Tommy's Attitude Adjustment Chapter 71
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 71: Different Strokes for Different Folks

S. F. was having flashbacks of himself being forced to masturbate in front of the Women's Prayer Group and their daughters, and as a consequence was growing progressively whiter in color, to the point where he looked nearly bloodless. He remembered cumming over and over again, begin forced to catch his ejaculate in his other hand, the thrill of spilling his seed quickly replaced by the revulsion of being forced to lick his hand clean. He remembered most the musty smell, and the slimy, snot-liked texture of his output. It was like eating snot, it really was. If what his father had told him on Sunday was true, though, this snot had little swimming tadpoles in it, tadpoles too small to see that somehow combined with an egg in the mother to make a baby. He'd felt mildly sickened when his father told him that – he'd licked up what had seemed like tons of the stuff from his hand, and thousands or even millions of the little things must have perished in his gut, been turned to poop and shoved out of his butt hole a day later. He pictured them swimming inside him and shuddered.

He also was having trouble with the girl's hands on him in the two intimate, private places that his mother had always told him were dirty, his butt and his wiener. People weren't supposed to touch you there. Your butt was germy and dirty and disgusting, his mom had always taught him – something best not talked about at all. And his wiener – well, you never even acted like you had one. He remembered being a very little boy, he wasn't sure even how little, and coming crying to her with the skin of the underside of his wiener caught in the cruel teeth of his zipper. She hadn't even looked at his privates as she pulled the zipper down, making it clear such a sight was nasty, too nasty for her to want to see. She didn't doctor him afterward as she would have with other bleeding cuts, either, leaving him to dab Neosporin on himself gingerly in the bathroom.

Yet here this girl's hands were, on his butt and on his wiener – it felt too intimate, too sinful and, somehow, even slimy, even though the girl's hands were dry and hot. Even the women's prayer group had only handled his butt and wiener in the process of washing him in the tub, and then they'd made the girls do it, they hadn't condescended to touch his male flesh themselves. He'd been forced to masturbate himself, clearly sending the message that this part of him was dirty, only touched for washing but to be avoided otherwise. He was of two minds about the touch – he didn't like the familiarity of it, the attitude that this strange younger girl could touch him in those intimate places and he had to accept and tolerate it, just as he'd had to accept and tolerate being spanked, and paddled, and whipped. He wondered if he dared break loose and run away. But where would he run to? He'd end up side by side with Emily, waiting his turn on the horse, rather than waiting to whip her himself. His butt still stung and ached from being spanked, his butt hole throbbed, and his balls were sore from Emily's attack. He slumped mentally, beaten. And besides, he had other feelings about this, too. His body was thrilling to her gentle butt caresses and to the grip she had on his powerfully erect phallus. His penis, especially, was saying, "more, more, MORE!" He hated himself for wanting her to go ahead and start stroking him the way he loved to stroke himself, and hated that two of his friends were witnessing his reaction. Turning his eyes helplessly to Chad and then Randy, he made one final plea. "You guys won't watch, will you?" he said. "Please?"

Randy, who'd been doing just that, looked away guiltily. Chad pointedly turned his attention to the examination table, stolidly climbing it and getting on his back, turning his head to the opposite wall, away from the trio at the shower. Mrs. Martinez stepped up, and Chad allowed her to place his legs up in the stirrups and Velcro them in place without protest. His muscular butt was completely spread in that position, his tight, symmetrical anal eye staring out unblinking at the room, his genitals bulging from his crotch, wide open and defenseless, a perfect miniature of S. F.'s larger endowment. Chad almost congratulated himself for how calmly he submitted himself to this lewd display, proof he was getting past his modesty, but in truth, no one was looking at him, not with S. F. and his glorious long dick in the room. Even Mrs. Martinez was glancing across the room, checking on how her assistants were faring with the more mature boy's equipment. Chad's much smaller penis, growing slightly more turgid in the open air currents that now fanned his no longer private regions, flipped up against his belly, and his cock ring glinted in the light. The nurse, who had been watching S. F., snapped her gaze back to the smaller boy's crotch, her eye catching the glinting ring. "Well, what have we here? A bit of ornamentation for your little muchacho?"

Across the room, S. F. stopped over the shower drain, keeping his butt carefully turned so that at least the trio across the room wouldn't witness his humiliation, although of course the two girls stationed at either side of him would not only witness it, but would cause it. They flanked him tightly, one holding the specimen cup, the other caressing his bottom gently and erotically. He looked at Mrs. Martinez once more, hoping she would relent, but she was now examining Chad's cock ring with fascination, pulling it gently, looking at the location and depth of the piercing.

"I got it at the end of the gauntlet," Chad said lamely.

"Oh, of course you did!" Mrs. Martinez said. "I should have remembered. I advised your mother on the sterilization process. And a fine, neat piercing it is, too! Nothing like clean surgical steel for a neat job. I do hope you're treating this piercing with proper hygiene – soap and water daily, and a splash of alcohol at least twice a week."

