Tommy's Attitude Adjustment Chapter 18

Tommy's Attitude Adjustment Chapter 18
by Chadlad

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This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY It contains explicit depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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Chapter 18: The Women's Prayer Group

It was another hour before S. F.'s father finally drifted up to the group of boys, filled with guilt at seeing his son standing stiffly and painfully, but heartened to see him speaking animatedly to friends who seemed attentive and sympathetic. S. F. had talked almost the entire time, nursing a giant shake that the boys had bought him with the rest of Alan's mother's money, holding its coldness against whichever part of his anatomy hurt the most at the time in between sipping from it.

"It all started," he'd begun, "when I walked into the house after school."

S. F. had been dreading talking to his mother all the way home. He had a large envelope Mrs. Rose had given him, containing the magazine and a hand-written note from Mrs. Rose. He'd been afraid to look at the note, but he was certain it spelled his doom. His mother had spied the envelope as soon as he'd walked into the house, snatching it from him and frowning as she opened it, her face coloring quickly with anger as she saw the magazine and the label on it. "This is your father's filth!" she stated loudly. "I thought he'd gotten rid of all of it when I made him see the light of the Lord!" She read the letter, her face becoming progressively darker, then she fixed S. F. with steely eyes. "You brought this to school?" she said, her voice rising. "You found this filth and brought it to school?" She waved the magazine in S. F.'s terrified face. "This is what comes of your father's sinful past! He was in the devil's grip when I met him, but the lusts of Adam are strong, oh yes!" she proclaimed. "And now the sins of the father have devolved upon the son!"

"But I didn't take it to school," S. F. protested. "I've never seen it before! I don't know how it got there!"

With a suddenness that shocked S. F., his mother drew back and smacked him across the face with the magazine. It didn't really hurt, but the quickness of it took his breath away. She waved the magazine in front of his face.

"Lies!" she proclaimed. 'Oh, that I should have such a liar for a son! The lusts of men are great, and their wills are weak, Lord! Do you not remember my warnings about lust, Samuel? The dangers of self-indulgence? Did I not share with you the story of Onan, who spilt his seed upon the ground, causing the Lord to rightfully slay him?" She looked at her cowering son closely. "Have you been committing the sin of Onan, Samuel? Have you been touching yourself in lust, risking your immortal soul?"

S. F. hung his head. He'd been unable to stop touching himself, despite his mother's dire warnings of hellfire for fornicators as well as his mistaken belief that masturbation made his penis grow in size and his body grow hair. He'd vow after each orgasm that it would be the last, but then the lust would overtake him and he'd go mad with desire, pounding his penis as quietly as possible in his bedroom, the shed in the yard, or any reasonably secluded place, afraid of the door bursting open and being discovered at any moment by his mother, but unable to resist the sweet release that culminated his actions. Afterward, he'd be overwhelmed with guilt, vowing not to sin again. He'd never been able to keep that vow for more than a day, though, before the urges of the devil would enter him again. With this knowledge flooding his mind, he didn't answer immediately. Unfortunately, his reaction told his mother all she needed to know.

"You have been touching yourself with lust, haven't you, Samuel?" She looked at S. F., who would have crawled into himself and hid had such a thing been possible. "I can tell you have – the mark of the sinner is on you! You will surely burn in hell for your lusts! Tell me, how often do you succumb to your wanton desires?"

S. F. looked studiously at the floor. "Answer me!" his mother shrieked. "How often do you commit the devilish sin of Onan! How many times in the last month have you polluted yourself because of your lusts?"

"I might have touched myself a little bit," S. F. croaked out, still looking at the floor.

"How. Many. Times," his mother said pointedly.

S. F. tried to think back. He'd been masturbating every morning, every night, and sometimes during the daytime for more than a year now. He'd done it at least 70 times in the last month. "Six?" he ventured.

"Six times!" His mother shrieked. "Six times! Have you no willpower at all, you despicable creature? Wallowing in lust like a mindless animal? Six times? That's more often than you go to hear the Lord's words! And what do you think of when you're committing this despicable act? Do you think of creatures like this one?" she asked, waving the naked girl on the cover of the magazine in his face. She slammed the magazine down on the table next to her and stalked to a kitchen chair, plunking her ample body down on it. The chair creaked in protest but held together, apparently due only to the will of God.

"What am I to do with you, Samuel?" she said angrily. "Women are vessels of the spirit, intended by God to be the sacred source of his children. You men are intended to serve the needs of women! You are not on Earth to slake your indecent lusts with your own hands!" S. F. looked studiously at the floor, his normally pale face flushed a bright red with anxiety. After a long moment, his mother reached a decision. "I must consult with the Women's Prayer Group," she said. "Go to your meditation corner, get into the discipline position, and pray for guidance," she ordered.

Sighing, S. F. left the kitchen and walked to the empty corner of the living room that his mother called his "meditation corner." The discipline position had been something his mother had read in one of her evangelical child-rearing magazines. It involved squatting on the floor with his head bowed, his eyes shut, and his hands behind his head. It made his calves and ankles ache something awful almost immediately, followed in time by back pain and aching shoulders from holding his hands in position. He hoped he wouldn't be forced to stay there long.

His mother remained in the kitchen, where he heard her talking into the phone but could not pick out any words. No doubt about it, he was gonna get spanked. His mother would call that awful Mrs. Ardmore, the one who was fond of stating, "Remember, don't spare the rod!" whenever his mother asked her for advice. He hadn't been spanked by his parents since the internet incident, he realized. Before his constant sin had marked him with shameful hair and made his genitals grow. If she made him undress for spanking, she'd see the signs of his iniquity! And she'd certainly undressed him for his last spanking, back when he'd been 11. As he was mulling this over, his mother came back into the room. "Get up, Samuel," she ordered. "Come to the study carrel."

The study carrel looked like a small pulpit. His mother and father kept a large Bible on the top of it, and for punishment he often was ordered to stand at the carrel and read Bible versus aloud. "Turn to Job, 31:11," she ordered briskly. S. F. complied, flipping through the well-worn pages until he found the verses she indicated. "Read it aloud," she ordered.

