Tommy's Attitude Adjustment Chapter 68
by Chadlad

copyright 2008 by Chadlad, all rights reserved
[email protected]

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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 68: Getting Down

Mrs. Hendricks, the vice principal, and the principal both hastened the short distance to the fire door, closed again now that Mrs. Rose and the Reverend had gone on through. Mrs. Martinez, abandoning her patients, followed. Chad, Quentin, and Gabriel trailed unnoticed behind, burning curiosity overtaking Chad's mouth and nose pain, the ache in his balls, and any residual concerns he might have had about being naked in the hallway. Reaching the door, though, his courage and confidence failed him. Suddenly he felt very, very bare and exposed. He could almost feel his ball shriveling, and his genital appendage shrinking into his body, knowing without looking down he'd become a button dick again. He let Quentin and Gabriel slip through the slowly closing door, and he merely peaked around it, keeping his genital-bearing lower half behind it and leaning sideways to look out. Randy, had come out of the bathroom still leaning sideways and holding his stomach with one hand, while the other supported S. F. S. F. was leaning on Randy and walking bow-legged and very, very slowly, while also trying to hold a wad of tissue clumsily against his buttocks. The two stopped just outside the bathroom door. Chad noticed that S. F. was making no effort to hide his genitals. But then again, with boy parts like his, why would he? "What's happening?" S. F. hissed at Chad.

Chad stared out the door as the four adults and the two shadowing 4th graders approached the fence, which was only about 15 feet away. The school had a very tall fence, more than 12 feet high. The adjoining property had a cement block wall that was just as high, spaced about 3 feet away from the wire fence of the school, with a weedy, unkempt walkway between them that led straight out to the street. The top of the chain length fence was now bent over at the top, outward and downward toward the school side. A figure was hanging head down from the canted fence top. Chad's eyes widened as he took in what he was seeing. Emily appeared to have planned on climbing the fence and then fleeing down the path between the two fences to the street. But it hadn't turned out that way. She must have slipped, or caught herself on the top. Because now she hung there, head down, her navel at eye height and her extended arms just fractions of an inch from being able to reach the ground. S. F.'s pants had apparently snagged at the waistband on the fence and had been pulled down as she fell, until they'd twisted around the calf and ankle of her left leg and brought her to a halt, probably saving her from major physical damage but securing her to the top of the fence as tightly as if she'd been tied there with a noose. Her arms were extended straight down, straining to reach the ground but just short of doing so. Because of her position, S. F.'s school shirt had fallen across her face, covering most of it, and baring her from her armpits downward, (currently upward, as she was hanging upside down.) The harms extended out from the inverted shirt, scrabbling in a concerted effort to reach the ground. Her immature tits pointed out of her bared chest like little cones, much more prominent than a boy's nipples as well as bigger and darker, but not, of course, particularly impressive on a girl. Her free right leg she was waving in the air, trying to snag the fence or shift her position where she could reach something, the net result being that her pussy was alternately gaping open pinkly and closing again with each movement. As Chad watched, her movements made her rotate slowly, so that her back turned toward them, her knobby spinal column twisting into view as she waved her arms and kicked her free leg, curved buttocks thrusting out completely bare from her curved, bony back. Chad smiled to himself at the memory of Emily's curt dismissal of a need for S. F.'s underwear – bet she wished she'd put them on herself now instead of stuffing them in their owner's mouth! Even from 15 feet away, he could see the unnatural red hue of the surface of her bared butt. I did that, he thought with pride. Bet it still burns, too! As she continued kicking, her butt muscles flexed, clenching, tightly as she lifted her free leg, then separating as she waved it down and sideways. To Chad's amazement, when she flexed her leg and kicked out and sideways, he could see not just her ragged, deeply pigmented butt hole, now swollen and sore, but also the very bottom of the slit of her pussy, gaping open with her efforts. It still surprised him how close the genital openings of girls were to their butt holes. Sight of that opening, however, reminded him what that slit was for, and, unbidden, his penis hardened almost instantly, the tip bumping coldly against the door. He was glad, for the moment, that he was facing it, and that the other boys were seeing only his backside. But then again, they wouldn't know what he was seeing or thinking, would they? For all they knew, he just had to pee.

