The Orphanage Boys Chapter 37

The Orphanage Boys Chapter 37
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 37: 37th floor: Girls' Clothing

Jake and Sam walked clumsily along the cobblestoned path joining the dining hall to the dorms, chattering, laughing girls skipping merrily in front, in back, and on either side of them. The unfamiliar girls' shoes with straps across the top rather than the laces he was used to pinched his feet, and the knee socks felt strange each time he half-tripped in the odd shoes and brushed his thighs together. The little-girl skirt flapping around his legs felt wrong and funny, too, especially the cool air circulating around his bare upper thighs. His underpants felt shamefully exposed. The frilly blouse they'd dressed him in wasn't so strange—it felt just like any other shirt, really, despite the ruffles running down the front that made him blush with shame. His hair felt tight, pulling at his scalp, because the girls had taken his scant locks and stretched them, pulling enough together to make two ludicrous pig-tails that stood up on either side of his head like short antennas. But even though they were ludicrous, they still had lent him a female air when they'd shown him his face in a hand mirror.

Oddest of all was the feeling of smooth, soft cloth snug against his genitals, cupping them tightly to his body, stretching back and forth as he moved but always squishing his small, sore, and exhausted package against his groin. The panties he'd been dressed in were a bit small to start with, and there was no space at all in the front of them even for his underdeveloped genitals. He knew girls were flat in front, unlike boys undecorated except for that hard to imagine slit Dinky had described, a fact that the constricting panties made abundantly clear. Worse yet, all the pulling and tugging on his penis was giving him a hard-on. And not only was that potentially embarrassing, but it also hurt—his penis was achy inside—sore and sated and over stimulated from all the attention that had been given it lately. A dull, distant ache between his legs, along the line between his butt hole and balls reminded him of the painful shots he'd gotten from the strange priest, shots that also made the large muscles of his firm, muscular boy butt ache as well. Not that this was the only reason his butt ached all the way down to the bone. There was also the spankings, the paddlings, being shot repeatedly in the butt by BBs that felt like a bee sting when they landed—oh, his bottom had taken more punishment than he'd have thought possible before coming to this awful place.

Next to him, his friend Sam, a boy who'd always been like a brother to him, now looked more like his sister. Sam's red hair was also rubber-banded into ridiculous pig-tails, but topping his soft, round face he actually looked like a girl, a rather becoming, attractive girl at that. The fact that he was wearing a pink dress, knees socks, and shiny black-strapped girls' shoes completed that picture. No doubt about it, his friend Sam made a rather cute girl, in fact, and Jake found that disconcerting, so disconcerting that he couldn't look at Sam right now. A sharp pain in the center of the right flank of his butt flared as still another girl pinched his nether cheek hard, and he squeaked and jerked his butt away, only to suffer a careless caress of his front that turned into a cruder grope of his genitals and then a tight squeeze on his now fully hard, straining penis. He danced aside as the girl who'd groped him laughed and other girls reached for his crotch. But that meant that a girl behind him pinched the left cheek of his butt through dress and panties, and Jake was forced to dodge again, only to find still another hand swiping at his privates. The boys' dorm seemed impossibly far away to Jake. None of the nuns appeared to be around or supervising this group, and the girls were clearly intending to take advantage of that fact. It suddenly struck Jake that is was a funny thing—when he and Sam had been buck naked along with that older kid, Dennis or Dinky, (depending on who was addressing him), none of the girls had seemed to want to touch them all that much, like their privates were something dirty and repulsive. But covered with clothing, their butts and dicks and balls were somehow irresistible to these same girls.

Off the other direction, toward the farm and the barn-based bunkhouses of the older boys and girls, Dinky plodded along alone and unsupervised. He was weighing his options, and they weren't good. He'd been ordered by Sister Magdalene to return directly to the bunkhouse on his own and not to dawdle, and he really didn't have any choice but to do so. The question was, should he return there still wearing the clothing he had on and suffer the humiliation of being dressed like a girl, or should he take it off and suffer the humiliation of returning naked? Or would it be better to take a third tack, and strip down to just the underwear? He looked down at the faded flowered housedress they'd put on him, a thing too big for his stunted frame. The hem of the skirt almost dragged the ground, and the top threatened to fall off his shoulder. He had a thought that made him smile—his boobs would be falling out if he actually was a girl. Flopping right out of the front of his dress. Now that would be a sight to see—a girl hurrying along like he was, her boobs shifting, threatening at any moment to just flop right out the top of her too-loose dress...

