Tommy's Attitude Adjustment Chapter 77

Tommy's Attitude Adjustment Chapter 77
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 77: Can't We All Just Get Along?

Mrs. Gitt looked the shocked Tommy's naked body up and down, finally returning once again to his orange-red privates. "My goodness, you've had quite a time, haven't you, young man?" She leaned over his shoulder, inspecting his backside. "Looks like you got a severe spanking or paddling over the weekend, if not two or three! Those bruises and blisters have to hurt! And whatever did you spill on your little genitals? I swear, you look like one of those capuchin monkeys, except it's their backsides that are red, not their fronts."

Tommy gulped, trying to think of a way to escape. The repeated emphasis on "little genitals" stung. "I—I have to put on my clothes," he said, waving at the box on the floor, the box he'd been lunging for when he ran into Mrs. Gitt.

"Your clothes?" Mrs. Gitt said. "They're in that box? Oh, I thought you were one of the naked boys. The school seems to be full of them! I swear, there are little hoo-hoos everywhere I look! It's enough to make me want to apply for a teacher's aide position!" Tommy tried to twist by to reach for the box, but Mrs. Gitt was still holding his arm. "Didn't I just see you come out of the girls' bathroom?" she said. "Because that's what I was just now looking for, myself. Got to tinkle, you know. But that doesn't explain why you were in there. Or why your clothes are out here." She looked at him quizzically, clearly wanting answers.

Tommy looked wildly at the wall clock. It was counting down the last 30 seconds until the end of lunch bell. He tried to yank free and succeeded, but the force of suddenly breaking free sent him crashing into the opposite wall, kicking the box, which went skidding down the hall like a hockey puck on ice. It bounced off the wall 10 feet away and ricocheted out of sight around the corner. Mrs. Gitt reached down to help Tommy up. "Best chase it down," she said. "This hall might be full of girls any minute, so if you don't want your little hoo-hah to be seen, you'd best hurry."

She turned and walked regally into the bathroom. Tommy shot down the hall rather like a hockey puck himself and around the corner, diving for the box and wrapping both arms around it, heaving a sigh of relief as he stood up with it. He almost jumped out of his skin when the bell rang on the wall right beside him, and a mob of students could be heard just approaching the hall fire door. He ducked back around the corner. He'd just have to set a record getting dressed, that's all. He yanked the shirt off the top of the box and frantically popped his head through it, his hands getting stuck in his haste and wasting precious time finding the arm holes. The noise around the corner was getting louder, and he still had on only a shirt. No choice – he'd have to duck into the nearest doorway and hope it led to an empty room. The girls' bathroom he'd just left was definitely out – it would be full of girls in seconds. With fractions of a second to spare, he yanked open the nearest, unmarked door and dived in, letting it close behind him, praying it wasn't the janitor's office or something. To his relief, he was in a small storage room, lit by a grungy window at one end, lined with shelves full of dented paint cans and dusty boxes. No one would bother him here. Now all he had to do was put on his underpants and pants, then his shoes and socks, and get back to the classroom within the three minutes between bells. If he hurried….

Tommy had read stories where the hero's heart stops suddenly at some critical point in the story, such as when he thinks he's safely away and suddenly a fire-breathing dragon is 10 feet in front of him, inhaling to let loose a killing blast. He'd always considered the heart stoppage described in such stories gross exaggerations. But now he knew better, because it certainly felt like his heart had stopped for a critical breath. All that remained in the box was his shoes and socks, and his camera. There were no underpants, and no pants, either. He looked at the box twice more, hoping that something would materialize, but it was just as devoid of clothing for his bottom half each time he looked as it had been on the previous examination. A cry of anguish erupted from his lips, and he felt overwhelmed with despair. He had maybe two minutes to get back to class, and HE HAD NO PANTS!

What to do, what to do? "Damn that Aiesha," he said out loud. "Damn her to Hell! I hope she crawls up her own butt hole and dies from the smell!" But that didn't help. The box was still totally devoid of anything but his shoes and socks. He staggered over against the wall and gazed forlornly out the window at the center courtyard. He was doomed. He couldn't leave this room naked – he'd be a laughingstock of the school with his blazing, orange-red genitals. But he couldn't be late for class, or he'd be spanked for sure, and even if he found pants they'd be pulled down for his spanking, and once again he'd be the laughingstock of the school. He looked heavenward in despair and was shocked by what he saw. There, unnoticed by the students passing below it, were Tommy's pants and underpants, flying from the flag pole, the short white underpants waving gaily underneath, where the state flag belonged, the pants surmounting them in the position of the federal flag.

I'll just have to wait until everyone's inside, then I'll climb out the window and get them, Tommy thought to himself. Maybe I'll only be a few moments late. Maybe Mrs. Johnson will be late herself and not know I was late. Or maybe I could say I was having a bathroom problem – she sometimes accepted that as an excuse, and she probably would from him – he was Tommy after all, and up to this weekend he'd led a charmed life. He slipped his socks and shoes on quickly so that all he'd have to do was slip his pants and underpants over them and on. (Fortunately for his current situation, Tommy had relatively small feet.) He glanced at the courtyard, noting the students had all made it into the building and no one was in sight. Now to get his pants without being seen. He slid the window up with some difficulty, managing to barely get it open enough to slip through before it stopped and refused to budge any further. No matter—he was thin. He waited anxiously for the rest of the kids to move out of the courtyard so he could jump to the ground, make a dash for the flagpole, bring down his clothing, and jump into them and race for the classroom. I'll make it, he thought to himself. I've always been lucky.

Another quick look to see that the last child had disappeared into the grade school building, and Tommy sprang into action. Leaving his camera for later retrieval hidden among the paint cans, Tommy scrambled up the wall and slipped through the gap in the window. There was a moment of panic when his butt, being wider than his body, caught in the gap, but he pushed himself hard and shoved through, trying to ignore the sudden pain as the skin on the thickest part of both buns were scraped painfully by an mental sealing strip on the window itself, and his cock dragged hard and painfully on the bottom of the window ledge. Hoping he wasn't bleeding from his butt, he hung from the window and then let go, landing hard on the grass below him and falling to his hands and knees, his ankles throbbing from the impact, his butt still stinging from being raked over the mental strip. Semi-stunned from the fall, he forced himself up, legs rubbery, and ran to the flag pole, puzzling over the catch securing the rope for precious moments before figuring it out and releasing it.