Emily was unaware of the approach of the others to start with, because of her efforts to free herself, because the shirt obscured her view of anything but a two foot circle around her, and because she'd rotated to face the wall for the moment. She was cursing softly and almost continuously as she fought to free herself, her muttering muffling the approach of the others. As The Reverend got closer, he could make out her words. "Goddamn motherfucking Chad Henson!" she was saying. "Goddamned stupid Microdick and his stupid big-dicked friend and his stupid pants!" She flexed her abdomen, making herself rock, but not bringing her fingers any closer to the ground. "Damn, damn, damn!" she swore as her fingers till hit nothing, kicking her free leg in frustration and making her body rotate back toward the approaching group. The Reverend looked at the girl's genital region appraisingly. He wasn't all that fond of the female genital region, at least on pubescent and post pubescent girls and women. He was all too aware of the temptations of Adam and how the first man had lost himself in those sensuous folds. He understood the allure, but once again thanked God that he'd been shown a better way to God's Glory, a way to satisfy his drives that didn't involve immersing his scepter in that slimy, furnace hot wetness and rutting like pigs in filth and mud. He vastly preferred the chaste, smooth furrows of the smaller girls, furrows that looked innocent and pure and didn't invite him to lustful thoughts and memories of his stepsister.

Ah, his stepsister. Had she been a daughter of Satan, or a messenger of God? He couldn't decide, although he thought about it, meditated about it, and asked for God's understanding numerous times. She'd showed him how to reach glory without touching himself, and had put him on the righteous track that had led to his success today as one of God's chosen. But she'd done it by bearing false witness against him, lying about his numerous supposed transgressions, and spanking him so often and so hard that he'd seldom been in a state to sit without pain for a several year period, and his fundament had always sported healing or fresh blisters from her efforts. And she'd exposed herself to him often, cruelly, teasingly, after he'd started making God's precious fluid with His Glory. She'd come into his room when he'd be lying on his side, still crying and nursing a throbbing, stinging bottom, and pull her pants and panties down in front of his face, displaying her genital region while she teasingly played her fingers up and down her slit and around her tiny knob at the top. "You'd like to touch me here, wouldn't you, Abbie? You'd like it a lot. You'd like to stick your staff inside me, too, wouldn't you? And spill your seed inside me instead of on the ground. Look at it, Abbie!" At this point she used her fingers to pry the lips of her orifice apart, revealing the pink, moist tunnel disappearing inside her. "Look at it! You want to put your staff in there, don't you? Put it in and hump me like a dog on a bitch! I can see it in your eyes!"

The Reverend had wished he had the strength to look away from her when she did these things, but he couldn't – he couldn't tear his eyes from that forbidden region, so like the one that had tempted Adam in the fall. Because she was right – he did want that. He wanted it with all his heart and soul, even though he knew it doomed him to perdition. He hated that he was weak and couldn't look away, could only watch with a throbbing scepter while she slowly twirled the hair above her slit and caressed her opening and rolled the little knob at the top between her fingers more and more rapidly, until finally, gasping, she'd clench her fundament like he did when experiencing God's Glory and rise on her toes, and then collapse, panting, back on her heels. The panties and pants would go up immediately afterward and she'd skip out of the room, leaving him filled with frustration and lustful thoughts.

Such temptation couldn't have come from God, could it? It had to be satanically inspired. But perhaps it was part of God's plan, even so, because, ultimately, he'd found the way.

The hanging, cursing girl had finished rotating back so that her genital region was about at his eye height. No hair to mar this one, but the ragged, open-lipped look of a mature girl – so probably shaven. And, now that she was facing his way, The Reverend could see that Eve's button was very prominent on this one, and that was extremely telling. Because he'd learned, in his years of disciplining girls and boys, that when a girl had a button of Eve that was a prominent as the scepters on baby boys, she also possessed substantial lust, and lust always was a key to Satan's door. Oh, this one would be fine sport once he got hold of her – he'd use that lust ultimately to control her, and bring her to God.

As Emily slowly rotated back, she suddenly caught sight, for the first time, of a semicircle of feet gathered around her, including a pair of white pumps, a pair of sensible black flats, a pair of black men's wingtips, a pair of white casual nurses' shoes, and two pairs of boys' sneakers, the latter sets of shoes small, scuffed, and worn in the way only little boys' shoes ever get worn.

"Shit!" she muttered. "Shit, shit, SHIT!" She fumbled for the shirt bottom and lifted it so she could see and to cover her budding breasts, pulling it all the way to her crotch, where she used both hands to hold it in place over her exposed pussy. She stopped kicking and pulled her free leg close to the trapped one, trying to minimize her exposure. Her face, now exposed, was almost purple with expended effort, fury, and blood being pulled downward by gravity. "Goddamn Motherfucking shit!" she swore again.

