Masturbation Therapy
By Rat Tails
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Copyright 2014 by Rat Tails, all rights reserved
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* * * *
This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain 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.
* * * * *
MASTURBATION THERAPY
Pastor John Skelly and his
wife Rachel
preached the evils of masturbation
to their flock on a regular basis. It was an unnatural act in violation
of
God’s will. When boys reached puberty it was natural for them to start
having
wet dreams occasionally. That was nature’s way. So let nature take its
course
as God intended. It was not for boy or man to interfere and try to
force the
issue. Were one to masturbate one would not be having wet dreams as
nature
intended and scheduled. No, the natural cycle would be interrupted.
Masturbation
was evil; it was the devil’s hand at play.
Of course Pastor Skelly
himself had masturbated
from the time he had turned twelve. Whether or not that was a
contributing
factor in his having an unusually large, thick cock was subject to
debate. He
thought that such was probable and who would want to debate a
masturbator? He was the master.
The size of his cock had
been a handicap on
the sexual relations between the pastor and his wife. Though she was a
stout
woman, intercourse was often painful for her. More often than not their
sexual
satisfaction was found in oral sex. She also would encourage him to
masturbate
to lessen the frequency of intercourse. She would even assist him from
time to
time. Knowing that he was bisexual she would often hold up pictures of
youngsters while telling him stories. His favorite genre was buggering
boys who
had just reached adolescence. Caning of young boys as well as girls was
also a
delightful storyline. Canings with buggering climaxes was a never-fail
to
please scenario. Rachel loved seeing that look of unbridled rapture as
the
pastor breathing would quicken and soon followed with that silly
dog-like smile
and widening of his eyes as he would burst forth on the scene.
One sunny Sunday a couple
with their fourteen
year old boy Bobby in hand asked for a word in private after the
congregation
had departed. It seemed that they the mother had caught the boy in the
act when
she had entered his bathroom to resupply it. What he had been doing
while
sitting on the john had been undeniable in view of his view of an array
of naked
girlie pictures there on the floor. Neither knew what to say.
At first there was the shock
at the sudden and
unexpected emergence of the scene. She had stood there with a fresh
soap bar in
hand. With mouths open the two had just gawked. Time stood still. At
last she
spoke.
“You know what the pastor
has said about this,
Bobby.” It hadn’t been a question but the boy had sheepishly nodded.
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be. I don’t know
what to do. We’ll
take this up with your father when he gets home.
Doom.
The boy started to shake as
he sat there. Then
tears tumbled down as did his john further down into the john.
“I don’t know what he’ll do.
I guess he’ll
have to whip you with that razor strap of his.”
“Yes, yes. Oh yes; I need
that. I need to be whipped.”
This had actually come as a relief to him. Anything to bring this
present
situation to a quick close. The mother had been surprised to hear this
– this
statement of contrition and quick acceptance of corporal punishment.
Late that afternoon she
explained the matter
to the boy’s father. As it turned out he hadn’t been the least bit
surprised to
learn that Bobby was jerking off. His only surprise had been that he
had been
caught. How stupid the boy had been in not locking the door. But when
she told
him that Bobby was expecting to be beaten the dad had hesitated. He had
no
desire to beat his boy for something like this. He racked his brain and
came up
with an alternate plan. Let’s take it to the pastor, he had told her.
As quick
as that he was off the hook. The pastor had been the one that created
this
problem. Let him solve it.
Bobby and his parents had
been the last couple
to leave the church that Sunday. Rachael had just joined her
pastor-husband
when they had quietly been told the story of Bobby and his masturbation
affliction.
The pastor and wife heard them out. Then the pastor had placed a hand
on the
boy’s shoulder, looked him solemnly in the eye and said that he had
done an
evil act in violation of God’s law.
Then
with Bobby’s nod of agreement he turned to the parents as if that was
it. That
was all there was to be done.
“You mean that’s it, pastor,
asked the mother.
“You mean he should go unpunished?”
