Tommy's Attitude Adjustment Chapter 19

Tommy's Attitude Adjustment Chapter 19
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 19: Drawing out the Evil

S. F.'s blood ran cold. He wasn't at all sure what Mrs. Ardmore meant by drawing the evil out of him, but like any good boy with evangelical parents, he knew about scourging. His parents had dragged him to see "The Passion of the Christ" at a special showing for his church, and he'd practically lost his lunch as he'd watched the depiction of Christ writhing in agony as he was whipped. He still remembered the open cuts, and the blood, oh, so much blood! They wouldn't do that to him, would they? He'd never heard of that being done to anyone, since, well, since Christ! But then again, even if they didn't break his skin, a whipping was a thing of agony – he'd known that ever since he'd seen Jimmy Chen get whipped on his bare butt! And even if they did just a little of that, it would make his paddling in school, and Mrs. Ardmore's slaps, seem like a gentle massage session.

"Stand up!" Mrs. Ardmore ordered. S. F. complied, acutely aware of his hard penis bobbing in front of him. His mother tossed a towel to Megan, who immediately began drying S. F. as if he was a little boy, starting with his hair and working her way down his body. The towel caught on his projecting penis, as she got to his midsection, sending shivers of pleasure through him despite the peril of his situation. He stood there helplessly as she wormed her hand into his butt, wiping his butt crack and butt hole down. Finishing at his feet, she stood up, draping the towel over a handy towel rack. He glanced down at his crotch, where his penis refused to go down. The bare skin above his penis, where he was used to having so much hair, looked and felt odd. Now what? S. F. wondered.

Mrs. Ardmore didn't make him wait long. "We may as well draw the evil out of him here in the bathroom," she said. She appraised him up and down, finally stopping to stare at his crotch. S. F. fought the urge to flinch under her stony gaze. She frowned. "He certainly looks much better without all that awful hair on him," she said. "That's why I insist my husband keep himself shaved bare, even on his business end." He focused on S. F.'s hard penis. It was bobbing slightly with his heart beat, pointing straight out in front of him. The foreskin swelled out over the prominent head, almost completely retracted from it and making a neat hood, with the exposed pee slit slightly spread with his erection. She noted with approval, that it was perfectly straight, and except for the wrinkles of the underside of the tip, was smooth as well. With his light skin, though, the veins in it showed clearly. She disliked penises with prominent veins, but she disliked circumcised ones and the ones that curved prominently to one side or the other even more. You could get used to the visible veins, she decided. This boy had the potential to one day be very pleasing to the right Christian girl, a girl who could keep his lust channeled toward providing her pleasure, as God meant it to be. For a moment she wished she was young again, in a position to begin stalking this boy, becoming the one to take his innocence and control his lust. Or even that he was old enough that she could take him on as one of her special Bible students, so that he might receive her special lessons in God's plan for the roles of men and women in preparation to taking on his ordained role. But first, he needed to be taught that his pleasure was secondary, and to save it for women alone.

She looked at S. F.'s mother. "It is vital that we completely remove his arousal before scourging him! Furthermore, we must teach him that the action of self abuse is a disgusting, distasteful, ungodly, bestial act! Those of us in the Women's Prayer Group have found in the past that forcing our young boys to draw all the evil out of them suffices to teach this lesson. It is essential, though, that this process be public and humiliating," Mrs. Ardmore said with certainty.

"What do we have to do?" S. F.'s mother asked.

"He must milk the evil out of himself, until he is unable to produce any arousal at all. Then he must continue, until his nasty bits are so sore that the thought of engaging in self abuse is impossible. Only then will he be pure enough for the scourging," Mrs. Ardmore said.

"Are you certain this is the right course?" S. F.'s mother said, doubt creeping into her voice.

Mrs. Ardmore's daughter spoke up. "Absolutely," she said. "My nephew Cameron is only nine, but he became caught in the grip of evil just a year ago, when he was only eight. He could not seem to keep his hands away from his little staff of Adam when he was in bed or in the bathroom. So last year, when the girls were at Christian Camp, we had an intervention and made him follow his procedure, in front of the rest of his family and some of the girls from the prayer group. It worked wonders on him. Now he doesn't even touch himself when making water!" Megan met Lisa's glance – this was the first they'd heard of this. Regret for what they'd missed flooded both of them.

"All right, if you're sure," S. F. was mother said.

"Then it's settled," Mrs. Ardmore said. "Young man, move over here, to this end of the bathroom. That's good, right there. Girls, you move over here where have a good view." Megan and Lisa shifted until they were directly across from him. "Excellent," Mrs. Ardmore said. "Now, young man, you must take your staff of Adam in your hand and let the devil take control of you until you have committed the sin of Onan. You are not to stop until ordered to."

"What?" S. F. said, aghast. She wanted him to play with himself? Right here in front of them? In front of the girls, too? He remembered watching Chad play with himself in front of their class a few weeks back when he was being punished, his hand moving rapidly on his small penis as he brought himself to orgasm He'd been especially intrigued by the peculiar grip the poorly hung boy had used. At the time he'd thought it was quite funny, watching the smaller boy milk himself in public, going up on his toes as he orgasmed. Now they wanted him to do that, while they watched? He couldn't! He stood there helplessly, looking at his mother for rescue. She merely regarded him stonily.

