Tommy's Attitude Adjustment Chapter 3

Tommy's Attitude Adjustment Chapter 3
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 3: The Second Victim

Sam Farlow, called S. F. by most of the class (but never the teachers, who called children only by their official names), was feeling good, on the balance. He felt kind of sorry for the crying, half-naked Randy Martinez sitting in the corner in the front of the room, but it had been kind of intriguing to see the fat kid get naked. He thought again about Randy's appearance when he'd first been undressed. It was amazing how Randy's crotch bulged, yet his genitals hardly projected at all. And then later, the sight of Randy's hard dick sticking up like a hook had been burned indelibly in S. F.'s brain. It had looked so utterly unlike his own tool, and for that matter completely unlike any boy's dick he'd ever seen. He'd filed it alongside other freaks of nature he'd seen in the past, along with the two-headed calves and the pictures of giant goiters. And that enormous butt! How did a kid like that manage to reach around his butt to wipe himself!

It had even been kind of interesting in a gross sort of way to watch Mrs. Rose stick that big tube up Randy's bottom hole and fill him full of 7-Up. Man, that must have burned! He himself had splashed 7-Up on a fresh scrape on his arm, once, and had been forced to immediately place his mouth over the scrape and suck it off again, it burned so bad! S. F. had never seen anyone get an enema before, and he wondered what it felt like to have to bend over and show your butt hole to everyone, and then have a tube run up your butt like that. And talk about humiliating! Having to bend over in front of everyone while they shoved a tube up his butt! He'd have died on the spot had it been his butt!

And Randy hadn't been the only boy to have to show his genitals, butt, and butt hole to the class lately. First it had been Chad Henson, peeing himself while being underpants spanked and getting bare butt spanked and paddled as a consequence. For peeing himself, he'd been put in diapers for three days, which meant he had to undress each day and get on the diaper table in the humiliating legs over head position for diapering with all his stuff hanging out. The same routine was also followed every time he wet himself. Chad's predicament had been intriguing in some ways – his little boy dick and balls were small and inoffensive, he didn't have a trace of body hair, and his butt was clean and unmarred by pimples or other unsightly blemishes. But then it had been Joey Turpin's turn to get naked in front of class and be spanked, and Joey's hairy butt with its crack pigmentation had been disturbing, even though the girls appeared intrigued by his pendulous genitals. Alan and Jimmy had followed shortly after that, both sporting small, unsightly bulges in the wrinkled pattern of their butt holes, but Alan's long, thin, symmetrical penis had contrasted sharply with Jimmy's shorter, fatter, more twisted looking organ. He'd felt sorry for all of them, having to exhibit their most private parts to everyone, yet he'd been fascinated by the different sizes and shapes penises came in. Still, he hadn't been prepared for the sight of Randy's boy parts. That had been a real shocker.

The sight of Randy in the corner also created great anxiety in S. F. for another reason. Five boys had been assigned to the DA's out of the ten in class, and four of them had now been stripped in class and publicly punished. He was the fifth, so far untouched boy in that group. When the assignment had first been announced, he hadn't given it much attention, because school spankings were something he had generally tended to avoid. But then suddenly Randy Martinez was being punished – the last kid you'd figure would end up in that position. As a result, he vowed again to carefully watch his step. He had his own genital secrets to hide, and he desperately wanted them to stay secret.

One would think from his name, which sounded like something from the back woods of Arkansas, that Sam Farlow was a dark, hulking, brute of a boy, perhaps as wide as he was tall. Nothing could be more misleading than that name. S. F. was taller than either Chad Henson or Jimmy Chen. He could look Alan Delvecchio in the eyes and might have been just a bit taller. And he was just as slender as Alan, if not more so. When he took his shirt off, every rib showed, and his stomach was flat and taut under his rib cage. His butt wasn't particularly slender, though. It flared out from his hips almost like a girl's, and his buns stuck out prominently from the small of his back, firm and muscular in typical boy fashion. His face was narrow, his eyes were bright blue, his hair was Scandinavian blond, and his skin was impossibly white – so white that he glowed pink when he exerted himself at all, and when he blushed he was like a beacon from clear across a room. He liked soccer, dogs, and, quietly and from a distance, Sarah Hull (who was of course unaware of his feelings, given he'd betrayed no sign of them besides occasional longing looks and a tendency to hang around at the edges of every group where she was).

"Get out your math worksheets," Mrs. Rose said from the front of the room. S. F. dutifully opened his notebook to retrieve the worksheet he'd put there last night. Something flat and colorful slid out of his notebook, landing with a slap on the ground. S. F., tending to snapping his binder claws shut, didn't look to see what it was for a moment. Behind him, he heard Joey Turpin suddenly chortle. "Nice jugs," he commented under his breath. "But you'd better pick it up before The Nose sees it."

S. F. looked over the side of his desk to see what the heck Joey was talking about. A nude woman smiled back at him from the floor, her ample breasts bulging out over a flat stomach, her legs spread, so that between them you could see…

He stared, mouth agape. You could see her pussy! All of it! Wide open! Even the pink part! Around him, other kids were turning to gaze at the ground, then do a double take and stare. How had that gotten in his notebook? He had to hide it! He bent down, to snatch the magazine up from the floor. As his hand took hold of it, a large woman's shoe landed on it, pinning it to the floor. "What is this, Mr. Farlow?" Mrs. Rose asked coldly, although she knew damn well what it was.

"I, I don't know!" Sam said honestly. "It fell out of my notebook!" Realizing how bad that sounded, he added, belatedly, "It's not mine!"

"Is that so?" she said, stooping to pick it up. She flipped through it idly, frowning at the wanton tramps displaying themselves lewdly every few pages. She found it highly distasteful. Oh, Mrs. Rose had nothing against the female body – in fact, she found its nude appearance considerably more attractive than that of a nude male, with all that unsightly hair and that ridiculous thing hanging down. That's why she insisted that her husband go for laser hair removal on his chest, buttocks, and genital region, leaving him only his arm, leg, and head hairs, or at least the head hairs he had left. But these girls all had pulled their inner labia out so that they were spread open like the entrance to the Holland Tunnel, and she found the look highly repellant. Why couldn't they pose with their vulvas nicely closed, instead of open like common sluts?

Her attention snapped back to the classroom. She turned to young S. F. "You admit this was in your notebook?" she said.

S. F. nodded earnestly. "Yeah, I opened it and it fell out, and I was just going to pick it up when you stepped on it …" He realized she was glaring at him. "It isn't mine," he added again quickly. "Really!"

"Really," Mrs. Rose echoed. She flipped the magazine to the front cover. The worn-looking mailing label still said, clearly enough to read, "Winston Farlow, Room 446, Levinson Hall Dormitory, 1245 University Road."