"For lust is a shameful sin, a crime that should be punished," S. F. read in a shaking, hesitant voice.

"Go on," his mother said.

S. F. continued. "It is a devastating fire that destroys to hell. It would wipe out everything I own."

"Did you get that?" his mother asked pointedly. "Lust is a crime that should be punished!" She glared at her shaking son and then consulted a scrap of paper. "Turn to Matthew 5:28," she ordered.

After more fumbling, S. F. found the required verse. "But I say, anyone who even looks at a woman with lust in his eye has already committed adultery with her in his heart."

"There!" his mother shrieked. "See, you're already an adulterer! And every time you look at a female with lust in your eye, you become an adulterer again! As Job says, you must have the sin punished out of you!"

The doorbell rang. "Stay here," his mother ordered. "I have to go let them in."

Them? S. F. thought with fear. In moments his mother was back, along with the dreaded Mrs. Ardmore. Behind her, he could see Mrs. Mendez, a woman he didn't know, Mrs. Ardmore's pinched-faced adult daughter, and, to S. F.'s horror, her two granddaughters, Lisa and Megan. Megan was a year older than him at 14, and Lisa was a year younger at 12. Both were brown haired, brown eyed, flat chested, underdeveloped tattletales, who'd appointed themselves the eyes and ears of the Sunday school teachers and reveled in reporting the misdemeanors of the boys. They were smirking at S. F. as they entered.

"You can't allow these young boys to succumb to lust," Mrs. Ardmore was saying as she entered. "It's the road to perdition! You have to teach them to control their urges, no matter what the cost!" She stopped in the living room and fixed her eyes on S. F. "There you are, young man!" she said, glaring at S. F. as if he'd been hiding from her under the bed rather than standing in plain sight. "Your mother tells me you committed the sin of Onan, and not just once but many times! What do you have to say for yourself?"

S. F., his heart racing, stared at the floor. "I don't know," he muttered to the carpeting.

"You don't know? Hear that, girls? He doesn't know!" The eyes of her granddaughters glistened as they nodded at their grandmother. She turned to Mrs. Farlow. "I believe you said something about him being caught with filth at school, also," she said.

S. F.'s mother handed the magazine over to Mrs. Ardmore without a word. Mrs. Ardmore's lips compressed as she spied the naked woman on the cover, here legs spread and her genitals fully opened. She opened the magazine to several pages at random, shaking her head and exclaiming over some of the poses. "Filth!" she exclaimed. "Just look at these disgusting hussies, girls!" She held the magazine up for the other females to see. The smirks on Lisa's and Megan's faces broadened. Mrs. Ardmore's attention was drawn to something on one of the inner pages. "Aha!" she exclaimed, pointing to a spot on the edge of one of the pictures. "Evidence! Evidence of his depravity! Genesis warns of the sin of spilling one's seed, yet here is clear evidence that this lad has partaken of that very sin!" She handed the magazine to her daughter, who frowned at the spot and then handed it to her own daughters.

"This is what I'm always telling you girls," Mrs. Ardmore's daughter added, looking at Megan and Lisa. "Lust is insatiable in these young boys! It's all they think about! You must not let them despoil you with their sinful desires!

"The boy must be cleansed!" Mrs. Ardmore announced. "We must empty the sinful desires out of him and fill him with the spirit of God!" She leaned over and gripped S. F.'s hair, tilting his head up so his eyes met hers, then gazed at him without blinking. S. F. felt like a mouse being sized up by a very, very large snake. He expected a forked tongue to flick out at any moment and taste the air. "Yes, you can see it in his eyes! See the redness in the corners, the reluctance to meet my righteous gaze? The sure sins of a hopeless self-polluter!" She yanked his head backwards by the hair and then released him.

"Owwww!" S. F. complained, rubbing his head and ducking away.

"See that!" Mrs. Ardmore said triumphantly. "He can't even meet my gaze! This boy is far gone down the path of depravity, far gone! The gates of Hell await him!" She poked at S. F.'s stomach. S. F. cowered backwards, but she gripped him by the waist firmly and continued prodding his guts, digging her fingers into his lean stomach. "Just as I thought," she said, releasing him. "The boy is constipated! Lack of regularity always draws attention to a boy's bowels, and then to the organs of elimination. Only bad can come of that! We must cleanse this boy in order to save him!"

She turned to her daughter. "We'll start with the oil."

Mrs. Ardmore's ferret faced daughter reached into a canvas shopping bag she was carrying and handed Mrs. Ardmore a glass bottle and a large spoon. Mrs. Ardmore quickly uncapped the bottle and poured the spoon full of a viscous liquid. She approached S. F. with it. "Open up," she said. "And swallow all of it, young man. If you don't, I'll be forced to give you an additional dose!" Her granddaughters were looking at S. F. gleefully now, like they were in on a joke that S. F. didn't get. S. F. reluctantly opened his mouth and allowed Mrs. Ardmore to insert the spoon. His senses immediately recoiled, and he felt like gagging. The stuff tasted positively awful! He might have spewed it out on the floor right then, but Mrs. Ardmore had withdrawn the spoon and clamped her hand over his mouth, while her other hand held his nose shut. S. F. had no choice but to swallow the awful stuff, reviling its slimy texture as it flowed down his throat, the bitter, obnoxious taste remaining in his mouth. He tried to fight her hands loose from his face, but she was much too large and strong for him. Mrs. Ardmore held him this way until she'd seen him swallow several times, then released him. S. F. slumped, panting to regain his breath. The two young girls grinned openly at him.

S. F. was making little coughing noises. "Ahhhhgggg!" he finally complained. "What was that stuff?"

"Castor oil," Mrs. Ardmore said. "Just what you young boys need now and then to keep you on the straight and narrow and thinking pious thoughts."

"Wait 'til you see what else it does," Lisa said, smirking at S. F.