Stop it! He said to himself. Stop thinking like that! He was making himself hard again, even though he'd thought his dick had been stimulated enough for one day, enough to last him a week. Despite the humiliation of it all, of being naked and doing stuff in front of all those younger girls, he had to admit that the kid with the brown hair could suck cock like nobody's business. He'd had the best orgasm ever—better, even, then cumming in the boy's butt. Sure, he hadn't been lying when he'd said he could squirt—he could. But not a lot. Not like his cousin, the one who used to butt fuck him and take him in his mouth. That kid made ropes of thick cum that felt like snot when swallowed, not the spatters of watery stuff that Dennis normally produced. But when the brown haired kid had sucked him, and he'd spat his load into the jar Mary had held under his cock, this cum had been like the fluid his cousin had produced—thick, white stuff that had filled his cock as it had been forced out, and had felt oh, so satisfying as he'd ejaculated into the cup the girl was holding in front of his cock. He'd never cum like that before, that fully and copiously. His mind wandered briefly to wondering if there was a way he could sneak away, get that boy alone, make him suck cock again until Dennis felt the explosion happen, only this time cum in his mouth, seize his ears and force his cock deep and make the kid swallow his stuff as he spurted endlessly. Or maybe take the kid up the butt again—he'd been so hot and tight when Dennis had fucked him in the butt, far better than the sows he'd used to take turns fucking with his cousin at his aunt's farm, before he'd been caught doing it, beaten, and cast out.

"Stop it!" he said aloud. His voice startled him back to reality. No way he was getting near that brown-haired boy with the tight ass and the magical lips any time soon, or the redhead, either. Mother Superior would probably cut his balls off if he got caught trying to butt-fuck one of the little boys again, or even if he tried to get a simple blow job. No, correct that. She'd have Sister Magdalene crush his balls, first, then she'd cut them off. No way he was getting another blow job from the squirt soon. That's what his older cousin had called being sucked—a blow job. Which was weird, because it had nothing to do with blowing. He'd even tried blowing on the kids' cock after he'd heard him use the phrase, only to get his ears boxed and be ordered to "Suck, you little turd! Stop fooling around!" Still, he longed for another blow job like the one he'd gotten, only this time not in front of a bunch of leering girls. But Dennis knew he didn't dare go near the main compound in the upcoming days, didn't even dare being caught away from work.

His mind flashed back to that afternoon—the agony he'd felt each time flat toe of Mary Catherine's sturdy shoe had connected with his butt, lofting him into the air to stumble and fall on the path ahead of her, the mad scramble to get up before she caught up with him to kick him again, the horrible throb of his bruised butt, an ache that went all the way into his crack. She'd been indiscriminant about where she'd kicked him, hitting the flanks of his butt part of the time, her toe penetrating deep in his butt crack other times. A couple of kicks had hit him square in the butt hole, and the pain had been excruciating then, and a couple of others had caught him on the rash-covered skin between his butt hole and his balls, whatever that part of his body was called, bruising that area so badly that it still throbbed as he hurried back to the bunk houses.

Being aided with Sister Mary Catherine's kicks all the way to the administration building had been bad enough, and being seen by several boys and at least one girl as he scrambled along with his bottom half naked trying to stay ahead of that boot had been worse. Somewhere along the way he'd given up trying to pull up his pants and underpants and he'd lost them both, one at a time. Sister Mary Catherine had picked each garment up in turn, but she hadn't returned them to him, or stopped kicking his butt, either, not, at least, until he'd finally landed at the door of the administration building. Then had come the denunciation in front of Mother Superior, who'd sent immediately for Sister Magdalene. And after that, his crimes had been detailed again, as he'd looked at the floor and fought not to cry like those little fucks did when they were facing certain punishment. At the time he'd thought he faced a whipping at the flagpole, maybe in just a jock strap, his bare buns hanging out for all to see as they were covered with stripes from top to bottom and back again. He had been so preoccupied that he hadn't quite caught Mother Superior's gesture to Mary Catherine, and so had been caught by surprise when the large nun had suddenly flung a man-sized and muscled arm around his middle, lifted him bodily, and lugged him down the hall, into a place he'd heard about but never seen before, the place the older boys called, with a combination of fear and respect in their voices, "Sister Badass' Vice Room."

