The Orphanage Boys Chapter 16
by Chadlad

copyright 2009 by Chadlad, all rights reserved
chadlad3@yahoo.com

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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 16: Sixteenth Floor: Sick Room Supplies

For the first time that day, Sam and Jake were alone as they walked, still naked, along the path leading between trees and back Father McKenzie's study and the infirmary that was supposed to be next it. Both were carrying their clothes in front of them, covering their bare genitalia as much as they dared without being accused of touching themselves. Of course, this left their purple-bruised, jutting, boyish bottoms bare, but both of them were so sore back there after being peppered with BBs from close range that they weren't sure they'd want to put their underpants back on had they been allowed, and thus being seen if someone were to materialize would just be something that had to be tolerated. But neither wanted that to happen, of course. Despite all that had occurred, despite the now dozens of people who'd seen their bare butts and even the private area inside their butt cracks, they still were highly self-conscious about being exposed back there. They walked slowly, each trying to avoid stretching the bruised globes any more than necessary. For awhile they were quiet as they slowly moved along, but finally Sam cleared his throat and looked across at Jake.

"I don't get it," he said. "What that kid said. About champion day. And how he was going to get us."

"It think he said 'challenge day,'" Jake said. "I'm pretty sure. Like you're facing a challenge."

"What kind of challenge?" Sam demanded. "Like running a race or something?"

"I don't think he was talking about a race. Because how would he get us if we were running a race? Trip us or something?" Jake said.

"Well, we did kinda pee on him," Jake said. "And you heard what Mother Superior said - he can't wash it off. He has to go around like that all day, until tomorrow morning. Smelling like pee. Our pee. Wouldn't you be mad if some kids peed on you and you couldn't wash it off?"

"Yeah, but we had to," Sam said. "He should know that we only did it 'cause we had to."

"I don't think he cares," Jake said after a moment. "I think he's just mad, and he can't do anything to the nuns, so he blames us. Everybody blames us." He winced as his foot slipped and he had to stretch to keep from falling, the tissue where his legs joined complaining that the effects of the shot in that delicate place had not subsided. He stopped abruptly, panting, his butt clenched to drive away the pain between his legs, an action that made his other shots throb and his welts from both paddle and BBs reawaken. Sam stopped too and looked at Jake in sympathy.

"Hurts," Jake said by way of explanation through gritted teeth. He looked around suspiciously, saw no one, and shifted his pile of still damp clothing to his left arm and balanced them there. Revealed, his penis was a shrunken shadow of its usual self, just the pointed hood projecting from his once again hairless groin like a tiny finger tip. He went bow legged a minute, reaching down with his other hand and pressing his fingers under his balls on the incredibly sore spot between his legs where the last shot had gone. He winced as his fingers contacted the warm, welted skin there, gasped, and then pressed harder, trying to drive away the pain under the skin, the tunnel of pain the priest had made with his final shot. Same looked on in sympathy.

"I know," he said. "Mine hurts too. Under there, I mean. I wonder why - why there?" He stared at Jake, who was trying to press the wounded area under his balls even harder and wincing at the effects. "What kind of place is this, anyway?" Sam added after a moment. "What kind of place makes you take off our pants and ties you up with your- your stuff sticking out so they can shoot you with a gun?"

"A BB gun," Jake corrected.

"It's still a gun," Sam said. "And it hurt. I know what we did was bad, but why wasn't it bad for them to do that to us, too?"

Jake just shook his head.

"I mean, it's not fair!" Sam went on. "You and me, we did bad stuff before. Before our moms...before we... came here. But we didn't get... Mom never..."

"I know," Jake said, looking up and casting his gaze around, making sure no nun was sneaking up on them to catch him with his hand near his genitals, to accuse him of touching himself there again. "I know," he said again. "You remember what my mom said about the stuff in our underpants? When your mom called it our 'privates?' And my mom said that it wasn't really that they were our privates, because they weren't that private? Because we saw each other all the time, and they saw us, and other boys saw us when we went pee? Remember what she said our stuff should be called?"

"Our treasures," Sam said immediately. "Because she said we should take care of those parts of us and be careful, because they were treasures. And important."