"Well, what are you waiting for, you nasty, perverted, little boy!" Mrs. Ardmore said. "We all know that you've done it before, many, many times! I'm sure you've done it just this morning." S. F. gave a start. How did she know? His guilty look was all Mrs. Ardmore needed to confirm her superiority. "See, I told you ladies this boy was already far gone down the path of perdition! It is a good thing we are here in time to save him!" She turned to her daughter. "The bag, please, Madeline," she said. Mrs. Ardmore's daughter, handed her the bag and she fished in it briefly, coming out with an ordinary looking paint stirrer. She advanced on S. F., who flinched at her approach. "Now, young man," she said, "you will take your staff of Adam it in your hand, and begin to abuse yourself immediately, or I will take this paddle and thoroughly paddle the objects hanging in that bag of skin immediately under it. Do I make myself clear?"

S. F. found her perfectly, distressingly clear, and his options few. Flushing completely to his chest with embarrassment, he reluctantly raised his right hand to his erect penis and seized it behind the head. He scanned the room again hoping for a reprieve at this point, but saw nothing but sober looks from the adults and eager smirks from the two girls. He forced himself to draw his closed fist over his penis head and then back again, shivers of pleasure running through him despite the embarrassment of the situation. He slowly stroked himself several more times, trying to think of some way to get out of this. Mrs. Ardmore patted her hand with the paddle. "I know that's not how you do it when you're alone," she said. "You're not fooling me, so do it right or I'll proceed with the paddling of your other parts."

With a sigh, S. F. opened his hand and circled his penis head with just his index finger and thumb, leaving the rest of his fingers extended. He looked down himself, avoiding the eager eyes of the girls, and picked up the pace of his stroking to his normal tempo. "That's better," Mrs. Ardmore said approvingly. "I presume you're old enough to produce the blessed fluid of God that gives life," she said.

S. F. had to think about that one for a minute before he realized she was asking if he could wet cum. He forced himself to answer. "Yes," he croaked.

"That, of course, makes your sin even worse," Mrs. Ardmore said. "It is an abomination to spill the blessed fluid of God, except in giving pleasure to your lawfully wedded female partner!" She looked around the prayer group for approval, and got smiling nods. She turned back to S. F. "When you feel you are about to spill the blessed fluid of God, cup your other hand under your staff of Adam to catch it. And don't you dare spill a drop, young man, or I will have to use my paddle on you!" She glared at S. F.

Staring at his penis, watching his hand to move up and down it, S. F. could feel the liquid pressure inside that signaled impending orgasm. Indeed, he'd never felt the pressure like this before -- it felt like he was going to have the mother of all orgasms. Moments later, he was just able to get his left hand cupped under his penis tip before it erupted, spurting out in two thick squirts followed by a several more dribbles as he clenched his butt and grunted with each contraction, thrusting his hips towards the females in the room. Despite his current position, waves of pleasure flowed through him.

"Ooooooh," Lisa said, just as Megan said "gross!" with great feeling. "It looks like snot," Lisa added.

"Disgusting!" Megan said.

"That's because boys and men are disgusting," Mrs. Ardmore said. "And they have to understand that the blessed fluid of God is to be produced only in the service of women, not just to satisfy their base pleasures!" She turned to S. F., whose penis was now drooping slightly, the head swollen in post orgasmic fashion. He continued to hold his cupped left hand under the dripping tip, while his index finger and thumb of his right hand, smeared with semen, gripped his penis behind the head. He'd cum so much! He'd never produced that much before, in one orgasm. It made a little pool in his left hand. He stood there, lamely, wondering what to do next.

"Well, young man?" Mrs. Ardmore said. "Don't just stand there, you must clean yourself up, so we can begin again." S. F. looked at her. She pointed at his crotch. "Clean it off your staff of Adam with your right hand," she said. S. F. obediently drew his thumb and forefinger down the shaft of his penis, sluicing the slimy fluid off himself and leaving his penis relatively clean. He stood holding his right hand over top of his cupped left hand and looked at her again. "Clean yourself up, I said!" Mrs. Ardmore said. S. F. started to walk to the sink. She blocked him. "Not that way, you perverted little swine! The blessed fluid of God is not to be wasted by washing it away! You must redeem yourself by taking it inside you!"

"What?" S. F. said, not believing his ears.

"Eat it," Mrs. Ardmore's daughter said. "Lick it off your hands, and don't miss a drop." S. F. looked at his mother pleadingly. She glared at him.

"Don't test my patience," his mother said. "I will not tolerate disobedience from you any more, Samuel! If Mrs. Ardmore says it must go inside you, it must!"