It was a small room, almost a closet, only 5 feet by 7. An odd little table was bolted to the floor, surmounted by the metal seat from a horse-pulled farm implement with something odd under the front. As he'd tried to comprehend what he was seeing, as his mind finally made the connection to the other boys' description of the vice, his sore, well-kicked, and still bare posterior was being plumped painfully on that cold metal seat. As he flinched from the cold of the iron seat and his balls had tried to retract from the cold, Sister Magdalene had swiftly and competently pulled straps around his stomach and chest from behind him and then just as quickly strapped his ankles and lower legs down on either side of the big metal thing between his legs, below the seat. He'd looked down and then felt his blood run cold. The front center of the implement seat had been cut out, and the metal device that waited there was unmistakable. A pair of metal jaws stood open, a handle protruded from the front that was attached to a screw, a screw that could close the jaws as it was turned. (The vice itself was a precision vice from the machine tool industry, and as such had much finer threads than normal, so that the jaws only closed a fraction of an inch with each turn, ideal for the nuns' purposes.)

Dennis noted that his balls were already dangling innocently down from the seat, hanging neatly between the open jaws, ignorant of their extreme peril. Behind him, metal bars were being inserted into waiting posts, a metal lattice between them forming the back of a seat that his chest was strapped to, foring him upright to where he could just barely see his genitals and their peril if he hung his head. His arms were forced behind him, behind the posts, and cuffed tightly together with broad leather straps. The two nuns who'd been securing him stepped back to stand at either side of him, faces grim and mouths set in what could only be called grim distaste, like he was half a worm they'd just found in a freshly bitten apple.

Dennis' heart begun thumping even more powerfully in his chest. This was the thing the older boys had talked about with fear and dread in their voices, a thing seldom used, but horrible in its ability to strike fear in the adolescent male no matter how mature. Even the big boys with adult bodies, huge penises, obscenely pendulous balls and thick bushes of hair on their lower groin had come back broken by this thing, muttering fearfully about the pain and how many full turns of the crank they'd taken. And now his balls, dangling, hung in the open jaws. Mother Superior had looked at him with glittering eyes, eyes full of malice, and turned the handle of the vice round and round until the jaws were touching both sides of his drooping sack.

He'd screamed, then. Screamed in fright, even thought the jaws had stopped just on the verge of discomfort, short of causing him pain. Even more shamefully, he'd lost control of his bladder, pee arching out from his stubby, fear and pain shrunken dick to splatter on the tile floor of the chamber. Mother Superior, standing to one side of the front of him as if anticipating this, had just looked at him with the glittering eyes of a serpent. "You will clean that up later," she said. "For now, we have business, you and I. I will turn the handle once and then ask you a question. You will answer truthfully. If you are not truthful, I will turn the handle once again before asking you then next question. We will proceed like that until I have run out of questions, or until your meager organs are no more."

She let these words sink in. "So, boy," she said, her voice still showing her powerful contempt for him. "Are you ready to confess all your sins?"

Dennis had stilled his shameful squealing, but his heart was still pounding. He tried to swallow his fear as he looked down at his balls, now tightly gripped in the steel jaws of the vice and sending panicked signals of discomfort radiating through his groin. "Please!" he begged in a whisper.

"Begging will not suffice," Mother Superior said primly. "Only true confession and repentance will satisfy the hand of God."

"I confess!" Dennis had pleaded in a shamefully high, little boy whine. "What do I have to do to get out of this? I'll take a whipping! In front of everyone, at the flag pole! I'll take it naked! Just let me out of this!"

"Oh, no," Mother Superior said calmly, in the strong voice that appeared incongruous in such a frail-looking old woman. "I'm afraid there's no way to avoid the first half turn. What happens after that is up to you." With that, she'd turned the vice hand half a turn.