The final line was torn off, but Sam knew, had it been there, it would say "University of Northern Minnesota, Duluth, Minnesota" his father's alma mater. It was his father's name. Could it be his father's magazine? His father had magazines like that? His father who had installed a website logging program on S. F.'s computer, and threatened to blister his butt with a belt if he so much as looked for internet porn? His father once got magazines like that sent to him in the mail?

"Isn't Winston Farlow your father?" Mrs. Rose was saying.

"Yesssss," Sam said slowly.

"So put yourself in my place, Mr. Farlow. A magazine with your father's name on the cover comes out of your notebook, and you expect me to believe that it isn't yours. Surely you can be more imaginative than that! Why not say it's a religious magazine and these girls are praying? That wouldn't be believable, either, but at least you'd show some originality. Now I'll ask you again – is this your magazine, and did you bring it to school to show your friends?" she said, with menace dripping from her voice.

S. F. was still overwhelmed by events. "I never saw it before in my life!" he declared. "It's not mine, really! Someone must have put it there!"

Mrs. Rose noted a defect in the magazine's cover, where someone had spilled something on the magazine, and it had gotten stuck to another magazine and then the two had been separated after the fluid had dried. She shuddered to think just what that fluid might have been – surely not the output of this smallish boy – perhaps it was put there by the boy's disgusting father years ago. What would you expect from someone who felt the need to quell his animal desires with pictures of sluts like this?

At her seat in the front of the room, Emily grinned from ear to ear. It was all going according to plan. That box of old women's magazines she'd bought at the Farlow's yard sale last summer, where she'd found the pile of Hustlers forgotten in the bottom, had been the best buck she'd ever spent! She'd brought 2 of them with her, because they were stuck together, but when she'd planted the one in the notebook sitting alone on the little brat's desk she'd only used the one so it wouldn't be too thick. The other was safely stowed in her own desk, alongside the blue folder. And now the smirky little brat was going down, and she was the one who had put it into motion. Too bad Lamsey was going to get to do the honors on him, but she'd get to watch from her front row, center seat!

Mrs. Rose had reached the end of her patience. She grasped Sam by the arm, yanking him to his feet and propelling him forward to the front of the classroom. "We have no more time for this nonsense. We've already spent too much class time on one liar already. Please go to the tape line, Mr. Farlow!" she snarled.

"But, but I, but I didn't –" S. F. began, stumbling forward.

"Silence!" Mrs. Rose said. "We've all had enough of your lies! How dare you bring a piece of filth like this into my classroom!" She waved the magazine threateningly in Sam's face. "You obviously need a lesson in the importance of respect for women and their place in the world!" She stalked over to her desk, slamming the magazine down on it and retrieving an empty box from the floor behind her desk. Petrified, and white enough to give a vampire a run for his money, S. F. toed the tape line, bouncing in agitation. Mr. Rose deposited the box next to Sam's feet with a loud plop.

"Lindsay," Mrs. Rose said, turning toward her. "Would you be so good as to come up and prepare this lying brat for bare-bottomed punishment?"

Lindsay Kirk stood up elegantly and made her way to the classroom, the picture of feminine self-confidence. As she approached, S. F. quailed away from her. "Nooooo!" he said. "I didn't do anything! It isn't mine!"

Mrs. Rose cut his protests short by fetching him a quick pair of smart smacks on the bottom, one for each of his smoothly curved buns. S. F.'s eyes widened and there was a moment of stunned silence, then he bit his lip as tears threatened to well up in his eyes. His hands reaching back to rapidly rub his stinging bottom. Mrs. Rose caught them both and held them above his head. "Strip him of everything but his shirt," she said to Lindsay. "He'll need that to wear to the lunch display."

Lindsay crouched down in front of the crying boy, lifting each of his feet one at a time and gently sliding off each shoe and stocking in turn. She then unsnapped the button of his trousers and smoothly pulled the zipper down. S. F.'s face was glowing red, now, his white complexion coloring quickly in his distress. As Lindsay tugged his pants over his hips, they dropped immediately into a puddle at his feet, and Lindsay divested him of them as well. His muscled legs, their colorless hairs almost invisible, looked almost as white as his brilliant white briefs, which fit him snugly, like those on a boy in a J. C. Penney's catalog. His crotch bulge, though, would never have made the catalog cut – it was too large by far to belong on such a thin, young looking boy. There was a sharp intake of breath from several girls near Chad, and Chad himself, despite an attempt to be nonchalant and make a show of not caring, found himself staring at the front of S. F.'s white briefs. No kid his size should have a bulge like that! He found himself, like most of the rest of the room, staring, urging Lindsay mentally to hurry up and pull down the boy's briefs so he could see the source of the bulge.

"Please no," S. F. said hoarsely, almost whispering. "Please no. Please no!" He shut his eyes, willing the scene to go away. This couldn't be happening to him! He hadn't done anything. He'd never seen that stupid magazine before, and if he had, he'd have hid it somewhere around his house, not brought it to school! He opened his eyes again. He was still in front of the class, clad only in his underpants and shirt. He glanced down involuntarily at his crotch. They probably already could guess his secret – the thing he'd worked so hard to keep everyone from noticing during the last year or so. Ever since the signs of his shame had appeared, he been so careful -- timing his bathroom visits when other boys weren't around, avoiding swimming pools and tight pants and swim trunks, and making sure no one, not even him dad, ever saw his private parts. And now they were going to take his underpants down, and, with his hands held high over his head by the large and determined Mrs. Rose, he couldn't do anything at all to stop it!

Lindsay, with a fine sense of timing and of building anticipation, took her time. First, she folded the boy's pants neatly and stowed them and his shoes and socks in the box. Then she ran her hands up the outsides of the boy's thighs, making him shudder, finally bringing them to rest at the top of his waistband. Curling her fingers in, she pulled the waistband slightly away from his body and slowly, very slowly, began drawing the boy's briefs down. Chad found himself, like most of his classmates, holding his breath as the boy's briefs descended, revealing first the flat curve of his lower stomach, then the slowly narrowing pubic triangle, covered with a surprisingly full bush of light blond, curly hair, and finally the half-moon root of the boy's manhood, with the shaft gradually emerging from the bush of hair as the briefs moved inexorably downward. More and more of it was revealed as Lindsay continued until the wrinkled, bulging sack could be seen behind both sides of the narrower shaft. The bottom of the boy's scrotum came into view, and still more of the shaft remained to be revealed. Chad marveled at the size of the boy's balls – they were almost as big as Joey's, yet S. F. himself wasn't any bigger than Alan!

