Tommy's Attitude Adjustment Chapter 34

Tommy's Attitude Adjustment Chapter 34
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 34: Preliminaries

Tommy looked confused. "What do you mean, what kind of spanking do I want?" For the life of him, he couldn't make sense of the question.

"It's a simple question, even for a dork like you," Naomi replied. "What kind of spanking you want?"

Tommy looked even more confused. "I don't want any spankings," he said testily. "They all hurt! They hurt a lot!"

"You know, I can't decide if you're stupid because you're a boy, or if you're just a particularly stupid boy," Naomi said. "Or maybe you're just being difficult. How many different kinds of spankings have you gotten in your life?"

Tommy flushed, embarrassed. He didn't want to talk about getting his butt spanked. He tried looking at the floor. Naomi reached over and firmly raised his chin, so he was looking her in the eye. "I asked you a question, little boy, and when I ask questions I expect answers. Beth told me she spanked you bare butt yesterday, and that your younger cousin paddled you bare butt yesterday. So that's two kinds of spankings right there. Two very different kinds of spankings. Bare butt, bare hand spankings are a very intimate affair. In bare hand, bare butt spankings the person spanking you is making body to body contact, especially if you get it over her lap. You were over Beth's lap when you got spanked, weren't you?"

Tommy gave the barest of nods, flushing even further. "So, you've got your bare body in contact with her legs in front, and her bare hand all over your butt in back. You were sandwiched between body contact. And since you're a boy, a pathetic little boy, I'll grant you, but still a boy, your little dangler was probably in contact with her, too. Probably pressing right up against her leg where she could feel it, and feel whether you got harder or softer while she was spanking you. Or maybe trapped between your body and her leg, where she couldn't help but feel it. And at the same time, she's putting her hand all over your bare butt, touching you in even your most private places. Touching you in places other boys never touch you even when you're fooling around or roughhousing. A girl becomes very intimate with a boy when she spanks his butt. She's touching him in places only a lover normally touches him, and places even some lovers never go. Of course, her touch is designed to bring pain, not pleasure like a lover's would, but it's still very intimate. Tell me something, did she control you by taking you by the handle? It's a natural thing for a girl to do in an intimate situation like that."

"The handle?" Tommy asked.

"Your dick, stupid! That insignificant little worm that keeps getting you into trouble! Don't you think about anything before asking questions? What part of a boy's body would make a good handle for holding him during a spanking?" she said disgustedly.

"Oh," Tommy said. "She didn't touch my -- my stuff," he finished.

"Still, I bet she felt you up good before she spanked you," Naomi said. "Almost everybody does that when they give a bare butt spanking with the bare hand. They take their hand and rub at all over your butt, just feeling, exploring it. Even moms do that. Babies are notorious for their soft little butts, but they're like jelly underneath the surface, too. Young boys are different, different even than girls. You guys have butts that are as marvelously soft on the surface as baby butts and the butts of young girls, but under that softness there's this muscular hardness, like steel underneath the soft skin. You can't help but want to touch them. They stay soft like that until they start growing that disgusting hair on them." She looked at Tommy sharply. "You don't have any of that disgusting hair on your ass, do you?" she asked. "We can't have that spoiling the view."

Tommy was thinking about Beth gently rubbing his bottom before his spanking yesterday. About her rubbing lotion slowly into it, supposedly to soften it, but also allowing her fingers to roam his butt at will before spanking him, for what had seemed even then like a long time. "What?" he said.

"I said, do you have hair on your ass, like around your hole or between your legs? Because I can't have that – it spoils the view. I know you don't have any pubes – I asked Beth, and she said you had a little fuzz, but she shaved it off," Naomi reported.

A little fuzz? He thought he'd had a pretty good crop of hair before they'd just casually taken the razor to him and stripped him of his masculine pride. "I don't know," he said. "I don't think so."

"Well, don't worry – you couldn't have many," she said. "Not as immature as your body is. If I find a hair there, I'll just pull it out," she added. "It only stings a minute." She thought a minute, apparently trying to recall what she'd been saying. "Oh, right," she said after a minute – "I was explaining that being punished involves a certain intimacy between the punisher and the naughty boy. Here's another example. I bet, before she laid a hand on your butt, Beth checked out your most private place, didn't she?"

"What?" Tommy said, stalling. He was pretty sure he knew what she meant – there was only one place on a boy's body that was almost always hidden and no one saw.

"What's the matter with you, little boy? Are you stupid, or hard of hearing?" Naomi said impatiently. "Or are you just being obstinate? Don't push me, boy – you'll regret it. So, did she look at your most private place? The one place people never see? The place that can't be seen even when you're butt naked! Your shit hole, moron! Did she look at it? Maybe spread your cheeks wide so that everyone else could see it, too? Probably make an excuse like she had to make sure you're clean?"

Tommy's face became a bright scarlet. He tried to look down, but she was still holding his chin firmly. "Yeah," he admitted. "She always did that with Chad, too," he added. So did I, he thought to himself. I always looked at Chad's butt hole, too. So what does that make me?

"See, now that's intimacy!" Naomi said triumphantly. "How many people ever see a boy's shit hole? His mother when he's little and she has to wipe his butt. And she loves that, don't think she doesn't – she's got an intimacy with her little man no one else has. His doctor, if his doctor is thorough as he should be. But a lot of doctors don't look at it, in part because they don't want to signal that level of intimacy – they're afraid of what people will think. And who sees it besides them? Maybe a friend or two if you're little, and playing 'show me yours and I'll show you mine,' but that's it. And most people don't even want to see it – they don't want that kind of relationship with you. Even if you're butt naked, your shit hole doesn't show, even though your butt and your little dangler, and all your other private parts do. But a lot of times when a girl or a woman is spanking a boy, she'll spread his butt and give the old shitter a good looking over! A lot of times, they will make excuses, like saying that since they're touching you with their bare hand down there, they wanna make sure that they don't get your shit on them. But they really just do it because they want to look at your hole, and they want the feeling of intimacy they get knowing that they're looking at it and you know they're looking at it, too."