“Oh no; I’m not saying that.
It is only
natural that you punish him in your role as parents.”
“Perhaps we might ask you,
pastor, to do that.
I think it would be more meaningful done by you.”
Pastor John looked at his
wife whose eyes were
lighting up as mental images of rattan canes at home occasionally used
in sex
play sprang to mine.
“Well I; I suppose I could
help out. What do
you think, Rachel?”
“Certainly we can be of
help. After all, we
are keepers of our flock. We can beat that old devil out of the boy, if
you
wish.”
“What do you think of that
Bobby,” asked his
mother.
“Oh yes – yes. He could use
dad’s razor
strap.”
“Now that’s not necessary.
No, we have a
rattan cane or two that we occasionally use for – for – therapy, shall
we say.”
Bobby and his parents
exchanged looks.
“Perfect,” said the father.
“I don’t know how
to thank you pastor. I feel that a great burden has just been lifted
off my
shoulders. Oh thank you so much. Thank the pastor and his wife for
their
helping hand, Bobby.”
“Thank you pastor John.”
“Just drop the boy by our
home around seven
this evening. You can pick him up at nine. We’ll beat that old devil
out of him
yet. Right, Bobby?”
- - - - - - - - -
The doorbell was answered by
the pastor still
wearing his black attire and white color. There stood Bobby studying
his shoes
with his father behind him with his hand on the boy’s shoulder. The
pastor
placed his own hand on the boy’s other shoulder and the exchange was
made. As
soon as the door was closed about him Bobby saw the pastor’s wife. She
was
standing there with his feet spread and her hands crossed in front. She
was
wearing a black pantsuit and holding two menacing rattan canes in her
hands,
crossed like an X.
Bobby’s mouth dropped open.
A chill ran up his
back. He turned to look back at the just-closed door which could
provide an
escape route. It was blocked by the pastor who now also was standing
with his
feet apart and his arms crossed. His lustful look was unlike any look
he had
ever shown in church. Bobby turned back to see the stout wife still
standing
there defiantly with an equal look of lust on her face. Bobby’s
breathing
raced.
Once again time stood still
for Bobby. He
continued to look at the wife and to turn his head around to look at
the
preacher. No word was said. The two stout adults continued to stand
like two
immobile statutes; like two sentinels.
Bobby began to look around
the room. He
noticed that all the curtains were drawn. Finally he broke the silence
of
impending doom.
“What do you want me to do?”
“What do we want you to do,
you ask. We want
you to atone for your sins of course. We want you to repent.”
“But how?”
“Through pain. Without pain
there can be no
gain.”
“Are you going to beat me
with those canes?”
“Of course we are. What do
you think you’re
here for? What do you think I’m holding them for?”
“Can I leave my pants on
then – please?”
“Of course - - - - of course
not. How could we
see where to strike if they were to stay on?”
“Oh. But how many times will
you hit me?”
“As many as it takes,” spoke
up the pastor for
the first time. “Bobby, come sit with us on the sofa and I will explain
how
this session in therapy will work. It’s really rather straight forward.
“Tell me Bobby, do you know
anything about
psychology?”
“Psychology? No sir; not
really.”
“Do you know how they train
animals by
risk-reward techniques?”
“You mean like mice?”
“Exactly. They use
reward-punishment in
training. Sometimes with mice and rats the rodent will be punished as
with an
electrical shock when he acts in an undesired manner and rewarded as
with food
when he acts in a desired manner. Our masturbation therapy is conducted
somewhat along this same line. It’s called ‘association.’ Our goal is
to train
you to associate masturbation with pain rather than with pleasure. It’s
really
as simple as all that.”
Bobby listened intently as
he continued to eye
the two canes in the woman’s arms.
“With caning we will
hopefully teach you to
associate masturbation – jerking off – with remembrance of pain. So
when you
think about screwing some pretty girl and want to masturbate, the
memory of
pain will, shall we say, cool you off; it will override your sinful
lust You
will tell yourself: Devil be Gone. GO AWAY! So what do you say? Do I
have your
vote for exorcism? That is what this is called, you know.