Finally, the descending waistband revealed a bulging in the narrow shaft, and then it tapered in dramatically, coming to a sharp point as the boy's foreskin was revealed and his underpants whisked off. With the foreskin hanging off the end, it had to be 4 inches long! Yet it was thin as Alan's, giving it the overall appearance of a deathly white snake attached to the boy's crotch.

"Wow," Cynthia, sitting next to Chad, said under her breath. "It's like a third leg! If it's that big when it's soft, I wonder how big it gets when it's hard?"

"Who cares," Chad whispered back, trying to act nonchalant.

"Someone's jealous," she snapped back, then instantly regretted it when she saw the hurt look in Chad's eyes.

Meanwhile, Celeste, never one to keep her remarks about boys' anatomies to herself, voiced her opinion. "It makes him look like a tripod," she said. Tripod, Chad thought. Two to one that's S. F.'s nickname from now on. Well, it beat Microdick, he had to admit.

S. F., meanwhile, was staring at the back wall, thoughts circling his head so rapidly he couldn't focus or keep up with them. He was naked! He was standing in front of everyone with his boy stuff hanging out! And now they could all see his secret, see all the hair he had on him and see how freakishly big his balls were and how long his wiener was! He blushed deeply red all the way to his chest in shame. They'd know what he'd been doing – what he couldn't stop himself from doing even though he tried. The evidence was hanging right there between his legs.

Years ago, when S. F. had been a very young boy, he and his baby sitter of the time, Jason, had come in from the backyard where they'd been playing for some time both needing to pee so badly they couldn't wait any more. They'd stood at angles beside each other aiming their streams into the toilet. S. F., marveling at the older boy's much bigger penis and balls and his nest of curly hair, had asked Jason why the older boy's stuff looked like that, and so different from his own tiny equipment. Jason had told him quite seriously that when boys played with their wieners a lot until they got all hard and tingly they got bigger and hairier, and that his would do that too if he played with himself every day.

Eyeing the older boy's big, hairy privates with distaste, he'd vowed he'd never touch himself again, because he certainly didn't want to look like that! His vow had lasted about a week, and then while half asleep he'd started idly stroking himself again and couldn't stop until he got the tingly feeling again. For awhile he'd vowed that each time would be the last time, but he'd find himself doing it again, promising himself, "just this one time" each time, and examining his penis critically the morning after for signs of an increase in size or the appearance of hair. But for a long time nothing like that happened, so he thought it must be okay after all, and gradually increased his self- stimulation until he was doing it almost every morning before he got out of bed, every night before he went to sleep, and sometimes in the afternoon as well when he got home from school. He'd also, at times, pleasured himself in odd places, such as in the old shed in his yard and in the woods behind his house. He'd see a secluded place, get those twinges of excitement inside him, and before he knew it his wiener was rock hard and he was slipping his pants and underpants to just below his butt and frantically tugging at his foreskin, rolling it over the head of his penis and back again until the tingles made him thrust his butt and bite his lips to keep from crying out. Afterward, he'd look around guiltily and yank his pants up, chiding himself for taking such chances, but as the years had gone by and nothing much had changed about his genitals, he put Jason's comments out of his mind.

That is, he put them out of his mind until about a year and a half ago, when he'd suddenly noticed that his balls didn't fit as comfortably into his underpants anymore, and his wiener seemed to be getting hard all the time, not just in the mornings and when he had to pee. And then hairs were sprouting all over his crotch, and his wiener appeared to double in size overnight, and all of the sudden he was leaking liquid out the end of it when he played with himself and the tingly feeling came! He realized that everything Jason had said was true – he'd played with himself, and now his penis was freakishly big and hairy! He thought about going to his parents about it, but he couldn't bear the shame of them knowing what he'd done! He had dreaded his Jr. High physical last year, because he just knew the doctor would know, but the old man had just flipped his penis up and examined it, looked at his balls and felt each one, and then said lightly, "Everything looks okay here," and let S. F. get dressed.

Still, he knew the doctor knew what he'd been doing, and if his own parents had seen him naked, they would know, too. So S. F. had become a very private individual. He didn't stop playing with himself – obviously the damage was already done, and he couldn't quit, anyway. The fever would come over him, and he just had to do it again. He'd gathered from people around him that other boys had the same problem. He'd seen himself the results of Jason's lack of control years ago, and in the last three weeks he'd seen the hair on Alan, Jimmy, and especially Joey that exposed their shame as well. Only Chad Henson's small genitals suggested he could control himself, and he'd been forced to rub himself in front of everyone! He was probably growing hair right now!

Maybe if he shut his eyes and opened them again, it would just be a bad dream and they'd go away! Nope, still there. His butt throbbed from the mighty smacks Mrs. Rose had given him. But he'd been telling the truth! He shifted position and felt his wiener swaying as he did. It was out in the open, not bound up in his pants as usual. Normally S. F. hated the tight quarters of his underpants – his mom insisted on getting him briefs that would fit a 10-year-old. Yet to ask for bigger underpants would be to admit his shame and lack of control to her. But ever since the explosive growth of his boy parts over the last year, he'd been acutely conscious most of the time of how tight things were in his pants even in normal conditions. And when he got a spontaneous erection, things were unbearable! He'd have to slip his hand surreptitiously into his pants and adjust the throbbing shaft so that it pointed upward and hid against his groin, but he was always aware of the tip brushing his pants waistband. But standing here with it hanging free just felt weird. He could feel the air stirring around his genitals, and blowing across his equally exposed bottom.

His bottom! Anyone behind him could see it, and Mrs. Rose was standing behind him right now. He wanted to cover up, to slap one hand over his crotch and the other over the center of his bum crack, but neither of his small hands would have been adequate, of course. Where had the magazine come from? He'd never take a thing like that to school. Oh, he'd look it if he found it at home, he wasn't a little sissy, but he'd never have risked taking it to school! He shifted again. He could feel his wiener swaying. Mustn't think about that. When he thought about his wiener, it tended to get hard, and this wasn't a good time. His thoughts bounced to what was coming up. Was he going to get an enema, like Randy? Or maybe a spanking, or even a paddling! What did they do to kids who brought porn to school? But he hadn't brought porn to school! Did Joey Turpin put it in his notebook, maybe to hide it from discovery by putting it with someone else's stuff? But Joey had looked surprised to see it, and had eyed the girl on the front like he hadn't seen her before!

That girl – she'd been sitting there smiling, with her legs open and everything on display. Did girls ever sit like that, buck naked and smiling because you were looking at them? Girls who didn't mind you looking at their boobs, and maybe touching them? His penis gave a twitch, and he realized, too late, that this was not a productive line of thought. Noooooo, he thought to himself. Don't get hard now! He involuntarily glanced down – his penis was not hanging down anymore – it was angling out from his body a bit, the head swelling and the narrow girth widening. He tried to think about other things – he was probably going to get spanked! Hard! On the bare butt! With everyone watching! It was gonna hurt – even Joey had cried when he'd been spanked!