"Yeah," Jake said. "She said we shouldn't let other kids hit us there, and we shouldn't hit other kids there, because those parts of us were precious. Something we should treasure."

"So how come they let the girls shoot us there? And the fat nun - Mary Fat-stuff..."

"Mary Catherine," Jake corrected automatically. Then Sam's words caught up with him and he burst out laughing, laughter that was brought up short when his perineum gave him sharp pains as a result. "Yeah, Mary Fat-stuff," he echoed.

Yeah, our moms, thought Jake. Our moms are gone, and who knows if we'll ever see them again. His eyes misted, too. His mom, or Sam's, was always there to wake them in the morning, make them breakfast, pack them lunches in worn, used paper bags, and send them off with a kiss to the top of the head. His mom made pancakes, Sam's mom's specialty was scrambled eggs, but it didn't matter. What mattered was the regularity of the pattern. They were always there, that was what mattered. And they had never said a word about him or Sam touching their treasures. He even remembered Sam's mom smiling indulgently whenever an errant little hard penis would slip out of the fly of pajamas or a boy with an itch would scratch his balls, or even give his own penis a reassuring squeeze. But the nuns who oversaw them now would probably literally explode if he were to even adjust himself in his pants.

Yet what was so wrong about touching himself there, anyway, he wondered. Neither his mom nor Sam's had every said anything if they touched their treasures, not even if they held themselves protectively and soothingly while trying to fall asleep, as he sometimes had liked to do. Heck, his own mom and Sam's had both smiled indulgently when he or Sam would slip a hand into the fly in the front of pajamas while being read to. It had felt natural, and good - and somehow safe.

He'd never realized until yesterday, though, that his little dangling treasure was capable of generating those powerful other feelings, that spine tingling, butt squeezing wave upon wave of sheer pleasure that reverberated from the hooded tip of his boyish organ all the way to the base of his spine, that made him gasp and grunt and clench every muscle in his lower abdomen, and that left him feeling strangely satiated and limp. Sensations that, judging by his reactions, Sam was capable of feeling as well. Sensations he'd never felt before, but that he'd felt twice now in quick succession, first at the hands of the nuns, and then while in Father McKenzie's strangely tender and attentive hands. He wondered if it had to do with having things stuffed up his butt. He'd never had things stuffed up his butt before. It had never occurred to him to stick things up his butt -- he'd always assumed it was only a place for things to come out of, dirty things that it was best to be rid of, and he hadn't thought much else about it. He'd been curious about that part of his body from time to time, of course - he and Sam had spent some time closely inspecting each others' anuses, but otherwise they hadn't given that part of their bodies all that much attention. You felt the urge, you sat, poop came out of your butt, and you wiped yourself. And that was it.

And then Sister Mary Catherine had forced a finger into his butt, pressing the tight muscle inward instead of outward, and everything had changed—he'd felt a tingle, then a powerful urge, and his wiener was hard in an instant, and then had come those feelings...

Well, not exactly like that. It had hurt, first. When she'd forced her oiled finger in, first it had hurt, as his butt hole had protested the unexpected intrusion. And then it has felt full—full and funny. And then she'd touched something inside him, and he'd been filled with powerful, wondrous feelings that built and built as she'd wiggled her finger in that special place...

And then had come the explosion, a kind of wienie explosion, accompanied by urgent clenchings of his sore butt and thrusts into the empty air, and waves and waves of indescribable pleasure.

He'd been unable to imagine it when he'd tried to think about it afterward, in a muzzy sort of satisfied haze while falling asleep. It had felt so good, even though the finger in his ass had burned and felt huge, but he couldn't really recall the actual feeling, only that it had been good, it had been wonderful, and he longed to feel it again. And then he'd gotten his wish, from a surprising source, as Father McKenzie had repeated Sister Mary Catherine's invasion of his butt, stroked that same place a few inches inside him, right behind his hard little penis, and brought those same feelings back. Only this time, it had been better, because the Father also did wondrous, marvelous things to his straining penis as well, and the explosion had shaken his whole being. And now he yearned for that feeling, so much so that he would almost have gone though the shots that followed and being shot in the butt again to experience those feelings again. Almost.