Bobby looked again at
Rachael who had her eyes
wide open beneath her arched and raised eyebrows as she fondled the two
rattan
canes like she was playing the drums. He turned away from that sight,
looked
down, and softly mumbled a yes-sir/yes-ma’am.
“Good. Are you ready to
start?”
Bobby nodded vigorously
while he stole one
last glance at the menacing canes.
“Good. Now I want you to
strip down to your
shoes and socks. As it is a bit cool in here you may keep your
undershirt on.”
“But sir; please not on the
bare. Please, not
there in front of your wife!”
“Don’t be silly. That is
essential for several
reasons. The therapy necessarily involves masturbation. After all it is
masturbation
therapy, isn’t it? How can you masturbate with your clothes on? Also I,
or
rather we, need to see the marks on your skin made by the cane. You
don’t want
the strokes to fall atop one another. You don’t want to bleed, do you?
Of
course not. No, we want to return you to your parents with an abundance
of
painful welts but without the skin un-breached. Do you understand now?”
Bobby nodded as his eyes
began to well up with
tears.
“Now stand up facing my wife
here and hand her
your clothing. She will return them to you at the conclusion of this
session.”
Bobby stood and then turned
to face Rachael as
he wiped away a few tears. Slowly he unbuckled his belt and dropped his
pants
under the intense gaze of Rachael. He handed them to her which she
threw haphazardly
onto the sofa there beside her. This was no time for her to take the
time to
lay them aside neatly. No, she was now much too busy googling the bulge
in the
boy’s jockeys from which his lily-white legs extended.
Bobby himself stood there
looking down through
teary eyes at the bulge which was no more than a foot away from the
pastor’s
wife’ flushing face.
“Well,” demanded the pastor.
“We haven’t got
all night. Your father will be retrieving you at nine.”
Bobby put his thumbs under
the sides of his
jockeys and pulled down, or at least he tried to pull them down. You
see his
rock-hard pecker was impeding that. Now he had to shift his thumbs from
the
sides of his jockeys to the front and pull the material out and then
down over
his cock. As he did so his fourteen year old pecker, which had been
pulled
down, sprang out at a forty-five degree uplifted angle no more than six
inches from
Rachael’s engaged face. Normally he would have bent down during this
exercise
but with the preacher’s wife face where it was he had done this while
standing
erect as his hands and arms trembled.
“Good God. Look John. The
boy has the
unbridled gall to have a hard on. He almost poked it in my face!”
“You are a sick one all
right, Bobby. Now
finish up,” said the pastor.
The boy removed his shirt
but left his
undershirt on. Not knowing just what to do, he simple stood there
facing the
wife with his pecker still standing at attention. Suddenly she cupped
his balls
with one hand and his cock with her other and began to manipulate the
whole
package as if she were giving a medical exam. Bobby raised his head and
bit his
lip. Then Rachael gave his pecker a slap causing it to swing from side
to side
as she proclaimed “The face of the devil itself. How evil it is and,
and, how disgusting.”
“Bobby, do you see that
block over there? Go
fetch it and place it where you have been standing. I need your butt to
be
higher,” instructed the pastor. He and his wife watched as the boy did
so with
his cock swaying from side to side with each step he took. He retrieved
the
wooden block which was one foot square and a half-foot high and placed
it there
in front of the anxiously enthralled Rachael.
“Mount it.”
Bobby did so and stood erect
with his feet
close together due to the smallness of the block.
“Which hand do you use to
jerk off?”
“Uh . . . uh . . . uh.”
“Well?”
“Uh . . . uh . . . I guess
my left.”
“Never your right?”
“Uh . . . uh . . . I don’t
think so.”
“Do you ever use both hands
when you’re really
getting with it?”
“Uh . . . not yet.”
“NOT YET! Not yet you say?
So you have future
plans to use both?”
“Oh no sir; I didn’t mean .