S. F. tried to think back to his last real spanking at home. It had been before his wiener had gotten big and hairy, that was certain, because he'd gotten it bare butt, and he'd have been mortified if his mother had seen the evidence of his shameful behavior. It had been over that internet business. He'd gone to a website his cousin had mentioned was "really good." The site had been good—there had been girls with their tops off on it, showing their boobs to whoever logged on. None of them showed their bottom halves, to his disappointment, but he'd spent a happy 10 minutes looking at boobs and rubbing his penis until he got all tingly and good feeling. He'd closed the browser down, unaware of things like browser histories until his mother had called him into the study, tight lipped and angry, showed him the sites that he'd just visited, and asked him if he had anything to say.

S. F. had just looked at the floor with nothing to say, and his mother had sighed. "I'm very disappointed in you, Samuel," she had said. "You should know from Sunday School the evils of staring at loose women with lust in your heart. I'm going to have to punish you severely, and when your father comes home, I'm going to report your activities to him!" She had then pulled him, mortified with shame, over to her, methodically pulling down his shorts and underpants and stripping them off his legs. Her lips compressed into a thin line as she spied the erection that he had developed while being undressed. She had unceremoniously hefted S. F. over her lap and, without another word, slowly and carefully spanked his bare bottom all over until blisters had appeared in the centers of his little white buns. S. F. had no idea how many spanks he'd gotten that day, but the spanking itself must have taken several minutes, and he howled for a very long time after that lying on his stomach on his bed with his head buried in a pillow and his crimson butt blazing with pain and too sore to touch.

His father had come in later and sat on his bed, rubbing his butt softly while talking about how web sites like that were sinful and that he had to resist sin, and noting that he had put a tracking device on the computer and would be monitoring S. F.'s every move from that point on to protect him from the fires of hell. S. F. didn't pay a lot of attention to his father's words at the time, but now something that had seemed insignificant at the time made a bit more sense. His father had rambled on about how when he was a boy it was hard to resist temptation, and that he'd made many mistakes himself as a young man and "swilled from the hog trough of temptation," as he'd put it. Suddenly the connection between those words and the dirty magazine with his father's name on it came into focus.

At the time, though, he'd paid little attention to his father's words – he been focused on two things – the first, that his butt still stung and burned terribly from his mother's long and hard spanking, and second, that despite the terrible stinging pain, he still had a hard on and that his hard on pulsed and tingled, begging him to touch it, every time he pictured standing naked before his mother and being told he was going over her lap for a long, hard spanking. He couldn't understand the thought tingled so pleasantly – the actual spanking had hurt something terrible, and he hadn't felt anything but pain and a desire to escape while it was going on. Plus, it had taken him the better half of an hour to stop bawling, yet he still tingled with excitement at the idea of being in that position in front of an authority figure again. He'd found himself wondering if his father was going to spank him, too, and was relieved and yet disappointed when his father gave him one last final pat on his sore rump and left the room. S. F. had never ventured to enter any questionable web site thereafter – in fact, he'd been so strongly ashamed that he was afraid to mention any sexual topics to anyone or stay in the vicinity where others were making sexual references, and thus knew little more at 13 about sex than he had several years before.

S. F. focused on his memory of that very painful lesson from his mother now – the incredibly sharp pain as his bottom was struck repeatedly, the way it built and built until you couldn't stand it, trying to frighten himself so much that his penis would go down. His mind kept drifting away from the actual spanking, though, to the feeling he got when standing naked in front of Jason playing the son to his babysitter's role of father.. Slowly, as if it had a mind of its own, Sam Farlow's long, slender penis rose to an angle from the ground to a position pointing straight out, then to a position slightly above that. Its head swelled the foreskin, which retreated to make a neat little hood encircling the now visible tip with its neat little pee slit. Blue veins stood out prominently under the almost transparent skin. Emily was the first to notice S. F.'s swelling tool, staring with fascination and lips slightly parted as it rose until it was pointing at her face and then slightly higher, like a cannon elevating and about to send a volley out to the enemy. More and more people began staring, until everyone in the room was staring at his stiffly pointing flesh, even Chad, who'd been trying to look disinterested. At the same time, his scrotum pulled up snuggly on either side, until it looked like his shaft was a lever seated between two large, oval ball-bearings.

"That's got to be more than 5 inches long," Cynthia breathed. "But it's so thin!"

"Joey's is wider," the girl next to her replied, "But I like this one better."

How can he be that big in the pants and have that much hair? Chad thought in wonder. S. F. was barely a month older than him, and hardly any taller! He reflected briefly on the unfairness of life.

Cynthia, meanwhile, was considering her own puzzles. How did S. F. walk, or ride a bicycle, or zip up his pants, for that matter, with that outsized package bulging between his legs? Didn't all that stuff get in the way? Eyeing him closely, she decided that it must tend to stay in front of his legs all the time, so that it didn't hinder their movement.

Go down, S. F. was silently willing his recalcitrant penis. Go down, go down! But the attention he was giving it just seemed to make it harder. He wanted, more than anything, to run away, but Mrs. Rose was holding his arms over his head, and that was out of the question, as was anything but standing there being stared at.

Ramona, feeling guilty about looking but looking anyway, was marveling at how far above his genitals the nude boy's navel must be. It's funny, you always think of a boy's belly button as being at the bottom of his stomach, but boys still had a lot of abdomen below there until you got down to where they boy parts were attached, almost like stuff stuck onto the surface of their bodies, and much lower than she'd always imagined. She remembered the scene again years ago when Jimmy Chen's pants had been pulled down in front of her and the neighborhood kids. As his pants had dropped she'd kept waiting to see something, but it wasn't until they were almost off that anything other than smooth skin appeared.

She directed her attention lower, to where the boy's legs joined his body. She'd always thought of the legs as joining together at the crotch on both boys and girls to make an inverted V, but experience the past few weeks had shown this usually wasn't the case. Although Randy Martinez's fat thighs joined together under his genitals, S. F., Chad, Jimmy, Alan, and Joey had all had quite a bit of space between their legs where they entered the body, so that their scrotums hung or clung tightly to their bodies with daylight behind them. She'd verified, by looking in the mirror at herself after emerging from the shower, that the same was true of girls – they had quite a bit of open space between their legs. She felt that familiar naughty twinge of excitement that she always felt when seeing a boy undressed against his will.

Mrs. Rose, meanwhile, was ready to move things along. "Mr. Farlow," she said, addressing S. F. as she held his arms over his head, keeping his entire body exposed. "You have shown extreme disrespect for our school by bringing in a clearly pornographic magazine, and you have displayed an unforgivable lack of respect for females in doing so. In order to teach you some respect for females, I'm going to have your D. A. administer a painful paddling on your bare bottom which will continue until I believe you have learned a lesson about the dignity of females and the need to follow school rules."