"Lick those hands clean right now, young man, or my paddle will be doing a dance between your legs!" Mrs. Ardmore said, taking a step towards S. F. S. F. looked at his hands, examining the slimy half teaspoon or so of liquid coating them with revulsion. Mrs. Ardmore suddenly reached out and gripped his penis hard, lifting it and pulling back the paddle, aiming at his balls. So frightened he would've pooped himself if he hadn't been emptied already, S. F. lifted his hand to his mouth and tentatively licked his right index finger, where a small amount of his output glistened. To his surprise, it didn't taste like much of anything, just kind of slimy and a little salty. He licked that finger and his thumb clean, then cleaned the space between them as well. He paused and looked dubiously at the bigger pool in his left hand. Mrs. Ardmore gave his penis a threatening tug. Flinching, S. F. lifted his left hand to his mouth and drew the small pool into him, his body recoiling at the musty smell as it neared his nose, but Mrs. Ardmore's firm grip on his penis urging him on. It was harder to lap this up, because it with thicker, and slimier and considerably more copious, but he managed somehow. It really wasn't any worse then eating his own snot, which something he'd done off and on through the age of seven or so, until his mother had spanked him soundly one day when she'd caught him doing it. He finished cleaning his hands off and looked at Mrs. Ardmore, who released his penis. The two girls were shaking with laughter.

"That's better," Mrs. Ardmore said with satisfaction. "You're well on your way to becoming a better boy. Now get back to work."

"You want me to do it again?" S. F. said.

"Are you hard of hearing, boy?" Mrs. Ardmore's daughter asked. "When a female, especially an older female, tells you to do something, you do it. Remember, you are merely a male." S. F. still hesitated, until Mrs. Ardmore waved her paddle meaningfully towards his genitals again. Then, with an audible sigh, he seized his penis once more and went to work. The two girls watched him with glittering eyes, unable to control the smirks on their faces.

Despite the fact that he had masturbated that morning, and he had just cum a few minutes before, it took S. F. only a couple of minutes to make himself hard again and only a few minutes more to cum in his left hand, this time his output only dribbling out, considerably thinner and more watery. It only took one prompt from Mrs. Ardmore for him to clean himself up this time, licking the salty fluid from both his hands. He still didn't like the smell, but it didn't taste all that bad. Making himself hard the third time took a bit longer, and his penis was becoming sore from all the abrasion. Furthermore, once he became hard, he became aware of soreness inside him, where it was clear his boy parts were having quite enough of this. Still, after a good five minutes pounding away, he was able to make himself cum, this time only a couple of drops that did not clear his penis and spread out on his right hand. He dutifully licked it clean, his penis shriveling to a shadow of its former self and becoming quite red along the shaft and behind the tip.

Nonetheless, Mrs. Ardmore insisted he immediately begin jacking himself, waving her paddle to emphasize her point. His penis was becoming quite tender, and stuff inside him was also burning in complaint. It took him almost 10 minutes to make himself hard, the whole process a combination of mild twinges pain and fleeting pleasure, and then he had to pound away at himself for almost that long before. He was able to make himself cum, this time, a dry cum that physically hurt inside. There was nothing to clean up, so he stood there panting looking pleadingly at Mrs. Ardmore.

"Again, young man," she ordered.

"I can't!"  S.  F.  said.  "It hurts!  And it won't get
hard!"

Mrs. Ardmore stepped to him, gripping his penis again. In its current sore state, this was very uncomfortable. She raised the paddle. "I have had enough of you and your disobedience," she said. Before S. F. could react, his crotch exploded in white hot, agonizing pain. Distantly, he heard the smack of the paddle on his balls, as he collapsed to the ground clutching himself in a fetal position. He wanted to scream, but he couldn't get a sound out of his throat. He lay on his side with both hands on his crotch, gasping and wheezing trying to catch his breath. The ache in his balls went on and on and on. For a while he was aware of nothing that was going on in the room. When his senses finally returned, he was aware that Mrs. Ardmore was talking.

"... so as you can see, all males are very, very vulnerable in that particular spot," she was saying. "Even with adult males, you can always keep them in line by threatening the source of the Blessed fluid of God. And with boys your own age, nothing will stop an unwanted advance faster than a knee to the groin. But you must be careful not to overuse this punishment, because the sources of the Blessed fluid of God are easily damaged." She turned to look at S. F., who had uncoiled a bit from the floor. "It looks like our young miscreant has learned his lesson," she said, nudging him with her foot. "Get up, you disobedient little pig! And remember the next time I give you an order, I expect you to obey it!"

Groaning, S. F. stood up, his balls still throbbing. He tentatively grasped his soft penis and began manipulating it. His throbbing balls made any arousal impossible, and his penis was so sore that touching it was almost agony. Mrs. Ardmore made him continue to try to arouse himself for a solid 10 minutes of increasingly greater agony before allowing him to stop. "Excellent," she said addressing the other ladies. "He has now been thoroughly cleaned of the evil inside him. The lesson of the scourging, will be much more effective because of it. We must leave here now, and go to the back yard. I have everything prepared for the scourging back there."

S. F., his balls throbbing, his penis burning, and acutely aware he was still stark naked, walked obediently on shaking legs behind the females out the back of the house. It was slightly cool outside, and he immediately felt cold. Mrs. Ardmore motioned to what looked like a large vinyl cushion, almost as big as him that she had set up on the patio. "Stretch out face down on that, young man," she ordered. She guided S. F. into position over the pear shaped cushion, so that his butt was high in the air and his chest angle downward, so his face was almost on the ground. The cushion was cold and had straps build into it, which she quickly secured around his torso under his arms and around the small of his back. She moved each of his arms lower on the cushion where straps were waiting for them as well, then defrauded his legs apart and put straps around each of his knees. S. F. could feel the cool air on his open butt crack, and was acutely aware of the vulnerability of his aching balls, hanging between his widely spread legs. He tentatively tried to move, only to discover he could only twitch and was thoroughly tied down. He looked over his shoulder at the gathered females in growing apprehension.

