are some who specialize in adolescent behavior problems.”

Kate asked, “What does his father say? About the masterbation?

Joan let loose with a bitter laugh. “He just said ‘Boys will be boys’. When I told him where his darling little boy’s finger had been, he wasn’t quite so flippant. But then he said kids experiment at that age. I swear, I’m the only one taking this seriously.”

Joan exclaimed, “Oh. Look at the time. I’ve got to get grocery shopping done for supper tonight. Thanks for letting me unload on you.”

After Joan left, Kate heaved a huge sigh of relief. She said to herself, “That woman. That poor boy.” She then went to the kitchen to begin her own supper preparations.

Sarah hissed at the others, “Now’s our chance. You two sneak out the front. Once you shut the door, I’ll act like I’m just getting home from school.”

Danny spread his hands wide, indicating how naked he still was. He whispered fiercely, “I can’t go out like this.”

Sarah said, “You’ll have to. My mom may come back in here at any moment. You can get dressed behind the bushes around the side of the house.”

Brandi told Danny, “Come on. Hurry it up.” She crawled on her hands and knees around the side of the couch and peeked to make sure the coast was clear. Danny grabbed his bundle of clothes, including his soiled sock, and crawled after her. Sarah looked at his retreating bottom, receiving the same view Brandi had witnessed earlier, but thankfully not quite as close. “Cute balls,” she thought to herself.

Brandi and Danny escaped through the front door. Brandi headed for home while Danny scuttled around the side of the house, hoping no neighbors were added to the list of people who lately saw all there was to see of him. His mother, his sisters, the doctor, a nurse, Sarah, her mother, and Brandi had all seen or heard far too much. The humiliation was so profound it felt like a living thing inside him. Even after he was once again clothed, he still felt as though he was stripped bare.

And then there was the part of him that, disconcertingly, liked the feeling. He was hard again before he was halfway home.

When Saturday arrived, the girls were true to their word and arrived at the treehouse alone. After they had peeled Danny’s clothes from him, they began to work on that lack of control problem, for their own safety if nothing else.

They also reminded him of how he had to do anything they said, which included speaking the truth to any question asked. Over the course of the three hours he had to divulge his last remaining secrets, these being the internal ones… his thoughts, emotions, drives, and desires. Especially in how they pertained to that very interesting day at Sarah’s house earlier in the week. His answers were what made this account so comprehensive.

I left Sarah and Brandi at the park after thanking them for what they had shared. I had another tale for story time. No photos, unfortunately. But even so, along with the ongoing Carter’s Comeuppance, it should keep the monsters fed for a while longer.