Tommy's Attitude Adjustment Chapter 70
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 70: Specimens

Modesta pushed on the boy's white, bare buttocks with both hands, trying to separate them. The boy's butt clenched tightly under her hands. "No," he said firmly into his folded arms.

"Yes," she said back. "Or I go tell your mom right now. Or maybe I just leave you here with no clothes and see if you can get back to your apartment without anyone seeing you."

The boy didn't say anything, but his butt relaxed grudgingly under her hands. Slowly, she pried the twin globes apart. Her first view of a boy's anus, or anyone's anus for that matter, was disappointing – it was just a tight little slit low in his crack, surrounded by a circle of pink wrinkles that twitched now and then when the boy squirmed. She leaned closer, studying this new sight. She wondered if her own looked like that. She was surprised that it didn't look dirty – somehow she'd supposed poop holes always had poop on them. Her attention shifted to the smooth skin above the pursed little slit, and then the skin below it, which came together in a raised ridge that trailed down between his close legs out of sight. He didn't have an opening into his body at all there, not like her! It made her all the more eager to see him from the front.

The boy squirmed under her grip and tightened his butt as he did, making her have to press harder to keep the twin globes apart. "Are you done now?" he asked. "I want my pants and shirt."

Not yet, she thought to herself. I'm not done until I say, she added mentally, stressing the "I." She suddenly spotted an old-fashioned clothespin with a rounded, knobby head lying discarded on the bench near the wall. Letting go of one buttock and reaching, she picked it up. "I have to take your temperature with this, first," she said, remembering how the nurse had taken her temperature at physicals when she'd been younger. She aimed the rounded end of the clothes pin at the slit in his anus and began pushing.

"Hey, wait!" the boy said, his head flying up. "You can't just push that up my hole! That'll hurt!"

"Can too," she said, pushing harder at his unyielding orifice. How could her finger have slipped into there so easily moments ago, and now it was resisting all her pushing with the clothespin? She moved her fingers of her left hand deeper into his crack so that she was pulling on the wrinkles of his hole.

The boy, of course, was squeezing his anus with all his might, resisting her intrusion. "I'll tell my mom!" he threatened.

"I'll tell her you took your clothes off in front of me and pushed it in there yourself," she countered. He glared at her and she glared back, meeting his eyes in a staring contest. He broke first.

"Okay, but you have to spit on it or something first," he said. "Stuff doesn't go up there so well unless it's wet."

The boy suddenly realized he'd revealed too much. "No," he said unconvincingly. "I wouldn't do that. I just think that's what you should do." He apparently realized how lame this sounded. "I mean, this other kid told me he used to stick stuff up his butt, and he said you have to spit on it. On the thing you're sticking in it. Or the hole. Or both." He reddened as she looked at him doubtfully. He'd actually experimented quite a bit with pushing things up his rectum, and he hoped it didn't show on his face. He'd tried his fingers, a small, rounded carrot, and even a small rubber ball, once. Sometimes when he couldn't fall asleep, he'd suck his finger and get it good and wet, and then slide it slowly into himself as he lay face down on the bed. He liked the full way things shoved up there made him feel. His wiener would get hard, then, poking into the bed, and he'd force it to point straight out, into the softness of the bed, and then rock against it while wiggling his finger inside himself. Eventually, though, the sensations would get too powerful and he'd stop, feeling all tickly and panting and unsettled. Then he'd guiltily slip his finger out of himself again, pull his pajamas up from half mast, and head off to the bathroom to pee and wash his hand. (He didn't like the poop smell on his fingers, and the tickly feeling inside him was always unsettling until he peed and his wiener went soft again. He always wondered what would happen if he didn't stop and kept rocking when it got too intense, but was never able to tolerate the unbearable internal tickliness to find out.

"Okay," she replied. She leaned over and spit into his butt crack, the frothy glob hitting the top edge of his hole. She spit several more times, herding her spit into the slit and the wrinkles around it, then rubbed the tip of the clothespin in the slimy wetness. This time the boy relaxed, and his hole suddenly gave way as she pushed, the head of the pin disappearing into the boy's flesh until only the two prongs stuck out. She let go and left it there, letting his buns close around it. "Now we wait a minute," she said, pretending to look at a watch. "And then we'll take it out."