Mrs. Ardmore was all business. She was busily donning a pair of gloves. She turned and smiled at S. F. "You, young man, are fortunate in that you will now experience a spiritual cleansing, that will leave you bereft of your devilish impulses and born-again!" She turned to her daughter. "Do you have them ready?" she said. Mrs. Ardmore's daughter walked to the patio table, out of sight for a moment, then returned carrying a handful of long, dark green, leafy plants with long stalks. S. F. noticed that she was carrying them wrapped in a towel. She handed them carefully to her mother, who gripped them and actually smiled at S. F. "These," she said, with glee, "are fresh, newly harvested nettles. She waved them in front of S. F.'s horrified face. "They not only are sturdy enough to use as whips on a boy's business end, but they also have small spines on them that penetrate bare skin and release a chemical that causes a severe stinging, itching sensation. They are particularly effective on soft, protected skin, such as that found on a boy's fundament." She shook the nettles in front of S. F.'s face.

S. F. struggled to find his voice. "Pleeeeeeease," he begged. "Please don't whip me with those! I've learned my lesson! I won't touch myself again!"

"Oh, no," Mrs. Ardmore said. "I'm afraid not. You won't have learned your lesson until you've been thoroughly striped with these, on your fundament and on your exposed boy parts as well. You will note to the child discipline cushion you are tied to allows paddle and whip access to all of your male parts, as well as your bottom. You may struggle all you want, but you are still going to be whipped in all of those places until you have been cleansed!"

"Nooooo!" S. F. wailed, twisting his head wildly. Mrs. Ardmore's daughter stepped forward, grasping his head and stuffing a large, soft rubber ball in his mouth.

"That's enough from you, young man," she said. "Time for the healing process to began."

S. F. found himself unable to do anything but moan and squeak around the large ball, which was jammed in hard enough he also could not spit it out. He tried to beg through it, acutely aware of how exposed his butt and genitals were. Mrs. Ardmore stationed herself to his left, and he saw out of the corner of his eyes her raise the handful of long, thin, threatening stalks and then bring them sharply down. His butt tingled in a dozen places as they landed, then came a sharper burn as she pulled the nettles toward her slightly before releasing them to begin her next blow. Before she had even started the next blow, he felt a powerful stinging beginning in lines across his butt crossing both buttocks and making him gasp into his gag. The stinging was still intensifying when the next blow landed, adding new fire to the first. S. F. squealed into his gag, tensing muscles and trying to tear loose, but only kicking his legs below the knees comically against the ground. He could hear the two girls laughing with glee at his antics by the time the third blow had landed, and his entire butt was on fire, burning and itching sensations everywhere. Tears were rolling out of his eyes and down his cheeks as he thrashed his head around, aware of nothing but his desire to escape the stinging sensation enveloping his butt.

Mrs. Ardmore ignored his distress, simply methodically whipping his butt with the nettles, carefully overlapping the entire surface and noting with satisfaction the lovely angry red stripes the nettles made on the boy's fundament. The cleansing must be thorough, she told herself! She had to save this boy from the torments of hell. But how wise of the Lord to have created nettles so that they might be used for this purpose! Satisfied after the 15th stroke that the boy's buttocks were sufficiently striped, she stopped to obtain a new group of nettles and then move so she was standing almost over the boy's back. She now aimed the nettles straight down the boy's butt crack, noting with satisfaction how the flexible nettles bent to follow the boy's curves, the tips striking the back of his scrotum. The boy's thrashing increased, his wailing loud despite the gag, and his feet drumming the ground ineffectively behind him. She aimed several more blows down the boy's vulnerable crack, noting the appearance of red stripes on the formerly white skin and his pink elimination orifice. It was a good thing that she had cleaned his bowel out thoroughly beforehand, she thought to herself. She was fully aware of the importance of allowing this area to heal before the boy's next elimination, but having cleaned him out with Castor oil he would have at least a good two days before his next movement.

Satisfied with her work on the boy's butt, butt crack, and the backside of his balls, she prepared for the final part of his scourging. She set the nettles down. "Give me a hand, here, Madeline," she said. Her daughter, knowing just what she was doing, grasped both of S. F.'s legs, pinning them to the ground. Mrs. Ardmore unbuckled the straps around his knees. Twisting the lower half of S. F.'s body, Mrs. Ardmore's daughter forced his left leg where his right had been and vice versa, leading S. F. twisted on the cushion, his legs x-ing around each other. She then grabbed S. F. by the arms, as Mrs. Ardmore released the rest of the straps, and rotated him so he was lying face up on the cushion. Mrs. Ardmore quickly replaced the strap around his stomach and under his arms, and her daughter pinned his arms back to the side of the cushion, where they could be strapped down once again. S. F. found himself now a mobilized and looking at the sky, with his genitals the highest part of the cushion projecting into space and feeling incredibly vulnerable. He was sobbing
uncontrollably, his face a mass of tears and snot, both of which were now coursing backward toward his hair. Mrs. Ardmore took up the nettles again and spoke to him loudly, over his crying.