. .”
“ENOUGH, you little sinner
you. Put your hands
on top of your head and look straight ahead. My God what a wicked boy
you are. You
will now feel the Almighty’s wrath.”
“Swish swish swish swish
came the sound from
behind him as the Pastor warmed to the task. Bobby felt the cool rattan
laid on
his naked butt. Then he felt light taps of the rod upon on the center
of his
behind. Now he felt nothing.
Once more time stood still
as Bobby stood on
the block, ramrod straight with his teary eyes unfocused while Rachael
lustfully staring at the adolescent’s rock-hard young cock and the
pastor
studying the boy’s waiting ass.
Bobby waited. He waited
more. Finally the silence
was broken by the sound of the cane cutting the air followed by a
resounding
‘twick!’
For a moment the boy felt
nothing more than
the mechanical feel of his ass skin being depressed. But then that
feeling
began to give way to one of warmth which quickly gave way to one of
heat which
quickly gave way to one of unbridled fire. Now it felt as if a red-hot
wire had
just been placed on his lily-white ass cheeks.
Bobby mouth open wide in a
soundless scream as
did his eyes. His body shook. He couldn’t believe the pain. Never
before had he
experienced such. As he gasp for air he felt the preacher’s hand laid
upon his
shoulder.
“It’s pretty something,
isn’t it, Bobby?”
The boy turned his head to
face that of the
smiling preacher with his eyes and mouth still wide open. He nodded an
affirmative.
“I am glad that you did not
cry out. I will
not tolerate any outcries or pleas. Understand?”
All the boy could do was to
nod at the
preacher’s face which was right in front of his own. Down below Rachael
continued to watch the boy’s cock as it reacted to the stroke of the
cane and to
the pain as it intensified as it approached crescendo. She was
captivated by
its rhyme tic motion.
Now Bobby felt the dreaded
tapping of the cane
again along a line just beneath the single line of fire that remained
from the
first stroke. He gritted his teeth and clinched his ass cheeks as hard
as he
could.
“No clinching, Bobby. Now
unclench those
cheeks. I will not allow that.
Bobby did his best to
unclench but he couldn’t
unclench any more than he could make his pecker go soft.
The boy concentrated and
concentrated. Finally
he was able to relax his cheeks which happened just as Rachel cradled
his balls
in one hand and began to squeeze. Instinctively he re-clinched. The
preacher
grabbed his chin and gave him a little slap to each of his face cheeks.
The
shock from this unexpected act caused his to unclench. The preacher
retook his
position for caning and tapped his ass a few more times. The ass cheeks
failed
to clinch; they only quivered. A pause ensued in silence only to be
broken by
the whooshing sound of the cane as it cut the air and then cut into the
skin
precisely on target with a resounding THWICK. At that moment Rachael
squeezed
and shook his nuts.
Now knowing how horrid the
pain would be Bobby
reacted by bending over, almost striking Rachael’s head in the process.
She
instinctively pulled back and in doing so yanked his ball towards her.
Bobby’s
back arched backwards as his hands flew off of his head and flung
toward to
burning behind. He almost stumbled off the block.
“HOW DARE YOU,” screamed the
preacher. “Not
only do you disobey me and cry out but you took your hands off your
head and
grabbed for your ass. HOWD ARE YOU, you undisciplined piece of
masturbating
crap. How can I start your therapy if you cannot follow simple
instructions? Taps
of the cane to his arms cleared the boy’s mind. Slowing he reassumed
position
while the red-hot pain was still increasing from the second stroke to
join the
pain from the first. As tears streamed down his face he uttered an ‘
I’m
sorry.’ Rachael released his balls as his cock began to soften.
“The penalty for such a
breach of discipline
is an additional stroke atop the other. You will learn, boy.”
Bobby was horrified to feel
the cane softly
tapping the line of fire that had yet to reach its peak. The preacher
waited
out the usual thirty seconds for the pain to reach its zenith before
delivering
the penalty stroke. Again his aim was precise.