Jake withdrew his hand from where he'd been pressing against that very sore spot under his balls where the worst shot had gone. It ached a little less now because of his ministrations. He shifted his clothes back to both arms, shook his head again, and slowly took a step, then another, Sam falling in a little behind him again as they moved off slowly, eyeing his friend's ruined butt. "Does mine look as bad as yours?" Sam finally ventured. "My behind. Does it look like yours?"

"I guess," Jake said. "Yours looks pretty bad." They walked along awhile longer.

"Jake?" Sam said again.

"Yeah," Jake replied.

"Some of them are pretty big down there," Jake said. "I don't mean the ones with hair," Sam said. "I mean the bald ones, like us. I thought they were all about our size. But those girls said that we were all tiny, even that Roger kid. I don't think we're so tiny."

Jake glanced involuntarily down at his own hairless pubes, courtesy of the pliers from the orphanage tool shelf, and blushed when he saw that Sam had seen him check his little tool, pointing downward now and swaying slightly as he walked. "We're not very big," he finally said. "Maybe they're right. Sometimes mine disappears. Well, almost disappears."

"I don't get why it matters, anyway," Sam said. "All they're good for is peeing. And the kids with big ones don't pee any farther than us -- less far, if anything. And they don't pee as hard, either. Especially when they're all stiff in the morning. They go in little squirts, or dribble."

"Those girls seemed to think it was a big deal," Jake said. "How big you are, I mean. And me. They acted like we were babies."

"I don't get it," Sam said a few steps later. They were nearing the small house where Father McKenzie's study and examining room was. The infirmary had to be the small building behind it, nearer them from the side they were approaching. It had a door centered on their side, and a whole row of big windows, through which the endsof a row of empty beds could be seen lined up in a row and covered with tight sheets. Beyond about ends of the beds, though, the room disappeared into impenetrable shadows, making what or who else was inside anyone's guess. A solid wooden door was embedded in the side nearest them, and the two stopped by it. "I just don't get it," Same said again. "That Steph girl kept saying we were tiny! I've seen the other boys! The fat kids don't even have weenies you can see! 'Cept when they have to pee and they get hard and stick out, you know? But even then they're not any bigger than ours when we stick out. Smaller, even, 'cause they don't have any cover like we do."

"Yeah," Jake said. "I wonder if we should knock or something." He didn't really feel comfortable talking about penises at the moment. Prior to a few days ago, he hadn't even given his penis much thought - it was just something that was there. It felt good to hold, and it felt good to pee, and it got in the way in your pants some times. But now, now that he and Sam had been immersed in a world where boys who didn't even know each other had to share living quarters and take showers together, now that they'd seen just how small their boyish organs were compared to those of the older boys like Flip, and more centrally, now that his and Sam's penises had been unwillingly bared to be seen by hordes of girls as well as boys, the inadequacy of his little nub had really been brought home to him. And thinking about and talking about his penis was disconcerting for another reason—he still hadn't come to grips with the discovery of how much pleasure one could get from having one's penis handled by others. Such pleasure had to be a sin—weren't all the really good things in life sinful? Eating too much was sinful, and playing when you had work to do (which seemed to be all the time around here) was sinful, and so was teasing girls, and running around chasing each other, and trying to peek at girls in the shower...

He wondered if he'd feel the same pleasure if he burrowed his own finger into his butt, and then rubbed his own penis the way Father McKenzie had rubbed his. The urge to find out tantalized him. But he also remembered the many remonstrations they'd already received against touching their penises beyond holding them to pee and shaking them (but not more than 3 times) after peeing. Touching their penises could get their small treasures locked into a little black box, like that kid from the other dorm who shared their showers. Locked in a box, trapped so that you couldn't even scratch, couldn't even take it out to pee, and had to go around smelling like pee because you had to pee into the box itself and let it dribble out...

"Jake?" Sam was saying. "Jake? Did you hear me?"

Jake's attention jerked back to the present. "What?" he asked irritably.