Tommy, unable to move his head, shifted his eyes to look at the floor. Naomi continued talking. "Now let's move on to the next spanking you got. That would be getting paddled by the cousin you violated, right?"

"Dakota spanked me first," Tommy blurted out without thinking. The moment he said it he realized he should have kept his mouth shut.

"And Dakota would be?" Naomi asked.

"My other cousin," Tommy said in a low voice. "Gabriel's sister."

"An angry older sister to your victim?" Naomi asked. Tommy nodded. "And did she spank you the same way that Beth spanked you?" Naomi asked. "Or did she do something different?"

"The same, I guess," Tommy said reluctantly. "But she didn't take me over her lap, she sat on my back and spanked me from there. She used both hands."

"Not quite so intimate," Naomi said. "Obviously angrier than your sister. Focused more on causing you pain, less on dominating and humiliating. Did she look at your shitter, too?"

Tommy thought about the events of yesterday morning. "No, she didn't really inspect me. But she spread my butt at the end, and gave me the last ones right on my butt-h – um, right inside there."

"See, not as sexually motivated as your sister. Mainly wanting to cause pain. Obviously very possessive of her younger brother, begrudging you the liberties you took with him. Liberties maybe she thought she should have. You invaded her brother's hole and caused him pain, she invades yours to inflict pain herself. It's classic." Naomi let go of his chin. "So let's talk about the paddling you got from the cousin you invaded. What was that like?"

"It hurt," Tommy said, muttering at the floor.

"Of course it hurt, doofus! Even the lightest of paddlings hurts on the bare butt. But how did you get it? Did he make you grab the back of a chair, or bend you over a table, or what?" She stared at him earnestly.

"I had to go over his lap," Tommy muttered. "And they had my hands tied, so I couldn't get away."

"Not your feet?" Naomi asked. "How did you keep from kicking yourself off his lap?"

"He had my- my stuff," Tommy muttered, blushing beet red.

"Did he just have your dangler, or did he have your stones, too? Or did he have the stones alone?" Naomi asked, angling her head at him.

"Just them," Tommy admitted. "He didn't have my dic—my other thing at all."

"See, this is a different kind of spanking, more like the one his older sister gave you than like the one Beth gave you. He's paddling you, he's not touching your butt with his bare hand – doesn't want to. And although he's got you by the genitals, which is very intimate indeed for another boy, he's careful not to touch your dangler, which would be homoerotic in nature. No, he's got just your stones, and he's not comforting, he's squeezing. Squeezing, even though he's a boy himself and knows how much that hurts! He just wants to dominate you, wants to get back the manliness you stole from him when you took him from behind. I bet he never touched your butt with his bare hand at all, or if he did, he waited until after the paddling and then only touched it to rub in the pain. He probably didn't look at your shitter at all. He didn't want to be intimate, he wanted to dominate you. And apparently he did." She paused a moment. "So what other spankings have you had in the past?" She asked.

"None," Tommy said. "I'd never been spanked before yesterday." "Really?" Naomi said. "So Beth got herself a virgin, huh? Sweet." Tommy didn't answer. Naomi continued making her point. "So we've established your cousin was out to dominate you, and thus I'm pretty sure the paddling he gave you hurt as much as he could make it hurt. He must have, because it takes a lot of butt-beating to break a ping-pong paddle – they're pretty strong. I know – I was a very ill-behaved girl indeed, and I got lots of bare-butt time from paddles like that. My father was very fond of paddling me – very fond indeed. He liked hand spankings, too. Always naked. Me, not him. Good thing it wasn't him -- he was hairy and overweight and disgusting."

She took a deep breath. Tommy pictured a hairy fat man wearing a sleeveless t-shirt soaked in sweat and giving off powerful body odor and was immediately repulsed by the image. Naomi continued her story. "But the hand spankings were different affairs than the paddlings, just like yours was. When he paddled me, he wanted to dominate me, wanted to break me. He never took me over his lap then, either. When he spanked me, you could tell he wanted to be intimate, gloried in the fact he could put his hands were no other male could put his hands, and he always took me over his lap, then – pushed me up close to him so I could feel his hard dork against me as he did it. Any person who paddles you bare butt instead of spanking you intends for it to cause pain, great masses of it."

"Truthfully," she added, "anyone 10 or older, girl or boy, can cause sufficient pain in a boy's bare bottom by spanking him alone if she spanks hard, fast, and long enough. She needn't paddle him to make her point. Hands are tough and exposed, and can take a lot of abuse. Butts are soft, protected, sensitive skin. When a person disciplining a boy does opt for paddling, their goal is to completely break him, not just hurt him. A paddling like that, continuing until the paddle broke over your butt? I bet you can't think about it without shuddering. The memory will cow you for months, maybe years. It was probably several minutes of living hell for you to lie over your cousin's lap while he beat your butt with that thing. And now that you've felt it, you're even more afraid of it happening again. Yet you know it could, any time. Because you're a boy, a pathetic, defenseless boy. You're completely dependent upon the dominant females in your life. Think about it – arms tied so you're helpless, having to lie face down, butt up, lower half bared, your stones gripped firmly? The position your spanker uses says, 'I'm dominant over you, completely and totally – you have to submit.' Forcing you to undress, bare your privates even before the spanking, that says 'you're just a little boy whose privacy doesn't matter at all, who doesn't have anything worth keeping hidden.' The paddle says, 'I want to hurt you, make you cry and humiliate you, make your body pay for who you are.' And the grip on your stones? That says, 'you're beneath me in every way. I dominate over you. I can bring you instant pain of the most humiliating type any time I want to.' And if the spanker's a boy, it says, 'I know what humiliates and cows a boy, I know how important these are to you and how much they can hurt if I choose. And you know it, too, but you have to open yourself up to me anyway, even though I could crush them if I want.' It's the ultimate in a male power play – you're threatening your rival's possibility of producing offspring. The only more dominant move would be to cut them off, and the only more powerful move than that would be to kill him."