"Now, boy, you will be privileged to experience the final, ultimate cleansing. I shall scourge your staff of Adam and the sources of the blessed fluid of God! Only when you have felt the pain of the nettles on those holy places will you understand!" S. F. really wasn't aware of what she was saying, or of anything else except the incredible fire radiating from his butt, his butt crack, and the backside of his balls. But she got his attention once she brought the nettles down sharply across S. F.'s crotch for the first time. The underside of S. F.'s penis, which had been flipped up to point at his face, suddenly came alive with the same burning stinging that he was experiencing on his butt. S. F. squealed and began striking more vigorously as Mrs. Ardmore landed four more blows on his bare genitals. Satisfied with their red, irritated appearance, she srt the nettles down and peeled off her gloves. "Leave him there," she said to S. F.'s mother. "He needs to cry himself out. We'll go inside and have our prayer meeting, and come out when he's done." All of the females departed at that point, the two younger girls smirking at S. F. as they left, secure in the knowledge that they were not bestial, vulnerable, inferior little boys with projecting body parts that were so easily punished.

Time passed in a haze for S. F. He was aware of nothing except the itching burning pain all over his butt, all down his butt crack, across his butt hole, all around his balls, and along the underside of his penis. He struggled and wiggled and moaned, wishing he had his hands free to scratch the stinging, irritated skin. After a while, the burning diminished somewhat and the itching sensation started to die down, although the painful stripes continued to hurt. His crying diminished to whimpering, and finally he was able to stop entirely. It was getting colder out, and he was humiliatingly aware that he was stark naked outside, where anyone could look over the wall and see him. And hadn't the women said they were coming back? In some ways he hoped so, because he was getting cold, and he needed to pee. But in other ways, he dreaded coming under Lisa and Megan's gaze again, looking at him with their superior smirks.

As he was thinking S. the patio door open and female troop came out again, gathering around him. His mother and Mrs. Ardmore released his bonds and pulled him to his feet. S. F. wobbled a bit before standing, slightly crouched, wanting to soothe his genitals and butt, but entirely too aware of what would happen to him if he touched himself. Mrs. Ardmore removed his ball gag. S. F. licked his dry lips. "Can I go to the bathroom, please?" He asked plaintively.

"You couldn't possibly need to do your business," Mrs. Ardmore said. "You've been cleaned out thoroughly."

"I need to pee," S. F. said in a whisper, flushing as the girls giggled.

"You must first apologize," Mrs. Ardmore said. "You must go on your knees and apologize to each of us individually for demeaning women in the way that you did. You must also thank each of us for cleansing you."

The pee urge burning inside him, S. F. dutifully gone on his knees in front of them, his long but flaccid penis swaying slightly as he did. "I'm sorry I demeaned women," he said to each of them in turn. "Thank you for cleansing me," he added to Mrs. Ardmore's approval. When he got to Megan, she smirked as he said this and patted his head like he was a little boy.

"Any time," she said. "Just say the word and I'd be glad to blister your little bottom any time, anywhere you need it."

Apologizing to Lisa was even more humiliating. After all, she was younger than him. She looked down at him during his apology, then said, condescendingly, "That's okay, you young boys simply can't control your urges the way we girls can. It must be horrible to have those nasty things bouncing around in your pants all the time, always in the way! But you're not a bad boy, Samuel. All you need is a little discipline! You boys simply need to learn that we girls are boss."

"Now comes the acid test," Mrs. Ardmore said. "This is where we see if his reform is sincere." She looked directly at S. F., who was still on his knees, feeling ridiculous naked with all these girls around him. "Young man, please go to Lisa and ask her to give you a sound spanking on your bare fundament, and then stay in place over her lap while she doe it. Lisa, you may sit on that ledge to administer it." She indicated a short wall just about sitting height at the side of the patio.

S. F. cringed in horror. His butt still burned like fire! They expected him to go to this younger girl and meekly bend over her lap to be spanked! He already hurt so much he couldn't stand it! And he needed to pee worse than ever! He was about to protest when it dawned on him what Mrs. Ardmore had meant by acid test, a test he'd come very near to flunking. Getting slowly to his feet, he walked over to where Lisa had gleefully seated herself on the ledge, his entire underpants area burning. He awkwardly draped himself over Lisa's small lap, trying to ignore her triumphant look. "Please give me a hard spanking," he forced himself to say.

Lisa gleefully went to work, rapidly raining spanks all over his bare posterior, quickly bringing tears to his eyes due to the already sore nature of his bottom rather than the strength of her blows. Mrs. Ardmore let her continue to spank him until he was crying freely before stopping her. "Okay, young man," she said. "You appear to have learned your lesson. Get up. Megan, take him to the potty, and make sure he doesn't touch himself along the way or while he's in there. Watch him like a hawk!"