"It'll take at least three hours to perform its magic," Mrs. Ardmore said, looking warningly at her granddaughter. "We'll have to take more immediate steps as well in the meantime. We need to get right to the root of his problem. I suggest we move to the boy's bedroom for the next step – I assume it has a bathroom nearby?"

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Farlow piped up. "Samuel's room has an attached bath that's shared with the guestroom. It's quite large and well-equipped."

"Excellent," Mrs. Farlow said. "Come along girls, so we can proceed to the next step."

There was general migration of females down the hall to S. F.'s room. S. F. found himself herded along by various females, his questions choked off in his throat. He had a bad feeling about this – a very bad feeling. Once in his room he quickly discovered his feelings were justified.

"I'll need to examine his business end next," Mrs. Ardmore said once they'd gotten settled in S. F.'s room. She'd sat on S. F.'s bed with her granddaughters on one side of her. The other ladies were standing in a semicircle around S. F., fencing him in against the bed so he couldn't think of escaping. He tried to keep from trembling as all those female eyes fixed upon him. "Unbutton your trousers and lower your zipper, then stretch yourself across my lap right here, young man," she added.

"What?" S. F. asked, not sure he'd heard right. His mother, exasperated, leaned in from behind him and flipped open the button on his school trousers and yanked his zipper down, so that a glimpse of his white undies were visible underneath.

"Now get over her lap," his mother ordered.

"What are you going to do?" S. F. ventured, trying to hold the front of his pants shut.

"It is not for children to question their elders," Mrs. Ardmore intoned like the voice of doom. "Perhaps the lad needs a lesson in instant obedience," she added.

All too sure he knew what a "lesson in instant obedience" would involve, and certainly not wanting one if it was what he thought it was, S. F. climbed over Mrs. Ardmore's lap, looking at her fearfully over his shoulder at her as he settled down. This near to her, Mrs. Ardmore smelled strongly of lavender perfume. S. F. was painfully conscious of his butt sticking up prominently as he lay there, still trying to hold his trousers shut in front. His mother impatiently seized his hands, one at a time, and held them over his head. To S. F,'s total humiliation, Mrs. Ardmore then grasped the top of his pants and pulled them down until they were below the curve of his butt, exposing his underpants clad butt to the watching females. Before S. F. could react, she'd grasped the waistband of his under pants and pulled them down in back as well.

"Nooooooo!" S. F. squealed. Mrs. Ardmore ignored his outburst. "I see this lad has received a good lesson in deportment already today," she said casually, examining the rosy hue of his bare bottom from his earlier paddling while continuing to tug on his underwear, trying to pull them lower. S. F. kept his legs tightly together, trying to keep the watching crowd from seeing between his legs from behind. Mrs. Ardmore tugged his underpants lower in the back, but the front had caught on S. F.'s sizable genitals in front and refused to go any lower. She gave his underwear several, sharper tugs, only succeeding in pulling the waistband between his stomach-pointing, half-erect penis and his body, trapping the front of his drawers more firmly. She paused and addressed S. F.

"Raise your bottom a bit so I can lower your underpants," Mrs. Ardmore ordered.

"What?" S. F. said, reluctant to lift himself and lose the covering over his genitals in the company of these females, especially the two girls.

"Madeline, the board of correction, if you please," Mrs. Ardmore said briskly. Mrs. Ardmore's daughter dug into the capacious bag and pulled out a long, narrow wooden paddle, across which the words "Board of Correction" were written. She handed it to Mrs. Ardmore. S. F. gaped, then quickly raised his midsection and let Mrs. Ardmore pull his underpants down, her final tug pulling them off his genitals in front so that they bunched around his legs just under the crease where his butt joined his thighs. He quickly lowered his body and kept his legs together to hide his genitals.

"Much better, young man," she said, setting the paddle next to her on the bed. "But I think we'll just keep this handy in case you show anything less than instant compliance in the future."

She surveyed S. F.'s bare rump closely. "This is much better," she said. "Now we can deal with his business end and get directly to the seat of his problem." She turned to take in the two younger girls. "You should watch this closely, girls," she said to them. "You'll undoubtedly have sons of your own some day, and you need to know how to deal with these sorts of problems." She nodded at her daughter. "Madeline, of course, has raised my granddaughters in only the purest of conditions, so that they might be unpolluted by contact with the lustful urges of young boys. That is as it should be, but it also means they haven't had sufficient opportunity to become acquainted with the sinful portions of male anatomy."

"We've seen cousin Cameron naked," Megan piped up.

"Yes, but he's just a baby, barely 9, with a baby's equipment, not the nasty equipment of older males like this one," Mrs. Ardmore said dismissively. "You know nothing of the impulses older males feel, or the procedures for dealing with the insatiable lusts of males. That's why I took the opportunity to bring you with us today." She waved the two girls closer. "Stand right here, dears, where you can see better," she said. "You have to know what you're dealing with when you consort with boys and their dirty minds and bodies."

S. F. scanned the surrounding females over his shoulder in embarrassment. All eyes in the room were on his bare butt, the younger girls' eyes glittering. Little Megan spoke up. "Why do you call it his business end, grandmother?" she asked. "I thought it was his butt."

Mrs. Ardmore frowned briefly, then forced a smile. "I'm not fond of gutter words, like that, dear. A lady should always speak like a lady. Anyway, I call it his business end because that's the part of him that does his business. You know, like when your dog Scruffy does his business outside when you take him for a walk."

"Oh, you mean where the poop comes out!" Megan said.

Her grandmother glared at her. "I thought I just said that don't expect a young lady to use crude language like that," she spat. "But you're right, this is where a boy expels his bodily wastes. Well, the solid wastes, anyway."

"It's just like with girls," Lisa said.

"Well, not exactly," her grandmother said. "True, the orifice is similar, but boys aren't nearly as clean in their habits as girls are, and boy's equipment in front is much nastier than the equipment on girls. The net result is that their business ends tend to be much more unsavory than those of girls." She looked at S. F.'s mother. "As I said earlier, I strongly suspect that this particular boy is unable to control his nasty thoughts because he is seriously constipated. We'll just have a look and verify it for ourselves, and if I am indeed right, we'll give the lad a thorough cleansing!"