The boy kept his face buried in his hands. This little game of hers was scary and yet enticing. The clothes pin already was making his wiener feel more tickly than his own finger ever did, and he had a powerful urge to rock against the bench, which he resisted. He could feel the stiff shaft throbbing under him.

The girl reached over and began playing with the tips of the clothes pin, making it move in a small circle and watching the boy's hole move with it.

"Stop that," the boy complained. "You're getting me all stirred up inside."

"I don't have to," Modesta said. "I'm the nurse, and you have to do what I say." She gently applied torsion to the clothes pin, which at first resisted and then rotated in the boy's butt.

"Hey!" the boy said, whipping his head up in surprise again.

Modesta twirled the pin and moved it around a while longer, than began pulling it out. The ring of the boy's hole clung to it as she did, making it look like someone puckering up to kiss. It closed tightly once again as the knob of the pin came out. She tossed it on the bench. "Turn over," she said. "I have to look at your front."

"No," he quickly said into his arms. He felt all stirred up inside, yet he hadn't wanted her to stop and pull the clothes pin out again. He could feel his penis shrinking with disappointment under his body. She pried on his far side, trying to roll him over. He made his body rigid. She pried harder, and he pushed back just as hard. She tried reversing her pressure to make him roll the other way, but he quickly countered. She stopped and walked to the shed door, peaking out and looking all around the yard. The place was deserted, and loud music was playing in the apartment, drowning out all sound. Smiling, she returned to the shed, grabbing something from the floor.

"Turn over," she said again.

In response, she withdrew her right hand from behind her, showing him the slat of lath that she'd picked up from the floor, a smooth, short stick slightly wider, longer, and thicker than a paint stirrer. It fit comfortably in her small fist. She raised it and brought it sharply down on his unprotected butt.

"HEY!" the boy squealed, turning sideways to block a second blow. For a moment, she got a glimpse of something dangling, then he was back on his stomach, trying to block his butt with both hands. She shifted her swing and hit his lower butt, where his hands didn't cover.

"STOP THAT! THAT HURTS!" he squealed, moving his small hands lower. In response, she smacked his upper butt this time, noting with some satisfaction that she'd left red marks from her previous two hits.

The boy tried to put one hand over his lower butt and one over the upper part. She merely reached past the hand covering the upper left cheek and smacked the right one sharply. He yelped and turned to a sitting position, scooting against the wall. She caught a glimpse of a thing like a small, fleshy sausage, and then he clapped both hands over his bare crotch and sat there panting, looking at her wild eyed. She raised the stick threateningly. "Move your hands," she said. "Or I'll just hit them until you do."

"Please," the boy said, sounding near crying. "It's not right. Girls and boys aren't supposed to look at each other there."

"You looked at me," she said reasonably. "Besides, I've already seen what you've got. It's just an itty-bitty little sausage, like the Little Sizzlers my mom makes for breakfast sometimes."

A look of hurt indignation crossed the boy's face. "It's not itty bitty!" he said indignantly. He edged the top of his hands away from his body just enough to peak down at himself for reassurance. But the glance wasn't reassuring. His penis was a pathetic looking thing at the moment, shriveled from the stinging smacks she'd given his bottom rather than standing proudly like it had been moments before. He clapped his hands tightly back around his crotch. "It's bigger than all the other boys'!" he squealed indignantly.

"No it's not," she said, realizing she'd found the chink in his armor. "It's just a little thing. Not really a Little Sizzler – maybe half a Little Sizzler. A Little Sizzler after I've taken a couple of bites out of it."

The boy looked stung to the core. He carefully opened his hands at the top again so he could look down at himself. His face registered his dismay when he discovered that, if anything, he was even smaller than he'd been a moment ago, before she began taunting him. He clapped his hands shut again. "It's way bigger than that!" he said defiantly. "It's bigger than Mikey's, and he's 12!" That, at least, was partially true. Or at least, it had been that day a few months ago when the older boy and he had been in this very shed, and Mikey had casually said, "I gotta take a whiz," and unzipped his pants in the corner of the shed with the broken floor and taken out his dick and begun peeing powerfully on the floor. "That means you have to do it, too," he'd said over his shoulder, and the younger boy, taking the older boy's word, had dutifully pulled down the front of his sweatpants and underpants and peed beside the bigger one. Both boys had shifted eyes back and forth between their respective projections, and the younger boy had been surprised to see that his penis was perceptibly bigger than Mikey's soft, floppy tool. But then he'd been hard then, so hard he had to push to force the pee out of himself, and Mikey had been as soft and shrunken as a boy who needs to pee ever was. It was possible, indeed, likely, that Mikey was quite a bit bigger in the wiener department than himself when hard, but he clung to the thought that at least on that day he'd been the bigger one.