Gleefully, Megan took S. F. by the hand and led him towards the house, guiding him into the hall bathroom and positioning him in front of the toilet. "I get to see you pee," she said nastily. "And you have to let me watch. Because you're a disgusting, dirty boy! I get to see all your parts!" She sneered at him condescendingly. "I bet you'd like to see me pee, wouldn't you?" she added in lower tones. "I bet you'd like to see my holy place! Well, you never will! Because you're nothing but a dirty, disgusting little boy!" S. F. wished he had the ability to tell her he didn't need to pee at all, and try to salvage some dignity. But his body had a mind of its own, and the sight of the toilet in front of him, ignaled his bladder to let go. It burned to pee, the tip of his penis especially complaining, but his need was so strong that he did so, anyway. His penis was in a dreadful state to look at, raw and sore- looking. His foreskin completely covered the head and hung loosely off the tip, making it come almost to a point the whole tip red and bumpy from the nettles. He couldn't see the underside as he peed, but he could feel the residual burn of being whipped with the nettles.

S. F. finished peeing and reached unconsciously to shake himself, then snatched his hand away when he realized he had almost touched himself. Megan reached over, grabbed his sore penis, and shook it herself, making him wince. She laughed at his discomfort. "You better get used to not touching it – your mom said she'd make sure that you saved yourself from now on! Too, bad, too, because you looked so funny playing with yourself like that! I bet you were really embarrassed!" She let go of his penis. "It's kind of cute, the way it gets all hard, though," she said in a softer voice. "I wonder what it would feel like inside."

He stood there, his mind still not keeping up with events. Did she just say she wondered what his wiener would feel like inside of her? He'd seen several pictures of men sticking their wieners inside of women on the web sites he'd visited that had caused his mom to beat his butt back when he was 11, and had found them to be mildly repulsive and yet deliciously naughty. She was picturing him doing that? He wasn't sure if he found the prospect intriguing or frightening. He stood there at a loss, waiting to be told what to do. "We all saw your butt hole, too," she said, smirking. "You know, where the poop comes out! I saw it, and Lisa saw it too! It's all pink and wrinkly! Although now it's all red and wrinkly," she paused in memory. "Because you got whipped on it. You know, it's a good thing it's all hidden – your butt hole, I mean. It's so gross looking! All butt holes are gross looking! Imagine what it would be like if boys went around without pants, with their butt holes sticking out every time they bent over to get something, and their things flopping everywhere. My neighbor has a Husky and its tail goes straight up in back, so you have to look at its disgusting butt hole all the time! Sometimes it even has poop on it!"

She stared at him awkwardly for another few seconds, examining his genitals openly. Finally she looked at him with an evil glint in her eye. "I wish they'd had me spank you. I'd like to." She paused again. "So how did it feel to have Lisa spank you? It couldn't have hurt much – she's not very strong. I can't believe you cried!"

"It hurt!" S. F. protested.

"Good," Megan said. "Spankings are supposed to hurt! I'm sure she meant it to! But I bet I wouldn't have cried. You boys are such babies!" The gleam in her eye intensified. Turning, she put down the toilet seat lid. "Let's see how obedient you really are," she said. She sat down on the lid of the toilet. "Get your butt over my knee, right now," she ordered. "I'm going to give you another spanking! A good hard one on your bare butt!"

"No, pleeeeeeease!" S. F. said.

"But I want to. It's not fair that Lisa got to have all the fun. And you have to let me. Because I can tell your mom you touched yourself," she said. "Then she'll probably have my grandma scourge you again. So you've got two choices. You can come get over my knee and let me spank you, and then I'll just tell her you were being sassy and I had to do it. Or I'll go tell them right now that you started playing with yourself in front of me, and then you'll probably have to do the whole cleansing again!" She smiled nastily at S. F.

Trapped between a rock and a hard place, S. F. clumsily draped himself across her lap. She began spanking him slow and hard immediately, steadying him by pressing her hand on the middle of his back. On his painfully sore butt, her enthusiastic slaps stung terribly, quickly bringing new tears to S. F.'s eyes. After the fourth spank, Mrs. Ardmore stuck her head in the door, her daughter immediately behind her. "Something the matter in here?" she inquired. "He didn't touch himself, did he?"

Megan stopped spanking S. F. for a moment. "No, ma'am" she said earnestly to her grandmother. "He just sassed me, so I decided he needed another lesson in respect for females," she replied.

"Oh," her mother said. "In that case use this," she said, passing something across the Megan. S. F. looked over his shoulder, his eyes blurred with tears, horrified to see Megan was now holding the "Board of Education" paddle. "You need to blister him good this time," she said, to S. F.'s horror. "Obviously the message isn't getting through."

And blister him she did. On his already sore and welted butt, S. F. discovered the "Board of Education was a very nasty spanking implement indeed, quickly reducing him to full-fledged bawling. Megan did not let up until his butt was dark red all over and throbbing unbearably, while he kicked his legs like a small boy and clutched at the air to keep from reaching back to grip his sore butt. Then he was yanked to his feet by his own mother, who guided him, sobbing, into his meditation corner of the living room, where he stood for the next hour with his sore, red butt on display, while the ladies finished their meeting and said their goodbyes. Megan and Lisa each came over to say to goodbye to him individually, Megan rubbing her hand gently upon his sore butt as she bid him farewell. "It's been a pleasure!" she said lightly, giving each of his buns a pat as she parted. Lisa, not to be outdone, patted both of his buns as well before leaving and then trailed her fingers all the way down his crack, sending shivers down his spine.