She rotated S. F. easily so that his bottom faced the class, his stiff penis bobbing like a sword as he turned and slapping against her leg before sliding free and waving in the air. Several of his classmates laughed. She released his hands. "Hands behind your head, young man," she ordered as S. F. looked about ready to try to reach back and cover his bottom from the view of the class.

"Hey, look! Handprints!" Celeste said gleefully, pointing at S. F.'s bottom. Sure enough, there were two fairly clear impressions of Mrs. Rose's manly hands on S. F.'s bottom, glowing pinkly against his white skin. The left bun handprint was indistinct, but the right side showed an impression of her palm and 4 of her five fingers.

Mrs. Rose examined the boy's bare bottom critically. "Hmmmm," she said. "All this very white skin reminds me of something. I've got a new paddle that I'd like to try, and the whiteness of your bottom, Mr. Farlow, should allow me to see its effects more clearly. I'm afraid you're going to find your trip over your DA's lap a very bad experience."

S. F.'s heart was pounding in his chest. He was gonna get paddled! He watched Mrs. Rose like a nervous mouse peering out its hole at a cat as she went to her drawer, opened it, fished around, and came out with an odd –looking paddle with a thick plastic handle. It sported a round spanking surface with a metallic pattern on it. She took S. F. by the arm and rotated him back to face the class again, this time adroitly avoiding his erect sword of a penis as it swung around, still bobbing in the air. "Mr. Farlow, meet Mr. Sparky," she said, holding the paddle under his nose. S. F. looked at the paddle with dread. It appeared to be made of hard black plastic, but it had narrow metal lines running in a spiral on the surface.

"Mr. Sparky is nicely sized to sting a disrespectful boy's bottom quite painfully by itself, and its hard plastic surface has very little give, so all of the spanking force is transmitted directly to the boy's bottom." Mrs. Rose explained, holding her new toy up so the class could see it. "But what makes this paddle special is what's in the handle, and these spiraling lines. The spiraling lines are actually embedded wires – 10 of them in all. They spiral parallel to each other from the outside of the paddle to the inside. The wires are connected to quick charge capacitors in the handle. The circle in the center of the paddle is the ground contact. When this switch on the handle is switched on, the paddle recharges the capacitors each time it is raised, preparing them for contact with the boy's bottom. When the paddle shifts position on its way down, the charging circuit is turned off, but the capacitors remain charged, waiting for it to contact the boy's bottom. When 'Mr. Sparky' come in contact with a naughty boy's bare bottom, it not only causes the normal pain that a paddle like this would cause, but also delivers 10 small but painful shocks in various places on his bottom as each wire contacts his bottom and the current in the capacitors rushes through his skin to the ground contact. I tried this one out on my nephew just last night, and I've found the effect to be quite satisfactory." She turned the paddle so the end of the handle faced the class. "You'll note that there is a dial on the end that adjusts how much current flows through to the paddle when it is discharged. The scale ranges from one through 9. A setting of one barely tingles the bottom when it lands, a setting of 9 can produce intensely painful welts. For you, Mr. Farlow, I'm going to set Mr. Sparky on 5. That should be very painful without marking your fair skin too vividly."

As S. F. looked on in horror, she turned the dial up to 5. "One more thing," she said, turning to the class. "Mr. Sparky can also be used on a boy's genital region. One needn't strike blows with it – the shocks alone are quite painful. I tested that quality on my nephew last night as well, and I was quite satisfied with the outcome. You, Mr. Farlow, had better be completely obedient throughout your punishment and for the rest of the day, or you will discover how Mr. Sparky feels on your genitals for yourself."

S. F. was paralyzed with fear now. His bare bottom, currently facing away from the class, felt incredibly open and vulnerable. Yet the position he was now in was also associated with sexual excitement, and his penis got still harder and began throbbing with his heartbeat. Despite his current jeopardy, his mind slipped back to when he'd been between the ages of 5 and 8, and the aforementioned Jason, a boy of about 12 or 13, had been his steady babysitter. His parents had always been deeply involved in church activities, many of which they could not take him along to, so S. F. had spent quite a bit of time with Jason in those years.

Most of the time they'd follow the same routine when Jason babysat at night. They'd eat the dinner S. F.'s mother had left in the oven, and watch TV or play on S. F.'s Nintendo. Then Jason would say that it was bath time, and ask if S. F. wanted a bath by himself or wanted to go in the shower with Jason. Sometimes he'd choose a bath, and Jason would help him undress and run him a bath with mounds of bubbles, and then sit by the tub and play in the water with him for awhile before taking the washcloth and washing S. F.'s upper body. After finishing his upper body, Jason would always have him stand up while he washed S. F.'s legs and then carefully, using his hands, soaped S. F.'s boy parts until his little weenie got hard and stood up and then got so tickly that S. F. would protest. Jason would always rub it several more times, anyway, stating that little boys dribbled pee on their wieners and it had to be washed well for that reason. After that, Jason would have him bend over and carefully soap his spread bottom, always commenting that you had to take your time and do a good job there, because "That's where the poo comes out." Then he'd rinse little S. F. and let out the water and wrap him in a big towel and dry him off, again giving special attention to his private regions on the grounds that they were never out in the air and needed to be extra dry.

If S. F. opted for a shower, and he usually did, he and Jason would gleefully strip off their clothes together. Jason, who seemed so much bigger than him at the time and, as S. F. had found out on his first visit had hair around his much larger penis, presumably from playing with it a lot, would scoop S. F. up and hold him on his hip with his legs gripping Jason around his tummy, so that his head was even with Jason's, while Jason held him with one arm and soaped him with the other. He still remembered the feel of Jason's fingers and the soap traveling over his body and finally plunging between his spread butt to tickle along his butt crack and push on his tight little butt hole. Now and then Jason's soapy finger would slip into his orifice slightly, and Jason would always say "Ooops, sorry, but I've gotta get the poo out of there" and remove it again. Then he'd have the smaller boy grip him around the neck with his hands while he turned the boy's crotch to face the water and soaped his genitals until his penis would stand up and get that tickly feeling again, after which they'd leave the shower and the toweling would commence as before, but this time with Jason drying himself off first, then standing naked by S. F. as he dried the younger boy. S. F. remembered staring in wonder at the boy's much bigger penis and balls swaying as he was toweled dry, and at the nest of downy hairs on his crotch. Jason was the only older male he'd ever seen naked, as S. F.'s own father had never undressed in his presence, as far as S. F. could recall. Jason always put his clothes back on again at this point, but S. F. would hand Jason his towel and then run, naked, down the hall to his bed, his penis flapping from side to side and slapping his body as he did, racing to crawl into the bed and pretend to hide from Jason.