"You're a big liar," Modesta said, smirking tauntingly, pressing his advantage. "Yours is probably smaller than any of the boys'. It's the smallest one I've ever seen." She omitted to add that it was the only one she'd ever seen. She wished she'd actually seen what they were talking about clearly. All she'd gotten was a brief hint of a dangling finger of flesh attached to his front. "In fact, yours is so little, I don't think I even want to see it any more. Wait 'til I tell all the girls how small it is!"

The boy looked wounded, the way Bambi would look if Thumper suddenly pulled out a bow and shot him in the flanks with an arrow. He let go of his crotch and jumped off the table, standing on the ground facing her and batting his dangling member around like a cat batting a string – a very short, very pudgy string. "It isn't little!" he said in a voice with a hint of tears in it. "Really! Not usually," he added, a note of pleading in his voice, his modesty about being seen by this girl forgotten in his wounded male pride. "I can make it bigger! Lots bigger! Look!" He started stroking himself rapidly with his left hand, yanking on the little finger of flesh like he wanted to pull it off. She dropped the paddle and reached down and caught each of his hands, holding them away from his crotch. His little wiener swayed briefly, then settled pointing downward, a limp little thing barely over an inch long with a prominent head almost like a little helmet.

He stretched out obediently, looking down at himself. "Rub it," he said. "Then you'll see how big it is!" He reached with his right hand in an effort to show her what to do.

"I give the orders around here," she said mildly. "Keep your hands at your sides. Or I really will tell your mom." The boy apparently believed her this time – he settled his arms neatly at his sides and lay there with his legs together and his unfamiliar boy genitals unprotected from her eager eyes for the first time.

She was struck immediately by the way he – well—stuck out, that was the only way to describe it. Lying on his back, his genitals were the highest part of his body, a mound of wrinkled scrotal skin topped by a floppl little thing that looked like a little finger, now lying askew to one side of the mound. She couldn't take her eyes off of the boy's midsection. It was just so different! No vertical line between his legs demarking an open cleft, just the wrinkles and bulges, and that little thing. She reached out and tentatively ran her fingertips over the wrinkled little mound. There were two hard bulges there, one to either side of the prominent midline where the wrinkles gathered together, and she pushed them gently about with her hands, amazed at how freely they moved. The boy looked at her apprehensively, raising his head slightly so he could watch her as she explored him. "You aren't going to hurt me, are you?" he asked plaintively. Shorn of his clothing, he now had slipped completely into a subordinant role. "You aren't going to hurt my nuts, are you? Please?"

Well, that name made sense, she thought to herself. She'd overheard boys talking about their nuts, before, and now she saw what the meant. The two little bulges did look kind of like little nuts of some kind inside that skin bag – kind of like little almonds, all long and thin. "Quiet," she said. She brushed her hand by the little fleshy appendage lying crooked across his groin. It felt soft and innocuous, so she grew bolder and lifted it with a thumb and forefinger, inspecting it from all sides.

"What do you call this?" she asked, intrigued by how worthless the soft, shriveled little thing appeared. She studied the underside. A ring of darker skin encircled it just under the head, like a decoration someone had applied. The underside was oddly wrinkled, too, with a bunch of skin gathering just under the tip like a little knot. A tiny slit was in the tip just under the knot of skin.

"Different stuff," the boy said horsely. "Most kids call it their wiener. But some kids use other words, stuff my mom says I'm not supposed to say."

"Like what?" she asked, squeezing the appendage and pulling it toward her, watching as it got longer and thinner.

The boy watched her suspiciously. "You can tell me," she said. "I won't tell your mom what you say. Not if you're good and keep doing what I tell you."

The boy kept watching her like he was afraid she was going to hurt him at any moment. "A dick," he finally said, almost whispering. "Or a cock." He caught his breath as her fondling of him suddenly began creating more intense, tickly feelings. "Jimmy calls his his prick," he added after a moment.