Quentin and Gabriel had been staring at her with unfettered interest. As they'd walked out of the fire door, Little Quentin hadn't been able to believe his eyes. It was a girl, apparently the one who'd beaten up the big boys! A real, live, girl, mostly naked and hanging from the fence with her boobs sticking out and everything! Well, not much in the way of boobs, really, but she had nipples, and the beginnings of boobs! And he'd seen what the big boys called her cunt! Hanging there, wide open! He'd been kind of surprised by it – it didn't look like the cunts on the girls he'd seen in the porn magazines the bigger boys had shown him, or the girls he'd seen on the Internet. They usually had a little, neatly groomed patch of hair above theirs, and the cunt itself was neat and even and inviting looking. This girl's was wet and ragged, and she didn't have any hair at all. In fact, her pubes were as bald as his own smooth, boyish crotch. But the stranger thing, the one that had taken him by surprise, was that she had a little dick-like projection at the top of her slit – a projection almost as big as his own dick when he was cold after getting out of the shower and didn't look his most impressive. He'd have liked to see it more closely to see what that was all about, but she'd covered herself too quickly. Still it was exciting. A real, live, naked girl, right there in front of him! His hard penis twitched uncomfortably in his slacks, making a visible tent which he, unselfconsciously, reached down and adjusted, giving his penis a squeeze while he was at it. Everyone else's eyes were on Emily, so nobody saw his innocent action.

Gabriel had also gotten his eyes full. His first thought was, "Man, that is one ugly pussy!" He thought about his earlier remark to Quentin that boys were all the same and girls were all the same, so seeing people's genitals was no big deal. But clearly he'd been wrong. He'd seen several girls' pussies in person, not just in pictures, in various circumstances in his young life. His sister's, of course, when she'd been spanked in front of him. Hers had been a neat, demure furrow when she'd been standing or had her legs together, and had separated into a neat, pink slit when her legs were apart or kicking, but it had been rather pleasing to look at in both conditions. He'd had girls at foster homes tease him by flashing their pussies at him at times, but they'd all looked much the same – the barely visible, smooth-skinned furrow in their flat pubic triangles. He'd never been all that excited by the glimpses they gave him – one immature puss looked like another to him, just as one dick looked like another in the boys he peed with. He'd caught a glimpse of his mother's pussy once, when he'd run into the bathroom overwhelmed with pee urgency to come face to face with her getting out of the shower, a barely remembered still picture of a neatly trimmed patch of hair over a deeper, more pronounced cleft with a hint of pink in the center, a cleft that separated slightly at the top where a small lump was barely visible. But this girl was different. Her puss was ragged lipped, and the knob at the top of the slit was huge compared to that of other girls, almost like a little peter. He wondered, idly, if it erected when touched, or when she had to pee.

The Reverend spoke first. "Young lady," he said in an authoritarian voice. "Silence yourself! It is an abomination to use the Lord's name in vain!"

"Fuck you!" Emily said defiantly. "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on."

The Reverend gave her a stern look, but inside he was rejoicing. The Lord was good, and the Lord was with him! There now appeared no question but that this girl would be delivered into his hands before long, probably for a long stay at the Farm. Mentally, he was rubbing his hands together with glee and licking his lips in anticipation. This violent, blasphemous girl was indeed filled with the spirit of Satan. She'd resist breaking, probably for some time. She'd face punishment after punishment, then shout more defiance. But break her he would, and he'd experience the Glory of God multiple times in the breaking, he was sure of it. The boyish genital protuberance he'd seen on her before she'd covered her nakedness in shame itself posed all sorts of interesting punishment and humiliation possibilities, and the fact that she'd covered herself immediately suggested a shame about her body that he could exploit. Yes, he'd break her, and when he did, it would be a satisfying and rewarding process.

"I believe we need to get her down from there before we proceed," the principal said. "I'll just nip into the supply closet for a ladder," Mrs. Hendricks replied, turning back to the fire door. Chad ducked guiltily back inside as she turned, hoping she hadn't caught sight of him watching, fearing he'd be in trouble if she had. He raced back towards the boy's restroom, his short, still hard penis flopping back and forth wildly as he ran, his small, muscular butt pumping. He skidded to a stop by the two other boys and stood there, trying to catch his breath and look calm before Mrs. Hendricks came through the door. S. F. was standing next to an almost recovered Randy Martinez, holding a wad of paper towels to his butt with one hand, his other hand hovering over his balls with curled fingers, as if he'd love to comfort himself but was afraid to. His python of a penis hung limply, ignored.

"What's going on?" Randy asked.

"Emidy," Chad panted. "Hangin from da fenz. Upzide dow. S. F.'s pans god cod in da fenz and ripped off 'er. She's hangin by one leg. Bare naked!" Mrs. Hendricks came through the fire door and up the hall. She stopped as she approached the trio, eying the two naked boys distastefully, as if the sight of dangling penises bothered her. "You three take yourselves to the infirmary," she ordered. "Now. Mrs. Martinez will be there shortly. And don't get blood on the floor," she added, as if their bleeding was their fault. She put a key into the lock of the supply closet in the hall and disappeared inside it.

"I dink Emidy ribbed your bants," Chad said after she'd turned out of sight.