A quick over the shoulder glance showed him to still be alone in the courtyard, so quickly, hand over hand, he tugged the rope down, his precious pants and underpants getting closer and closer until they were almost in his grasp. He reached high with his right hand, ready to pluck them free and run to safety and out of this open area, a sense of relief flowing through him. And then, just has his hand was closing on the soft white of his briefs, a rough hand clasped his shoulder. He squeaked with fright, losing bladder control instantly and jetting a small stream shamefully onto the sidewalk in front of the flagpole.

"Playing games with our nation's emblem, Mr. Henson?" the voice of Mrs. Hendricks boomed, as she sidestepped his little squirt and looked at the small trail his urine had made with distaste. "I suppose you think putting your pants up the flagpole is funny. Or is this the result of some juvenile bet?"

Tommy, shaking, turned around and tried to put on his best puppy dog face, the one he'd recommended to his brother Chad so long ago for dealing with all manner of adults in authority. Mrs. Hendricks' reaction wasn't what he'd anticipated, though. As he turned to shine her on with his magic face, his front became visible to her, and she glanced down his body and let out an exclamation of surprise. "What is this?" she asked, before he could try to work his magic on her. "Did you do this to yourself? Or is this some sort of hazing that some of the other boys perpetrated on you? Along with running your clothes up the flagpole?" She leaned over his genitals, studying them. "I'd swear that's Mercurichrome," she said. "But I haven't seen Mercurichrome in ages! Is that really what it is?"

Tommy, speechless, nodded solemnly. He was caught! How was he going to get out of this? Tell the truth? No, Aiesha had made it clear what would happen if he did that, or implicated her in any way. Stalling, he nodded to Mrs. Hendricks, unable to find his voice.

"Did you put that on yourself?" she asked. "Because you shouldn't do that, you know. Mercurichrome shouldn't be put anywhere near any of the mucus membranes of the body, such as the urethra or anus or mouth or nose – you'll absorb it right into your blood, and mercury is dangerous. And you shouldn't apply it to your scrotum, young man – it might soak into the testes and damage your reproductive organs."

"My sister did it," he said. He could tell that much truth, at least. And maybe while he was discussing his sister, he'd think of something. "It was a punishment. This weekend. She got mad at me and .. well, she did this."

"And did she put these bruises on you, too?" Mrs. Hendricks asked, running a hand over Tommy's exposed hindquarters. "Or did Mrs. Johnson do that? Doesn't look recent enough for Mrs. Johnson to have done it today. And if you'd been spanked Friday, it would be in my disciplinary records. I don't remember any record of you being disciplined in class Friday. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen any report of you being disciplined in class."

She ran a hand with rough familiarity over his sore, totally exposed bottom while she was saying this, examining the extent of his welts and blisters expertly. Tommy squirmed, but she was holding him tightly with her hand like a pincer on his shoulder, and he couldn't escape her touch. She looked thoughtful. "So, the Mercurichrome has nothing to do with your current position, and neither does the physical discipline you've obviously recently earned. Fine. Then explain to me why you're naked in the courtyard, running your pants and underwear up the flagpole," she said. "Or perhaps retrieving them. You still haven't told me which it is. And this had better be good if you don't want Mrs. Johnson adding to those marks in front of your fellow classmates."

"I…." Tommy said, then clamped his mouth shut. He what? He couldn't say that Aiesha took them – she'd go through with her promise to him to accuse him of stripping in the girls' bathroom and possibly planning rape, and Wayne, the traitor, would back her up, and testify that Tommy had bragged he was going to do it. "Some kids took them," Tommy said quickly. "Big kids. They saw my… they say the red in the bathroom, when I was… you know. And they took my pants and underpants and put them out here so I'd have to go get them."

"Boys did this to you?" Mrs. Hendricks said, arching an eyebrow.

"There might have been some girls, too," Tommy said. "I didn't really look at them closely."

"Really," Mrs. Hendricks said. She made it more an observation than a question.

"They held my head down," Tommy said. "So I couldn't see. And they stole my pants and said they'd run them up the flagpole and I'd have to go get them."

"And where did this happen, Mr. Henson?" Mrs. Hendricks said cooly.

"In the girls'—I mean, in the boys' bathroom," Tommy said. He was starting to panic. This was all happening too fast – he couldn't think clearly.

"Really." Mrs. Hendricks said again. She clearly wasn't buying any of this. Damn that Wayne – why had he gotten Tommy hooked up with Aiesha? But Tommy already knew the answer to that question. Because she'd caught him jerking off, that's why, and had taken pictures, and was threatening to tell everyone. Wayne had thrown Tommy to the wolves to kiss up to her, probably hoping to charm her pictures him out of her. The fact that he'd have done the same thing didn't make him feel any more charitably toward Wayne. If anything, it made him feel more angry.

"Wayne," he said on impulse. "In my class. He was the main one. He made the other kids take my stuff. In the bathroom. He had some other kids with him, boys and girls, but I didn't see them clearly because I was looking at him. 'Cause he was talking to me and they came up behind me." The moment the words left his mouth, Tommy knew he shouldn't be saying so much. But he couldn't seem to stop babbling.

"So you're saying there were girls in the boys' bathroom? How did that happen to come to be?" Mrs. Hendriks said. "Especially girls you don't know?"

"It happened fast?" Tommy said hopefully, but not able to keep the question out of his tone that gave him away. The final afternoon bell rang, signaling the start of classes.

"Obviously, we're going to have to get to the bottom of this," Mrs. Hendricks said. "Come along. We'll just go by your classroom first."

She plucked Tommy's pants and underpants off the flagpole rope and turned, dragging Tommy along with her pincher grip on his shoulder. The full force of his predicament struck Tommy as he was dragged across the way into the grade school building. He was naked on the bottom, his dick and balls painted orange-red and hanging out for all to see. In fact, his dick was flopping back and forth as he walked in time with his steps, and he was far too acutely conscious of its exposure. Not to mention that his bare butt was on display, covered with old blisters that told everyone he'd been severely spanked and paddled. And to add to that, he'd just tried to save himself by telling the lamest lie in history, a lie he was having trouble remembering. He went into full-fledge panic, his thoughts ricocheting through his head, completely out of control.