She thought about that. She liked the sound of "dick." It looked like a dick to her, just as there are other things that sometimes perfectly suit their names. Dick. A no-nonsense kind of name for a thing – very male sounding and vaguely dangerous and naughty. A dick was something exotic and exciting, something you didn't talk about with just anyone. It was a name she liked lots better then "wiener." She stopped moving her fingers and looked at the tip of the small fleshy thing in her hand. "Hello, Mr. Dick!" she said, giggling. She squeezed the tip a few times, making the boy squirm and then tense his butt.

"Hold still, I said," she ordered at his movement. "If you want your clothes back, that is."

"I can't help it," the boy said helplessly. "It gets all tickly when you do that. And you're making it hard."

She squeezed the boy's member again. He was right! It was getting stiffer, and somewhat bigger, too! In fact, when she let go of it, it stood up on its own now, projecting straight up toward the roof like a little pole planted in is groin. She gripped it again and examined the little slit in the tip more closely for the first time. She squeezed the head, watching as the hole opened into a circle when she did and then closed again when she relaxed her grip. "Hey," she said. "How come you got a hole in your dick?"

"Don't you know anything 'bout boys?" the boy said. "If it didn't have a hole in it, how would you pee?"

"Out of your butt?" she asked.

"That's for girls," the boy said. "Boys pee out of their wieners. That's why we're better than girls."

"We don't pee out of our butts," she said indignantly. "We pee out of the front. It's not near the poop hole at all."

"Still, you don't have a wiener, so it's not as good," the boy said. "You have to sit down to pee."

"Of course," she said. "Everybody does."

"Okay," she said, planning on giving his clothes back to him when she was done with him, anyway.

"I pee out my bedroom window at night," he said, looking delighted with his naughtiness. "Right through the screen! It's too much trouble to run down to the bathroom, so I just hold my wiener up to the screen and let it go!"

"That's disgusting!" she said. "What if someone was walking under there?"

"It's just rose bushes," he said dismissively. "Besides, it's the middle of the night when I do it. Nobody ever knows. And the bathroom's too far."

She tried to picture herself doing that, backing up to the screen and pressing her little butt against it, leaning forward until the lips of her vulva were against the screen—nope, it wouldn't work, not at all. No doubt about it, boys were different. She squeezed his member, surprised at how stiff and unyielding it now was, like a shaft of steel had been inserted in it.

"How come it gets hard when you touch it?" she asked.

"I dunno," the boy said. "It just does. When I touch it, or when I have to pee. Sometimes it gets really big."

She looked at it dubiously. The boy's penis was less than 2 inches long, and only about ½ an inch wide. "Doesn't look that big to me," she said dubiously.

The boy looked stung. "You have to rub it some more," he said. "It gets bigger, you'll see."

"It didn't get any bigger," she said accusingly.

"The tip does," he said. "When you rub it. And when I squeeze my butt." He tensed his butt briefly in demonstration, and the tip of his organ did swell slightly. She grasped it and stroked it a few times again. He brushed her hand away again. "Stop!" he said more urgently. "It's too tickly, like when I have to pee."

"You have to pee?" she said, intrigued at the chance to see this strange bit of anatomy in action.

"No," he said. "I mean, I could, but that's not it. I just feel like I have to pee bad when it gets rubbed too much – you know, all tickly and burny inside."

"Okay," the boy said grudgingly. He really, really wanted his clothes back – this being naked around a clothed girl was embarrassing. He lay back, looking at the ceiling, as the girl began milking his wiener and slowly counting. "1….2….3…," taking her time. He fought to hold still as the tickly feeling built up beyond the level he'd ever let them go before. There was the pee feeling inside, and the burning, and the overwhelming tickle that didn't make him want to laugh, but just flooded his senses. Under underneath, a building urgency, a very pleasant and yet unbearably stimulating need that kept getting stronger.

As Modesta reached the number 62, the boy suddenly began thrashing under her hand, bucking and wiggling and gasping out little grunts. She stopped milking him in amazement, only to have him grab her hand and pump it up and down his now pulsing shaft. "Don't stop!" he gasped, making her squeeze him hard. She shrugged and milked him harder as instructed, as his butt tensed and his back arched, and he thrust at her several times before settling back down, panting, and stopping her hand by grabbing it with both of his. They stood there, frozen like that, for a long moment. His little dick pulsed several more times, then immediately began shrinking and becoming soft.

The boy looked at her. "Wow," he finally breathed. "Wow, wow wow."