"I don't care," S. F. said. "As long as they caught her. I hope they kill her. Slowly!" He shifted the blood-stained tissue and winced. "My balls will never be the same," he moaned. "Or the rest of me." He looked at Chad. "You're still bleeding from your lip," he said. He pulled the towels out of his butt and looked at them. "I guess I am, too," he added. "And it hurts as bad as my mom's whipping!" He glanced around the empty hall. "Can we get out of here, Chad? Before someone comes along? I know you're used to being naked all the time, but I'm not. And it won't do any of our reputations any good if people see us hanging around naked together."

Chad unconsciously cupped his right hand over his genitals. His penis had shrunk again, thankfully, as he'd stood there panting, his mouth throbbing again. His package hid easily under his hand. S. F. looked down at him clutching his genitals and frowned. "That's not helping," he said. Chad pulled his hand away from himself as if he'd been stung. But S. F. was right. It was probably far worse to be seen clutching yourself in the hall with another naked boy than standing there with your stuff hanging out, even if it did mean people saw everything. Of course, touching the other boy would be worse yet. "Come on," he said. "Let's get to the nurse's office and out of sight. He started up the hall, S. F. and Randy hobbling painfully behind him, S. F. nursing his bleeding ass, Randy again holding his aching stomach. They passed Mrs. Hendricks, now backing out of the closet with a step ladder, and managed to reach Mrs. Martinez's infirmary without running into any other students, and S. F. stretched out on the exam table on his side, still holding tissues to his butt with one hand and still keeping his other hovering new his injured, swollen testes. The boy's balls looked as big a flattened tennis balls to Chad. Chad spied a tissue box and ripped several out of it, offering them to S. F. He recoiled when S. F. made as if to drop his own wad of bloody tissues into Chad's hand, and S. F. grinned and set them on the table by his legs. "Got ya," he said, almost cheerfully.

"Deep your bloody dissues do yourselb," Chad said around his tissue stuffed cheeks. "Dat's budd blood! I don' wan your budd blood!"

"Bud Blood? What's bud blood?" S. F. said teasingly. "Like the beer? Or like blood from a buddy?"

"I knew what you meant," S. F. said. "I was just teasing. It's kind of funny sounding, you know. Butt blood. Butt blood. Like something they'd say in a movie.

"Will you guys stop being gross?" Randy said. "I think I'm going to throw up, and you're not helping!" True to his word, in moments he rushed to the waste basket, leaned over it, and began retching without bringing anything up.

Meanwhile, outside the building, Mrs. Rose had wrapped both arms around Emily's body, pinning her arms to her sides and immobilizing her. She lifted mightily, and The Reverend, who had climbed the step ladder Mrs. Hendricks had returned with, after some effort and considerable jockeying, had pried the snagged cuff of S. F.'s pants from where it was wound around the top of the fence, freeing her. Emily was still swearing continuously and colorfully as Mrs. Rose staggered under her weight and eased her down to the ground. She had already called the women "Goddamned mother fucking dykes," Quentin and Gabriel "Pissant little dickless toads," and The Reverend himself a "Drooling, cocksucking perv." The latter remark had actually made The Reverend smile, it was so off the mark. His sacred lips never had and never would touch the genitals of man or woman, boy or girl. God granted him his glory without the need for such crudities. He regularly experienced the ecstasy of orgasm spontaneously while administering God's punishments to young sinners. Sometimes it came while he was administering well-deserved spankings to the bare bottoms of wiggling little boys or girls, when his already fevered scepter would succumb to the stimulation of their frantic struggles on his lap, the children involved always so focused on their pain they never noticed his God-given spasms. Other times he'd erupt when the spanking was over, as he slid the boy or girl off his lap, brushing his genitals and giving him his reward for a job well-done, the puffy-faced, teary-eyed, snot-lipped youngster standing penitently against the wall never realizing the ecstasy the completion of God's task had given his punisher. At those times, he'd look at the scarlet bottoms and the vulnerable, dangling genitals of the little boys or the demure crevices of the little girls as the pleasure washed over him, and realize that nothing was more perfect than the innocent generative organs of the little ones, before adolescence robbed them forever of their innocence.

The best times for him though, were with the bigger ones, like this girl. The cocky ones, the tough ones, the ones sure he couldn't beat them. Because with these, there was the long anticipation of breaking them, of watching them go through punishment after punishment thinking they were winning, while he knew that it was just a matter of time, and when that time came, it would be oh, so sweet. He could tell when they were about to break, and his excitement and his scepter would grow, and at the peak moment, when the break finally came and the child finally, sobbingly surrendered completely to God's will, God would reward The Reverend with his Glory without him even needing to be touched – he'd spill his seed in the adult diapers he always wore, discretely and copiously, and both he and the broken child would call to God, the child in pain and repentance, himself in glory. He didn't even have to rush to change – the diapers absorbed the mess until he could tend to it.