S. F.'s consternation turned to alarm, as Mrs. Ardmore, firmly placed the palms of each of her sweaty, man-sized hands on one of his buttocks and began applying pressure to separate them. Reacting, he squeezed his butt together tightly as he could. Mrs. Ardmore pulled harder. Despite his efforts, she was easily able to separate his cheeks fully, exposing his tight anus to the watching females. Unable to continue fighting, S. F. surrendered and relaxed his butt, but kept his legs as tightly together as he could. A deep blush spread down his face and onto his neck as the two girls joined the adult females in leaning in study his butt hole. This was worse than it had been in school! They weren't just looking at his butt hole from across the room, they were looking at it from just a few inches away. Mrs. Ardmore pulled his butt cheeks apart even farther, making him feel like he was being split apart at the center of his butt crack.

"Hmmmmm," Mrs. Adrmore commented. "Most boys' business ends are much less hygienic. Young Samuel, here, appears to be reasonably clean, for a boy."

"Yuck!" Lisa commented. "It's all wrinkly! His business end, I mean! The part where the you know what comes out! It's all wrinkled and disgusting!"

"Yes, boys are disgusting," her grandmother said. "Especially the parts that are normally under their underpants. Never forget that! You girls are getting to an age where the boys will be trying to get you to do things to them involving the things in their underpants. You must not succumb to temptation to go along with them in their sordid practices! As the Bible clearly states, only a man and a woman united in holy matrimony may indulge in pleasures of the flesh! It is God's reward to women for obeying his instructions to raise children in the church!"

"Should we be looking at him with his pants down, mother?" Lisa asked. "Isn't it sinful to gaze upon a boy's naked body?"

"It would be if you were gazing upon him with lust," her mother replied. "But as you are gazing upon him with contempt and pity, you are not sinning, but rather trying to uplift the sinner. After all, it is not sinful for the loving mother to bathe or dress a child who is too young to dress self. It not sinful for the loving nurse to undress any male in order to care for his injuries or illness. Young Samuel is a sick boy, who desperately needs our ministrations. Because he is sick, we feel pity for him. Because he has sinned, we feel contempt for him. In this circumstance, we have no choice but to gaze upon his naked body, as part of the process of cleansing and healing him."

Mrs. Ardmore pulled S. F.'s butt even farther apart, causing a little squeak of protest from him. "Shush," she ordered. She leaned forward to gaze at his anus through her bifocals. "Just as I thought!" She said triumphantly. "This young boy has as bad a case of constipation as I have ever seen! He is going to need the full cleansing!"

S. F. found his voice, finally. "But I'm not constipated," he said in a small voice. "I went number two just this morning before school!"

"That means nothing," Mrs. Ardmore said. "You might be regularly pushing things out, but you still have a large amount of waste trapped inside of you, and it's overstimulating you and inspiring perversion. See here, ladies, how his orifice bulges as if it had pressure behind it? It's a sure sign! We shall have to cleanse him completely, from one end to the other. Madeline, the bulb, please!" Mrs. Ardmore's daughter reached once again into the canvas bag, this time withdrawing a large rubber ball with a nozzle on the end of it. S. F.'s eyes widened. He had a pretty good idea what this was. Sure enough, Mrs. Ardmore unscrewed the nozzle and directed Megan to take the bulb. "Go into his bathroom and fill that full of warm water," she directed her granddaughter. "I presume you have a bottle of liquid soap in there somewhere?" she asked Mrs. Farlow.

"It's on the sink," S. F.'s mother said helpfully.

"Excellent," said Mrs. Ardmore. "Put three or four squirts of liquid soap in the bulb after you fill it," she said to her granddaughter. "That will help speed things up."

S. F. buried his face in his arms, unable to bear seeing all the female eyes staring at his bare, spread rump. He heard water running in his bathroom. How could this be happening to him! He knew what was coming next! That nozzle was going right in his tight little butt hole, just as the nozzle from Mrs. Rose's enema bag had been slid into Randy's butt hole in class that day. And in short order, he would have to poop, just as Randy had felt the desperate need to poop during his ordeal. Then what? Would Mrs. Ardmore and his mother allow him to pull his pants back up before visiting the bathroom, or would he have to waddle in shame with his hands clutched over his privates on his way to relieve himself? Would they even allow him to go to the bathroom by himself?

S. F.'s first question was answered in a most negative way just seconds later, as Megan emerged carrying the dripping enema bulb. "We'd best make sure these don't get wet or in the way," Mrs. Ardmore said, pushing his pants and underpants farther down his legs. "Lisa, dear, would you please pull his shoes and socks off?" S. F., his face still buried in his hands in shame, felt small hands tugging off his shoes and peeling off his socks. Then came the unwelcome brush of cloth as pants and then underpants whisked down his legs and were pulled free of his feet. He was naked! Naked from the waist down! Only his contact with Mrs. Ardmore lap and his effort to keep his legs together prevented the roomful of females from examining his privates! Even though his entire class had already seen his genitals, somehow it was worse in the intimacy of his bedroom, a place he should be secure and safe. And of course, the presence of the two girls made it much worse.

Then things got worse yet. S. F. felt what he'd been dreading, the cold hard plastic nozzle was planted firmly in the center of his tightly pursed butt hole, and Mrs. Ardmore began pushing. The nozzle felt slippery, obviously lubricated with something beforehand. S. F., unable to help himself, tightened his orifice as much as he could to block to the intruder. Mrs. Ardmore spoke from behind his back. "You see, girls, how he fights to avoid insertion of the nozzle, even though he knows we're doing it for his own good! This demonstrates the serious level of perversion this wayward boy has fallen into. He would rather retain the waste inside of him than be cleansed by messengers of the Lord. Well, no matter. We will deal with his recalcitrance! This particular nozzle is perfect for use on stubborn sinners like this one. Do you see how it has grooves sort of like a screw on the tip, and how the tip gets wider as it goes up? All I have to do is this," she said, "and screw it right into him."