Sam, who was clearly bothered by something, shifted from foot to foot nervously. He looked disappointed that Jake hadn't been listening. "I was just saying," he said, his voice quavering, "that we don't know who's in there. And we're naked."

"But what if it isn't him? What if there are girls in there?" Sam said. "Or nuns? Or girls and nuns?"

Jake considered this. His butt felt incredibly bare, jutting out in the open, all his welts and bruises and blisters on display. He didn't like the awareness he had of the cool, shifting late morning air blowing across that expanse of bare skin. He'd never been naked in the open before—never been naked anywhere except in his and Sam's room, and the bathroom. Never was naked, even, in the kitchen, or the living room. You never knew when a strange man might be in the kitchen of their mothers' apartment, either late at night or early in the morning, at breakfast. Or one of their mothers' high-heeled, lipsticked friends. Being naked outside would have been considered beyond the pale just days ago. But here he was, wearing nothing but shoes, socks, and a shirt slightly damp on the tails where he'd splashed it with brook water, with his butt completely open to anyone's gaze, and his little cocklet and balls barely hidden under the clothing he was holding low in front of him, the clothing he'd peed so publicly and shamefully in front of all those girls.

"You think there might be girls in there?" Jake responded after a bit. He shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

"Girls get sick, too," Sam said. "There might be all kinds of girls in there. And nuns, too, taking care of them. And when we walk in, I bet the first thing they do is take away our clothes—they're not dry yet, you know. And then what are we going to do? We can't cover up with our hands - they'll say we're touching ourselves and we'll get punished worse."

"Then we'll just have to let them see us, I guess," Jake said resignedly. He gulped, gathering courage. "Maybe no one is here," he said. "Or maybe just the Father."

"Oh," Sam said. "That'd be okay, then. 'Cause he's a boy, too." Years of sharing a room, and a bathroom, and a bed, and a shower, coupled with the enforced and casual nudity of the dorm the last few days had dulled them both to embarrassment about having their private areas seen by other people who were also equipped with penises. Although both found themselves still somewhat cowed by the big boys with their massing, swinging phalluses sprouting from giant bushes of curly hair. And elimination in front of other boys was still a colossal embarrassment, especially making poo.

Jake thought about it. "Father McKenzie's a little creepy," he said. "Remember, he's the one who gave us the shots. And tied us down for the BB guns."

"Yeah, but..."Sam said and stopped. Jake knew what he was saying. Father McKenzie had also made them feel very, very good. A feeling he wanted again, sooner rather than later. A feeling they might be getting again right away if they were just to knock on the door. Besides, standing here wasn't an option - who knows if a girl, or a whole troop of girls, might suddenly come by. Or Mother Superior ready to take her cane to their naked bodies. Or Sister Mary Catherine...

Jake shuddered at the thought of Sister Mary Catherine and shifted his damp clothing to his left arm and balanced it there. With his right hand, he knocked on the door softly and a bit tentatively. He almost fell backward when it opened inward before he'd even withdrawn his hand from the third knock. He gasped, then realized that the figure he saw was a familiar one--Sister Grace was standing there.

Well, this wasn't so bad. Sister Grace had seen him and Sam naked, and all the other boys. In fact, she'd seen them multiple times already, in her capacity as the nun who oversaw their dorm and supervised their showers. Sam, too, seemed relieved at the sight of her and relaxed a bit, making less of an effort to cover himself in front with his damp clothes, an covering effort that was marginal in effect, anyway.

"Father McKenzie told us to expect you," she said brightly. "Come inside, before those dear little bottoms of yours get sunburned and compound the damage that's already been done to them." She waved the boys inside and they went eagerly, moving as fast as they could without hurting their sore butts any more than they had to, out of the exposure of the outside and into the interior of the infirmary. She closed the door behind them and they found they were in a short hall which opened ahead into a larger room that was surprisingly light and airy. Shutting the door, she paused and surveyed their bare asses, pursing her lips and shaking her head so that her wimple flapped. "So much damage," she sighed. "I do not approve of this plan of theirs, I do not approve of it at all. But do Mary Catherine, or Chastity, or the dear Mother pay any attention to me and what I think? And me knowing the ways of boys better than any of them! Who had 11 brothers, after all?"