Naturally, the halls weren't empty – no, Tommy's once dependable luck was long gone. Kids were done scurrying to class, but there were some who were already running errands for teachers or purposefully bound somewhere, and they all stopped to gaze at his naked bottom half as he was dragged past, doing his best to keep up. Small boys and girls looked at him with open curiosity and big eyes as they took in his orange red genitalia, and bigger girls and boys, more afraid to challenge an apparently wrathful Mrs. Hendricks, made a show of minding their own business but flicking furtive glances at him both front and back as they passed. Some, especially the girls, couldn't hide their smirks, and Tommy wondered whether they were mentally mocking his bare-assed predicament, his painted genitals, or the questionable adequacy of his equipment itself. He certainly didn't look his best – it was a bit cold to be naked, and his dick was half its usual size, although still more impressive than his brother's was most of the time, at least.

Still, by the time they pulled up to Tommy's classroom, the halls were empty for the moment. Tommy's hopes of remaining outside were dashed in an instant, though, as Mrs. Hendricks gave him a shove and pushed him through the door ahead of her. In moments, heads swiveled and kids began chattering in surprise. "Hey look, it's Tommy!" a girl exclaimed. "And he's naked!" More heads swiveled.

"How come he's all red on stuff?" a second girl asked.

"Nice dick, Henson," a boy in back muttered. "Did you get it caught in a wringer washer or something?"

"He's like a monkey butt!" another boy exclaimed.

"Maybe it means he wants sex," a boy muttered, loud enough for Tommy to hear. Tommy realized it was Lee Fitzroy, who'd been spanked naked just a few weeks back.

"At least he has balls, Lee," the white boy next to him shot back, referring to Lee's own undescended testicles, a bit of personal trivia that, after his humiliating stand naked in front of the class both before and after his spanking, the whole school knew. Mrs. Hendricks glared at the boy, who suddenly registered she could hear, too, and ducked back behind his friends. Tommy flushed and clapped both hands over his crotch to hide their open stares. Mrs. Hendricks cleared her throat. "Mrs. Johnson, I'm going to need Mr. Henson for a bit. And give me Mr. Sakorov as well. I may need them for awhile – I've something I need to get to the bottom of, if you catch my drift."

"Very well," Mrs. Johnson said. "Wayne, go with the Vice Principal, please."

Kids were staring open-mouthed at Tommy, trying to get a glimpse of his privates behind his concealing hands. Mrs. Hendricks followed their gaze. "Stop playing with yourself, young man!" she ordered, slapping Tommy's hands quite hard.

"Ow!" Tommy exclaimed, his stinging hands leaving his groin to clutch each other in pain. His bare penis bobbed into view as he released it, creating a hubbub of comment from his classmates. He swiftly turned around, facing the hall, to try to deny them full view of his naked front, but that merely exposed his naked behind to them, and created another riot of comment concerning the welted condition of his bottom. Despite his fear of what was coming, he was almost grateful to be able to follow a visibly white-faced Wayne Sakorov and Mrs. Hendricks to the safety of the hallway, where she marched them swiftly and wordlessly past the empty waiting room and into her office, leaving the door open and pausing by the front of her disk. Wayne looked like he might collapse from fright at any moment.

"Now," she said, settling into her chair and glaring at the two boys, who she'd left facing her desk. "We'll get to the bottom of this." Both boys fidgeted, Tommy all the more uncomfortable because he realized that the desk was very low and came up only to about an inch from his scrotum, leaving his genitals still fully on display. It looked too low to write on, in fact, making it wonder what it was for. Mrs. Hendricks fixed Wayne with a steely glare. "Mr. Sakarov, would you happen to know why I found Mr. Henson in the courtyard without his clothing?" she asked.

Wayne tried a nonchalant shrug. It looked guilty as hell. "I dunno," he said, looking at the ground. "Maybe he lost them."

Mrs. Hendricks picked up a varnished wooden paddle that was lying on her desk all by itself and, holding it, began running her hand up and down the flat surface. "Really," she said. "Because that isn't what Mr. Henson said. He said you and some others of your friends made him take his clothes off and put them in a very difficult to reach location. So tell me, Mr. Sakorov. Who were those others of whom he is speaking?"

Wayne paled. He couldn't turn in Aiesha and her friends, not even one of them. Not while she had those pictures of him pulling his dick. His grandma would kill him if she saw them – she had warned him about the evils of touching himself from clear back when he was a little boy, innocently fingering himself after peeing. "I dunno what he's talking about," Wayne said, his voice quavering. "I don't have any friends. Ask anyone. And I didn't have anything to do with putting Tommy's pants and underpants up the flagpole. I came straight from the lunchroom – I didn't even talk to anyone. I didn't even know someone had put his stuff on the flagpole until you mentioned it just now!"

The paddle cracked down on the thick rubber desktop pad with a loud crash, making both boys jump. "You, Mr. Sakorov, are a bald-faced liar," Mrs. Hendricks said. "I never mentioned where Mr. Henson's clothing was found. And from your story, you couldn't have known, either. So you clearly had something to do with this, your story is clearly false, and for that you will be punished severely."

"Good," Tommy said. He'd suddenly realized what the desk was for – it was for boys to lean on while being paddled or whipped. He could picture Wayne bent over it, having his butt blistered, and the vision cheered him.

Mrs. Hendricks turned her glare onto Tommy. "You believe that it is good that the perpetrators of this desecration of our country's flag and disruption of our school's placid routine should be punished severely? Then perhaps you'd like to tell me who else was involved, besides Mr. Sakorov."

Tommy tried his puppy dog face. "Honest, Mrs. Hendricks!" he said, trying to sound sincere. "I don't remember who made me take off my clothes. They took me by surprise. I was at the thing in the bathroom, you know … peeing by myself, and then they snuck up behind me, so I didn't see them at all, and then someone pulled my shirt over my head, and I couldn't see! And they said they'd hit me in .. in my boy places if I yelled or fought. You know – the places that really hurt."

"Interesting," Mrs. Hendricks said. "So you didn't see anyone the whole time they were undressing you? Or beforehand?"