Pain had immediately blossomed in Dennis' ball sack. Familiar, throbbing, aching pain. He'd had his balls squeezed and been kicked in them enough before that he knew this pain intimately. It was a low pain, an overwhelming but deep pain, not at all like the shrill stab one got from a cut, or the sharp sting of the switch on bare buttocks, or the broad, searing pain of a wooden paddle on the bare butt, all of which he'd also felt many times before. No, this was the deep, gut churning pain that only a person who'd been hit in the balls could understand, a pain that enveloped your lower abdomen and spread quickly to your stomach, making you want to retch, making you want to clutch your balls and moan, not scream. But this was worse, because it didn't blossom and then recede as the pain of a blow to the balls did, or a quick squeeze. This pain leveled off and then hung there, his balls trapped snugly in the embrace of the vice, the cold jaws gripping them. He was deeply aware that he could not escape, even if he hadn't been bound head to foot to the metal framing, because his balls were trapped. He tried to hunch over the pain, but the leather straps restraining him everywhere cut into his skin, preventing that. His bound hands clenched into claws, one set of nails scrabbling at the back of the other hand. His feet, tied at the ankles, stiffened then waggled alternately, like a penguin trying to hasten away to the safe open water. The pain went on and on, his balls aching at being compressed, wanting release. His bowels felt like water and he had to fight to keep from the shame of shitting himself right there on the solid, cold metal seat. The thinking part of his mind, distantly conscious, reminded him that if he shat himself it would have nowhere to go and he'd sit in it, like toddlers he'd seen playing at the compound with bulging, full diapers, pungent but uncaring. This thought kept his anal sphincter tight, but just barely. He seemed unable to even breathe for a time from the pain, and panic rose in him, but then he was able to take a shuddering, moaning breath, and then another, and the pain crested and subsided a little, but only a little. Mother Superior studied him with avid eyes, choosing her moment.

"How many times have you engaged in unspeakable, unholy acts of anal coition with young boys?" she barked at him suddenly.

An image rose in Dinky's mind—an image of a boy who'd been paraded, naked except for an athletic supporter hiding his genitals in front of the entire group of older boys and girls in front of the flagpole during an unusual afternoon assembly. The boy being strapped tightly to the flagpole, his essentially bare butt facing them. Sister Magdalene adjusting the back straps of the supporter, pulling them to each side of his white, unmarked orbs with the deep cleft separating the trembling cheeks. Sister Magdalene announcing he'd admitted to engaging in an unholy act that was an offense to God of the highest sort. She hadn't elaborated on the nature of the unholy act, hadn't mentioned that unfamiliar word "coition" at all. Instead, she'd simply nodded at one of the older girls who'd walked forward carrying a selection of willow switches about the width of a thick pencil, selected one, and walked to the side where the trembling boy could see her, holding the switch in front of his eyes meaningfully, bending it to show him its suppleness. The boy had begun to plead and beg. Sister Magdalene had ignored his pleas and walked to his left side, then without warning brought the switch whistling through the air across the centers of his trembling buttocks. The boy's begging had become more shrill and urgent, and she'd ignored that, too, laying a series of stripes from the top of the cleft of his buttocks all the way down his thighs to the backs of his knees. The switch had struck most powerfully down his left buttock, but the stripes had gone all the way across, raising painful-looking welts with each swing. Then she'd crossed to the other side of him and laid a second series of stripes on him from top to bottom.

To Dennis' amazement, she hadn't broken the switch despite the force of her blows, and when she'd finished, she'd calmly handed it back to the girl and nodded to a second girl. Dennis hadn't really paid that much attention to these doings on the sidelines at first, because his eyes, like those of most of the boys and girls, had been focused on the red-striped buns of the now sobbing 14-year-old struggling weakly against his bonds. Dennis had been amazed at how evenly spaced the bright red stripes were against the boy's otherwise white, muscular curves, this despite the boy's wiggling and struggling with each blow, the clenching of his buttocks tightly after some blows, the futile wiggling before others. The boy had at first twisted his head around frantically, trying to anticipate each blow, but now his head hung to one side of the pole, and he sobbed like a little boy merely being spanked, shamelessly and hopelessly. He clearly thought his punishment was done as she'd finished his right side.

But Dennis' attention, and that of the other kids, had quickened rapidly as sister Magdalene had selected a large, long handled bath brush the girl had held out to her along with a hairbrush and a hog-slapper. She'd walked around the bound boy and had held the brush meaningfully in front of his face. Even though his sobbing he must have recognized the threat, because he'd gasped and stiffened, moaning something like "No, please! No, please! NO, PLEASE!" over and over through his uncontrolled sobs. But Sister Magdalene, having made her point to him, had implacably walked to his left side again and brought the brush swiftly down onto the raised weals of his already striped butt. The older boy had shrieked then, a shriek that he repeated with each blow she struck on that side, 12 of them total (one for each disciple, Dennis had heard later), and with each blow she struck on the other side as well. The 14-year-old's butt was a deep crimson, complementing the latticework of brighter red stripes by the time she finished.