Jake was willing to guess that the answer was Sister Grace, but there seemed to be nothing to say to that, so Jake and Sam stood there uncomfortably, saying nothing. Sister Grace continued to study their bare, badly bruised, naked bottoms. After a time, she jerked into motion again. "But look at me wool-gathering," she said, sweeping past them. "I must get you washed, and treated, and settled into bed. If I can't stop them, at least I can help speed the repair of the damage before they go on." She headed into the room. "Follow me," she ordered, and Sam and Jake had no option but to do so.

The room they entered had windows the windows they'd seen from outside all along the north wall, letting in gentle light that bounced off the white walls. The row of beds they'd seen from outside ran along one side, all neatly made up with perfect hospital corners in blindingly white sheets. An examination table was against the opposite wall near cabinets that covered one corner. In the other corner was what looked like a normal bathroom, with a sink and a toilet and a shower head like they had never seen before, with a long hose attached to it hanging from a holder barely above the height of their heads rather than arching out of the wall, but no shower curtain to be seen, just a depression in the floor that led to a drain in the center. Like the facilities in the boys' dorm that they were already used to, there appeared to be no provision for the modesty of the users. Jake wondered, briefly, what they did when boys and girls both were in the infirmary at the same time, but Sister Grace was apparently a mind reader. "This is the boys' side. The girls' side faces west - that's the best view. Mother Superior insisted that the girls deserved the better room. And their toilet is separate, in its own room, but then, that's to be expected—girls' modesty must be protected and encouraged. You young boys, on the other hand, have less need for modesty, and more need to be watched and to have our unseemly urges channeled properly." She smiled at them and her expression softened, and just for a moment the ache Jake felt for his missing mother almost made his knees weak. "You young boys are so sweet," she said wistfully, and it was clear that she was staring at their dusky, sore, welted bottoms as she said it. "So innocent. But you lose it so fast. Yet I sometimes think that Mary Catherine and the dear Mother and their faction go too far. Your parts cannot be wholly evil—boys are as God made them, and he made them in his own image. This must all be part of God's plan. Yet..." she paused, seemed to start and come back to herself.

"Never mind," she said quickly, moving past them. "Put those soiled clothes in the hamper. Take off the shirts you have on, too. No need for them here. Take off those shoes and put them at the foot of the first two beds - you can decide which of you is in which. Then you can leave your socks in the hamper, too. First order of business is to get the damaged areas soaped well and washed off to prevent infection, then we'll get some ointment on that. Although I don't approve of the ointment that Father McKenzie has selected, but he said Mother Superior herself had ordered it, so..."

She drifted off again, eyeing their bare bottoms in a fashion that made Jake and Sam edgy. Then she snapped back to attention again. "Clothing in the hamper, shoes at the foot of the bed," she said. "Then move over to the shower. I have to get the special soaps and prepare things - I'll be right back. You two be quick little bunnies so you're all nakey and ready when it's time to get started. The quicker we go, the quicker you're in bed and healing. Although it seems such a waste, with what they're planning to do..." she stared off into space again, then her eyes refocused. "Still, better that you be healed beforehand than not." She turned and walked quickly into the hall again without another word.

Jake looked at Sam, who was looking back at him, waiting for some sign of what to do. Jake sighed and walked to the hamper, dropping his clothes into it and suddenly feeling very exposed. Bending self-consciously, his butt feeling like it was sticking out a mile and protesting like crazy at being stretched like that, he pulled off his shoes and slid off his socks and put them in the hamper, too. After a moment, Sam did the same, and then followed Jake back to the end of the row of beds, where Jake lined his shoes up at the end of the bed and then stood there self-consciously as Sam bent to do the same, groaning as his sore butt protested the movement. His eyes slid to Sam's now lewdly exposed posterior, the other boy's butt crack spread widely as he knelt to line the shoes up. The deep red, purple bruises on the surface of his friends buns were peppered with small BB welts that bulged like chicken pox all over the surface, contrasting with the much whiter skin of his butt crack that had been protected from spankings and paddlings and slipperings they'd received. But that white skin, wrinkling around his friend's swollen, red anal ring, was also peppered with pock-marks that covered the smooth skin broadening to the corrugated surface the defined the swell of his friend's balls, the sack of which sported at least two visible pocks as well on its otherwise white skin. Sam turned from lining his shoes up, saw where Jake was looking, and straightened up quickly, almost as if he was embarrassed to be seen with marks of shame on his body. He turned to face Jake, his hands going back to gently probe and then cup the rounded surface of his boy-butt. His little, shrunken penis wiggled as he did. Jake found himself cupping his own throbbing, aching posterior, almost gasping at the resurgence of pain as his hands contacted his hot, surprisingly bumpy skin.