S. F. heard his mother see the Women's Prayer Group to the door, and then the house was finally quiet. His mother reappeared in the living room. "You've disappointed me horribly, Samuel," she stated. "I never dreamed when I had you that one day I'd have to turn to the Women's Prayer Group to deal with you wanton, sinful urges! I've never been so humiliated by your behavior in all my life!"

S. F. tried to shrink into the plaster, but his body stubbornly remained in the living room. His mother continued. "I can't stand the sight of you! You go straight to your bedroom, and get right into your bed! And no pajamas! You may not wear any clothing for the rest of the weekend! If you're going to act like an animal, you might as well look like an animal! You go straight to your bed, and you stay there until I come for you in the morning!"

S. F. turned and started for his room. He stopped at the door. "Can I go to the bathroom first?" he asked.

"No!" his mother stormed. "You just went, not half an hour ago! You can wait until morning! And you may not get up in the night, either! If you wet your bed tonight, so help me, I'll make you wish you'd never been born!"

S. F. fled to his bedroom, where he'd lay face down on the bed sobbing into his pillow about the unfairness of it all. It was all because of that stupid magazine! And it wasn't even his! Someone else had planted it on him. For a moment, he felt a powerful rage, a feeling so unlike his normal temperament that he wondered at it for a moment. Someone was going to pay for this. If he ever found out who, he'd—he'd—he'd make sure the person wished they'd never been born, that's what he'd do!

Somehow he did manage to cry himself to sleep, because when he was next awake, the sun was shining in the window andthe clock said it was almost nine o'clock. His butt was an aching mass of bruises welts, and stripes, and his penis and balls still ached and stung. Yet despite its condition, his penis was stretched out to its full hardness, the foreskin mostly retracted, exposing the head he'd made sore from masturbating. He was so stiff he had to gently stretch his butt muscles before they would move at all, and he needed to pee so bad he couldn't stand it. He sat up in bed, concentrating on not wetting himself and his bed until his mother finally appeared in the doorway about 10 minutes later. "Your father's coming home again from his mission this afternoon," she said. "He will be very, very disappointed in your sinful behavior, I am sure. He'll probably want to physically chastise you himself! Until then, you will not get dressed, you will not leave your room, you will do nothing but sit in the middle of your bed and study your Bible until he returns. You may go to your bathroom now, then you will not be allowed another bathroom break until noon."

S. F. scampered off to the bathroom, his penis, erect with the need to pee, bobbing in front of him comically as he ran. His mother had placed a Bible, a water bottle, and a box of crackers on his bed by the time he'd returned, and he didn't see her at all the entire morning, which he spent alternately reading Bible passages and staring out his window at the back yard, wishing he was somewhere else and wondering if his father would blister his butt when he got home.

"And that was pretty much it," S. F. said to the listening boys, having hit the high points of the story but leaving out the most embarrassing stuff. He sipped on his half- finished shake, preferring it as a cold compress more than as a drink. "When my dad got home, he came to my room and I thought he was going to whip me with his belt, but he just examined me all over and looked mad, then he left."

In fact, S. F.'s father had stared at him in shock, taking in his shaved pubes and his swollen, sore penis, then had asked him to turn over and lie face down on the bed. S. F. had almost wet himself in fright at the time, thinking he was going to get the belt, but his father merely spent a long time examining his welted and sore butt, and then gently guided S. F.'s legs up under him so that his butt was spread and he could examine the boy's butt crack, all the time shaking his head and sighing. "This time she's gone too far," he'd muttered. "I can't let this go on. I should have ended it long ago." He'd suddenly arisen and stalked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. S. F. had crept out of bed to listen at the door.

"And that's when the fight began," S. F. concluded. "I couldn't hear most of it, but you could tell by their tones they were fighting. Well, I couldn't hear until the end."

At the end, his mother and father were screaming at each other. "The human body is not a shameful thing!" his father had shouted. "It is the most holy of things! It was made by God himself! Solomon, the most holy of man, said himself that woman was a thing of beauty, a gift of God to be admired."

"You are as mired in sin as your heathen son is," she'd retorted. "Your mind is clouded with lust, like all men! I should have abandoned you to sin when I found that filth of yours that has now contaminated your son!"

"There is nothing wrong with our son!" Mr. Farlow had shouted. "He's a fine, normal boy, with normal feelings! It isn't wrong to find women attractive, or to want to share in the great gift of physical enjoyment that God has granted us!"

"So now you're condoning whoring! I should have known when I saw your filthy magazines years ago! So how many women have you fornicated with since then? Is that what you're doing on your missions?" she'd countered.

"I have always been faithful to you!" Mr. Farlow had thundered back. "I made a commitment in the eyes of the Lord, and I consider it sacred! I don't go whoring! And our son isn't whoring, either – he's just dealing with the feelings of a normal pubescent boy."

"By abusing himself! By engaging in unspeakable acts with his own body!" his mother had snapped back. "Of course you take his part, though – you were just such a hopeless, lust- filled sinner yourself! It was only by the grace of God that I was able to turn you to the path of righteousness!"

"Masturbation is not a sin," he snapped back. "It's a normal human response when sexual intercourse isn't available. If anything, masturbation would keep your son from sinning by allowing him to deal with his sex drive in a safe and acceptable way!"

"Acceptable? How could such a disgusting, animal behavior be acceptable! God slew Onan for the act of spilling his seed on the ground, clearly stating that males must control their unnatural urges!" she snapped back.