"No one," Tommy said earnestly. "No one was around that I saw when I went in. The suddenly they were behind me and pulled my shirt over my head so I couldn't see. I'd been peeing, and I couldn't just let go of myself and fight back. And then they pinned my hands. I could tell they were bigger than me, but that was it! There were a bunch of them, and they whispered, so I couldn't tell the voices, either. But I know some of them were girls, because they said stuff like, 'hey, sister, check this out.'" Tommy extemporized. He began to feel some hope – this story didn't sound to bad – he might just pull this off!

Mrs. Hendricks pursed her lips. "Interesting," she said again. She gave Tommy a warm, understanding smile. "So you didn't see anyone, and you didn't hear anyone, and so you can't identify anyone."

"Right," Tommy said. She was buying this!

"Interesting," Mrs. Hendricks said again. "Don't you find that interesting, Mr. Sakarov?"

"No," Wayne muttered resentfully.

"And that's exactly how it happened?" Mrs. Hendricks asked.

"Yeah," Tommy said. "That's why I can't identify anyone."

The paddle crashed down again, and Mrs. Hendricks' glare knifed through Tommy. "You, too, are a bald faced liar, Mr. Henson. You claim you were set upon from behind and saw no one, and recognized no one's voice, either. Yet you also claimed, earlier, that you clearly saw Mr. Sakarov, and in fact were talking to him and some other boys before they attacked you. And Mr. Sakarov, by his lies, has confirmed that he was indeed involved. So you were telling the truth about that, and you must thus have been lying just now. I can conclude from that that you know the others involved as well."

She looked daggers at Wayne. "You, Mr. Sakarov, are lying to protect your fellow conspiritors. That's understandable but stupid, because if you don't reveal them, all of them, you will bear all the punishment for this action."

She looked at Tommy just as stonily. "And you, Mr. Henson. I expected more from you. Clearly you're lying, too, but I can't imagine why, unless you feel a need to protect someone. A brother, perhaps?" Tommy, surprised by that comment, looked at her with wide eyes and then, belatedly, shook his head.

"That's not the way it was, Mrs. Hendricks, really. My brother wasn't even there, remember – he was in charge of that girl in the lunchroom and had to stay with her."

"So he was," she said. "That just makes it all the more puzzling. In any event, it's not wise to lie to your teachers or to me, boys. Very bad things happen to liars in this room – things that have little boys crying like babies and screaming for their mommies at the top of their lungs. Things you don't want to experience."

Both boys were breathing hard, now, unable to meet her eyes. It was a toss-up which one was whiter-faced, but Wayne would probably have won the contest by a nose.

Mrs. Hendricks patted her hand with the paddle again. "But I'm not unreasonable," she said softly, the boys hanging onto every word. "I'm quite sure that neither of you were the instigators of this desecration of our nation's emblem. You, Mr. Sakarov, are not imaginative enough to have dreamed this up yourself – believe me, I know -- I've seen your lackluster school records, and I'm fully aware that most of your discourse involves copying the words of others. And you, Mr. Henson. I'm very aware of your ability to charm your way out of situations, an ability that I'm sure has aided you with your somewhat explosive older brother in the past as well as with your teachers her at school. And unlike them, I'll put you on notice right now that I am not fooled. Scratch a goody two shoes, and you'll find a scheming, conniving, budding sociopath underneath. But you, clearly, were the object of this prank, and not the victim. So although I know neither of you are completely innocent, I'm going to offer both of you a deal. There were other children involved in this incident – the ringleaders. And you two will name them – all of them. If you do, they will bear the brunt of my punishment. In fact, if you tell me who they were, Mr. Henson, I'll give you back your clothing and you will go back to the classroom unmolested. Of course, Mr. Sakarov, you will have to be punished for your part in this, but I'll make your punishment the mildest of them all if you will report their names to me now. In fact, if you name all of your co-conspirators, I will be willing to let this go with nothing more than a simple hand spanking on your clothed bottom. It won't be pleasant, but you'll soon get over it."

Wayne's eyes flickered to Tommy then back at his feet. At the same time, Tommy glanced at him. Neither boy said anything. I'm between a rock and a hard place, Wayne thought to himself. Up shit creek without a paddle. I get punished for not telling, or I tell and get punished by my grandma when she sees Aiesha's pictures. And he had no doubt his grandmother would see them if he told – Aiesha would keep her promise, especially if she got punished. He didn't know what his grandma would do, but she'd told him when he was little and she'd caught him shaking his dick just a little too long that her brother, his Uncle Frank, had once been "switched to within an inch of his life" in the front yard when he'd been caught touching himself, and it was clear she'd thought the punishment appropriate.

Tommy, for his part, was thinking of the accusation Aiesha had promised to make if he tried to tell on her and her friends. Aiesha would almost certainly tell the lies she had prepared, and her friend Silvie and the others would back her up. And so would Wayne, treacherous, back-stabbing Wayne, who'd sold him out to Aiesha to prevent distribution of the secret photos she'd taken of him jerking off. And no one would believe Tommy with all those witnesses telling the same story. He'd be punished alone, and Wayne and the girls would probably get off scot-free, the teachers probably concluding he deserved to be stripped for his crimes. They'd probably whip his nuts and his dick in front of the whole school for attempted rape – whip him until his dick was in shreds and his balls were as swollen as baseballs. He shuddered as he remembered the appearance of his brother's genitals after running the gauntlet, the small balls swollen three times their size, his brother's little dick still oozing blood from being ringed and red and sore from all its punishments. And if their treatment of his brother for a much lesser crime was any indicator, they wouldn't stop there – there'd probably order all the boys in his class to rape him in return – butt fuck him until his asshole bled and he was begging for mercy. No, no punishment that he'd get for not talking could be as bad as what he'd get if he did.

That wouldn't be the end of it, either. Because none of his family would believe him when he got home, either. He'd already raped a boy that weekend, his own cousin, and his credibility had been completely shredded because of that. He'd been spanked, and paddled, and diapered, and humiliated, and had circled the neighborhood naked and leashed like a dog, and even been raped in return by that same small boy as payment for his crimes. Still, that didn't change the fact that in the minds of his family he was a junior rapist, the kind of person who might do anything. His whole family would believe it if the school reported he'd snuck into the girls' restroom to flash girls as they came in, or possibly attack one with his hard dick. Heck, Beth would assume he'd gone in there with rape on his mind. And this time, she'd tell his mother for sure, and probably also tell her about him raping his cousin Gabriel. Never mind that raping Gabriel had been an accident. Well, he had meant to rape Jesse, he had to admit, but it was an accident that he'd raped Gabriel. And he had his doubts, now, that Jesse would have considered his behavior rape had he accomplished his original goal. But no one else seemed to see it that way. And if his mother had done what she'd done to Chad for knocking out a girls' tooth, what would she do to him for raping a boy and possibly planning to rape a girl as well? No, the only thing would be to keep quiet, no matter what it took.