She paused, letting that sink in. "I bet when you were butt naked over your younger cousin's lap about to be paddled and being held by your stones, you realized at that moment that you were nobody -- nothing but a helpless, sad little boy who's been made all too aware of his extreme physical vulnerability. Because your pain, your butt, the fate of your little balls and the offspring you might have some day, all those were in another boy's hands – an angry boy who wanted revenge. And bad as that was, you know that to have those things in an angry females hands would be worse. Because it's females who truly have the power over you. Your mother and sister totally control your life right now, and some day, if you want to have sex, that is, some other female will control you with that desire then, make you dance a jig and like it. Either that, or you'll be confined to satisfying yourself with Whitey Palm and his five friends or your best buddy's mouth and shitter the rest of your life." She paused, considering Tommy. "But given your actions this weekend, maybe you'd like that," she added.

Naomi paused, pursed her lips. Tommy no longer was meeting her gaze, having shifted to looking at the ground as he relived the shame of his punishment of the day before, and his fears that it would never stop, that his balls would be crushed, that he'd get another paddling like it or worse. Naomi laced her fingers in his hair and pushed his head back, so he was looking at her again. "You need to understand something, little boy. There are spankings, and then there are spankings. You experienced two slightly different kinds yesterday. The intimate kind, designed to hurt, sure, but also to send the message that your entire body is hers, that she can touch any part of it at will. A spanking designed to be short, intense, unbearable, and memorable. As a girl and even a budding young woman, I got a lot of those, and I know what they're like. Because, as I said, my Dad liked to spank me. He liked to do other things, too – he liked to undress me and look at my private parts, and he liked to touch me before and after I got spanked. He was like all males – focused on his pleasure. And because of that, he was full of shame, too, just like you, even though he didn't admit it. That's why he had to dominate me, had to own me. His intimate spankings said that – the bare hand ones, the ones where he felt me all over, first. The kind of spanking that says, 'you belong to me.' Those were bad, and I didn't like them, but they're just one kind of spanking."

She lifted Tommy's head higher, pulling his hair, forcing him to look at her. "You probably think the sort of spanking your cousin gave you, the kind that focuses on just making you hurt and beating your butt is the worst it could be, don't you? Well, you're wrong. There's another level of spanking entirely – way beyond that. My father used to give me those, too, but only about once a year. He'd take me to the basement for those. Oh, they started with intimacy, with dominance too. He'd order me to strip naked and stand in front of him. Not just my pants off then, no – everything off, even socks and hair ribbons and even what little jewelry I had. Then he'd slowly, deliberately feel me all over, run his hands over every part of my body rubbing, kneading, feeling even my most private parts. I had to stand there and take it, no matter where his hands went, what he touched. Then he'd suddenly push me toward the sawhorse he kept there just for my punishments. He'd make me stand by one end and he'd tie my legs to the bottoms of the legs on that side –he had a whole collection of big Velcro strips he used. The sawhorse was the biggest I've ever seen, and the legs were widespread at the bottom, so my legs would be spread wide, too. It had a flat top that he'd padded with some old mattress foam and duct tape, so he wouldn't have to worry if I was tied on it for a long time. He'd make me bend forward until I was face down on the top, then he'd pull my arms down the legs of the far side and tie them there. He'd then put straps all up and down my body until I could barely move at all."

Tommy, following the story, realized this was a structure very much like the horse that his and Chad's school had purchased to use in punishing boys – the horse that poor Jimmy Chen had gotten intimately acquainted with during his whipping several weeks ago, and that had been used on an 8th grader receiving a strapping in just the last week. Tommy could vividly picture the image of that boy in the lunchroom last week, still tied to the horse after his strapping, positioned so that his raw, striped butt faced the children sitting at the lunch tables. The boy who had been strapped had been well into puberty, but the eighth-grade teacher had apparently shaved his entire underpants region before strapping him, so no hair was visible on him, despite the advanced state of his genital development. Tommy mentally shuddered as he remembered the sight of the boy's quite large and well developed balls trapped between his groin and the lump on the end of the horse that had been put there by the designers precisely for the purpose of ensuring that the boy's entire weight remained on his sack at all times, no matter which way he squirmed. And squirm the boy had done, too. All during lunch he had shifted his butt continuously, flattening first one of his nuts and then the other against the hard plastic lump. Although he did not cry audibly like the smaller and younger Jimmy Chen had, his distress was clear. The livid red welts crisscrossing his muscular adolescent butt were also striking, and had certainly struck fear in the hearts of all the boys in the lunchroom. He tried to picture a younger version of Naomi -- Naomi at roughly Chandra's age, naked and tied down to a thing like that. Her genitals would be clearly visible from behind, he realized – her genitals would be visible and spread open, maybe even so that her girl hole was visible. And her butt hole would be spread open, too, both secret places winking back at anyone standing behind her. The image was strangely compelling to him and his penis lurched in his pants. Ha! he thought to himself. They can't say I'm gay -- look how I react to girls! He started to move a hand over to readjust himself as boys unconsciously do, then froze as a sudden realization struck him. He hadn't been thinking about her girl parts of all when his penis had stiffened! He'd been thinking about her butt hole, picturing it in her widely spread butt and fantasizing entering her from behind! In fact, he realized in that image, that her genitals weren't even prominent, were really just a blur of bulges. The image sharpened in his mind's eye, became a boy's sack bulging back between the spread legs. The butt he was picturing was not a rounded, feminine butt either -- it was a tight, muscular butt -- a butt that looked very much like Jesse's. He let his hand drop to his side again, and tried to drive the image out of his head.

Naomi was continuing with her story. "After he'd tied me down, he'd slow down and take his time about the rest of the process. He had a lotion of some kind in a big tin he kept down there, some sort of udder lotion for cows, and he'd make a big production of opening the tin and sitting it on my back and taking globs out and spreading them on my bottom and my genitals, working the lotion in slowly, rubbing his hands everywhere, even places a father's hands should never be. He'd talk while he did it, because he knew that made me more scared. He'd say, "We got to get your sweet little bottom nice and soft, girl. We don't want it marking too fast when your education starts." She shook her head. "He always called these special sessions 'my education.' I guess calling them butt beating sessions was too graphic for him. Anyway, he'd go over everywhere several times, working the lotion in. Then he'd concentrate on getting his fingers into places."