This stroke seemed to suck
all of the air
right out of the boy’s lungs. He struggled in tormented silence as the
impact
sunk in. He body gyrated as he struggled to maintain his stance atop
the small
block. He bent down, twisted his torso and swayed from side to side all
the
while gulping in air in silence as he kept his hands in place atop his
head.
The preacher watched as the
welt formed from
the double stroke and began to darken from its bright former bright red
color. Damn
if I’m not good at this, he thought. Slowly the boy’s movements tapered
off. Once
more he was standing straight looking straight ahead through teary
eyes. But
now his undershirt was wet with sweat.
“There now; that wasn’t too
hard, was it?”
No response.
“I asked you a question,
boy.”
A meek ‘no-sir’ followed.
“Do you feel that you now
understand the pain that
my little cane inflicts?”
“Yes sir,” he mumbled.
“Good. And you now
appreciate the importance
of maintaining discipline and obedience to your elders”
“Yes sir.”
“Good. I say ‘good’ because
now we can get
started with your therapy.”
“Started?”
“Yes, started.”
“But . . . but . . . When
will it be over?”
“Over? It will be ‘over’
when you are ‘over.’ This
session will be ‘over’ when you ejaculate . . . when you climax and the
toxin
is release from your evil body. Are we ready to start?”
“Yes sir; I guess.”
“Right. So here’s the
therapeutic procedure. You
will begin to masturbate. As you masturbate the cane will remind you of
just how
wicked it is. I shall continue caning you until the devilish cum is
ejaculated
from your possessed body. In this manner you will learn to associate
jerking
off with pain just like rats and mice learn through pain-reward
training. Is
this clear?”
“I guess.”
“Okay. Take your hands down
and begin the
devil’s work.”
Rachael smiled as she saw
that the boy’s
pecker had now shriveled and shrunk. It was just like a threatened
turtle had
drawn in its head in the face of impending danger.
Bobby had earlier been
horrified to find his
friend with a hard-as-rock hard on. Now he was even more horrified to
find it
missing in action. As he felt the menacing tap-tap-tap again of the
cane on his
ass cheeks he fumbled to find the withdrawn and now hiding creature.
Shit, he
thought. The tapping of the cane continued as Bobby struggled to bring
forth
his frightened cock.
“SWISH . . . . SWISH . . . .
SWISH . . . .
“Come on, damn it, said
Bobby to himself. Get
out here.
“THWICK !!! “
The impact jogged him
forward on the block. Fortunately
it also awoke the little beast as it too was jolted forward bringing
Its head into
view.
Tap . . . tap . . . tap . .
. tap . . . tap .
. .
Under the gaze of Rachael
Bobby pulled the
head. Reluctantly it emerged further and in doing so began to bring
forth the
stem to which it was attached.
“SWISH . . . . SWISH . . . .
SWISH . . . .
SWISH
Come on. COME ON, Bobby
urged his pecker. It
was like calling forth a cobra which would only ever so slowly emerge
from its
crate in response to the siren sound of a flute.
“Come on boy; you haven’t
even started. THWICK!!!”
“It seems the little thing
doesn’t want to
come out and play,” said Rachael.
Bobby struggled and
struggled. He had just
managed to take hold of the whole pecker, even though it was still
rather
shriveled, when he felt the tap-tap-tap-tap of the cane again.
Frantically he
started to jerk but it was like messaging a mass of meat rather than
stroking a
protruding stem.
“SWISH . . . . SWISH . . . .
SWISH . . . .
SWISH”
Oh no, thought Bobby. Come
on, damn you. GET
HARD!
“SWISH . . . . SWISH . . . .
SWISH . . . .
SWISH”
“Damn you,” he cried.
“WHAT, yelled the pastor.
“I’m talking to . . . to . .
. IT . . . SIR.”
“THWICK !!!”
This scenario is continued
on for four more
cuts of the cane with the boy only becoming more and more frustrated in
his futile
attempts to jerk himself under the cane in front of the bemused glare
of
Rachael. Finally the pastor made an attempt to break the impasse.