As she said this, S. F. felt the hard plastic rotate against his anus, working its way inside of him and spreading his butt hole as it did. Despite his attempts to squeeze it shut, the tube moved inexorably inward as it was rotated, until it filled his entire orifice. At that point, Mrs. Ardmore must've squeezed the ball, because warm water immediately flooded his interior, swelling his bowels and heating his insides. The bulb was large, and water continued flowing into him for some time, Mrs. Ardmore encouraging it with gentle pressure on the bulb.

Megan and Lisa watched with wide eyes! They were looking at a boy's butt – an honest to goodness, real boy's butt with his butt hole visible and everything! Not a little boy's butt like their cousin's, and not just any boy's butt, either – it was a boy they knew from Sunday school – a boy they'd sat next to, and done church activities with, and had gotten into trouble by tattling on. They could see the whole thing – the smooth, rounded butt cheeks, slightly rosy from his school spanking, especially when compared to the shockingly white skin of his back and legs. It wasn't flabby, but tensed and muscular, the whiter skin of his butt crack with residual paddle marks lining the edges where his buns met, the smooth skin within giving way in the center to a tightly creased, pink asterisk that was currently stretched around the enema bulb nozzle. The two girls studied every detail, trying to memorize as much as possible so that they could relive this moment again and again.

S. F. had his own problems now. The bulb had been emptied and no more liquid was flowing into him, but the liquid that was already in him filled him until he felt like he might burst. His abdomen was cramping mildly but uncomfortably as the soap irritated his bowel and his body demanded it be expelled. Mrs. Ardmore tapped him sharply on the small of the back to get his attention. "I'm going to remove the nozzle, young man," she said sharply. "You are not to leak so much as a drop until it is time for you to go cleanse yourself. You can control yourself – you are not an animal. If you insist on acting like an animal and lose control, I'll do what I'd do with an animal that did such a thing – I'll rub your face in it, and then you'll get to clean it up. So you'd better try very, very hard to control yourself." S. F. felt the nozzle being rotated, this time counterclockwise, and the uncomfortable stretching of his butt hole eased as the nozzle backed out. S. F. felt an immediate flood of soapy water trying to force its way out and clamped down as hard as he could on his sphincter by squeezing his butt as tightly shut as possible, so tightly that color drained from where his buns met. He could feel the soapy water inside him making little pushes to get out, and fought it as strongly as he could. Dimly, he was aware that the internal stimulation of the water had also had an effect on his genitals, so that his penis had fully erected and now felt like he was lying on a hard steel rod. He wondered if Mrs. Ardmore could feel it digging into her thighs. Then a worse thought struck him – how was he going to get up and go to the bathroom in his current state? His penis was a solid 5 inches long erect, and about an inch across. He wasn't even sure he could cover it completely with his hands when it was hard! The urgency of this thought, coupled with an increasingly urgent need to poop, made him begin squirming on the matronly woman's lap.

Mrs. Ardmore noted his increasingly greater discomfort and the squirming motions that accompanied it. "Feel it working inside of you, naughty boy? That's the sin being washed out of you, the disgusting perversion that has taken control of your body. That's God inside of you, scrubbing away your sins."

The cramping in S. F.'s gut became much sharper, and he cried out. Mrs. Ardmore smiled in satisfaction. "It hurts, doesn't it, you nasty little pervert. It hurts to have the sin washed away. But you must suffer the pain for the healing to begin."

S. F. was panting now with the effort of keeping his buttocks clenched tight. "How much longer?" he moaned, his head still buried in his arms.

"That's not something you need to know," Mrs. Ardmore said firmly. "All you need to know is that you've been told to hold it in. As a boy-child, your job is not to question your female betters, but to obey them. You will keep the cleansing waters of the Lord inside you until I tell you different. I will consider any leakage to be a sign of your lack of respect for my authority and punish it swiftly and painfully. Having your face rubbed in the mess will be the least of your worries."

S. F. strained to hold in the churning liquid inside him. The fact that these women and two girls his own age had seen his naked butt spread and an enema nozzle inserted in his anus was forgotten, as was his discomfort at having his now enema-hardened penis trapped against Mrs. Ardmore's lap. All he could think about was the cramping in his guts and the burning probing of the liquid trying to force its way out his sphincter. He squeezed his butt together harder, panting with effort. It came as almost a relief when Mrs. Ardmore patted him gently on the rump and said, loudly, "All right, young man, you can get up and go to the toilet to empty yourself of your perversion!"

S. F. started to rise, reaching back with his right hand to try to help hold his buttocks clenched as he stood. As he came off Mrs. Ardmore's lap, he was suddenly conscious of his erect penis, fully 5 inches long and pointed toward his stomach. As all his audience was behind him at the moment, he was able to pull the bottom of his shirt down with his left hand and hold it under his balls, covering his front, at least momentarily. In this awkward position, one hand holding the shirt under his genitals, the other clutching his butt over his butt hole, he hobbled past the smirking pair of girls and the stony faced adult women and staggered into his bathroom, plunking on the toilet and releasing the enema in a rush of relief before his butt had even settled on the seat. He leaned forward as he did, closing his legs and trapping his genitals out of sight, so that by the time Megan, Lisa, his mother, and Mrs. Ardmore's daughter had followed him in none of his privates were exposed. Liquid poured out of his butt as he strained, feeling like he was pooping his guts out. His mother flushed the toilet after the first gush of liquid, and flushed it again a minute later, a fact S. F. was grateful for as it minimized the odor in the room. Finally, after he'd strained for some time, it was clear that he was completely empty. He sat there, hunched over, wondering what to do next.

"Well, young man? Are you quite through?" Mrs. Ardmore said impatiently. S. F. looked up at her plaintively, not knowing how to respond. "Are you?" she asked again.

"I think so," S. F. croaked out.

"Then wipe your business end and let's get on with cleansing you," Mrs. Ardmore said. "Unless you want the girls to do it for you."