"How come you did that?" she asked. "Like you were having a fit or something?"

She was still holding on to his now soft phallus, not wanting to let go. "It did get pretty big," she finally said. "When it was jumping like that. But now it's small again," she finally said.

The boy brushed her hand away and lifted his penis by the underside, looking down at it. "It's kind of sore on the end," he said. "I think you rubbed it too hard."

"You made me," she said. "You said to keep doing it. You squeezed my hand!"

"But not that hard," he said. A gleam came into his eyes. "You have to kiss it and make it better."

She looked at him. "I'm not kissing that," she said. "It's probably got poop on it from your butt."

"That's stupid," the boy said. "It's in the front and my butt's in the back."

"I don't care," she said. "Besides, you said pee comes out of it."

"Just the slit part," he said. "Not the rest. You don't have to kiss the slit, just the top."

"No," she said.

"I'll pee for you if you do," the boy had said. "Kiss it, and I'll get up and pee right in front of you. And you can watch. I'll pee over in that corner, where the floor's broken."

Now her curiosity was piqued. "Okay," she said. She leaned over and looked at his dick cross-eyed from about 3 inches away, then, screwing up her courage, leaned in and gave it a quick peck on top of its little mushroom head. "Now you've gotta pee," she said.

And the boy had. He'd gotten up from the bench and climbed down, walked with her to the corner, and peed neatly into the broken portion of the floor, his golden stream arching out from the pee hole in his wiener to splatter wetly on the dirt under the floorboards, a powerful stream quite unlike the dribbling one she usually made. The boy had shaken himself afterward to get the drips off, and the little rhyme he'd said earlier made sense all of the sudden. Overwhelmed by her new knowledge of boy anatomy and becoming afraid that they'd been gone a long time and the mothers might come looking for them, she had finally relented and given him back his clothes, rather saddened to see all that nice bare skin disappear into his clothing once again, and then, suddenly embarrassed to be with each other, they'd scattered two different directions. He'd come shyly to her door later in the day, and she'd solemnly given him his underpants, and he'd run off with them without a word, avoiding her for the next several days. But there were other boys in the world, she quickly realized – boys whose secrets she hadn't seen. Smaller boys who played the patient obediently and lay there on their backs with their little poles drooping or pointing skyward or curved toward their round tummies, small boys who obeyed the dictates of older females and never dreamed of demanding she show them her genitals in return for their own forced nudity. Bigger boys with sparse hairs above their genitals, shyly allowing her to view their fat, stubby wieners that grew much bigger when touched and sometimes rudely squirted slimy liquid on her hands, to their owner's acute embarrassment. And the fat boys – the ones with genitals that were barely visible under an overhanging gut but still responsive under her hand. She convinced them all to play doctor, sometimes by offering herself as the first patient, sometimes just by suggesting it. And all of them got hard when she handled them, and all of them were eager while she was touching them but embarrassed afterward, sometimes avoiding her for weeks.

She'd learned a lot from playing doctor. Keep them off balance. Never show your own uncertainty. Never let them have the upper hand. Play off their vulnerability and their fears about their masculinity. Act like you're not impressed by their genitals – intimate that they're small, they're immature, or they're disgusting and funny looking. Be aloof and act uninterested. Suggest that they're small and pathetic, and make them beg you to look at them. But then memorize every crevice, every bulge, every tiny thin hair and hopefully pulsing or humiliatingly shrunken member. Memorize, and you can review the gallery of your mind at leisure when you're alone and stimulating yourself. She had a lifetime of genital memories now, and a whole school of boys to undress at her leisure and feign indifference to.

A female voice behind her broke into her reverie. "The principal said you needed us, Mrs. Martinez?" it asked. She turned around, spotting two cute, blond 6th grade girls standing behind her.

"Oh, yes, of course," she said. "My new candy stripers! Yes, I have quite a full house and I'll need you to help with these three." She pointed across the room, where a nude S. F. and Chad had suddenly realized that they were no longer alone. S. F. turned over so that his genitals faced away, awkwardly trying to cover his butt with his hands. Chad clapped both hands over his genitals.

Mrs. Martinez hustled over to them. "Stop that this instant," she ordered, slapping at Chad's hands. "Boys are not to play with their genitals in school unless ordered to for medical or disciplinary reasons. Hands at your sides." Chad reluctantly moved his hands, the two girls edging up behind Mrs. Martinez and staring at his bare penis, now shriveled, of course, like it always seemed to be whenever Chad was in the presence of girls. Mrs. Martinez turned to S. F. "You," she ordered. "Up on all fours. We need to document that anal tear. Girls, help me steady him."