“Rachael. I think that you
need to give him a
hand.”
“Certainly. I’ll give it a
try.
As Bobby stood ramrod
straight atop the block
Rachael went to work on his gentiles. She caressed them so softly and
lovingly.
As she worked her female charm on the boy’s cock and balls the pastor
watched
the developing show from behind. Watching the welts develop was
somewhat akin
to watching the rainbow of colors that soap bubbles could make in a
bubble bath
as reflection of light from the internal rear of the bubble reunited
with
reflection of white light off the leading surface to produce off-phase
light
waves of color. Not only were colors of the fresh welts changing –
darkening in
most instances – they were growing. But unlike soap bubbles these welts
would
not likely end up bursting. No; they would grow to full maturity to
create a
painful impression that would have lasting power. It would be days
before his
butt would be back to normal.
Slowly Bobby began to become
a little aroused.
Rachael recognized this and decided to add encouragement. Tenderly she
kissed
the end of his knob. Then with a single gulp Bobby found his entire
knob to be
inside the lady’s warm mouth as her hand continued to stroke his rod.
Behold he
now found enlightenment. His cock also now saw the light and hardened.
Now fully
aroused Bobby took things in his own hand – to Rachael’s somewhat
disappointment.
It had been so nice having a small cock to suck. Bobby shoved away and
went to
work pumping and pumping like a fucking jack rabbit.
Meanwhile the pastor found
himself trying to
cope with a moving target. Bobby’s was now jerking about like a jack
rabbit
while his butt cranked back and forth like a locomotive’s drive. No
longer
could the pastor take careful aim. Finding his strokes now haphazard he
coped
by easing off, letting the strokes more or less fall where they may.
Back in front Rachael saw
what was coming. She
grabbed a paper tissue and was ready when it happened. Bobby spewed
forth as
Rachael followed to succeed in catching most of the pulsating stream in
mid-air. Bobby’s body came to a halt.
With his target now dormant
the pastor took
deliberate aim. Without tapping he positioned the cane diagonally
across the
tortured center of the boy’s ass. Slowly he brought the cane fully back
over
his shoulder like a professional golfer, paused, and then unleashed a
crippling
blow. Bobby’s exhausted stage of momentary tranquility was unexpectedly
broken
by this harshest blow of them all. Apparently the preacher had somehow
become
jealous.
He screamed and stumbled off
the block as his
hands flew to his stricken ass. Then he hopped around on one leg and
then the
other grasping his ass cheeks as tight as he could. After hopping about
for a
half minute he fell forward onto his knees and the sofa, sobbing.
Rachael
leaned over and gently stroked his head. “I think it’s time for a
time-out,”
she said as she dried his tears with another tissue.
“I agree. Bobby, you may put
your clothes back
on. How about a drink? Want a coke?” The boy nodded. Maybe he could
pour it on
his burning ass to extinguish the blaze.
After the boy had redressed
he took a seat in
one of two easy chairs that faced the sofa. Rachael fixed him a coke as
the
pastor fixed himself a glass of port and a sherry for Rachael. Then
they took
seats side by side of the sofa facing the boy. Fully dressed now the
boy looked
normal on the outside save for the pain shown in his face, the red eyes
and
dried tear stains on his cheeks. On the inside his butt remained a
burning
furnace with each slight movement churning a flaming coal as he tried
to sit. The
continuous struggle to try to sit was interesting to watch. Obviously
he could
find no position that offered relief. If only he could stand.
“So tell us Bobby what
brings on these spells
of yours,” asked the pastor as he saluted Rachael and sat back
comfortably
deeper into the sofa. The pastor was mindful that he was taunting the
boy with
his posture of pleasurable confortness as the boy struggled with his
own
painful posturing.
“Uh . . . uh . . . what?”
“I mean what do you see or
hear or feel that
makes you want to reach for your cock?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is it in response to your
seeing a pretty
girl, perhaps?”