Mrs. Hendricks sighed. "Still not talking, I see," Mrs. Hendricks she said. "Well, perhaps a hint of what you face if you keep quiet will convince you."

Wayne and Tommy stood, trembling and white faced, saying nothing. Tommy felt totally trapped, but resolved to keep quiet. Beside him, Wayne was just as resolute – he'd never, never blab, no matter what they made him do. He'd been mortified when he'd opened his eyes and seen Aiesha standing at the foot of his bed, his own private sanctum, holding the cell phone in front of her, snapping pictures of his toe-curling ecstasy of moments before. She'd laughed in his face and skipped away before he could overcome his shock and make a run for the camera, but showed him the pictures, later, bringing them over on a thumbnail drive and gleefully commenting on each one as he scrolled through them. He'd been flushed with embarrassment of the deepest kind, then. He'd never realized he made such grimaces when masturbating, that he'd screwed his face up like that when he came. He hadn't realized how small his dick looked, either, even fully hard, a fact that Aiesha had pointed out repeatedly with glee. He'd been near tears back then, begging her not to show them to anyone, especially his grandmother, that strict, old-fashioned lady who took care of him while his parents worked for a Saudi Arabian oil company on a five year contract. That had been his biggest worry, bigger, even, than that people at school would see the pictures. And Aiesha had savored his fear and embarrassment before, after he'd begged for more than half an hour, telling him that she planned to keep the pictures for herself as long as he "pleased her."

The next day, he'd discovered that Aiesha had shared her possession of the pictures with her friend Silvie (although not the pictures themselves, to his relief). Silvie had teased him mercilessly about "getting caught with his pants down), and repeatedly begged Aiesha to "make him show us his stuff." And over the weeks, he'd found out what else Aiesha meant by pleasing her. Anything he had in his lunch that she wanted, he was expected to give her. She invited him over to her house for a swim party, then ordered him to go to the bathroom and "accidentally" leave the door unlocked so her friend Jasmine could walk in on him peeing, even ordering him to make sure he lowered his suit to his knees when he did so she'd see his bare butt before he could act surprised and yank the suit up again. Only the threat exposure of the pictures made him comply, and then it had turned out even worse than he'd thought, because he'd been unable to stop his stream quickly enough when he'd lunged to pull up his trunks and cover himself, and he'd peed the front of them, to Jasmine' amusement, and had enduring teasing about peeing his pants the rest of the day. In the weeks that followed, Aiesha had gotten him alone as much as she could, at her house or his, and ordered him to pull down pants and underpants and allow her to "examine" him, fingering his "anteater nose" until he was hard and frustrated, and commenting on the slow progress of his pubic hair growth. And last week, after stopping handling him once again just as it was starting to feel good, she'd announced that, if he didn't want his pictures made public, he'd arrange for her to see another boy naked, and allow her to handle him just like she was handling Wayne. Wayne had been in despair wondering how he was going to do that until Tommy's revelation in the bathroom that morning. Tommy's desperate need for a picture of a girl looking at his ludicrously colored genitals had seemed like a gift from heaven. Wayne had figured that Aiesha would go somewhere with Tommy, pose for his naked picture, maybe play with his dick a bit, and then let him go. He hadn't figured on Aiesha bringing her whole crew, or making him participate, and especially not on her stealing Tommy's clothes afterward and forcing Wayne himself to run them up the flag pole. He was sorry about that, more sorry that Tommy would probably believe or accept. He wondered, briefly, if he was in danger from Tommy after this was over, or perhaps from Tommy's hot tempered older brother or one of his scary friends.

Well, that was a laugh – after this was over, that is. Because it was far from over, Mrs. Hendricks was making clear. In fact, Wayne couldn't see any suitable way for this to be over, at least, not a way that involved him keeping possess of his pants, his dignity, and his pain-free existence.

Mrs. Hendricks sighed. "Lean forward and put both of your palms flat on the desk, boys. Yes, that's the way. Now leave them there, and don't move unless you'd like me to march you to your classroom and blister your bare bottoms in front of all your classmates." The boys, leaning forward on their hands, their butts jutting out behind them, exchanged wary looks. Mrs. Hendricks rose slowly, setting the paddle down in front of their eyes on the desk and circling behind them. She stepped up behind Wayne, reaching around his waist and deftly unsnapping his pants. (Mrs. Hendricks was an expert at unsnapping boys' pants, at pulling down underwear, and at removing boys' clothing in general, because, although spanking and paddling boys bare in front of class had been rare until Chad had forced a change of school policy, she had certainly had no qualms about clearing the decks completely for discipline when boys had the misfortune of being sent to her office. And she always preferred to unbuckle and unzip them herself. She was fairly sure that being undressed like a toddler made the experience more humiliating, and, had they been asked, the boys she'd done it to would undoubtedly have agreed.)

As Wayne gulped and fought the urge to straighten up and grab his pants and hold them up with all his might, Mrs. Henricks pulled down his zipper and then yanked his pants down roughly to his knees, exposing bare white legs and shockingly tight white briefs. Wade was having trouble breathing regularly as he stood there, trembling. His buns were clearly outlined in the tight underpants, as was his genital package, bulging modestly in front, the small cylinder of his penis coming to a clear point under the thin cloth, the bulge of his sack visible underneath. His grandmother didn't like to waste money on new underpants when he could still fit in the old ones, and, as a result, his current pair was worn almost threadbare and was two sizes too small. Wayne had a size 12-14 butt, but was currently wearing an overstretched pair of size 8 briefs. As a result, the outside halves of his buns were uncovered as he leaned over the desk.