"Onan was slain for disobeying God's orders to impregnate his brother's wife, not for masturbating," S. F.'s father had replied. "The Bible doesn't really say anything specifically about children masturbating!"

"It shouldn't have to – it's a disgusting, selfish, animal act," his mother replied. "You should have seen him when the Women's Prayer Group made him do that disgusting act in front of them – it was enough to turn your stomach! But it got him started on the right path – I doubt he'll be able to pollute himself again after the rightful shame we put him through," she'd said with feeling.

"You made our son masturbate in front of your prayer group?" his father had said with indignation clear in his voice.

"We made him do it until he couldn't any more! It was the only way! Now he'll be free of the desire." She paused, taking a deep breath. "And stop calling him our son! No son of mine would succumb to such sinful behavior! He won't be my son until his heathen ways are a thing of the past and he's renounced his former behavior. Now I insist that you go right into this room and paddle his little behind until he bleeds! Let him know that you won't countenance his lustful behavior, and the lesson will be complete!"

"Oh, I'm going to his room, all right," his father had stormed. "I'm going there with all the ice in the freezer, and I'm going to let him soak his bottom and his genitals in the tub to try to reduce the damage you've done! And while he's soaking, I'm packing his things and mine!"

"You're leaving me?" his mother had said, surprise clear in her voice. "Just the sort of thing I should have expected from a spineless weakling like you. Go ahead, then! Run away! Take your pervert of a son with you! I'm not staying around another minute to listen to your blasphemies!"

"My mom slammed the front door and drove away, then," S. F. told the spellbound boys. "She even squealed the tires on the car. Dad brought the ice thing from the refrigerator and put cold water and all the ice in the tub and made be sit in it. Have you ever sat in ice water? I about froze! I mean, it felt good where I hurt, but it was so cold! It makes stuff shrink, too," he said with a quick, embarrassed grin. "You know, boy stuff. Anyway, he packed up all my clothes and my other junk and his things too, and loaded them in the pickup. It took him a long time. I sat in the water when I could stand it, and stepped out in between when I got too cold. Eventually he came and he dried me off and put some kind of first aid lotion on my butt and my other parts, and he helped me get dressed, and here we are."

"Wow," Alan said.

"Yeah," Jimmy replied.

"Anyway, my dad said that all of this was his fault for marrying my mom, and that I hadn't done anything wrong by, you know, doing – doing what I did." He looked at the other boys earnestly. "Is he right, or is mom right?" he asked looking from boy to boy. "I mean," he said ducking his head and blushing, "I mean, it isn't bad to play with yourself is it? And to think about girls? My dad says every boy does it. But was he just saying that? I mean, do you guys do it?" He paused, looking more embarrassed. "I mean, I know Chad does it, because he had to do it in class, but do the rest you guys do it?"

There was an uncomfortable silence as the boys all looked at their feet, then Gabriel, younger and less threatened, looked up and grinned. "All the time!" he said. "That's what peters are for!" he added. "Well, that and peeing."

"You guys too?" S. F. said, looking at the others who were still looking at the floor. Chad was the first to give in and look up.

"Sure," he said. "It's like what Gabriel said, that's what they're for. All of us do it. But we don't talk about it. So shut up."

"Yeah, shut up," Jimmy added, giving S. F. a grin to take the sting out of his words.

"Man, your mom is mean!" Alan chimed in quickly changing the subject. "I thought my mom was tough, but man!"

"I've had foster parents who were worse," Gabriel said.

"Ain't possible," Jimmy retorted. "They'd have to cut it off to be any worse!"

Gabriel and Chad exchanged glances. "You have no idea, "Chad said. "You should hear his stories." At this point, the group noticed Mr. Farlow approaching.

"I see you found some friends," he said, smiling at his son. He was carrying a large number of bags. "Can you guys help me with this?" He said. "It's a lot to carry."

The evening had wound down after that. After helping to carry parcels out to the Farlow's pickup truck, the boys had wandered back to the mall entrance, where Alan's mom had picked them up on schedule. Jesse and Alan had sat next to each other in the van and held a murmured conversation, then Jesse had borrowed Alan's cell phone and punched in a number.

"Hey mom," he'd said, as the other boys eavesdropped. "Okay if I spend the night at Alan's house? Alan Delvecchio. His mom is the one who drove us to the mall. He's Chad's friend. Yeah, it's okay with his mom!" He listened, then covered the phone and spoke with Mrs. Delvecchio. "It is okay, isn't it?" he asked. Mrs. Delvecchio considered, then nodded. "Can we stop at my house for my stuff?" he added. She nodded again, and Jesse relayed the information to his mother and rang off, smiling happily. He saw Chad looking at him and his expression became more guarded, possibly even guilty-looking. Chad looked away.

I bet I know what they're planning, he thought to himself. He felt a twinge of embarrassment then, like he'd looked in a window and seen something he shouldn't have seen. He turned to Jimmy quickly. "So what did you think of S. F.'s story," he asked, to change the subject.

"Sad," Jimmy said. "But maybe he'll be all right now." Conversation about inconsequential things followed, through the process of picking up Jesse's overnight bag and dropping Jimmy, until Chad and Gabriel were finally dropped off at home.