He remembered the boy he'd most recently broken, a tough street kid caught dealing drugs and sent to the Farm by a judge sympathetic to The Reverend's cause. That one wasn't afraid of pain – he'd been beaten in the past by parents and peers, and even knife scarred, and wore those scars as a badge of toughness. He'd taken what The Reverend called his "welcome spanking" stoically, and he'd remained stoic throughout the escalating spankings he got after that, crying out when the pain got to be too much, but enduring it, sure that there were limits to how much damage could be done to his fundament, and that The Reverend would give up before he reached his own limits. He'd glared defiantly, barely wincing, when he'd been bound and the hole for the wire of the stocks made in his overlarge scepter, and he'd stood in the stocks like it was a badge of honor, ignoring the bleeding from his organ that first day and the his discomfort at standing nude and tethered for hours the many days after that he'd been sent again for defiance and disobedience.

But these initial displays of indifference hadn't fooled The Reverend, and neither had the false bravado. The Reverend knew that every boy and girl had a trigger, a thing that he feared most, the thing that would break him, and it was just a matter of finding it. He kept the painful punishments up to keep the boy off balance and thinking he was winning, meanwhile making little feints and tests of things to watch for the vulnerability that must be there. The boy wasn't afraid of spanking or paddling or whipping – it clearly hurt him, but he carried the pain as a badge of honor. Nudity and the humiliation of the stocks didn't do it either, although this threat to the scepter that they posed often broke other lads who were bigger and stronger. (Many boys, standing in the stocks with a thin wire running through their delicate anatomy, couldn't help but think about the consequences should they slip while changing positions, or faint, or be stung by a fly or a bee and jerk suddenly, or even have another boy yank them backwards by the hips. The vision of the cruel wire cutting into their organ became the only thing they could think about standing there, and the effect often meant that they were a mass of nerves and fear when finally released, and they dissolved into terror when he even threatened to place them in the stocks again after that, groveling and whining and begging forgiveness.) Just for the fun of it, he has the ward leaders send the boy to him to be paddled and sent to the stocks daily for an entire week just to see how he'd take it, but the escalating paddlings and deteriorating condition of his buttocks to the point there were a purple, welted disaster appeared merely to harden him.

And then he'd happened upon the key for this one. He'd been supervising the boys' showers, as he did several times a week, keeping an eye on the healing of buttocks and genitals, judging who should be tagged by their ward leaders for punishment in the next few days (deserved or not – it didn't matter to God, only that they learn humility from it), watching for genital abrasions that suggested self abuse, and also merely enjoying the beauty God gave young bodies. The sight of all those big and little scepters always was stimulating to his mind and made him appreciate God's goodness. Even in a place of atonement and discipline like the Farm, there was always a bit of horseplay in the showers – little boys feigning kicks at each other's buttocks or genitals, their own equipment flopping attractively as they did and curving up against their bellies in miniature erections, bigger boys fighting turgidity as they soaped themselves (working up a visible lather on the genitals and buttocks was mandatory at the Farm, with ward leaders watching to make sure everyone soaped these vital areas sufficient – cleanliness was next to Godliness), or trying to check out who had the biggest gifts from God while trying to act like they weren't. (That, of course, was only the scene in the hot water showers. Those sentenced to the privation wing showered in cold water, and they mostly shivered miserably as they did the mandatory soaping of themselves, their privates never flopping, but instead pulled tightly into their bodies, the smaller boys sporting patches of wrinkled skin and no visible penises at all, the older ones with jewels of Adam pulled tightly against their bodies, and penises barely jutting their heads out.) The defiant one had dropped his soap, and, unaware of the many, many jokes and jibes about that very act in penitent situations, had bent over to get it. A younger, smaller boy standing behind him had grinned at the boy next to him and thrust suggestively with his hips, making his little scepter flap as he did over his hairless bag, and the defiant one had seen the action from between his own legs. With a roar of anger, he'd shot up and immediately punched the boy mocking him square in the stomach, then smacked him with a fist in the back of the head as he'd doubled over.

The ward leaders had waded in immediately and separated them, dragging both out of the showers to the punishment closets down the hall, but The Reverend had smiled to himself. God had shown him the key to leading this boy to humility, as he always did. He started working on that chink immediately. That evening, he called the boy into his office and solemnly announced that he had been informed by several other boys that the defiant one had made suggestive movements and advances to other boys, including inappropriate erections while watching boys dress and touching himself while looking at other boys' buttocks and genitals. This time, the boy had not been stoic, becoming red with rage as he denied having any desire or feelings for other boys. The Reverend had acted doubtful, and had launched into a long and stern lecture on how using others to satisfy one's lust, especially others of the same sex, was an affront to God. Then, he'd topped that by cautioning the boy not to succumb to his "unholy lusts" lest he endanger his soul, before ordering the boy to lower his pants and submit to the paddling that he "deserved for his unholy thoughts about other boys' privates." The boy had complied, but trembling this time, not stoic, obviously outraged at the suggestion, and he'd shown angry tears when sent back to the ward, trembling with his urge to exclaim his innocence.