“John, his mother found him
jerking off in his
bathroom with a bunch of dirty pictures on the floor. There was no girl
around.”
“You’re right. What made you
want to put out a
bunch of dirty pictures? For that matter how did you even come to have
them? That
required planning.”
“And money,” chimed in
Rachael.
“Well I . . . I . . . I
don’t know.”
“Well I think I do. All that
had to have been
motivated by dirty thought, right.”
“Yes sir,” came Bobby’s
response as he took a
sip of his drink.
“Tell us about these dirty
thoughts,” demanded
Rachael.
“Well I . . . I . . . I . .
.”
“Do you think of girls tits?
Of their bottoms?
Of their pussys,” she asked.
“Sometimes, I guess.”
“Do you think of them
sucking you off?”
“Well I . . . I . . . I . . .
“Perhaps it’s another boy
you think about,”
asked the pastor.
“John, the pictures were of
girls; not boys. Tell
me Bobby, do you think of screwing them in front . . . or in the rear?
We can’t
help you without your cooperation, you know. Now give us details so
that we
have a clearer picture.”
“Ma’am, I . . . I . . . I
can’t. I mean I
don’t . . . I don’t . . . I
“You mean you won’t. You
WON”T.”
Bobby watched the movement
of the ice cubes in
his Coke.
“Damn you boy. You are so
insolent,” said
Rachael as she threw back her sherry in one final gulp. “John, recess
is over and
time is running. Let’s move onto the second sessio and this time I want
the
cane.”
Bobby looked up from his
Coke to see Rachael’s
head turned to the pastor sitting there beside her in front of Bobby.
“That’s alright by me. In
that case I think we
need tocall on ‘Buster,’ what with your being a member of the weaker
sex. That
way we can have more consistency. Bobby, take off your clothes again.
You can
finish your Coke later.”
In no time at all Bobby
found himself back up
on the block wearing only his socks and shoes and his damp undershirt.
When the
pastor had brought in ‘Buster’ and handed it over to Rachael, she had
the boy
turn around. She handed the stout cane, which was of a more rustic
color and
rougher texture than the other, to Bobby for him to hold and to feel
from end
to end. “It’s a dozy, isn’t it,” she asked. Now educated in matters of
the
cane, Bobby shuttered in fear. No longer did he find this woman smiling
lustfully but with a look of meanness, even anger on her face. Now he
realized
that she had wanted to hear some dirty stories from his mouth only to
have been
denied that pleasure. “Turn around so that we can get to work. Looking
at the
pathetic state of things down there. Where has your boyhood now gone?
John, I
see we have more work cut out for us.”
Bobby turned around to face
the pastor who
also now saw that he turtle’s head was again withdrawn far back in its
shell. Without
being told Bobby replaced his hands atop his head.
Rachael carefully studied
the boy’s ass. It
bore a number of distinct welts about half of which had now turned to a
deep
red. A couple were purplish. But the most striking features of this
landscape
was the single diagonal welt that was thicker and raised higher than
the others
save perhaps for that doubled-up penalty one. Slowly and lovingly she
ran her
fingers along their ridges. Back and forth she caressed them as she
absorbed the
twin feelings or upraised welts and of the heat that radiated from
them. Finally
she stopped and took up a stance behind and to one side of the object
of her
attention. She spread her legs wide apart and practiced her strokes
without
executing them.
“BEGIN,” she ordered.
Bobby went a-hunting as the
pastor watched
with his face just a foot or so from the boy’s crotch.
“Didn’t you hear me? I said
to BEGIN!”
Frantically Bobby made use
of both hands in
trying to retrieve his pecker from its place of hiding.
“BEGIN, DAMN YOU!” And with
she delivered her
first cut to the center of the already well caned boy’s bottom. “THWACK”
Bobby shuttered under the
impact. Unlike the
former, thinner cane, ‘Buster’ made more of a deep thud sound and
buried itself
deeper into the ass meat. A guttural grown emerged from Bobby mouth
between
clinched teeth.