"Hurts," he muttered.

Jake stood there with his hands gently cupping his jutting butt, not moving them for fear of causing a resurgence of pain, but needing the comfort of their touch. His penis, shrunken from exposure, was nothing but a pointed hood sagging over tightly pursed balls. "Maybe," he said. But he didn't really thinks so, not after what Sister Grace had just said, that phrase that had not been completed. He could still hear it echoing in his head--"...with what they're planning to do..." So there were plans, obviously, and they had to be bad, because hadn't Sister Grace made it clear she did not approve?

Sam's face showed his concern when Jake didn't answer immediately, though. He opened his mouth, probably to ask for more reassurance from his life-long friend and bedmate, but before he could speak Sister Grace reappeared, carrying a beat-up tin basin with several bottles and squat jars of various types in it, along with washcloths and other things that weren't immediately recognizable. She moved quickly to the corner and sat it on the closed toilet seat, then turned to look at the two naked boys grasping their sore butts.

"Well, come on," she said. "Get over here into the shower and let's get started." She watched them walk over, hands still comforting sore posteriors, and then reached down and twisted a knob. Water poured out of the head of the flexible shower wand, splattering onto the floor and disappearing down the drain. She picked it up and aimed it toward the wall and motioned the boys to stand with their backs against the wall, one on either side of where the hose of the shower protruded. Their bare feet splashed on the wet floor by the drain.

"Chins up, hands at your sides," Sister Grace said cheerfully. "We'll do your fronts quickly so that we can get to your backsides - that's where you really need medical attention. We must start the healing process."

"Cold," Sam muttered, his hands fluttering at his sides, as the fringes of the spraying shower head, still aimed away from them, splashed against the floor near their feet still gripping his butt. Jake had let go of his aching butt as well and was having trouble deciding what to do with his hands. He hated being naked in close proximity to the black and white garbed nun like this. He hated the openness of the room stretching out in front of him, light filtering through the big windows over by the beds, windows that he and Sam were facing at the moment. For a moment he felt even more exposed, reasoning that that all his private parts were out where they could easily been seen by anyone passing the large windows on the north wall. Then he remembered that he and Sam had not been able to see into the room this far - it was quite a bit brighter outside, after all. Still, he felt extremely exposed facing outward into this large room. He thought of the toilet, standing in the open to one side of him, where anyone standing at it to pee could face away from the room. But that meant that if a guy were to sit down to poo, he'd be facing outward, observed by anyone who cared to watch. How long until he had to poo again, he wondered. HE couldn't remember what Sister Mary Catherine had said about when he and Sam would need to go again. The thought filled him with dread - this toilet was even more exposed than the ones in the bathroom all the boys shared - at least it didn't have big, low windows in it, only windows high up on the walls, windows you couldn't see into unless you climbed a tree, as he and Sam had done in their disastrous attempt to spy on the girls. He'd already found using the toilets there to be humiliating. The exposure made you want to close your legs up when you had to go, to cover yourself and what you were doing, yet it was harder to poo that way than it was with your legs apart. Yet if you pooed with your legs apart, you were humiliatingly exposed, and sometimes pooing gave him a hard on, and to be seen with a hard on was to be the subject of ridicule, as he'd already seen. For the small, hairless boys, that is. The bigger boys with their nests of hair, like Flip, seemed proud of their big erections and almost strutted when they appeared.