She looked at Tommy meaningfully. "In – into places?" Tommy croaked.

"Into places," Naomi said flatly. "Into my holes. Both of them. He'd start with my rear hole, working lotion around it in a circle, working in, always in, pushing harder and harder on the center, making lotion slip in, until finally his fingertip would slip in, too. Then he'd work it around my hole, teasing it, spreading it, until he could get two fingers in. Then he'd work on pushing them in deeper, until he'd have two buried in me to the hilt, wiggling around and stirring up my insides. Then he'd just pull them out and go to work on my other hole the same way. You know which one – you're not totally naïve, and you did just take a good look at the pictures of my sisters.. You know what I mean, and I'm sure you know what it's for, and what you'd like to do with it, not like that's ever going to happen. Anyway, he'd work on it until it would take two of his fingers all the way in, too. He'd mutter the whole time, stuff like, 'that's it, you little whore – let Daddy grease you up good.'"

Tommy could picture the scene – the unkempt, overweight father bending over his daughter's lewdly displayed privates, invading her against her will. Had Gabriel viewed him in the way she viewed her father when he'd trapped Gabriel's body under him, covered his mouth, and threatened to crush his balls if he didn't take Tommy inside him? Had Gabriel felt trapped and violated like that when he'd felt Tommy's dick probing at his anus, pushing and pushing until it forced its way inside? Was he really any different than Naomi's pig of a father?

Naomi was in her own world now, not even seeing Tommy's face and holding his head less firmly. "Then he'd put the tin down on the floor. I hated it when I'd hear the metallic clink of the tin on the cement. Because it meant the spanking was going to start, and then after it would come the paddling. He'd get around to my left side, first, and put his left hand in the small of my back, pushing down, while he'd cup my butt with his right and squeeze gently. 'I'm startin' your education, now, whore girl,' he'd say. 'Pay attention this time.' Then his hand would go up, way out, and he'd he'd hold it there for awhile, just building the tension fear. And without warning, he'd bring it down, hard. He'd let several seconds go by before he'd lift the hand again. Just stand there with his hand on my ass, feeling my muscles jerk and tense from the sting, feeling the heat build where he'd hit me, and the little shivers that always come when your butt gets smacked. Then he'd raise his hand and wait, and then suddenly smack me again, sometimes in the same spot, sometimes a different one. He'd do that for at least 10 minutes, it had to be. He'd only get about 50 spanks it in during that time – I counted sometimes, because I still could count then – not like after the paddling started. By then I'd have reached a state of total mindlessness, and counting was out of the question. And I bet you don't think 50 sounds like too bad a spanking -- I bet Beth gave you more yesterday. But she was giving you the intimate spanking, where you control the pain you cause, kind of getting a kick out of the fact that you can hit the little boy you're spanking much harder if you wanted to. My father was putting everything into the slaps -- some of them were probably nearly as hard as he could hit, and let me tell you that was hard! Had he stopped my punishment at that point, I would still have been bruised so badly that walking would have been difficult for days, and sitting down painful for longer than that. But of course it didn't stop with that. He merely paused, inspecting his handiwork, grinning at my red, bruised ass like it was the greatest thing he'd ever seen. By then my ass was burning all over and the muscles were throbbing deep inside, too, and of course I was sobbing, but not loudly because he always gagged me. After the last spank, he'd stand with his hand on my butt for several minutes, not moving – just savoring his position, I guess. Then he'd lift his hand off my butt and slide down between my legs, until he was cupping my genitals, lining himself up, letting me know what was coming next."

Tommy was almost breathless listening to her story. He could see the callused hand in his mind, cupping the juncture of the girl's legs, probing her most private area.

"Th- then what?" he croaked.

"Then he spanked my pussy," she said. "Just like he'd just done to my ass. Slow and hard. I couldn't move – I was totally tied down, and he'd put all his weight on his left hand in the small of my back. He'd hit me at least 10 times there, so that it was all bruised and as sore as my ass by the time he stopped. And while he was doing it, he would accuse me of being a wanton slut, claim that he was doing me a favor by making me so sore there that I wouldn't even think of having sex. It would seem like forever until he finally stopped. But then, I didn't want him to stop. Because I knew what was coming when he stopped."

She paused, staring into space. A minute passed in silence. Finally Tommy couldn't stand the silence. "What was coming?" he asked.

"The claw," she said. "And then the real spanking. The one with the paddle."

"The claw?" Tommy whispered. His heart was thudding like he was standing in the basement with her, watching her get it.

"The claw," Naomi responded. She let go of Tommy's hair and held her thumb and forefinger in front of his face curved opposite each other, then slowly closed them until they were pressed together. "He'd switch to the other side of me and take down the paddle. He'd had it specially made by a woodworker friend of his. It was oak, barely over two inches wide, but 18 inches long with the handle. Almost three quarters of an inch thick. I know, he told me enough times. Smooth on one side, 5/8" wide holes drilled partly though the other side – 5 of them. Covered with high gloss varnish. Handle wrapped with fine leather. He'd get it from its hook on the wall and set it on my back. I hated the feeling of it there – so cold, so deadly. He'd let me feel it there a few minutes, watching me cry without saying anything, knowing he was building my dread. Then he'd stick his thumb and forefinger into the lotion tin again, and I'd feel his left hand down there – between my buns and my legs. His index finger would push between my cleft, find my hole, plunge in it all the way. Then he'd curve the thumb, probe my back hole, and then shove his thumb all the way into my rectum. All the way. He just jammed them in this time, no easing them in like he'd done earlier. And then he squeezed."

Breathless, Tommy couldn't help but respond. "Squeezed?" he asked.