"That will add deep bruising to the surface damage of the switch," Magdalene announced calmly to the rapt group, having to almost shout to be heard over the boy's squeals. "He must feel the results of this punishment for many days." She'd handed the bath-brush paddle back to the waiting girl. The boy she untied and he tried to collapse by the pole, but she yanked him to his feet with a strength that her small size belied, and forced him to walk, stiffly and haltingly, down the long path to the administration building, His stripped, dark red butt the object of every pair of eyes as he went. Later, Dennis was to hear that he'd paid a visit to this very vice where he was now trapped, and that he'd had "three turns," a report that had been greeted with awe by the older, more experienced boys. He'd come back a week later, after days in the infirmary in solitary confinement, his butt now scarred with healing welts. When Dennis had stolen a look at his crotch in the shower, the boy's balls had looked no different from those of any of the other mature boys' dangling sacks, but he'd been told that they'd swollen to half-again their normal size right after the trip to the vice. The boy had never admitted to the others what he'd been caught doing, but the rumor was he'd allowed the nursing calves to suck him and had been caught by Sister Magdalene quite literally with his pants down. Magdalene had lectured the entire group of boys at the flagpole while he'd been convalescing, promising to treat the next act of "unholy offenses to God" with even more dire punishments, or perhaps multiple days of punishment.

With that fate in front of him, Dennis had tried to put on his best innocent face, hoping to lie his way out of this. He'd gulped, tried to look at her without guile, and steadied his voice. "Unholy acts? With boys? No, Ma'am! I'd never!" Mary Catherine couldn't have seen that he'd had his dick in the other boy's butt, could she? From the back, it would just have looked like he was taking a piss. He tried to force his face into sincerity, a thing hard to do with your balls being squeezed by metal jaws. "I just—I had to go, and I'd taken my dick—my thing out---and then she came in...and that boy, he was bending over to pick up his water jar...he'd dropped it..."

His pleading was cut off, along with his ability to breathe, as Mother Superior had given the vice handle another swift half-turn. Dark, throbbing hurt flared from his trapped balls. Dennis panicked as he couldn't breathe for a moment, and pain overwhelmed him. He struggled feebly, finally able to take in a shuddering gasp of air, moan, and take in another and then another. Mother Superior regarded him serenely through all of this, and the two nuns on either side looked on impassively, arms crossed in front of them, their faces condemning him to Hell for his continued transgressions. Dennis' balls throbbed. Above them, brushing against the cold of the vice, his penis tried to retreat completely into his body, to deny what it had done, becoming an embarrassing little stub. Dennis struggled to get control of himself, to make his mouth form words, to force air through his throat and protest his innocence. He squeaked. He moaned. He tried to talk and squeaked again. Then, as he was getting his voice under control, the old nun calmly asked, "Have you been engaging in unholy acts with the animals as well?"

"N---N---No ma'am!" Dennis stuttered out, his urge to plead innocence taking charge of him before he could even consider how he should respond. It was hard to think with your balls being crushed. All his mind could do was shout escape, escape, escape at him, and that was useless-he wasn't going anywhere without his balls, which were firmly in the grip of the cruel metal vice. Besides, it was true, wasn't it? He hadn't had any sex with the sows here, mainly because he hadn't been able to get alone with them long enough. He tried to put on an innocent smile, but it dissolved into a rictus of terror as she reached for the vice handle and gave it another half turn. "NOOOOarrrrrrrgh!" he squealed as the jaws closed tighter. Dimly, he was aware of his bowels letting go, of watery, foul smelling liquid coating his inner buttocks and then pooling under his buns, filling his crack and squishing against the steel seat. Mother Superior watched him calmly –she'd taken a quick step back after turning the handle, seemingly anticipating his juvenile loss of control.