Despite his own jeopardy, Tommy's eyes furtively flicked to the other boy's crotch, taking in the smallish package and mentally dismissing Wayne's package. He could see everything right through the cloth! Wayne wasn't particular well-hung, he noted with a perverse satisfaction – probably not any better than either his brother Chad or his friend Jesse. He suddenly noticed that Wayne was looking at him, noting his gaze and frowning, and he flicked his eyes away again. Mrs. Hendricks was still shoving Wayne's trousers down, bunching them below his knees. She straightened up again and ran her hands lightly over Wayne's bottom cheeks as she slid her hands to either side of his waistband.

"NO!" Wayne protested. "Please, no!"

"Are you ready to tell us who else was involved, Mr. Sakarov?" Mrs. Hendricks said in a businesslike fashion, her hands now gripping either side of Wayne's waistband.

Wayne stiffened and shook his head, looking grimly back down at the desk. "Very well," Mrs. Hendricks said. "It appears you give me no choice." Gripping his waistband, she slid his underpants smoothly down all the way past his knees. Wayne's little penis flopped free as the underpants came down, angling forward with the slant of his body against the desk, his average-sized (for a 12-year-old) sack swaying out at an angle as well and forcing his pointed, uncircumcised penis to project. By this time he was shaking all over, making his smallish organ dance between his legs. A little moan escaped him, and he bit his lip. Tommy couldn't help himself. He glanced across at Wayne, his eyes drawn to the other boy's crotch. Wayne hadn't been lying about having pubic hairs – a dusting of straight hairs was scattered all over his pubic triangle. As Tommy's eyes were drawn down, he saw that Wayne's penis hung down like a limp finger over balls slightly smaller than his own, angling out from his tilted body and coming to a point much like Tommy's cousin Gabriel's organ. Aiesha's description had been right – it did look like a wrinkled little anteater nose, the foreskin swelling over the head and then coming to a droopy point that hung well off the tip of his glans. (If Tommy had been where he could look up at it, as Aiesha had made sure she had the opportunity to do, he would have been even more struck by the resemblance to said anteater's nose, as the tip curled under raggedly, leaving a fairly large open hole in the tip. Having seen, Gabriel's penis, though, up close and personal, so to speak, Tommy could easily picture the "snout" of the boy's organ, along with the hole through which a real anteater would suck ants. Filling that picture in within his head, Tommy wondered, briefly, how Wayne would react if his member was suddenly stuck in an antfarm. He had a picture of the organ flexing like an elephant's trunk and inhaling the insects like a vacuum, sucking the farm empty of residents in moments.

Mrs. Hendricks finished adjusting Wayne's underpants and straightened up, studying each boy's bottom with a practiced eye. The boys, unable to see any part of her but her lower legs and feet from their position, could only wait, Wayne's knees almost knocking, Tommy's heart in his throat. Both boys felt a sudden urge to pee. Mrs. Hendricks kept studying their position, then reached out and pulled Wayne's bottom back a bit farther, making it bend more and separating his buns more in the process. She liked to have the boys bend enough that their anuses just barely showed – it was, she felt, the position that had the best compromise between maximum exposure of flesh and sufficient protection of the anus itself from serious injury during a hard paddling. She stepped back again, and studied their positions. She nodded approvingly at the sight – both boys were bent just right. Wayne, the boy on her left, had a tight little pink anus of the type most common in young boys, whereas the Henson boy's orifice looked swollen and ill-used, and was a more brown and red color. Could he have received a particularly rough punishment enema? That's certainly how it looked. She stood, letting the tension build. Finally, when Wayne was beginning to feel that he'd explode from fear if something didn't happen soon, Mrs. Hendricks walked to the side of the desk and slowly, deliberately picked up the long paddle, turning it over in her hands under the boys' gaze. Both boys bit their lips in identical concern as she did. She lifted the highly varnished wood slowly and rotated it, letting them see the thickness of the foot-long, two-inch wide slat of wood with its rubber shrouded gripping handle. Moving behind them, she stood to one side of Wayne and lined the paddle up, letting it rest in the center of the boy's jutting white buttocks. Wayne flinched, squeezing his buns in terror, then just as quickly relaxing them and tensing his upper body and holding his breath. Mrs. Hendricks continued to gently stroke his bottom with the paddle, pressing hard enough to watch the soft, velvet skin deflect as moved the paddle about. Wayne's penis retreated into his body slowly and methodically as she did, the foreskin becoming longer and droopier as the body of it shortened to about an inch in length. His balls, at the same time, pulled tightly to his crotch. He shut his eyes and waited for the blow to land, but the paddle merely kept circling his bare butt.

"Frightened, Mr. Sakorov? Good. You should be," Mrs. Hendricks said to the visibly shaking Wayne. "Perhaps now you'll tell me who else was involved."

I know nothing! Nothing! A voice in Wayne's head kept repeating. Not trusting himself to speak, Wayne shook his head, unable to keep from tensing his butt again as the paddle reminded himself how bare and vulnerable he was.

Mrs. Hendricks sighed. "How about you, Mr. Henson? Is your memory improving?" Tommy also said nothing, his eyes flicking to Wayne's now shrunken genitals and then back to his own package for comparison. He hadn't shrunken as much as Wayne, but then, he didn't have a paddle against his butt at the moment, either. And of course, his genitals weren't the ruddy pink of Wayne's, but were orange-red instead, like someone had desecrated a statue. He held his breath, waiting for the crack to the paddle on Wayne's ass and the sharp intake of breath that was sure to follow, signals that his own blow was probably coming. But instead, both boys were startled by a sudden female voice behind them.

"Mrs. Hendricks," a voice said from the door. "Mrs. Johnson sent me to get some more…"

There was a sharp intake of breath as the girl froze in the doorway, apparently catching sight of the two naked bottomed boys for the first time. She let out a little giggle. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hendricks. I didn't know you were busy," she said, her voice revealing barely controlled laughter. "I'll wait outside."