"Squeezed. Brought both fingers together as close as he could inside me. He's say he wanted to feel them touching. It felt like he was trying to pinch off that whole section of me, between the two holes – just rip it off my body. I'd jerk and scream, just wanting mindlessly to get away. He'd just squeeze harder. He'd start laughing, laugh harder and harder, and then squeeze more tightly. His fingers were long, impossibly long, freakishly long. He should have been a piano player, or a magician. He'd get them both in really deep, and I always thought they would meet in the middle, but they never did. He'd squeeze and then pull backwards, until I felt like I was ripping apart back there, and then he'd pick up the paddle slowly, deliberately, and he'd play it around my ass. Let me feel it. My ass was already on fire from the spanking, my pussy was on fire, too, both of my holes were on fire, and it felt like he was going to ripe a chunk out from between the two. In all the while, he'd slowly circle my ass with the paddle – first letting me feel the smooth surface, then letting me feel the side with the holes. 'What's it gonna be, girly girl?' he'd always say. 'Blisters or welts?' He'd explained it all to me long ago, when he'd first showed me the paddle. How the smooth side smacked the skin evenly, making crops of little, closely- space blisters on your ass, but the side with the holes made big welts – purple, bulging welts."

"Is that worse than blisters?" Tommy asked, so caught up in the story he'd forgotten why he was there.

"Of course," Naomi said. "See, when the paddle lands on your ass, the flat part forces the skin and the muscle down, and the impact causes the sting that all spankings and paddlings have in common. Hit the skin hard or often enough, layers start separating, letting little bits of blood escape into the separation, burning like fire and making little blisters everywhere. The same thing happens to your butt where the flat part of the side with holes hits it. But with the side with the holes, the skin and muscle where the holes are isn't hit at all – it tried to escape through the holes. But the butt skin and muscle next to the holes is being pushed by the force of the smack in the other direction, so they tear violently at the edges of each of the holes. Fluid and blood flows into the tears, making a raised circle the size of the hole – a welt. Purple because of the blood. The muscle underneath does the same thing, tearing fibers and creating the most intense, painful burning sensation that throbs for days after the spanking. The welts bulge outward within minutes, so you look kind of like an inverted Swiss cheese all over your ass."

She reached behind her with her free hand and unconsciously began gently rubbing her butt as she continued the story, as if reliving the days after her last paddling. "He'd tease me for sometimes 10 or twenty minutes with the paddle, wait for my crying to calm down so he'd have my full attention. Then he'd start the paddling. He always started with the flat side, and he swung hard – he wanted me to be bruised for weeks. He'd spank slow, too – he'd wait a minute sometimes between spanks, while the rest of my butt throbbed and I bawled my eyes out. All the time with the claw pulling at my intimate parts, holding his target still for the next one. It actually must've been quite difficult for him to aim the paddle sometimes, while still gripping me like he was. He had to lean forward to reach, and he was always shifting back and forth to land the paddle here or there, pulling with the fingers he had me impaled on while he was shifting. Still, he always managed to cover my entire ass with the thing, so I guess it wasn't that hard to grip me and paddle me at the same time."

Tommy shivered. He tried to imagine it – tried to picture what it would be like to be tied to a sawhorse with his legs spread and his butt bent, the overweight, unkempt man leading over him. He tried to picture being a girl, with the space between his legs open and gaping, with an opening that dived deeply into his body long enough to hold – to completely take in a grown man's penis. Tommy pictured the overweight man driving his thumb up his wide open butt, and then driving his index finger in the gash between Tommy's legs that would be where his balls currently were had he been a girl, holding him by that bridge of tissue and then slowly, methodically beating his butt. The image of the claw impaling his body was disturbing, the idea of being paddled in such a position unimaginable..

"Half way through, he always switched to the other side of the paddle. You could feel each welt as it formed – a circle of unimaginable pain and wrongness that somehow could be felt over the mass of pain that my whole ass had become by that point. I'd scream into my gag, and he'd just laugh and then squeeze the claw harder and give me another one, create another 5 nasty welts."

She took a deep breath. "At some point before he was done, I always turned into a kind of mindless animal, thrashing, screaming, trying to escape. You know how you'll read about some animal that was caught in a trap and chewed its leg off to get out? I'd have done that. My whole universe became pain and escaping from pain. I don't think I had another thought in my head. I'd forgotten who I was, where I was, the fact that I was naked and that he was finger-raping me in both my holes. I'd forget everything except pain and escape from pain. He overlapped the blows, you see. Overlapped them so that at least half the paddle always hit me where the previous blow had hit. You haven't experienced pain until you've felt what it's like to have a paddle with holes in it strike where it has struck before! The welts were unbelievably sensitive, and if one of the holes overlapped a previous welt – well, I can't describe it – it's like ramming a spike into your ass. Only worse. I never actually was aware of when he stopped paddling me – by then, my ass was such a mass of pain I didn't even notice when he stopped, and my brain wasn't functioning above a primal level any more-- it was just trying to flee. At some point it would just dawn on me that I was alone in the basement, still tied up, and he was gone, and I wasn't being paddled and brought to new heights of pain any more. Not that my ass didn't feel like it was still being paddled with every heart beat. Both my holes would be throbbing, too, and the muscle between the two of them would feel like it had been wrenched. I'd ache inside for days -- that claw of his was murder."

She paused. Tommy realized she wasn't looking at him at all – it was like he wasn't there. She was looking at something in her mind, something far away. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I always pissed myself. For some reason I was surprised at that. As time passed and feelings besides the throbbing pain in my ass and my holes sort of drifted to my awareness, I'd realize that I'd pissed myself – I could feel the cold wetness trailing down my legs, and when my vision cleared from crying I could see the wetness on the floor under the sawhorse. I always was filled with shame that I'd pissed myself. I never remembered doing it – it always happened when I was in my trapped animal state, but I was ashamed, anyway. I remember thinking that I hoped my father hadn't noticed. I kept thinking if he came back and saw the puddle, saw where it had run down my leg, he'd paddle me again."