He couldn't help glancing down at his genitals self-consciously, anxiously wondering how his privates appeared at the moment, in full view of the nun fussing with her bottles right next to them. His darting glance told him he was still just a small little nub down there. That was good. He had obtained distinct impression that the nuns disliked penises, especially big, hard ones. He'd seen Sister Grace frown and look away from the boys who were hard, especially boys with big, jutting penises and pubic hair. On the other hand, she didn't react that way to the little boys in the same state - in fact, he could swear he'd seen her smile indulgently at the younger boys from the other dorm room when they sported jutting little members. And he didn't remember her frowning at his hard member, either, and he'd been hard a few times on his way to the urinal in the morning while she was preparing the showers for them. Still, it was best if his penis did not call attention to itself right now, so it was good that it was soft.

Sister Grace, replying to Sam's commont, interrupted his thoughts.

"Yes, I'm afraid it's cold," she said. "Were you girls, or were you here because of illness, Mother Superior would have allowed me to use the hot water, but under the circumstances she believes cold showers are better for you boys at the moment. In fact, she opined that they're medically necessary. And though I don't fully concur, we must do what the dear Mother says. " She flicked her hand up, and suddenly both Jake and Sam were blasted with a spray of water that seemed as ice cold as water from a mountain stream. Both gasped, hugging their arms to their bodies and shivering, dancing and shivering as Sister Grace sprayed their fronts relentlessly, soaking their hair, wetting them from head to toe, and making icy water stream off their bodies. She didn't spare their genitals, nor did she pay special attention to them, but Jake could feel his balls tightening even further and his penis trying to crawl into his groin for protection. Both boys were blowing and shivering in moments. Sister Grace ignored their sputtering protests, working down to their feet, at which point she flicked the water off suddenly. "Turn and face the wall," she ordered. "So I can do your other sides."

Shivering, both boys turned around, presenting their narrow, bony shoulders and jutting, sore butts to the windows on the far side. In moments the shower wand was on again, spraying their hair, tickling their necks, and freezing their backs, making both boys hunch and shiver. Jake's teeth actually began chattering, and Sam's shivers became increasingly more violent. As the spray moved down to the projecting shelf of their bare, welted butts, both boys gasped as the water reawakened the not quite dormant pain of each welt and each small blister, and the fresh needle tracks penetrating their tender globes. Jake moaned aloud as Sister Grace moved the wand to where it was just centimeters from his cleft, and the stinging, sharp spray drove into him, penetrating the fleshy globes, pushing them aside, and scouring his butt crack with little cold needles of spray. His multiply-violated butt hole protested the cold needles driving into it, and then, as she lowered the spray so that it curved under his buttocks, he felt the icy water spraying the sore skin between his legs and the extremely tender tunnel left by Father McKenzie's needle. He bit off a squeal and the spray shifted off him. As he panted and tried to drive down the renewed pain in his butt, it became Sam's turn to endure the icy spray on his wounded and delicate anatomy. He wasn't as stoic as Jake, squealing and clenching, but Sister Grace merely pressed the wand against him more tightly, until it was right against his buttocks, and the wall in front of him prevented Sam from escaping the onslaught.

And then, suddenly, she shut the flow off again, and the room was suddenly quiet except for the boys' anguished panting as they dealt with the reawakened protests of all their tortured private regions. And while they were doing this, Sister Grace suddenly looked past them, a genuine smile lighting her face.

"Hello, girls" she said cheerfully over their shaking, hunched bodies. "What can I do for you two?" Both boys were still dancing in place, literally freezing their little butts off. Thus, it took a few moments for the import of her remarks to dawn on Jake, but when it did, his head snapped up and his blood froze.

Jake was later to wonder if he'd developed some sort of psychic power for creating bad things just by imagining them, simply because ever time he imagined something bad was about to happen, it seemed to occur. He'd worried about peeing himself while on the BB platforms, and then had almost immediately done so. He'd worried about being stripped naked when he'd been taken to the glass room to be spanked, and then it had happened. He'd worried that he was going to poop his diaper in class the day before, and then had done precisely that. He'd feared losing his mother, and here he was, at an orphanage, and his mother might as well be on Mars. And now...