Groaning, S. F. crawled into position. Randy straightened up from where he was leaning on the garbage can and moved closer to Chad. S. F. settled on all fours, his butt facing the boys and Mrs. Martinez, who was moving a large camera and light setup on a rolling stand over behind S. F. The two girls were still looking at Chad. "Hey, you're Tommy's brother," one said. "The one who we kicked the ball at. I missed," she added. "All three times. Didn't even hit your leg." She looked boldly at Chad's penis. "I'm glad I missed," she added. "Your little weenie and balls are so cute!"

Mrs. Martinez looked at the girl sharply. "If you girls expect to make it in a medical career, you're going to have to speak like professionals," she chided. "What did I teach you were the proper names for that part of a male's anatomy?" she prompted. "And what did you learn about talking to patients?"

The girl blushed cutely. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Martinez," she said. She looked back at Chad's genital region, moving her gaze slowly up to his face. "What I meant to say, was, "I find your immature genitals to be quite well-shaped and attractive." She rocked a bit as she said this. "Your prepubescent penis is well-proportioned and symmetrical, and your scrotum is only slightly pigmented and nicely shaped."

"Much better," said Mrs. Martinez. "Very clinical and professional." She smiled inwardly to herself. Actually, she thought to herself, the girl had described it perfectly to start with – the little guy's weenie and balls were cute – she'd thought so the first time she'd seen them, when he'd been brought to her shower with a dirty diaper to be hosed off. She finished moving the camera on its stand directly into position behind S. F.'s posterior. "Now lower your head to the table and cradle it in your arms," she directed S. F., who was standing on all fours like a rather well-hung dog. S. F., sighing, hunkered down into the humiliating position she was specifying. "Good," Mrs. Martinez said as his head finally reached the table. "Now then, spread your knees farther apart. Yes, like that. Now lean back on your haunches so I can get a good shot."

The two girls crowded in to look at this new phenomenon. S. F.'s butt was jackknifed, his legs widely spread, his swollen balls hanging like a piñata between his legs, his penis so long that it was visible even with his pendulous balls."Wow," the girl who hadn't spoken yet said. Mrs. Martinez gave her a look. "I was just commenting on the swelling of his genital region and the cut on his, um, his…" She looked pleadingly at her partner. "What's the word for his you know what hole?" she asked plaintively.

"Anus," the other girl said promptly. "The circular muscle that closes the posterior end of the rectum," she added.

"Right," the other girl said.

"Aren't his boy parts rather big for a boy his age?" the first girl said. "I don't think my dad's are that big, even."

S. F. blushed at the discussion of his freakishly big genitals. His father had told him, finally, that he hadn't made himself big like that by self-abuse, but he still couldn't shake the feeling he'd been responsible.

"Just steady him while I take some shots of the damage," Mrs. Martinez said. "Stand by his side, facing me, and put an arm around his middle, like that. Yes, that's it. Now hold him against you so he doesn't move."

Chad and Randy, currently ignored, glanced curiously at the procedure, wondering if they would also go through it. Even with Mrs. Martinez blocking the view partially with her camera, they were still presented with a wide-open shot of all of S. F.'s endowments. The scrape Emily's toenail had made on S. F.'s butt was now plain to see in the bright camera lights. It began as a thin line right at the edge of the boy's butt crack, gouging more deeply as it neared his pink, still slightly nettle-scarred anal region. Bright blood still seeped slowly near the anal ring itself, which was scratched all the way in to where it pursed closed on itself. Mrs. Martinez began snapping pictures, pausing to adjust lenses and positions, angling right into the boy's butt.

Great, Chad thought. She'll have giant pictures of all of our stuff in living color. Probably hand out 8 by 10's to her friends.

"I need you to spread his anal ring a bit so I can show how deeply the laceration penetrates," Mrs. Martinez said sharply to the other girl. "Hold still," she commanded S. F., who had squirmed at these words. The other girl approached S. F. from the side opposite the girl who was holding him and gingerly placed a finger on either side of S. F.'s butt hole. "Yes, press in right there, then pull apart enough to spread his anus," she said in a no-nonsense voice. "You, boy – push outward like you were trying to defecate."