Jason would come in and pretend to look for S. F., who was always giggling in the center of the bed, and finally announce that he couldn't find the boy, and he was going to lie down and rest. He'd then lie on S. F., complaining the bed was lumpy, and poke and tickle S. F. through the covers until he'd finally burst out, laughing hysterically, to announce, "here I am!" Jason would scoop him up and tickle him some more, poking the usual places like his underarms and his tummy, but also tickling S. F. in places no one else did such as around his weenie, under his balls, and along his butt crack. S. F. wondered at this, but found the touches so pleasurable that he never complained, and his little weenie would get rock hard again and stand up.

At that point, Jason would slide pajamas on him, and then it was always time for the "Father and Son" game. Jason would sit on the bed and say, "All right, son, you know you've been naughty. Tell me every naughty thing you did today, and don't you dare leave anything out, because I already know what you did, anyway, and if you leave anything out, it will go worse for you. S. F. would stand in front of him and recite a series of wrongdoings, some of which were true, but many of which he made up.

"I peed my pants," was one of his favorites, even though it was something he never did, at least, not any more than the little dribbles all boys got on themselves now and then. He also liked to use, "I showed a girl in class my weenie," or, "I showed a girl in class my butt hole," because that sounded deliciously naughty, even though he'd never have had the nerve to do either of those things. (Although in kindergarten Jimmy Chen had done both in the same week and gotten spanked twice on the seat of his pants, once for each transgression. S. F. had stolen the idea from him after witnessing Jimmy's punishment.)

After S. F.'s recitation of real and imaginary wrongs he had done, Jason would say, "You've been a very naughty little boy. I'm afraid I'm going to have to spank you on your bare bottom. Take down your pants." S. F., excitement rising in him, would slip down the pajama bottoms he'd just put on. His penis was always throbbing with his heartbeat by that point, and Jason would invariably acknowledge that, telling him that he was extra naughty for being hard and that he was going to get a bigger spanking because of it. S. F. would climb over Jason's lap, giggling while trying to be serious, his penis still throbbingly hard, his pajamas around his ankles, positioning himself so his penis was between his belly and Jason's leg, where the pressure of his body weight on it added to his excitement.

Jason would rub his bottom and tell him how hard his spanking was going to be and what a bad boy he was, then he's say, "I'd better check your bottom, I don't want to get poop on me," and he'd take both his hands and pry S. F.'s little butt apart, leaning over to study his butt hole and looking so closely that S. F. could feel his hot breath against his exposed skin. Often Jason took his time in this examination, running a finger around and across S. F.'s pursed orifice and following the raised ridge of skin that led from his butt hole down to the base of his balls. S. F. had sometimes lain on his back and bent himself almost double so that he could see this normally hidden area, picking curiously at that ridge of skin and wondering if it was where his mother had glued him together when she made him, just like the joining ridges on his model cars.

Jason would almost always accuse him of having a dirty butt and failing to wipe properly, and then announce that he was getting more spanks because of it. S. F., though he knew perfectly well his bottom had to be spotless because of Jason's thorough washing, would play along, apologizing for not wiping his tushie and begging Daddy not to spank him. Jason would also reject his pleas. Then Jason would begin his spanking, patting S. F.'s bottom firmly but not hard enough to hurt, while S. F. would go into his fake crying routine, kick his legs, and promise to be good and beg not to be spanked anymore. Sometimes Jason would announce that he was kicking too hard and needed to be held down, and then he'd reach around S. F.'s small back and grasp the tip of his penis as he went back to patting S. F.'s bottom, and these times S. F. liked most of all.

Usually after that, he'd stand S. F. on his feet, still with pajamas down, and ask him if he'd learned anything from his spanking, and S. F. would act the dutiful son and respond that he'd never do the things he'd confessed to again. That was usually the end of their play, and Jason would pull up his pajama pants, always brushing his penis pleasurably as he did, and then tuck him in, read him several stories, and then lie beside him comfortingly while he held his own penis tightly until he fell asleep and awoke the next morning to find Jason gone again until the next time. Once in awhile, not wanting the game to end yet, S. F. would vary the scenario and say something like "I'm not sorry, and I'll show my wiener to the girls again," or "Daddy's a poophead," so that Jason could use his show of defiance as an excuse to go through the whole spanking ritual again. Once he'd even done this 3 times, so that he underwent four rounds of play spanking and having his penis stroked, his excitement building each round.

A couple of times the scenario was different – after the shower, Jason would ask S. F. if he wanted to be the father or the son, and Jason almost always chose to be the son. But twice S. F. choose to be the father, and then it was Jason who stood before the seated S. F. and recited his misdeeds. His misdeeds tended to be more colorful and confusing than S. F.'s – he once told S. F. that he'd fucked a girl, for example. S. F. wasn't quite sure what fucking was, except that it was a word you never said around anyone, and it could get you in bad trouble, and it involved doing something involving a girl's privates. But he knew it was bad, so he'd told Jason that he needed a big spanking and to take his pants and underpants down at once. He wasn't particularly intrigued by the sight of Jason with his pants and underpants at his ankles – after all, he'd just seen him stark naked in the bathroom many times. But he was fascinated by the fact that Jason's penis, always much bigger than his, got really big and hard those two times, something that didn't happen in the shower. It had felt funny against S. F.'s pajama clad legs when he'd bent over S. F.'s lap for his spanking. S. F. had followed the ritual to the letter, inspecting his babysitter for poo by separating his muscular butt and studying his butt hole, and, as he'd never actually looked at it before, he'd been intrigued by the way it looked kind of like a little mouth, changing shape constantly as he eyed it. When he started Jason's mock spanking, Jason had surprised him by begging him to spank harder, until he was actually hitting Jason hard enough to hurt his own hand. He'd been more surprised when he'd stopped and Jason had insisted he be spanked some more, saying, "Daddy's a dickface," to inspire S. F. Of course, such an insult did call for more spanking by Daddy, and Jason's butt was quite red by the time he was done. But Jason's penis was still rock hard and sticking out like a pole when he stood before S. F. to say he'd never fuck a girl again or call Daddy names, so S. F. had decided he must not have hurt his friend after all.

The second and last time they reversed roles, Jason had surprised him at the end by saying, as he stood with his pants at his ankles, that S. F. should punish him more. "You can make me take that in my mouth," he'd said, pointing at S. F.'s hard little weenie poking out the front of his flannel p. j.'s. S. F. had refused, primarily because he couldn't convince himself that Jason would not bite him in this delicate place if he complied. Jason begged to be humiliated in this way a few more times and then pulled up his pants and they went on to story reading, and thereafter S. F. carefully chose the son's role to forestall any more odd requests by his favorite play partner.