Now his most recent fear was realized, because approaching him and Sam from across the room, dressed in cute little nursing outfits rather than the usual school uniform, were two of the absolutely cutest girls he'd ever seen.

They were older than him and Sam, probably around 13 or 14 or so. They were already well developed, one with small but pert, cone-shaped breasts that pointed outward, one with a more generous, full bosom that made a shelf across her chest and were tightly reined in by a bra that must have been a marvel of design. Both had with narrower waists that gave way to flaring, curvaceous hips that filled out the skirt in a most intriguing fashion. They both had beautiful long hair pulled demurely into pony tails, one blond (the pert breasted girl), and the other a luminous brown (the full-breasted one). They were smiling pleasantly as they approached, not showing any surprise at all, as if seeing two boys facing the wall, dripping wet and stark naked, was a sight one saw every day. Jakes first urge was to cover himself, to run and hide under something, but there was no hiding, and no way to cover himself, so he simply moved even closer to the wall in an attempt to at least keep his front hidden from their eyes. He and Sam were so cold it was imposible to keep still, though, so they kept shifting and doing a little dance moving from foot to foot and holding their arms tightly to their sides. Sam was looking over his shoulder, now, too. The two girls approached, looking him and Sam up and down as they did, their eyes finally stopping and staying on the boys' ravaged, jutting bottoms. They stopped about 5 feet away, taking in all the details of the boys' bare nether anatomy. After a moment's pause, Sister Grace cleared her throat.

"Is there something I can help you girls with?" she said cheerfully. She put a steadying hand on the almost jitterbugging Sam. "Do try to hold still, dear. I'm trying to talk to the girls, and your leaping about isn't helping."

"C-c-c-cold," Sam chattered. Beside him, Jake shivered in agreement.

"I know, but Mother Superior says it's for the best," Sister Grace said. "Try to accept your travails as would our Lord Jesus Christ." She reached over and turned the cold faucet knob off, and the shower head's output tapered to a dribble. She looked back at the girls.

"Mother Superior sent us," the blond girl gushed through rosebud lips. "She said we should take nurse's aid training down at the convent next term, and that we could start practicing now. And she said that you need to come to the main office, there's things she needs to discuss with you, and then you should go to the dining hall to supervise lunch and..and.." she looked worried. "I know there was more, but I forgot the rest."

"We're supposed to take over for you here," the other girl interjected. She gave us instructions. Written instructions." She handed a sheet of paper covered with elegant writing in a female hand toward Sister Grace. Sister Grace hung the shower head on its hook and wiped her hand on a towel she had slung over the shoulder of her habit, then took the paper and studied it. She frowned as she read, shaking her head.

"Some of this seems so unnecessary," she said petulantly. "But the dear Mother's intent is clear and she must be obeyed. And this seems to be in order," she said. "Very well, I'll leave these two little boys in your hands. You're sure you can handle them?"

The brunet scanned Sam and Jake from the back side. Both were shivering, but making a pointed attempt to keep their fronts to the wall and out of sight of the two girls. "Oh, yes," she said. "We've handled taking care of little boys before. We're going to be nurses, you know."

"Very well," Sister Grace said again. "I'll be going, then." She took a few steps, then turned back. "If there are any problems, don't hesitate to come get me," she said. "And remember that good Catholic girls must keep themselves pure by thinking only Godly thoughts, even when confronted with the most base of tasks."

"Of course," the brunet replied. "Mother Superior asked that you come immediately."

"Yes," Sister Grace said. She beamed a smile at the shivering boys. "You two obey the girls in everything," she said. "Mother Superior will be quite cross if you don't, and I won't be able to help you at all then." She vanished into the hall, and a moment later they could hear the door open and shut, then the form of the small nun hurrying past the windows and out of sight.

"Now what?" the blond asked.

"Now," the brunet said, pausing. She let her gaze sweep over first Sam's and then Jake's naked bodies. "Now she's gone, and we can pretty much do whatever we want."