Blushing to his chest, S. F. made his anus flex, and the girl's pressure on either side of his nether orifice made it spread slightly like an opening mouth, revealing the pink tissue inside. Mrs. Martinez went back to the camera.

After what seemed like about a hundred pictures, S. F. was told to lie on his back, and then his genitals were photographed in intimate detail, The two girls took turns holding his genitals at various angles, holding rulers to his swollen balls, and generally handling him with great glee. This attention had the unsurprising effect of making S. F.'s appendage gradually begin stiffening, until it began rising, angling gradually higher and higher until it was a man-sized pole pointing at the sky. S. F. blushed, Mrs. Martinez kept on snapping pictures, and Chad and Randy goggled as S. F.'s boyhood extended its full length – a good six inches by the time it was pointing straight up like a telephone pole, the head huge and flaring, the shaft fat and formidable as well. It waved slightly in the air with the boy's now rapid heartbeat. The girls stared at it as if mesmerized, the shorter one with her mouth open. Chad expected her to start drooling at any moment. Mrs. Martinez flicked it gently with a fingertip and watched it jump back into rigid verticality. "My, you are a mature one, aren't you?' she commented. She pulled the camera back. "You can get up," she said. "But we'd best get a sample for testing before we start icing you." She handed one of the girls a small plastic cup, shorter than it was wide. "There may be internal damage. Take him over to the shower to collect it, so you don't make a mess if he gets out of control. It's often quite hard for these young boys to control themselves, after all."

"Not a urine sample, young man," Mrs. Martinez said condescendingly. "A semen sample. To make sure your generative organs aren't damaged. Just go over with there with girls and produce one."

"Produce one?" S. F. said, his voice now shrill as a little girl's. "What do you mean, produce one?" He looked panicked.

Mrs. Martinez looked at him knowingly. "You know perfectly well how to produce a semen sample," she said coldly. "Even this little guy with his immature genitals knows how to produce a semen sample." She indicated Chad's immature genital region idly with her free hand. "In fact, judging by your appearance, I'd guess you do so at least once a day, so you ought to be quite familiar with the process. Now go over there so the girls can get to work."

"Get to work?" S. F. said, his voice high enough to irritate dogs three blocks away.

"So they can masturbate you," Mrs. Martinez said. "Now. Or I'll add to the scars you already have on your bottom. I have a special paddle for recalcitrant boys, you know. A special paddle so painful that only medical personnel are allowed to use it on bare skin," she added.

"But… but… the girls…" S. F. protested, his still erect penis bouncing as his agitation made him tremble violently.

"We have no need time for shyness or false modesty here. This is a medical office. We do medical procedures here. Now go over there and let them help you produce that sample," Mrs. Martinez said crossly.

S. F. looked from Chad to Randy and then back to Mrs. Martinez. "You want them to—to—to--?" he looked scandalized. His penis, on the other hand, looked eager, bouncing merrily in front of him while he twitched in agitation.

"Exactly," Mrs. Martinez. Girls, take charge of him. Mr. Henson, climb on the exam table please. We'll start you on your back since the camera is already in that position. Then we'll do your posterior and finally the insides of your mouth." Chad shrugged and clambered onto the table, turning to lie on his back. His little penis was playing turtle, the head barely peeking out of his groin, his balls snugged to his body due to the slightly cold temperature of the room. He looked to see if the girls were watching, ready to mock him, but no one was looking his way, all eyes watching S. F.'s reaction.

S. F. continued to stare, his mouth working.

"I can't – I can't…" he stammered.

Mrs. Martinez looked at him. "Do I have to get my paddle, young man?" she said crisply. "Because I can cause you considerable discomfort without striking your damaged anal region or your scrotum, you know. And I've discovered there's nothing like a good paddling to make a young man appreciate the need to cooperate in medical procedures. And I have astringents to deal with the blisters my special paddle always makes on boys, you know, so I needn't hold back in using it."

"Um, no ma'am," S. F. said. "It's just .. well… they're girls! And … and… it's embarrassing."

"It's a natural process, like elimination. And the girls are very professional, aren't you girls?"

The taller girl took S. F. gently by the arm and began leading him over to the shower. "We'll take good care of you," she said sweetly. She let her free hand trail over S. F.'s healing butt blisters, caressing him gently and making his penis twitch. "You'll finish in no time."