Then, suddenly and without warning, Jason's parents moved away, and Jason was gone, and there were no more exciting games. S. F. pined for the loss for awhile, and tried to nudge other babysitters into playing with him as Jason had, telling them he needed a spanking, but they always just laughed and tucked him into bed, and he had gradually forgotten about it and went on with life. He hadn't even thought about it recently, not until just now, when his bare bottomed state and his hard penis bobbing in front of him became a déjà vu moment. God, he missed Jason. But this wasn't Jason waving the paddle in front of him, it was Mrs. Rose. Also, he knew from the spanking he'd gotten from his mother over the internet incident as the examples of the boys who'd been bare-bottom paddled in his class over the last few weeks that the pain he was going to experience and the begging he was going to do would not be pretend.

"Mr. Farlow, I'm only going to tell you once more," Mrs. Rose was saying. "Get over Lindsay's lap for your paddling, or I'm using this on you genitals right now!"

Coming to life, S. F. scrambled to drape himself over Lindsay's lap, almost shying away when she reached over and firmly circled his penis as he prepared to settle down across her. She gripped it in her fist, the class marveling at the fact that the head of S. F.'s penis stuck out the other end with room to spare. Lindsay herself marveled that it felt so much like Joey's penis, except it was, if anything, even harder than Joey's. She began wondering what it would be like to give this boy the oral favors Joey had so often begged from her – he might be more appreciative, she thought, and she bet he was every bit as potent and virile as her boyfriend.

Expecting pain, S. F. was surprised when her unfamiliar grip on his penis felt pleasurable instead. He was even more shocked when, as soon as her hand was out of sight trapped between their laps, she shifted her fingers so that she could stroke the underside of his penis with her thumb. She's trying to make me squirt my stuff, S. F. realized in a moment of clarity. She's trying to make me squirt my stuff, so I'll be in trouble like that kid who squirted his stuff when the Nose was paddling him. She'd probably use that electric thing on his dick and balls if he did! A jolt of panic cut through him at the thought. He shifted his thoughts to the upcoming spanking to try to reduce his response to her touch. It's gonna hurt, he told himself. It's gonna hurt real bad! And everyone's gonna see and make fun of me! I'm gonna cry, and they'll all call me a crybaby like they did Chad! He thought he could feel his penis softening. He tried to focus more on how scared he was. It's gonna burn my butt, he said to himself. It's gonna shock me, and it's gonna burn like fire. It was
working—despite Lindsay's surreptitious stroking, his penis was getting softer. They're looking at my butt, he told himself. They're looking at my butt right now. They're making fun of me, and everyone can see the dense growth of hair and freakish size of my wiener and they all can tell that I can't stop playing with it!

His penis was shrinking, but he was also raising his fear almost to the point of peeing himself, he realized. He clamped down on his bladder muscles just in time to prevent an embarrassing squirt and 3 days in diapers. One of the moments he'd been dreading came -- Mrs. Rose placed a hand on each of his buns and pried them apart, inspecting his anus. She let go and turned abruptly, stalking to her desk, picking up the baby wipe container, and stalking back. "You, Mr. Farlow, are dirty!" she said in disapproving tones. "Disgustingly dirty! How dare you present yourself for punishment in this state!" She spread his butt with one hand and roughly drew a baby wipe down the length of S. F.'s butt crack, digging it into his hole as she went. She held up the soiled result for the class to see and appreciate, then held it under S. F.'s nose. He recoiled in distaste, certain she was going to wipe his face with it. But then she tossed it in the trash and attacked him with a second wipe. "You obviously need instruction in proper anal hygiene," she continued, now working on her third wipe. S. F. flinched as she dug her nails into his butt hole and the surrounding area. "This afternoon I'll have to take you aside for remedial potty training," she announced grimly, examining her latest wipe and then tossing it.

S. F.'s cheeks burned with shame at her words. Potty training! She was going to teach him to wipe his butt? Like you would a toddler? Did she mean to do it in front of the class? His penis had shrunk down to its normal soft state at this point, despite Lindsay's efforts to make him hard.

"Now before we start, Lindsay, we need to put a bit of this on his naughty bottom," Mrs. Rose said, bringing what looked like a toothpaste tube from her desk. "It's conductivity lotion – it increases the conductivity of his bottom so that it conducts electricity more readily. That way, we get more current flow through his body with each contact of the paddle, increasing the sensation and making the spanking more effective."

More effective? S. F. thought to himself, now in a state of complete panic. "You mean it makes it hurt more?" he croaked.

Mrs. Rose looked at his anxious face, turned back over shoulder as he watched the proceedings. "Yes, Mr. Farlow, that's exactly what it means. I'm going to have Lindsay rub this lotion into your disrespectful bottom so that the paddle stings more every time it lands. With any luck it will hurt so badly that you stop thinking of women as objects of your lust and start thinking of them as people with power equal to or greater than yours." She smiled grimly to herself. He'd learn, all right! The very fact that females like herself could force him to undress and exhibit himself to the entire class should by itself teach him which sex really has the power. And having to lie across the lap of a girl his own age while she repeatedly strikes an intimate part of his anatomy and not be able to stop it should make the lesson even more vivid. The trouble with all of these young boys was that, like men, they too often thought with the little head between their legs rather than their perfectly good brains. It did them all a world of good to have to expose those little penises they were all so proud of to the ridicule of the class – it made them all more subdued and respectful. She squirted two dollops of the lotion on the boy's white butt, one in the center of each bun, and motioned for Lindsay to rub the lotion over the entire surface.

S. F. felt rather than saw the lotion being applied to him, and moments later Lindsay's right hand began making gentle circles on each of his buns as she rubbed the lotion in. It actually felt good, but his rising anxiety kept his penis from erecting itself again. He wondered how bad it was going to hurt. He'd seen the other boys get paddled before with normal paddles and often with pants and underpants to protect them, and they'd squalled like they were dying during the paddling and afterward. He'd seen Chad's red, blistered butt after his paddling, and Alan's welted behind after his. Was his butt going to look like that in a few minutes. More frighteningly, he'd seen them kick and squirm and bawl like little babies while they were being paddled, squeezing their butts together and generally making a spectacle of themselves. They weren't doing that just for show – it had to have hurt a lot. He remembered again the bare butt spanking his mother had given him more than a year ago, and how he cried for an hour afterward. This was going to hurt more than that – it had to, with that nasty electric thing they were going to paddle him with. Realizing he was near to wetting himself in fright, S. F. clamped down on his sphincter again and tried to calm down.