The next day, The Reverend had arranged for several of his favorites to caress the boy's bottom in passing, trailing their hands over his curves appreciatively as if sizing the boy up as a bed partner. Others he had lick their lips after catching the boy's eyes, or make hip pumping motions while looking at him. After a day of this, one of The Reverend's special boys, one with powerful acting talents who might someday make it in the evangelical world, slid by the defiant boy in such a way that it appeared the latter was trailing a hand across his genitals. He immediately began protesting the supposed "grope," and settled into a fighting crouch. The ward leaders, ready for this moment, stepped in and broke the two up before any punches were thrown, both boys spending the rest of the evening in the stocks forbidden to talk. The Reverend could see the defiant boy quivering with outrage at being labeled a fondler of boys and he smiled quietly to himself. At the end of the meal, The Reverend had approached the stocks and released the young actor, admonishing him that fighting was not allowed regardless of how "egregious the provocation," but reattaching the wire to keep the defiant on tethered on display. Forbidding him to talk and "damn his soul with false assertions of innocence," The Reverend then upbraided the boy for concerning the dangers of self abuse and of fornication with other boys for pleasure. (The Reverend honestly believed what he said in this case – sexual pleasure was something given by God as a reward for reproductive activities with the opposite sex, or to the faithful as a reward for tending the flock and keeping the young focused on righteousness. Thus, he had no qualms about ordering a boy sodomized as a punishment, even recognizing that the sodomizer would receive pleasure in the process. That pleasure, he believed, was the pleasure God granted the faithful for helping steer the errant in the right direction. He, of course, experienced a similar pleasure often when disciplining young boys and girls over his lap.)

After his lecture, in which he suggested to the boys that the defiant one was secretly lusting after them all, he'd administered a paddling to the boy while he was still standing with the wire through his scepter, a blistering paddling on an already horribly sore bottom that had the boy groaning in rage and impotence.

After that, the incidents didn't have to be manufactured. Boys began claiming the defiant one was eyeing them in the shower, and would contemptuously tell him to stop looking at them, or would thrust their genital regions at him in mock invitation. His denials became increasingly more fervent, to the point they began ringing hollow to the other boys. After two more days of this, The Reverend had a ward leader take issue with the boy's genital cleanliness, ordering him to soap himself over and over again, until thick lather covered his scepter, naturally causing the boy to erect fully while doing so. Then one of The Reverend's other minions had faked tripping, moving backwards into the defiant one, driving the boy's scepter into his bottom cleft by falling heavily against him as they fell to the ground. The trick worked better than The Reverend had dared hope – the defiant one's scepter had actually penetrated the soapy, slick anal ring of the first boy, who immediately began to yelp, "He's raping me! Get him off!" The startled boys around them turned late enough that all they saw was the defiant one struggling with the other boy, a struggle that was easily interpreted as an attempted rape rather than an outraged attempt at separation. When the ward leaders had pulled the two apart the defiant boy's scepter had visibly been inserted into the other boy's backside. The Reverend's minion had immediately started shouting, "Hey, he tried to fuck my butt!" and his assessment was backed by the other boys standing under showers nearby.

The Reverend had been called and ordered the boy, red faced with rage at being accused, to be taken immediately to the stocks, where he was to be paddled 10 strokes every half hour through dinner, with his crime of forced anal rape of another boy to be read formally before each paddling so all the other boys could "know his shame." Furthermore, he was gagged securely to stop his protests of innocence. He tried to scream over the gag the first time the ward leader read "For the abominable crime of sodomy driven by your own lust, you are sentenced to 10 strokes of the paddle to commence immediately." But by the 6th round of paddling, when the other children were gathered around their dinners, he'd given up his muffled protests and merely moaned through each blow, his butt having taken on the distinct appearance of hamburger by the last paddling of the evening. Then The Reverend had pulled out his trump card. He'd walked up to the boy, stood by him, and gestured for the ward leaders to wheel in the special stand he'd had made two days ago for this boy. He'd started with a basic whipping horse, but the front had been altered with padded supports so that the boy's head could be fastened facing outward and secured so that it was immobile. The boy was released from the stocks, his butt blistered and his penis bleeding slightly where the wire had cut it when he'd pulled too hard on it during a violent butt contraction during the final paddling. Held firmly by 4 ward leaders, he'd been fastened into the horse face down, his legs bound to the back legs and spread widely, his damaged bottom now thrust backward and spread open so that the shocking contrast between his ruined flesh and the untouched crack and anus were obvious. After his head was bound, facing straight ahead, The Reverend had demonstrated that the rubber gag he'd inserted had a removable center piece, so that the boy's jaws were still forced open and couldn't close, but his mouth was now wide open and his tongue and throat visible through the opening. The boy's eyes gleamed as they darted around wildly and he sensed his total helplessness. The Reverend had walked around him several times, patting his back and stroking his hair, before addressing the assembled boys.