"NO!" both S. F. and the two girls said simultaneously. Megan looked she was going to be sick at the thought. S. F. tore off a wad of paper and wiped himself with his left hand, so that he could lift that side of his butt off the toilet as he did rather than the side where the girls were standing. Remembering his training from that afternoon, he tore off another wad and scrubbed himself again, just to be sure. He looked up at Mrs. Ardmore, appearing smaller than his age in his hunched over position on the toilet.

"Up, young man," Mrs. Ardmore said. "Over to the sink. Don't you know to wash your dirty hands after touching yourself on your nasty bits! What are you, some sort of animal?"

S. F. rose from the toilet, resigned to displaying his bare butt to the crowd, but keeping his genitals covered with his shirt tail. He moved over until he was tight against the sink, so it would cover his genitals while he washed his hands, and proceeded to do so. He dried them on the sink towel and reached to protect his crotch again.

"What did I just tell you?" Mrs. Ardmore said. "You just washed those hands – don't go touching your nasty bits with them or you'll have to do it again."

S. F. awkwardly let his hands fall it his sides. A quick glance down revealed his penis was snug against his body in its hardness, hidden by his shirt tail but pulling it away from his body to make a tent in front. He had a sneaking suspicion his balls were hanging low enough that at least half his sack hung below the shirt. Lisa was leaning to one side of him and Megan the other, both trying to look down his front. He moved up to the sink until his penis was pressed between it and his body.

"While we're here, we'll work on cleansing the other end of you," Mrs. Ardmore said. She picked up the bar of soap on the sink and turned on the hot water, holding the soap under the water to soften it. "I believe every boy needs the taste of soap in his mouth now and then to remind him to watch what he says to his female betters. And from the filth this one has been drooling over, a thorough mouth cleansing is in order! Open up, young man, and stick out your tongue and take your medicine!"

Glancing around the room, S. F. saw nothing but stern, determined faces among the women. The two girls, on the other hand, were looking at him with glittering eyes and barely suppressed glee. "Stop stalling and open your mouth, Samuel," his mother barked. Reluctantly, S. F. complied with Mrs. Ardmore's orders, opening his mouth and extending his tongue. Mrs. Ardmore moved the soap toward his face. The tip of it touched S. F.'s tongue and he recoiled, prompting a firm slap on his bare behind from his mother that stung and made him emit a surprised yelp. "Hold still, Samuel, and take the judgment of the Lord," his mother snapped. "Or I'll paddle you on your bare bottom until you do."

S. F. opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out again, watching cross-eyed as the soap neared it. Just as it touched this time, making him shiver with the bitter taste, Megan spoke up. "Grandmother, shouldn't we be concerned about soiling Samuel's nice school shirt? I remember when you soaped cousin Cameron's mouth after he took the Lord's name in vain, and he get soap and spit all over himself."

Mrs. Adrmore froze, then withdrew the soap. "Perhaps you're right, Megan. Samuel, please remove your shirt."

Slowly, trying to keep his crotch tight against the vanity so his genitals were at least partially hidden, S. F. complied, pulling his shirt over his head and off his arms and handing it to his mother. He was pretty sure the girls could see a little bit of his penis now, even pressed against the vanity as he was. He glanced to either side at them, confirming that both were darting their eyes down at his crotch while trying not to appear to be doing so to the watching adults. He pushed more tightly against the vanity, trying to hide himself.

The mouth soaping, a new experience for S. F., was as bad as he'd anticipated it to be if not worse. Again and again, Mrs. Ardmore scrubbed his tongue and his cheeks and the inside of his mouth with the soap, until a thick coating covered the inside of his mouth and dripped off his tongue. He gagged, coughed, and drooled as he tried to avoid swallowing any more of the bitter, burning slime that oozed down his throat. Already on the verge of tears, he began crying when forced to bring his tongue in and close his mouth, soapy drool coursing down his chin and neck and spreading down his chest to gather on the sink where his belly was pressed against it. Dimly he was aware that his hard on was long gone and his penis as drooping between his legs, being avidly watched by the two girls on either side of him who appeared to be watching avidly for a glimpse of what he had between his legs.

By the time S. F. was crying freely, Mrs. Ardmore pronounced the mouth washing sufficient for the moment, noting, however, that "We may need to do more later if he doesn't cooperate." S. F. stood, miserably, swallowing and hiccupping, hating the burning taste in his mouth that now matched the burning in his rectum. He could feel, also, a churning in his upper gut that hadn't been there before, unsettling and disturbing him.

"He's crying," Megan observed. "What a baby!"

"Crying is good for young males," Mrs. Ardmore snapped. "It cleanses the soul. He needs to cry much more before he'll be cleansed." She rinsed the soap off her hands and dried them, then turned toward the bathtub. Stooping, she shut the drain and turned on the hot water, adjusting the temperature for a period of time while S. F. stood helplessly pressed against the sink, trying to block the girls from seeing his genitals full on. Steam began rising from what was obviously a quite hot bath. Mrs. Ardmore left it running and turned back to S. F. "Come now, nasty little boy. Into the tub with you. We need to cleanse your body and your spirit."

S. F. pressed more tightly to the sink. Mrs. Ardmore turned back to the tub, noting it was full enough and shutting it off. She put a hand in the water. "Nice and hot," she said. "Almost scalding, but not hot enough to actually burn the little miscreant." She turned back to S. F. "Now come on, young man, I mean it. Get into the tub this instant so we can scrub the Devil out of you."

S. F. looked plaintively at the two girls on either side of him. Either way he moved, one of them would see him. He reached to cup his genitals, but his mother batted his hands. "No touching yourself, Samuel!" she barked. "That is the road to perdition!"

"Good," Mrs. Ardmore said. "You have to remind boys of that constantly. Touching themselves is the route to evil!" S. F. dropped his hands, but made no move toward the tub, keeping his body pressed against the vanity. Mrs. Ardmore stepped to his side and put both hands on her hips. "Get in that tub this instant, young man, or I'll take you over my knee right now and blister your bare bottom!" she boomed.

"But you'll see me!" S. F. wailed. He looked at Megan. "They'll see me! You don't want them to see a naked boy do you?"