But calming events weren't on the agenda. Mrs. Rose handed Lindsay the electric paddle, pushing the button to activate it and smiling in grim satisfaction when the red light came on. Around the room discussion raged about S. F.'s pooping and wiping habits, at least three kids talking about him being Captain Poopypants with great amounts of laughter, other kids taunting him about being a stinky butt. S. F. tensed as the paddle rose for the first time, the red ready light blinking on the handle. As it fell out of his sight, a burning sensation bloomed on his right bun accompanied by a loud smacking sound. S. F. jerked and yelped, his legs shooting out and his butt tensing so hard that hollows appeared under each hip bone and for a moment he looked like an anorexic. Inside the burning circle of impact, he could feel a number of individual points like bee stings that must have been where the electricity had run across.
"Ahhhhhhhh," he squealed. "Nooooo moooooooore!" Lindsay ignored him, of course, landing a second spank on his left butt cheek even as his legs were still extended and his butt still tensed. This time the sound was somewhat different, landing on his powerfully tensed muscle, but the burn, if anything, was worse, with S. F. swearing to himself that he could feel each individual shock from the nasty thing even as he squealed again and waved both of his fully extended legs in the air impotently, looking like a scissors opening and closing. Lindsay gave up trying to stimulate his flaccid penis and instead stretched it out to its full length, pulling until he felt stabs of pain deep inside him. He couldn't protest, though, because he was squealing again from the third spank, which Lindsay had sadistically planted right on top of the first, tripling his bodily response.

The rest of his paddling was a blur to S. F. – unending waves of pain from the base of his butt as he thrashed and squealed and screamed until he was hoarse. Lindsay never moved her target, alternating buns systematically and landing each blow in exactly the same two spots, the center of his left bun, and the center of his right. Without any respite between spanks, his butt burned excruciatingly in those two spots. His penis also burned just where it entered his body, and he had to fight continuously to keep from peeing himself and Lindsay, and earning the diaper treatment. His face, contorted with his crying, was as red as the centers of his butt, and he'd created a puddle of tears mixed with snot under it as Lindsay finished the 30th blow and Mrs. Rose halted his punishment, examining his buttocks as he continued to flail and kick his legs impotently. She noted the almost solid pattern of red welts made by the electric shocks with approval. "Well done," she said over S. F.'s wailing. "Rub the sore spots vigorously so that he'll remember this lesson well."

Lindsay handed Mrs. Rose the paddle and began kneading S. F.'s sore butt with her right hand, feeling the iron strength in the muscles under the hot, blemished skin. How could such a tender butt be so solid underneath? These boys were really a marvel that way. She parted the boy's buns and noted, with approval, the whiteness of his butt crack in contrast with the red circles on each bun. The boy's pink butt hole winked at her as he randomly contracted various butt muscles, trying to ease his pain. She went back to massaging him for the next couple of minutes, and then S. F. was allowed to sag over Lindsay's lap for a minute more, bawling at the top of his lungs, while Mrs. Rose cleaned up the snot and tears on the floor and put the paddle away. Finally, she grasped S. F. under the arms and lifted him to face the class, his soft penis still as long as before but swaying gently between his legs now rather than standing stiffly. He continued to cry unabashedly for several more minutes, his puffy eyes looking blearily at the far wall, his nudity forgotten in the overwhelming butt pain that he couldn't comfort because Mrs. Rose had firmly placed his hands behind his head again.

Then she wiped his face with baby wipes, and he was rotated so that his ravaged bottom faced the class, and the deep red circles Lindsay had made in each bun glowing brightly at the class. Lindsay pointed at the welted skin, commenting, "I should get extra credit for that. You know how we're studying Japan? I made two Japanese flags!" Mrs. Rose smiled indulgently. Against S. F.'s white skin, the almost perfect red circles did look like Japanese flags.

S. F. was eventually rotated to face the class again, and after about 10 minutes had calmed his crying enough that he was ready to apologize to the class and take his place in the corner. Mrs. Rose came to stand by him. "First, Mr. Farlow, you will apologize to the class for having to view your disgusting body and for being so naughty you needed to be spanked. Then you will thank Lindsay for spanking you, and you will apologize for your exploitive attitude toward women and for bringing that disgusting magazine into my classroom.

"But I didn't…" S. F. started to protest. Mrs. Rose's face darkened immediately.

"Mr. Farlow, we've heard enough of that tune. We all know you brought in that magazine. Now either apologize for your behavior, or I'll get Mr. Sparky and you can testify to your friends what it feels like on your genitals."

S. F. cringed. "Noooooooo!" he said quickly. He gulped. There was no escape – she was sure he'd done it, and she'd just keep punishing him until he agreed. "I mean, I'm sorry you had to look at me naked and that I had to be spanked, and, and I'm sorry I brought in that magazine." He felt hurt inside. He hadn't done it! You weren't supposed to be punished when you hadn't done anything!

"What else, Mr. Farlow? Don't you need to thank someone?" Mrs. Rose said nastily.

"Ummmm," Sam said. He saw Lindsay in the crowd, now sitting at her desk. "Oh, yeah – thank you for spanking me," he said over Lindsay's head.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Lindsay said primly, smiling slyly at him.

"What about your attitude toward women?" Mrs. Rose said.

"Huh?" S. F. replied, dancing a bit to try to soothe his still burning bottom.

"Apologize for your degrading attitude toward women," Mrs. Rose ordered.

"But I like women," S. F. protested. "I like my mom, and I like my aunts, and I like girls. I don't hate women!"

"You're saying you need more paddling?" Mrs. Rose said evenly. "I'll have to get Mr. Sparky."

"Noooooo!" S. F. said, looking terror-stricken. "Okay, I'm sorry I --- what was the word again?"

"Degrade," Mrs. Rose said. "When you go around looking at women with lust in your eyes like that and thinking only of your base male desires you degrade women."

"I'm sorry I degraded women," S. F. finished. His penis twitched, causing him to look down at it and generating hilarity in the classroom. He flashed back again to his games with Jason, when he'd stood in front of his babysitter just like this. Oh, crap – he was getting hard again! "May I go to the corner now?" he asked, hoping to be seated before his erection became obvious.

To his relief she motioned him to the chair she'd placed in the corner opposite Randy's, reminding him, as he prepared to settle in, "You can sit for now, but I'll need to potty train you later this afternoon," an announcement greeted with general hilarity by Joey and Big Sam as well as many girls. By the time he'd settled himself gingerly on the hard chair, his sore butt throbbing in protest, his erection was bobbing in front of him. Mrs. Rose saw it and frowned as if contemplating spanking him until it went down, but then turned back to class and began the math unit. Potty training, S. F. thought to himself. What would that involve? It couldn't be good. And how had his father's magazine gotten into his notebook?