"This is a young fornicator who must learn the error of his ways," he'd said. "We must show him that the perverse pleasure he desires is an abomination! We will do that by a process known as flooding, where he will be immersed in the thing he wants most until he realizes the evil that it is. You boys will all return to your wards. Throughout the evening, pairs of you will be sent out by the ward leaders to do your duty with this boy in order to cure him of this abominable behavior. We will be starting with the younger boys and work our way up to the older ones.

The boys cleared the tables and noisily left. Meanwhile, The Reverend placed black felt over the boy's eyes and tied it tightly with duct tape, completely blinding him. Next, he stepped behind the boy and pulled from his pocket his favorite genital paddle, the one with the smaller head that was suitable for both little and big boys. Placing a hand on the boy's back, without warning he began firmly beating the boy's hanging sack, feeling God's favor rise in him with each blow, taking his time and letting the boy enjoy the unbearable pain of each assault on his manhood before applying the next. The boy bucked ineffectively, hollering hoarsely into the gag and cursing indistinctly over the gag like a drunken sailor, but the Reverend kept it up for a good 10 minutes, spacing the blows out to just one every minute but thoroughly bruising the boy by the time he had finally felt God's Glory warming his adult diapers. The boy wet himself, of course – they always did when properly genital paddled, but he ignored the puddle and left it for the ward leaders to clean up.

He left the boy alone for an hour, after that to contemplate his fate and feel his damaged jewels swelling hugely between his legs, and then he started the procession. Starting with a pair of nine-year-old little hoodlums with scepters standing at attention even though they weren't even 2 inches long, his ward leaders began the assault on the boy. One of each pair was sent to the head of the horse and one to the foot. The one at the head of the horse was positioned in front of the defiant boy's gaping mouth, and a block the right height to bring his crotch to the boy's mouth was selected and he was positioned on in. Meanwhile the other boy mounted a coffee table that had been placed at the back of the horse, pillows were placed under his knees until he could line his scepter up with the boy's virgin hole, the younger boy's scepter was coated liberally with lubricant, and, with a shove from the ward leaders on his buttocks, he was forced to impale the defiant one's anus while the boy in front did the same to the defiant boy's mouth.

The little boys took a bit to catch on, but all, with help from the ward leaders, were able to get spastic, lust-driven rhythms going until they felt the internal urgency all young boys feel once stimulated, and they started thrusting their small scepters with increasing rapidity on their own, until with various shudders and squeals they shivered and spent themselves in their victim. At first the defiant boy was quiet as he was invaded, only gasping when each penis entered and panting as boys were changed. But as the evening wore on, the boy being punished began moaning in distress, moans that became even more pitiable as the first of the boys who could make God's seed did their duty in both ends of his hapless body. The defiant one worked hard to spit out the weak emissions of the first boy to spill his seed, a sturdy 11-year-old who had had a sparse collection of pubic hair before he was shaved like all the others. But as boy after boy spilled his seed in mouth and fundament, the defiant one stopped struggling, merely lying limply and no longer spitting out mouthfuls, letting slimy, cloudy drool seep out of his mouth. The ward leaders tending his rear stopped lubricating the scepters of their boys, because the defiant one's backside was so thoroughly lubricated with God's seed that no more was needed. His sphincter was remaining wide open now, a deep red tunnel into his body that easily accommodated the scepters of the truly genitally gifted boys. By the time dawn was breaking and the last boy pulled out of the defiant one's bottom, he was no longer the defiant one. The Reverend himself unbound the boy, who immediately collapsed on the floor and rolled into a ball on his side, his rear sphincter gaping, his mouth slimy and reeking of semen. He said nothing and didn't move when The Reverend removed the gag, simply working his jaw and swallowing repeatedly.

"Let us pray together," The Reverend had said. His scepter was huge and throbbing in his spotless white pants once again. It was clear the moment of God's fulfillment was near. The boy had looked up at him with dull, pleading eyes, and then had painfully crawled over and knelt at the Reverend's feet, bowing his head and leaning so that his cheek touched The Reverend's calf just below the knee. He tilted his head and looked up.

"I'm sorry, Reverend," he'd said piteously, barely whispering the words. "Will God forgive me?"