"Of course, that was stupid. I'd have to have done it while I was being paddled, so he knew all about it –probably made it better for him. I can just see him saying to himself, 'well, I spanked the piss out of her!'" Her eyes focused and she fixed Tommy with a glare. "But he never came back after finishing paddling me. I usually had to lie there for hours, until he was asleep, until my mother could slip away from him and come and untie me – help me get the circulation back in my arms and legs, brace me as I staggered up the stairs to fall face first on my bed. She'd stay with me a bit -- put ice compresses on my ass and then antibiotics on my welts. I'd bite the pillow while she did that, because even after being iced my ass hurt like a mother-fucker. The she'd have to leave me and get back before he awoke out of his drunken stupor. Because she was afraid, too. If he woke up and wanted sex and she wasn't there, he'd have dragged her down to the basement and done the same thing to her he'd done to me – I know that now because she told me, afterward, that he'd built the sawhorse for her originally – took her down there on their wedding night and beat the crap out of her, did it again several times afterward until she was so afraid of him she'd do his bidding instantly. She had no one to turn to – she'd never gotten along with my grandparents and she'd married him against their express orders."

Naomi's voice became softer, her gaze more distant. "I usually returned to crying after she left, crying myself to sleep and sleeping like the dead until I'd awaken suddenly the next morning to find that he was sitting on the side my bed, putting his hands on my exposed ass and commenting that he hoped I'd learned something from 'my education.' He always timed his 'education' for summer or school breaks, so I could stay home and heal and no one would be the wiser. I, fool that I was, was so humiliated at being horrible enough to deserve such punishment, kept his secret for 5 years – 5 years of bimonthly spankings and periodic ass beatings."

"What happened after 5 years?" Tommy asked, interested. "Why did he stop?? Because you got too old?"

"Don't make me laugh, little boy. He liked it even better the older I got. I'm sure he had other plans for me when I was older. No, he stopped because he contracted a bad cause of lead poisoning?" She looked at Tommy expectantly.

"Lead poisoning?" Tommy said. "You mean like the stuff in pencils?"

"That's graphite," Naomi said. "I'm talking lead. The metal. It's very toxic. At least it was to him. Lead killed him. My mother put several lead bullets into his brain, and a few more into his heart for good measure. She had a Glock with a nine-shot magazine, and she emptied it."

Tommy's jaw dropped. "She shot him?"

"Nine times. I counted them, because I was there when it happened. She decided he'd gone too far, and someone had to stop him."

"So your mother shot him to protect you?"

Naomi smiled sardonically. "I wish. But protecting me wasn't important enough, apparently. She shot him to protect my sister. Zandra, the favored one. Zandra, who looked like her. I apparently wasn't that important, but when Zandra was 8 he decided it was time for her to get her 'education' too, and he took her to the basement. I tried to stop him, but he just shoved me to the floor – I hit my head and kinda blacked out. Next thing I know, my mother is headed down the basement stairs with his Glock in her hand. He'd always kept it locked up, but she'd gotten the key somehow – I guess he got careless. I got up and tried to follow her, but I was wobbly from hitting my head and had trouble finding the basement door. Then I had to hang onto the railing with both hands and kind of ease down the stairs, and I couldn't move fast at all. I finally sat on my ass and bumped my way down. I almost to the bottom when I heard the shots. Nine of them, loud as thunder in the basement – 4 all together, then a pause, and then 5 more. With my sister screaming hysterically through her gag the whole time."

"By the time my head stopped spinning and I could stand up and leave the staircase, she was standing over him and there was blood and bits of his head everywhere. His chest was just blown away, and so was his head. Zandra was tied to the horse, the poor, pathetic little thing. I still remember her white little ass squirming as she screamed at Mom through the gag – screamed hysterically, incoherently. She told me much later that she'd been screaming to Mom not to hurt Dad, of all things. Of course she didn't know then what had been about to happen to her – she didn't know until I told her about my trips to the basement, showed her the old scars of welts on my own ass. I remember being pleased that he hadn't had a chance to touch Zandra's ass before she'd killed him, hadn't had a chance to spank her yet, let alone introduce her to the claw, too. I untied her and took her upstairs, then I called the police. Mom never left the basement – she just stood there holding the gun and staring at him, muttering under her breath. I wish I could say she said something like 'I got you, you bastard –you'll never hurt my kids again,' but she didn't. She was muttering the words to 'Up, Up and Away,' by the Fifth Dimension, of all things."

"That was several years ago," Naomi finished. "I had just turned 18 – yes, I let my father abuse me all the way to adulthood and didn't stop him – I was weak then. But I became strong that night. I fought for custody of my sisters when they took Mom away, and I won. I got a job teaching art at Beth's school even though I didn't have a teaching certificate, and I built up a lucrative clientele for my style – I can sell almost everything I paint. I make a good living, and I take care of the two of them. And I've made it a point to teach my sisters not to be victims, like me. I'm made sure they know what boys and men are really like underneath your innocent facades, and taught them to recognize the superiority of femaleness."

"Anyway," she finished. "I learned about how pathetic you males are from him – sure, he was more powerful than me, but I was stronger, because he never conquered me. He could force his fingers into my openings, but he couldn't snatch out my soul. And I'm made it my goal to show the whole world how pathetic males are – expose your bluster as the inadequacy it reflects, your violence as your fear, your pride as your shame. And you get to have a part of it. You're my archetype -- the prototypical pubescent male! You represent in reality what all males are underneath, small, inadequate, unsure of yourself, and full of bluster because of it. And full of shame, too. And your pictures and sculptures will help me spread my vision to the world. So let's get on with this. Are you going to take those pants off, or am I going to pull them off of you myself? Because of I have to pull them off of you myself, I'll take the underpants, too, and then I'll give you a paddling that will make the one your cousin gave you yesterday seemed like nothing at all!"