"No, don't," Mrs. Hendricks said. "I'll be free in just a moment. Just stay there while I give Mr. Sakarov something to think about for a moment." She nudged Wayne with the paddle. "Thrust yourself out more for me, young man," she ordered. Wayne, trembling visibly, pushed his bare, white ass out a fraction of an inch. Mrs. Hendricks waited no more. She raised the paddle away from Wayne's butt and brought it back, then brought it forward rapidly, crashing into Wayne's trembling hind end. The crack of wood against soft, bare skin sounded like the report of a gun. Wayne's body tensed and he squeezed his buns so tightly that he drove the blood out of the skin, making the tense globes whiter than normal. His hands clenched into fists on the desk, and he went all the way up on his toes, his back curving and rigid. He sucked in his breath and stood there, tense and trembling, for a long moment. He clenched his lips tightly to keep from screaming out, managing to keep his response to a rather loud grunt. Slowly, the tension drained out of him again and he relaxed back on his heels. A broad pink stripe appeared, perfectly outlined across both butt cheeks. Mrs. Hendricks moved forward so she was standing behind Wayne, and Tommy felt the paddle contact his bottom and begin moving softly over it. "Yes, Ms. Penderhoff," she said, her gentle movements of the paddle making Tommy's butt twitch. "You were saying?" The residual soreness in Tommy's nates reasserted itself as the paddle reawakened the quiescent blisters, reminding Tommy he'd already been severely spanked and paddled multiple times in the last few days.

"Oh," the girl said. Wayne, his senses tuning back in after being overwhelmed with nothing but the stripe of red pain across his unprotected butt, noticed she'd moved to the side, farther into the office, so that she could see their fronts by looking over the desk. For a moment, he thought of covering up, but realized in time that such a move would be disastrous. Instead, he had to stand there while the girl's eyes roamed over his genital region and then Tommy's, her eyes widening as she took in Tommy's red coloring.

"Um, Mrs. Johnson sent me to get some more attendance slips. And she wanted me to ask if there was going to be need for a public discipline session in front of class for Tommy and Wayne before the day was over. She said to tell you she can make time if necessary," Sally Penderhoff said brightly. She was thrilled that she'd been sent to the office – Tommy Henson was gonna get paddled! And Wayne Sakarov, too! She'd already seen Wayne get one smack, and she lingered, hoping to see Tommy get one as well, perhaps even see the boys get more. Mrs. Hendricks kept slowly circling Tommy's ass with the paddle. The room was quiet for a moment except the rustling of both boys squirming, and the occasional tap of Wayne's pants button against the front of the desk. Finally, when Tommy thought he'd die of the suspense, and was screaming in his head, "just get on with it and spank me already!" the paddle left his butt and in less than a second crashed down. Tommy lurched into the deck, crashing the fronts of his legs into it as he arched his back and stood on his toes, clenching his butt and biting his lip for all his worth to prevent himself from screaming. His face went white, but his butt immediately showed the wide red mark of the paddle even though tightly clenched. His red-orange genitals thrust at the girl, the penis shortened in fright and pointing straight out over the tight ball sack. The girl stood, excited, drinking the vision in to tell her friends.

"Tell Mrs. Johnson I'll keep her posted," Mrs. Hendricks said. "Meanwhile, though, we'll have to go down the hall to get the attendance slips. I'm afraid I'm out. You boys stay here and think it over, and keep your positions!"

The two females bustled out of the office. Tommy was still trying to control his breathing. His bottom throbbed terribly, the blisters Gabriel, and Jesse, and Chad, and his sister had made all screaming where the paddle had landed.

"Asshole," Wayne muttered.

"What?" Tommy whispered.

"You're an asshole," Wayne said. "For telling on me."

"You're a bigger asshole!" Tommy retorted, his voice rising. "All I asked was if you'd help me get a picture, and you set me up!"

"I couldn't help that," Wayne said. "Aiesha has the goods on me. But you didn't have to blab my name! You're the assiest asshole of them all! You're a big fat asshole with shit all over it!"

"Me? You're the asshole. You're the asshole of an asshole! No, I take that back! You're the guy who licks assholes! You wait in the boys' room for guys to come in, then you offer to lick the shit off of their assholes with your tongue! That's why your breath smells like your asshole!" Tommy said heatedly. He was shaking, but he didn't remove his hands from the desk.

"Oh yeah?" Wayne retorted. "Well, your breath smells like little boy cocks! 'Cause you hang around playground bathrooms and suck all the cocks of the little boys when they come in to pee! Hello, little boy! My name is Tommy Henson! Want me to suck your little pee-pee for you? You can even pee in my mouth! I like it because I'm an asshole!"

Wayne actually had once been approached by an older boy in a park bathroom. He'd run inside the dark building at twilight, full of pee urgency, and the boy had walked up to the urinal beside his while he was spraying his load with abandon all over the back of the urinal with his pants pulled down, little boy style, below his rump. The boy had watched him pee openly, making no effort to take his own cock out, and waited until Wayne was shaking the last drops off and beginning to reach for his pants and pull them up. Then the boy had stopped his hands, saying, "wait a minute." Wayne, being very young at the time, had obeyed him as he would an adult, patiently standing as the boy reached down and touched his little member, now softening from the pee-erection he'd had moments before. "Where's your mom?" the boy had said, and Wayne had replied that was home, but his grandmother was putting away the picnic stuff on the other side of the park. "We'll have to hurry, then," the boy had said. "Come with me." He'd taken Wayne by the hand and led him into a stall, shutting the door behind them and closing the toilet lid. Lifting Wayne, he'd stood the boy, his pants still around his thighs, on the toilet lid. In that position, the little boy's genitals were directly across from the boy's head. "Now be quiet," the older boy had said. "And I'll make your feel good. But if you make a sound, I'll have to hurt these." He indicated what he meant by gently taking Wayne's tiny little scrotal sack in his fingers and feeling the baby balls. Wayne, overwhelmed with the unfamiliar events, had only been able to nod his understanding. "And if anyone comes in," the boy said, "just be quiet. They'd think I'm in here peeing or jerking off or something, and they won't be able to see you at all."

Wayne didn't know what he meant by "jerking off," but he understood that he was to be quiet and stand there or he'd get his balls hurt, and he feared getting his balls hurt instinctively, just as all little boys do. He stood there obediently as the older boy fingered his drooping little penis, sliding the foreskin back by degrees until the head of his penis was exposed (Wayne was blessed with a loose enough foreskin it has slid off the head easily from almost the day he was born). Eyeing Wayne's little-boy penis with a comical cross-eyed look from close range, the boy had closely inspected it, then, to Wayne's surprise, leaned forward and took it into his mouth. At first Wayne had been frightened, afraid the boy was going to bite him there, but instead he immediately felt the boy's tongue stroking the underside of his baby cock, coaxing it to erection. Once he was hard, the boy had began moving his mouth up and down on the short organ, sending wonderful waves of pleasure up Wayne's small spine. At the same time, the boy wrapped his big hands around Wayne's tiny butt, gripping the soft globes tightly and kneading the muscles underneath has he sucked. The tip of Wayne's organ, what his grandmother had always called his "pee-pee," felt strange, all tickly and insistent like it did when he had to pee bad. Finally, the tickling feeling became so insistent he had to do something.