"Yes, I do," Mrs. Ardmore said. "Megan and Lisa are very mature, responsible young people, unlike yourself. It's time they learned all about you older boys and your nasty little secrets, so they can know how to avoid your perverted boy tricks! Once they've seen how unsightly the pubescent male body is, they'll have no desire to view it again! Now keep your naughty hands away from your nasty bits and get into the tub now!"

S. F. still hesitated, unable to decide which was worse, the promised paddling or voluntarily showing both girls his genitals. Mrs. Ardmore decided the issue for him. "Remember, young man, boys can be punished in other places beneath their underpants besides their bottoms!" she cautioned. Taking a deep breath, S. F. turned away from the sink, allowing Megan to see his bare front for the first time. Her eyes immediately went to his crotch, now bare. His soft penis hung swaying between his legs as he moved, his scrotum hanging loosely from his body with its contents clearly outlined in the skin. Megan almost gasped at the sight of the long, thin penis swaying between his legs, the head bulging and then tapering to its neatly rounded end.

A blush spread quickly from S. F.'s face and down his bare chest as he tried to ignore her gaze and turned to step into the tub. Lisa had shifted position by then, so that when he lifted his leg over the side she was there to help steady him, gaping open-mouthed at his bare crotch. "It's so much bigger than Cameron's," she exclaimed in wonder. "And he's got hair above it!" Glancing up, she snapped her mouth shut and looked embarrassed when all the women turned to look her direction. For a moment she expected rebuke, but Mrs. Ardmore merely nodded.

"Cameron is 9," she said to Lisa. "Little boys don't have all that unsightly hair, and their nasty bits are sweet and tiny, not big and disgusting like this." She contemplated S. F.'s crotch a minute. "This boy shouldn't have hair, either," she said. "It interferes with the cleansing process." She looked meaningfully at S. F.'s mother, who turned and left the room. S. F. stepped into the tub, but withdrew his foot as soon as it hit the water. "It's too hot!" he complained.

"Stop whining, young man, and get in," Mrs. Ardmore commanded. "It's not hot enough to be dangerous, just uncomfortable. You need it hot to sweat the evil out of you."

"Can't I just put a little cold water in it?" S. F. asked. In answer, Mrs. Ardmore shut the toilet seat and sat on it. Swiftly, she grabbed S. F.'s arm and yanked him across her lap, twisting the arm behind him. Her other hand descended upon his bare butt before he was even fully across her lap. Four more swift, very hard spanks followed, all at the base of his butt in a tight circle near his legs. S. F. began crying again. Mrs. Ardmore yanked him back on his feet. "Now get in the tub, young man, and sit down," she ordered.

Sniffling, S. F. stepped gingerly into the tub and settled on his now stinging bottom in the hot water. His body immediately flushed with heat. It felt like his lower half was being slowly cooked, and the residual blisters from his school spanking at the hands of Lindsay complained loudly, as did the lower center of his buns where Mrs. Ardmore had just swatted him as well as his butt hole, still enema irritated. His penis swelled up but didn't erect and his balls sagged as far from his body as they could to try to escape the heat. His mother re-entered the room, holding a Lady Gillette shaver from her own bathroom. "I don't have any shaving lotion, I'm afraid," she said.

"That's quite all right – the hot water works just as well," Mrs. Ardmore said. She turned to S. F., sweltering in the tub and sweating heavily now. "Lie on you back, young man," she said.

Reluctant but fearing another series of swats, S. F. settled on his back, his whole body now in the water. He looked at Mrs. Ardmore and the razor. He was going to lose his hair, just like Alan had in class before being diapered. Unlike Alan, however, S. F. felt quite differently about it – after all, he was certain his thick crop of pubic hair was due to his inability to refrain from touching himself, and thus its loss would be a relief. Mrs. Ardmore could still shock him, however. "Lisa, take this and hold it firmly out of the way," she said, taking the boy's penis by the tip and pulling it out from his body.

"Yuck," Lisa said. "Do I have to touch it?"

"Yes, you do," Mrs. Ardmore said. "You have to know all about these to avoid the sins boys will try to make you commit. Now take it in you fist and hold it tightly out of the way."

Carefully, as if he was contaminated or something, Lisa gripped S. F.'s penis in her small fist and pulled it toward his knees. Her mother lined the razor up with the root of it and began shaving his hair off in clumps, tossing handfuls into the waste basket as she did. The razor irritated S. F.'s overheated skin, leaving a burn behind it. Lisa, meanwhile, appeared afraid to grip his penis very hard, and thus kept having to shift her hold on him, each time stimulating his organ. He could feel himself stiffening in her grasp, his organ lengthening again and rising from his legs. Lisa, sensing the change, shifted her grip even more often.

Mrs. Ardmore, meanwhile, had removed the bulk of his hair and was now going over the area above his penis again, this time shaving him closely and removing all remaining stubble and increasing the razor burn she was leaving behind. S. F.'s penis was pointing straight up at the ceiling now, trying to rise until it was parallel with his stomach. Lisa was pulling against its hardness, trying to keep it pointing down.

"Can't you keep that disgusting thing down out of my way," Mrs. Ardmore complained.

"I'm trying!" Lisa whined. "It's gotten all hard and nasty!" She wrapped a small hand around the shaft, exposing the head to her gaze. She looked down. "Is that his pee- pee hole?" she asked, pointing to the now slightly gaping slit at the tip. S. F. colored more deeply as she called attention to the fact that his urethra slit separated slightly when he had a hard-on.

"What else would it be, his you-know-what hole?" her sister said in a superior tone. "He's just like Cameron, only bigger. And you've seen Cameron pee lots of times."

"I'm done here. Watch your mouths, girls," Mrs. Ardmore snapped. "Nice ladies don't use language like that! Yes, Lisa, that's the place his liquid wastes come out. It's also where males expel the blessed fluid of God that gives life! That's why you have to be careful handling it and stay away from it entirely unless you're married and ready for the blessing of children."