Tommy still hesitated, deathly afraid of being paddled by this strong young woman, but also humiliated at the prospect of having to exhibit his body to her and be immortalized on canvas and in clay. Naomi advanced on him threateningly, then stopped and regarded him with almost a smile on her face. "You are right, you know. You are going to get spanked as one of the things you'll model for me today. And the spanking will have to be real, not staged, so that the muscle tone and the facial and body contortions are right. Boys tense their butts in a certain way when they know a stinging spank is coming, and try to squeeze the pain out afterward by tensing in a different way. You have to capture the tensing to be authentic, and that means it will hurt more than a bit. But that doesn't mean I can't allow you to enjoy it to some extent at the same time. As I said, there are spankings and then there are spankings. A spanking from an older female with a strong hand and a dislike of you is a painful thing. So is a paddling from a younger boy who's angry at being forcibly butt fucked and having his hole ripped by your invading dick." Tommy's eyes dropped in shame again. Did she have to keep bringing that up – it has just been a mistake, that's all – a stupid, headstrong mistake on his part. He'd learned his lesson already – why couldn't Beth and this girl and Gabriel, for that matter, let it go?

"Still ashamed of your dirty little escapade? That's why you're the perfect model for The Shame of Boyhood, because you're full of shame right now, and you should be, you dirty little pervert. Raping a younger boy is almost as evil as raping a girl. But as I was saying, the kinds of spankings you've received this weekend are in one category – a mixture of pain and humiliation. Spankings like my dad gave me are another, even worse category --.total pain, total submission, pure hate. And there's a third category, too. Consider the possibility of a spanking from a young girl, a girl who doesn't hate you. A girl who is spanking you primarily because she loves the feel of her bare hand on your intimate parts, loves the feel of dominance that she gets from being able to make you cry, but isn't focused so much on hurting you otherwise. A girl with a small hand, one who's not all that strong. A girl whose spanks sting a bit, sting enough for tears, but also tingle almost pleasantly, maybe even make your hard, maybe even increase your own excitement. A girl who recognizes what boys are but doesn't hate them, likes to dominate but not totally humiliate, enjoys giving a little pain but balks at giving a lot. A girl who rather likes boys, is intrigued by their boy parts, finds them rather fun in their place."

She pointed to the picture of the crying boy across the room. "That little guy cried when Melissa spanked him," she said. "You see that in the picture. But he also came at the end of the spanking – had a powerful, toe-curling orgasm right then and there. Bucked his little hips and poked her legs with his little dick, and shuddered in ecstasy, begging for her not to stop and to keep beating his butt by he did his pathetic little cum. Asked at the end of the day, before he left, if she'd spank him again like that before he went home.. Because it stung, but the sting so close to his naughty little boy parts made him hard, too, and even excited. Being dominated by a female near his age also was part of it – he did what all boys really want to do – surrendered to her, like he'd done to his mother since birth. Had sex of a sort with her, also like he'd wanted to do with his mother."

Naomi paused and let a minute of silence go by. Finally she took Tommy by the chin and raised his head again. "I said lose the pants. So this is where you make your choice -- what kind of spanking do you want? I'm not waiting any longer for you to make up your mind."

Tommy didn't answer. There was nothing to say, not really. He could only keep moving forward like he'd done when he was blindfolded and being led into the yard to be stripped and punished, like he'd done when he'd had to walk to Gabriel and drape himself voluntarily over his cousin's lap to be paddled while the Girl Scouts looked on and hooted at his exposed genitals. He just looked her in the eyes, flushed more deeply, and put a finger on each side of his shorts waistband. After another pause, he pulled them down, leaning over to slide them over his knees. He let go and they made a little puddle around his ankles. Naomi smiled as she straightened up. Tommy blushed deeply and crossed his arms nervously in front of him. He felt small and vulnerable standing there in just his underpants, shrinking under her intent gaze. To his consternation, his penis was getting harder, making a clear and prominent tent in his white briefs. The girl studied him, eyeing the curves of his butt. She reached out and smoothed a hand over the curve nearest her, feeling the muscle tone and making Tommy flinch. "Hold still," she snapped, giving the other side of his butt a similar squeeze and then following the crack of his butt from top to bottom with her fingers, finally letting them trail off his thigh. "Nicely rounded buttocks, but muscular – very boy," she commented. "Butt crack not to shallow – at least you've got some meat on you.." She circled him, still staring at his midsection. She reached out and probed his flat stomach, tracing the musculature. "Not too masculine here, that's good, too. Still got a bit of baby fat." She put a hand in the small of his back to steady him, and then probed his navel with her index finger, noting its depth. "Yes, definitely still some baby fat," she commented. "Probably pads the pubes a bit, too." She let her hand fall slowly downward. Tommy held his breath as she trailed her fingers across the lump in his briefs, tracing down the sides of his penis and then sliding under to briefly cup his balls through the cloth. She let her hand drop. "A smallish package – lots of possibilities of shame in that. Looks promising," she added.

She stepped back and regarded him from head to toe. "Slip out of the shoes and socks," she said. "And take those silly pants the rest of the way off. You boys look ridiculous with your pants around your ankles." Tommy, still blushing, slipped his shoes off and stepped out of his shorts, then toed off his socks and left them in a pile next to his shoes and shorts. He stood there with his hands at his sides, resisting the urge to cover his package under her fierce gaze. His penis, which had been growing, began visibly shrinking as she kept staring at him. Her gaze was disconcerting, and, knowing he was down to his last scrap of clothing, he dreaded the command he was sure was coming next. But for the next few minutes she just keep studying him, looking at first one body part, then the other.

She slid a stool over to him suddenly. "Sit," she ordered. "Lift up your right foot and prop it on your other knee." Tommy did so, his right knee flaring out to one side as he rested the side of his foot against his other leg. He was suddenly aware of how widely this spread his legs, and how open his genitals now were. He glanced down, reassured that nothing had slipped out a crotch seam. He remembered too well a day at the swimming pool when Jesse had been sitting cross-legged on the side, resting, totally unaware that part of his immature ball sack was hanging out the crotch of his swim trunks. Tommy had teased him mercilessly about that for weeks. He realized, with a shock, that this was another example of him mistreating Jesse. Shame washed over him --- God, he'd been mean! He needed to do something to make it up to Jesse.