“Come on; let’s go boy.
Let’s get with it.”
As Bobby continued to fumble
in trying to
awaken the beast as he sensed Rachael’s move to the other side. The
next blow
would apparently be a backhander.
“Bobby,” said the pastor.
“Think of a pretty
young girl. Try thinking of you being the one to cane her – to cane a
cute 13
year-old’s cute little ass. Yes, try thinking of that.”
Now Bobby felt the
tap-tap-tap of ‘Buster’
right in the crease where the ass cheeks and legs merge. Rachael, you
see, was
searching for virgin meat; meat that the pastor had not already
devoured. She
had found that the pastor has left untouched the bottom of the boy’s
ass cheeks
as well as his legs. She wondered if that had been intentional done for
her
benefit. Probably not, she guessed.
“Too soon.”
“What was that,” asked
Rachael. “I’m not
rushing this.”
“No;
I mean too soon for me. I haven’t had
time to . . . to . . .”
“Refill?”
“Right.
I can’t cum again this soon.”
“Nonsense;
right John?”
“I’m
not sure. I’m just not sure at his age.”
“He
just needs encouragement.” With that she
delivered a cut right into the crease.
The
blow almost knocked him off the block. The
pastor watched the boy suffer and struggle as he continued trying to
retrieve
his pecker. Unlike Rachael, he wasn’t about to lend the boy a hand . .
.
literally.
“Bobby,
think if had been you who had just
delivered that stroke. Think if it had been use who had slammed a cane
into the
frail, quivering butt of a cute blond, a pigtailed blond named Susie.
Think
about that!”
“THUD!”
Rachael had just delivered a fore-hander
to the boy’s legs just beneath the crease. Bobby tried to ignore it and
focus
on the image of this cute phantom Susie. And behold, it began to work.
He felt
the beginnings of a volcanic rumbling down below.
“Think
of cute little Susie as she pleads with
you. Bobby, she says, please don’t; please not so hard. It stings; it
hurts.
“THWACK!!!”
Another cut on the legs.
“It
stings; it hurts. Bobby; Bobby. I’ll be
good. I’ll let you screw me in the butt. I will. Please Bobby.”
Blood
flowed; not from the boy’s ass but into
his pecker. His cock was back – back again to its full upright and
locked
position. Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Bobby
went to work jerking and jerking and
jerking. His work was matched by that of Rachael as she working down
the boy’s
legs delivering fore-handers to his right leg followed by backhanders
to his
left. Yes, they were now working in unison as a team – a dozen
jerk-strokes to
one cane-stroke. Yes, therapeutic teamwork was now at play.
Pastor
John now found himself so wrapped up
and vicariously excited himself from his own story that somehow had
intermingled with the scene being actually played out in front of him
that he
fail to see what else was about to come. No, he was living the moment
and
enthralled that he didn’t have the presence of mind that Rachael had
had in
reaching for a tissue.
The
pulsating image before him was suddenly
broken by a splattering of cum onto his eyeglasses and nose. Rachael
caught
this which broke her caning trance. She laughed and pointed the cane at
her
husband. John joined in the joke and chuckled as he removed his
spectacles. What
a spectacle it made as he wiped away the boy’s cum. He slid to one side
on the
sofa and then stood. Rachael threw her arms around him while still
holding
‘Buster.” Then they engaged in the longest of French kissing.
Bobby,
who had found himself once again
kneeling on the floor with his chest on the sofa and his hands grasping
his stricken
legs, turned his head to one side. There stood the two adult creators
of pain
embraced in a seemingly endless French kiss. They seemed so happy; so
very
happy and self-satisfied. Never before had he seen that in any other
therapist’s office.
The
boy watched as the two finally broke off
their kiss. He watched as they smiled as if in newly found love. He
watched as
they gently stoked the other’s face and smiled.
Bobby
now realized that his so-called therapy
had really been an education. There was so much to be learned about
life.
(The End)