He pushed at the boy's face with his hands. "Stop! I gotta pee again," he said.

The boy lifted away from his cock and looked at him, stroking the hard, upward curving little boy member with his hand as he spoke. "No you don't," he said quietly. You just think you have to pee because you're about to cum. Don't worry about it. If you feel like peeing, pee. I can handle it. Little kids like you do that all the time when I'm blowing them. It just tastes salty, that's all." After making this amazing pronouncement, the boy had gone back to sucking on his penis again, his mouth moving up and down even more vigorously. The feeling of a need to pee returned, and Wayne, overwhelmed, let his bladder relax like it wanted to. He could have sworn that he did squirt out a residual drop or too, but the big boy hadn't reacted, just keep sucking away on his phallus, and the tickly sensation didn't go away as a result, instead it just increased. He was feeling rather frantically like something cataclysmic was going to happen down there when from outside the bathroom, he heard his grandmother's voice. "Wayne, are you still in there?"

The boy's mouth slipped off Wayne's organ, which immediately registered its disappointment to the little boy. "Damn," the boy said under his breath. "I almost had you there." He pulled Wayne's underpants and pants up, wiping the wet penis on the cloth as he did, and zipped and buttoned the little boy. "Tell her you're just washing your hands," he said.

"I'm washing my hands," Wayne called obediently.

"Hurry up, we have to be going home," the grandmother called.

"Now go out to here, and act like everything is normal. You don't tell anyone about this, ever," the boy said threateningly. "Because I know who you are, and I know where you live. And if you tell anyone, I'll sneak into your bedroom at night and cut your thing off and stuff it in your mouth! You got that, kid?"

Wayne, now frightened by the boy's sudden change of tone, had nodded, and the boy had opened the stall and lifted Wayne down, and he'd fled out the door. His grandmother hadn't noticed anything odd about his appearance, and he, true to his nod, never told a soul. For weeks he'd lain in bed a night sometimes, sure the boy did indeed know where he lived and would pop out of the closet at an moment to demand if he'd told. He'd even practiced what he'd say if the boy did pop up. "I haven't told a soul, honest injun," he'd plead. And of the boy wanted to do to him what he'd done in the bathroom, Wayne would let him. Sometimes he spit on his hand until it was soaking wet, like a mouth full of hot spit, and enclosed his hard little organ in it, moving up and down like the boy had with his mouth, and the tickly feeling returned as it had that day. He'd even experimented with squeezing out a few residual drops of pee to add to the wetness of his hand, like he'd done in the boy's mouth, and that made it more exciting, somehow. It wasn't until 2 years later, though, that he found out what the boy had meant about making him cum, when, one night, instead of stopping when his organ got overwhelmingly tickly, he continued stroking himself. His first cum, and all the others since, had been dry cums, of course (Not that this was all that noticeable with all the spit he used to jerk off), but he'd recently learned from Aiesha that grown up boys squirted sticky stuff out when they came (a process that she'd quickly ascertained he was unable to do and knew nothing about).

He'd always felt the boy in the bathroom had been as low as a boy could go – a sucker of boy's cocks and a drinker of boys' pee, who openly admitted he liked doing both. And that's why he threw that accusation at Tommy Henson, who, in tattling on him, had broken the boys' cardinal rule.

Tommy shifted his weight and nudged Wayne hard, digging his hip bone into the boy's side and throwing him off balance so that Wayne slipped and almost fell over. Wayne, recovering, pushed Tommy back, harder, making him slip and remove his hands from the desk as he caught his balance. Angrier, Tommy shoved Wayne back even harder, making him fall onto his rump comically. He smirked down at Wayne in triumph. Wayne scrambled to his feet and tackled Tommy, driving him to the ground in a bear hug. Tommy, struggling to free his arms, elbowed Wayne in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Wayne sagged back and Tommy pressed his advantage lunging over the gasping smaller boy. Seeing Wayne's genitals right at hand between his unfortunately (for him) separated legs, he grabbed the boy's droopy penis and sagging, marble-filled bag and squeezed, putting all his anger into his grip. Wayne squealed and, in desperation, shot out a hand and grabbed Tommy's sagging sack in turn under his penis, also squeezing with all his anger. Both boys shuddered in agony, their agony making the squeeze each other harder. Suddenly, Mrs. Hendricks was there, grabbing Tommy and casting him to one side, then tossing Wayne to the other, like a child throwing rag dolls to separate corners of the room and easily breaking their grips on each other. "Stop it, you two hooligans!" she ordered firmly. "There will be no brawling at my school!"

Tommy and Wayne lay across from each other, panting, each nursing sore testicles. Mrs. Hendricks glared at them, while Sally stood behind, open-mouthed, drinking in the sight of both boys fondling their strange genital parts. "Get up," Mrs. Hendricks said. "And put the palms of your hands back on the desk."

Tommy, groaning, reluctantly got to his feet, even more reluctantly releasing his once again tortured scrotum. Wayne, moving more slowly, was visibly trembling as he arose, his black glare never leaving Tommy as he assumed the prescribed position. Mrs. Hendricks clucked.

"Are you going to paddle them?" Sally asked. "Like, really hard?"

Mrs. Hendricks considered. "No," she finally said. Both boys sagged a bit in relief. "I have something better," she said. "A new device that just arrived last week." She moved to a cupboard and opened it. "I believe this might be the ideal time to give it a try. Boys, I believe it's time you got familiar with the Smithson Disciplinary Equipment Company's latest tool in encouraging male cooperation." She pulled a sturdy aluminum case out of the cupboard an set it on the desk in front of them, opening the lid and turning it toward them so they could see inside. "Gentlemen, meet the Smithson Cooperative Harness for Boys. We call it the SCOOB."