Lisa dropped S. F.'s penis like it was a hot potato, allowing it to slap against his stomach where it rebounded and stood, throbbing with his heartbeat, hovering about 2 inches from his belly. "Stand up, young man," Mrs. Ardmore snapped. "Megan, get that bucket over there – yes, that one. Fill it with hot water from the tub."

As S. F. stood, his penis now throbbingly erect and parallel with the ground, Megan dumped several buckets of hot water over his head. Mrs. Ardmore and his mother then efficiently and roughly washed him from his head to his waist with soapy washcloths, probing his ear holes, scrubbing his hair, digging into his arm pits, and generally giving him the impression they were trying to remove his skin. His upper body was flushed but spotless by the time they were done, his sensitive, light skin showing the evidence of their enthusiasm. Mrs. Ardmore now stopped and surveyed S. F. S. F. felt a sudden churning inside him, and his intestines emitted a sharp gurgle. There was a sudden shift inside him, and S. F. was overwhelmed with the unmistakable feeling of impending diarrhea. He clapped both hands on his butt, squeezing it together. "I gotta go!" he exclaimed. His penis bobbed in front of him, even harder and more swollen from the gurgling inside of him.

"The castor oil seems especially effective on this one," Mrs. Ardmore muttered. "He's at least a hour too early." She shrugged and gripped S. F. around the middle, hoisting him, dripping, out of the tub and sitting him on the toilet. This time, S. F. didn't bother with modesty – he hunched over, his gut cramping, and gasped and grunted as his guts emptied their entire contents into the bowl and his mother flushed the evidence away. After 5 minutes it became clear there was nothing left in him, and a completely exhausted S. F. was ordered to wipe and then deposited back in the tub.

"We must cleanse his business end next," Mrs. Ardmore said. "After all that, I'm sure he needs it, and he won't be dirtying it again for at least a couple of days, now."

She directed S. F. to get on all fours in the tub and then lower his face almost to the water, making his rump raised and spread. "Here, you wash him," she said to Megan, holding the bar of soap out to her. "You'll need to lather him and rinse him several times to make sure he's clean."

"What, you mean touch him there?" Megan said, screwing her face up in distaste. "Where the you-now-what comes out? Do I have to?"

"It is God's plan that all girls should aspire to be mothers," her mother said. "And the cleanliness of children is next to godliness, you know. I know it's distasteful for a cultured young girl like yourself, but as a mother you will have to wash even the dirtiest, most disgusting parts of your sons. And even though this boy is almost your age, he has shown, by partaking of lustful images, that he is, spiritually, your inferior in every way. You can and must, therefore, treat him as you would a little boy, correcting and cleansing him and making him the godly creature he should be."

Sighing for effect, but showing her pleasure in her smirk, Megan settled on her knees beside the tub and began running the soap over the boy's spread hindquarters, enjoying moving it up and down his crack and around his buttocks, and diving between his legs to run it across the back side of his balls and up the narrow valley between his legs. S. F. gritted his teeth and endured her attentions in silence as she trailed her fingers past his balls and across his hole, feeling the wrinkle pattern and teasing the center. At Megan's direction, Lisa dumped a bucketful of water on his butt and Megan began again. On her third cycle of butt washing, she glanced around, and noting that none of the adult women was watching her closely, Megan prodded S. F.'s butt hole sharply with her long index fingernail. "HEY!" S. F. exclaimed, straightening up to his knees and clapping both hands over his butt crack. "That hurt!"

"Sorry, I must have hit him with a fingernail," Megan said, trying to sound apologetic. Her mother looked at her suspiciously, not liking the mismatch between her tone and the look on her face.

"Get back into position, young man," Mrs. Ardmore ordered. "I shall have to administer 4 swats for your disobedience."

"But she cut me!" S. F. wailed, staring at his hand where he'd been soothing his injured orifice. He held out a hand with blood smeared on it. "Look, I'm bleeding!"

"Get into position," Mrs. Ardmore said again. Looking injured, S. F. reluctantly got down on his elbows again, elevating his injured hindquarters and spreading his legs as Mrs. Ardmore prodded his knees. She leaned in and looked at his anus. "You nicked him with your nail," she said to Megan. "A young boy has to be able to trust his mother to care for his private places. You must be more careful." She looked toward S. F.'s head end. "Don't whine so," she commanded. "It's just a little nick. I'll use the styptic pencil on it."

S. F. didn't know what a styptic pencil was, but soon found out. The older woman got in the canvas bag and fetched out a large pencil with a dull point. Then she leaned over S. F.'s butt and firmly placed the end of the pencil over his sore spot, moving it back and forth over the cut and making him yelp and causing Mrs. Ardmore to have to fight him to hold him in position.

"Owweeee! Ow! OW!" S. F. whined, struggling. "It hurts!"

"This will hurt more," Mrs. Ardmore said, setting down the pencil and gripping S. F. around the waist even more firmly while planting four swats on his projecting bottom, two on the center of one bun, two on the center of the other. S. F. began sniffling again, his butt stinging from her firm slaps. It wasn't fair! Megan hurts him, probably deliberately, in a very sensitive spot, and he's the one who gets spanked for it! He held position stoically as Megan was commanded to soap his butt a fourth time, her mother watching her closely so she couldn't pull any more "accidents." The nick in his butt hole burned where her fingernail had nicked him and the styptic had been applied, and the area around it felt tight and puckered, but he had to admit it had stopped bleeding. The final rinse bucket was applied, and Megan stepped back. S. F. hoped fervently that this part of his ordeal was over. He looked over his shoulder, waiting for Mrs. Ardmore to tell him what to do next, feeling very, very exposed with his butt in the air and his ball sack swaying between his legs. His penis had remained hard, bumping his stomach in his bent over position. Lisa had moved to where she could stare right up between his legs at his spread butt and sagging scrotum, and Megan was standing next to her, both smirking at his exposure.

"Am I clean now?" S. F. finally ventured.

"Of course not," Mrs. Ardmore snapped. "Next, we must take steps to draw all of the evil out of you! And then, of course, will come the scourging!"