"You will clean that up later, too," she said calmly to him. "Wisely, this room was constructed with tile floors and a central drain, so that we can hose you down, and then you can hose down the room and the equipment. Although I consider it entirely too indulgent. If it was me, I'd have you clean it with a bucket and your bare hands. Now get a moment to take hold of yourself and think this one through before answering. We're wasting time, and I have more questions. "How long have you been violating animals and other boys?"

The question was a loaded one, of course, akin to "when did you stop beating your wife." But Dennis knew nothing of loaded questions, and wasn't in any position to think about them now, with his precious jewels throbbing in previously unimagined agony.

"Since I went to the foster farm," he wailed. "With the pigs," he added, panting, trying to catch his breath. He seemed only able to breathe shallowly, and could barely catch his breath. "Not with the boy. The boy did it to me. My cousin. Up my butt. I did the pigs. I never did him. Just the boy here. Just the once." He took a deep breath. "That's the truth!" he pleaded. "Please, no more!"

"There, see," Mother Superior said primly. "It isn't so hard to tell the truth, is it? Besides God knows what you did, And God speaks to me. No use thinking I don't know the truth. Next question—think before you answer. Do you still want to do unnatural sexual acts with pigs and boys? Are you ever going to want to do this abominable thing you did again?"

Dennis, still overwhelmed with pain, hadn't thought about the question at all. The answer seemed obvious. Eager to please, he'd just blurted, "No, No! Never! Never again! I swear!"

Pain had paralyzed him this time as the vice had closed another half turn. His balls were being smashed! He expected to see blood flowing out the jaws of the vice as he looked down with panic-blurred eyes, struggling to curl over himself but restrained by Mary Catherine's inhuman strength. Surprisingly, (due to the fine thread on the screw of the vice) his balls were barely deformed at all, even though they swelled with pain. He could see them clearly, looking down, because his penis had virtually disappeared, only a tiny ½ inch stub projecting from his groin. Mother Superior looked where he was looking, and her look was a sneer of contempt.

"Not such a big shot now, are you, little boy," she said. "What do you think the farm girls would think of your puissant little thing now? And the other boys? You must be the target of daily contempt, with a pecker that tiny."

Mother Superior's use of the gutter-word "pecker" had shocked Dennis then, but somehow the word was more humiliating than if she'd said "phallus," or "penis." She was glaring at him, as he snuffled and swallowed and tried to deal with the newer pain. "Your answer was wrong, boy," she finally said. "Of course you want to stick that abominable thing of yours into every orifice and every crevice you can! You are a boy, a gutter-snipe of a boy with no thoughts except your own beasty pleasure! That is why we must watch all of you like hawks, to save you from yourselves! "

She glared across at the boy, sitting in his own squelchy filth. "How about it, boy?" she finally asked. "Perhaps we should just have the good Father cut it off and save the world a lot of future grief. What do you say, boy? Should I ask the Father to amputate your little pinky? Amputate those dangling little orbs of yours, too? You wouldn't be having the pain you're feeling ever again, you wouldn't engage in unholy acts, ever again, either. Wouldn't we all be better off if you were made a eunuch, like the keepers of the harems of the heathen Arabs?"

"NOOOOOO!" Dennis had squealed in horror. But his squeal had been cut off as the vice jaws had closed another half turn. Dimly, over waves of pain like he couldn't have imagined before, with his vision darkening to a pinpoint, he heard her response.

"Wrong answer, boy," she said loudly but calmly. "Of course the world would be better off if you were to be thoroughly emasculated. We really don't need more gutter trash like you being foisted on the world. But our Lord has commanded us to be fruitful and multiply, and fill the world with his people, and even trash such as you are part of his plan. You may yet be redeemed through pain, just as our Savior redeemed mankind through his own pain."

Dennis heard all this only dimly. Time passed, and he struggled to breathe, to exist, to get past the deep, throbbing ache from his groin that was unlike any pain he'd ever had. His vision had narrowed to a red haze with only a small, fuzzy section in the center where he could see the grim, avenging face of Mother Superior glaring at him. Tears were flowing freely down his cheeks, and somewhere he was ashamed of that. He licked snot off his lips where it threatened to drip, and tried repeatedly to swallow between gasping breaths.