"God forgives all," The Reverend had said piously. "He rewards the faithful just as he punishes the damned. You've been the damned. Are you ready to be the faithful?"

"Yes, sir," the boy had said sincerely. "I'll do anything. Anything! Just please don't make me do that again."

"There are no guarantees, lad. God wills what God wills," The Reverend said piously, and a bit shakily. "You must keep your mind from your lustful yearnings for male flesh from now on." He was near God's Glory now, very near, and it was hard to keep his voice level. He clenched internal muscles to hold back, to make it as glorious as possible. "If God requires you learn more humility, that's what you'll do. For now, though, God is pleased."

And indeed God was – he made that known moments later. They boy had thrown both arms around The Reverend's calves, hugging him in gratitude, and buried his face against The Reverend's crotch, dissolving into the full-throated, heart rending bawling that he'd never produced in the past even when his fundament was purple and welted. At the same time, The Reverend experienced God's Glory with a power that took his breath away, as a flood of his seed forced itself out of him in long, satisfying spurts that his diaper quickly absorbed. The boy paid no notice to his pleasure, sobbing for long minutes after that until, finally, he wiped his tears and stood up shakily. "Thank you sir," he'd said hoarsely. "Thank you and God bless you." He'd made no protest as The Reverend had helped him walk, bow legged and hobbling, to the stocks where he could serve as a reminder to the other children – in fact, he had reached over and taken the wire himself, unhooked it, and threaded it through his piercing, handing it to The Reverend to hook up again. He'd stood with great humility throughout breakfast that day, as the boys who'd invaded his mouth and sodomized him smirked, avoided his gaze, or looked at him in curiosity all during the meal. He'd been the picture of cooperation ever since, taking whatever punishments The Reverend and his minions had dished out. He stood politely for genital and fundament inspections, spreading his cheeks widely without being prodded, he lifted his tunic without hesitation or protest and bent over and grasped his ankles to take his blows when ordered, and last week, he'd even gone to the paddle rack voluntarily when sent to The Reverend's study to talk about his progress, selected one of the larger paddles, and silently handed it The Reverend, undressed, and bend himself over the great man's lap submissively, not moving through the jumbo spanking The Reverend obligingly gave him. Unlike before, he cried freely during it and squirmed unashamedly, sending the most delightful shivers through The Reverend Once again, The Reverend knew the Glory of God, finishing just as he finished with the boy, savoring the afterglow as the boy stood shakily on his feet facing him, genitals shrunken with the pain of his spanking but true belief on his face along with true repentance. Yes, the boy was coming along nicely, and on returning to The Farm, the Reverend's plan was to recognize the boy's progress by elevating the boy to assistant ward leader.

But now, there was this girl to get off the fence, and hopefully to The Farm itself by this weekend. This defiant, upside-down girl who was, in many ways, the female equivalent of the defiant boy he'd broken so satisfyingly. The one called Mrs. Rose was lowering her now that he'd removed the snagged pants from the fence top, and he jumped down the ladder and caught the girl's head, so they could settle her on her feet. Mrs. Rose immediately twisted an arm behind the girl and pinned it between her shoulder blades, making the girl cry out with pain.

"Pull those off," she said to The Reverend, indicating the pants. "A savage like this should dress the part." The principal and The Reverend stooped to comply, only to be forced to dodge as Emily began trying to kick them away. Mrs. Rose twisted the arm harder.

"Ahhhhhh! Okay, okay!" Emily squeaked. She stopped kicking and let them strip S. F's ruind pants off of her. Then S. F.'s shirt was yanked over her free arm, and Mrs. Rose shifted arms so the other side of the shirt could be yanked off, too. Standing naked again, Emily felt a chill from the fall air. Mrs. Rose wasted no time, twisting her arm even higher behind her back as she began frog-marching the girl to the fire door, providing commentary as they went.

"Have anything to say for yourself, Mr. Gitt?" she said icily. "No? Well, you can think about it, while we go on with your current punishment. You have a date with The Stimulator, and nothing about this current escapade changes that. But you will pay for your defiance and insubordination, never fear. You will pay dearly indeed. I'm afraid your punishment agenda is already full today, but for physically assaulting three of your classmates, undressing two of them, and stealing and destroying a classmate's clothing, not to mention attempting to leave the school grounds during class time, and using a fire door improperly as an exit, you will definitely be punished – punished as no student at this school had been punished before."

She glanced toward The Reverend. "I believe," she said, "That we will have a chance to test out our new arrangement for serious malefactors sooner than we had supposed."

"Indeed," the principal said. "Miss Gitt, meet The Reverend. "I believe you two will get to know each other very well, because if I have anything to say about it, tomorrow morning you're going to The Farm for a month or more of hard labor."