Naomi, meanwhile, was studying his foot. She reached over and pulled the big toe out and looked between it and the adjoining toe, studied his high arch, and probed the heel. "A lot of folks into boy feet," she commented, feeling the texture of his sole at the arch. Most of them would cream themselves over you. Me, I like that they're ahead of your body in growth – it gives you that clown foot look that adds to your ridiculousness."

Tommy looked critically at his foot. It was rather big – he wore size 10 shoes already, and he was always kicking things accidentally these days, constantly stubbing his toes. Now that he considered it, his feet looked huge on his thinner legs –he did look ridiculously proportioned. "I'll get a shot of you looking at the camera from between your feet later," she said. "The wide angle lens makes them look even bigger and more ridiculous." She let go of his foot. "Stand up," she ordered. Tommy obediently stood. "And lose the panties. Let's see what we've got to work with!" She picked up the stool and carried it out of sight behind him.

"What?" Tommy said, trying to stall, hoping she'd say something else.

A stinging blow landing on the center of the seat of Tommy's underpants, the force of it burning all the way into his butt crack and knocking Tommy to his knees. Tommy yelped and clutched his butt, arching his back as he stood on his knees and absorbed the sudden sharp pain. "What part of 'lose the panties' wasn't clear? Now stand up again and pull down your stupid panties so I can see your little boy package!" Naomi said, raising her strong hand again threateningly.

Thoroughly cowed, butt still stinging, Tommy scrambled to his feet, practically tearing his briefs in his haste to get them off. He kicked them toward the clothes pile and straightened up, his hands hanging loosely, hesitantly at his sides. He felt so exposed! Even though he'd been naked in front of a lot of people yesterday, and most of them had been girls, this felt new, this close scrutiny. It was her attitude, he realized. The Girl Scouts, yesterday, had been interested in his body, even excited by it. This young woman was contemptuous of his physique – interested only in how it made him look ridiculous. And her attitude was contagious. He felt ridiculous standing there naked in front of her. He felt like a four year old who'd pooped his pants and was being changed by his mom, or being given a hygiene check before going to school. Like he'd felt when his mother had made him stand with his brother naked by the sink to be washed clean after wetting the bed, and his sister looked on with a smirk. His genitals, which he'd been so proud of a few days ago, now felt ridiculous, too – the saggy sack dangling between his legs, the soft, mushroom-headed shaft sprouting out of his groin like something a preschooler had attached with modeling clay. And soft it was, too. Although he'd been hard a minute ago, hard enough to make a convincing tent, his dick had suddenly beat a retreat under her scorn, crawling into his body until only about an inch stood out, pointing mostly forward instead of dangling downward nicely. He remembered how Chad looked standing waiting for his paddling, his penis making a flat button against his groin, the pee slit imitating the eyes in the button. His wasn't that small, thank God, but he felt like it could be any minute. He thought about how he'd laughed at Chad's "button" and felt ashamed.

"Hmmmm, smaller than I'd thought," she said dismissively. "And not a hair on you."

"Beth shaved me," he babbled. "I had lots of hair, really! And it's usually a lot bigger – when it's hard," he finished lamely, realizing he was making himself sound pathetic.

"You didn't have much hair before you were shaved, anyway," she said. "You couldn't have had. You've got no stubble to speak of at all. And I doubt if it's that much bigger when it's hard – I'm betting you don't even have 3 inches yet. But we'll worry about how you look when your little worm is hard later on. For now, shut up," she ordered.

Chastened, Tommy stood as still as he could while she circled him, studying him like a lab specimen. She circled behind him, reaching out to stroke his butt, now bare and feeling very vulnerable as well. "Nicely spanked, too," she muttered. "You boys should always be in that state. It would do you a lot of good." She traced his still visible blisters with her fingertips, examined the dark bruises. Tommy wiggled.

"That tickles," he protested.

"Tough. Hold still," she replied. She walked up to him and bent over, staring at his genitals from about 6 inches away. She could feel her breath on his penis head. She picked it up between thumb and forefinger, lifting it like a droopy worm up against his stomach as she studied the underside. She shifted her gaze to his ball sack, then back to the underside of his penis. She lowered it again, pushing it against his balls, and studied the top. "No prominent veins – that's a plus on you young boys," she said quietly. "Too bad you're cut. You can do some pretty cool things with surgical needles through a foreskin." She lifted his organ again, studying the knot of skin under the pee slit. "Of course," she murmured, "there are other places they work, too." Tommy shivered as the words she'd said penetrated. A vision of Chad's pierced penis came to mind and wouldn't go away. As if to confirm it as a target, she flicked a finger over the knot of flesh under the tip, of his penis. Taking it more firmly in her hand, she then put fingertips on either side of the head and pushed, making the pee slit separate. Tommy flinched at the sudden twinge of pain as she separated it a bit too far for comfort. She ignored his discomfort and studied the wide open hole she'd made, then shrugged and let his phallus drop, where tried to retreat further into his body, the pee slit pointing at her accusingly. "Cute," she commented. She looked Tommy in the eye. "Does it curve much when it gets hard?"

"N- n- no," Tommy stammered.

"Good," she said. "I like the straight ones. Makes it look cuter, less threatening looking than an upward curve." Abruptly, she turned her back. "Clothes back on," she said peremptorily. "I'm going to need preliminary shots of you fully clothed – the whole entry section has conventional stuff like that, then as the people get farther into the gallery we strip away your pretenses and show you as you truly are. They can imagine you have some dignity to start with this way."

She turned away and began messing with photographic equipment Slightly stung by her curt dismissal, Tommy quickly scrambled for his underpants and slipped them on, almost falling in his haste to pull them over feet he now viewed as definitely clown-like. He hastily slipped his shorts back on and snaked his shirt back over his head and settled it. "Leave the shoes and socks off," Naomi said as he reached for them. "Makes you more vulnerable." She put her hands on her hips and stared at his now fully clothed body. "I think we're ready," she said. "I'll want sketches and digitals both, of course. Adds to the realism. And we need the girls now. Time you suffered some major humiliation!"