After an eternity, the throbbing seemed to lessen, although Dennis' panic did not. He wanted to jerk his balls loose from this awful thing, to run away, even if that meant running through the compound butt naked. (Well, his butt would be naked, although he'd still have on his flannel work shirt. The tails of it had somewhat hidden his genitals and butt as he'd been being herded by kicks across the compound. Well, at least he hoped they'd been hidden. But he still wanted to flee. Even if he'd been stark naked. Even if that meant running through hordes of girls with his shrunken penis waggling, and his balls flopping with every stop. He wouldn't mind his balls flapping in the breeze at all, if it meant getting free from the crushing pain he was feeling now. He was breathing in little agonized pants, barely able to keep oxygen in him and feeling light headed. Sister Mary Katherine kept her iron grip around his middle, restricting his breathing as well as his arms. After an eternity, Mother Superior spoke again.

"It is the Jews, of course" she said, almost meditatively. "It is the corrupting influence of the murderers of our Savior that makes these young boys so depraved, so sex-driven. The Jews are Devil Spawn, you know. Sired by Beelzebub himself on wanton Jewish sluts. All Jewesses are sluts, of course, seeking always to seduce our fine Catholic boys to their own heathen ways. I'm told they even use their mouths in wicked, perverted ways, the same mouths God gave us to proclaim his holy goodness! Their wickedness rubs off and their temptation weakens even on fine Catholic boys from superior households, so weak, pathetic Catholic boys like this one have no chance at all against their wiles. Oh, I have no doubt at all, Mary Catherine, that the older boy who corrupted this one was a Jew, and probably had been seduced by a Jewess himself. The consorting with animals proves it—Jews themselves are the product of consort with animals—was Satan himself not a goat? They are among us everywhere, and they exist only to corrupt us all to their heathen, idol-worshipping ways. The foul lewdness that covers this one's soul is clearly the result of the influence of a Jew."

Magdalene had nodded, and Mary Catherine had, also, and the three nuns had talked, for a time, about someone named, "Herr Hitler" and the marvelous things he was doing in Germany to uplift the human race. Somewhere in Dennis' pain-wracked brain a logical part of him objected. The boy who had "corrupted" him, if being forced to suck dick and take a boy up your butt constituted corruption, had been from his own God-fearing, devout Baptist family. His cousin had been dragged to Baptist services religiously every Sunday. Like him, the boy had tried to look angelic in his uncomfortable, woolen Sunday clothes, and sung hymns to God and his goodness just as fervently as these very nuns prayed every day. But that same boy proclaiming hosannas to God had just as lustily reamed out Dennis' constantly sore poop chute just that Saturday night, and probably had also enjoyed a bout with a sow or a reluctant blow job from Dennis' young mouth that Sunday morning as well. He didn't even know a Jew, and didn't know this "Herr Hitler" either. Anyway, the part of him that was logical was a dim voice, drowned in a sea of voices that were screaming in pain from the dark center of wrongness radiating from his trapped balls. How many turns had he suffered? Two full ones already? He wasn't sure, and his mind refused to focus.

Mother Superior noted the returning awareness in his eyes and broke off her musings with the other nuns. "Next question," she announced briskly. "Shall we announce your crimes to your peers when you are punished, so that they may know the depths of your perversity? Shall we let them know the depravity to which you have sunk? Shall I make you confess all your sins in detail before your punishment?"

Dennis opened his mouth, an involuntary moan escaping. His balls throbbed so bad, and her hand was already on the vice handle. He'd have pooped himself again if he hadn't already done it. "Uhhhh---uhhhh---uhhhh," he gasped, like a fish on the bank panting for water. "Uhhhh---Nnnnnyes?" he managed, seeing her frown as he formed the "n" sound initially and swiftly changing his answer. She glared at him.

"Was that a yes or a no?" she snapped.

"YES!" he squealed, eager to avoid more crushing pain. "Yes, yes, YES! I'll confess! To everyone!"

"You think we should tell them just how perverted you are, and how you stick that little pecker of yours into the sewer holes of animals and other boys?" Mother Superior prompted him.

"Yes! YES!" Dennis begged, eager to avoid any more pain from his wracked balls. "Yes, I'll confess! I'll tell them all!"

"You'll tell them all what a disgusting pervert you are?" Mother Superior persisted. "You'll confess to being a hopeless degenerate who is ruled by his pecker?"

"Yes! YES!" Dennis squealed. "I'll tell them everything! About the sows! About the boys! About doing them in the butt! Everything!" He looked at her stern face pleadingly. He couldn't take another turn of that awful thing's handle!