Chad, who certainly washed himself but had heard nothing about alcohol, merely nodded. Mrs. Martinez looked pleased. "Good," she said. "But we'll just take it off for now, so I can get my pictures." Her gloved hand expertly worked the ring out of Chad's frenulum, making his penis harden to its full 2 inches in the process. Mrs. Martinez couldn't help gazing at it for few disconcerting moments. It was too bad, she mused to herself, that so many boys and girls focused only on size when they evaluated this particular organ. To her, beauty and symmetry and form was more important, and this kid's dick was beautiful – the bullet head just the right proportion, the urinary slit located low enough at the tip to blend into the body just right, the circumcision scar perfectly smooth and not too darkly pigmented, the circumcision itself just tight enough to keep the skin from drooping, but not so tight it made it look like the organ was trying to burst out. The head angled back just enough, the shaft was almost perfectly straight, and the plump little sack with its barely pubescent contents was symmetrical, tight, and attractively wrinkled. It looked positively delicious – had she been a teenaged girl and this boy had taken her into the shed to play doctor, she'd have fallen to her knees and taking him full glut into her mouth in an instant and sucked his brains out through his dick.

Not that she'd done such a thing when she'd been a child playing doctor, of course. She didn't realize, back then when she'd had such opportunity, that girls could do such a thing, or that boys would want them to. In those days, penises were too near buttocks and anuses for her to even consider putting her mouth near one, and after the revelation that pee came out of them, actually squirted out the tip, and sometimes slimy ejaculate did as well, she certainly wouldn't have taken one in her mouth. She did at times plant a chaste little kiss on the tip of a boy's penis in her doctor playing days, usually when the boy dared her to or just to shake them up, but she always kept her lips away from their pee slits, kissing the top ridge of the head instead, or the shaft behind the head, and then only after scrutinizing them to see that they were spotlessly clean front and back. Now, of course, she wished she'd have sucked every little penis she had the opportunity to suck in those days. And, if things had been different, she'd have started with this one in front of her, already hard and inviting. But that was not to be, and that was that. Kids were strictly off limits for sex. She had to admit to herself, though, that this kid already had a majorly cute dick, even if it was small. It made it even more charming that he obviously didn't know it – didn't realize how rare his perfect proportions were. Michaelangelo would have used this kid as a model for the genitals of the young Jesus, maybe even scaled them up in size for the adult version. But the old master liked uncut boys, didn't he? That's all he painted, anyway. Which was ridiculous in the baby Jesus, who, the Bible clearly noted, had been ritually circumcised 8 days after his birth, just like every other Jewish boy. She wondered if this boy in front of her would keep those perfect proportions when he matured. Probably—at least that had been her experience – kids with little ugly dicks generally became teens with big ugly dicks, and after that, fat middle aged men with ugly, shriveled dicks. And boys with cute, perfect little tools generally became teens and adults with sleek, virile, perfect big tools. Give this one about 5 years, he'd be a keeper. And there was no predicting how big he'd be once he got a hefty dose of testosterone running through him.

She thought back again to the year she'd played doctor, played it for the entire summer, fall, and even that winter, baring all the boys she could, baring herself when she had to in order to get a glimpse at still another boy's apparatus. Spring had been in the air the day it had all come to a head, when she'd been found out, and all the punishments had occurred, and those punishments had sent her down her current path.

She'd come in from outside, where she'd been trying without success to gently persuade a modest little 10-year-old to let her reach down his pants and fondle him. (She'd found that many very modest boys would allow her to fondle them even when they were adamant about not being seen, and that after she'd fondled them awhile they didn't want her to stop, and the determination to keep their genitals hidden often evaporated. Many times they yanked their pants down in desperation then, and they begged her to look at them, look at them and please, please keep touching them as well. But some of the boys, especially the 10-13 year-olds, were very shy, and shy boys made her want to see all the more. It was dinner time, though, he still was playing coy with her, so she'd left it to tomorrow and come back in to the warmth of the apartment, only to be met by her stern-looking mother, who got up and met her coming through the kitchen with crossed arms.

"I had a talk with Mrs. Rodriguez and her son, earlier this week," she said without preamble. "She was here with her little boy. She told me that you had done the most terrible things to her son and to other boys! That you've undressed them, and looked at their privates and even touched them and played with their – with their little pipis and their cajones!" She grasped Modesta by both shoulders firmly. "Look into my eyes, mi princesa! Tell me that you have not been playing the puta with these boys!"

Her look confirmed all her mother's fears. The dark-haired woman sat heavily on a nearby kitchen chair, taking her face in her hands. "Oh, Dios mia! That I would have a whore for a daughter! Thank the Heavenly Father that you haven't yet acquired the curse, and are too young for babies! Tell me, daughter, how many of these little sons of whores have you let stick their dirty pipis into you? How many have you rutted with on the dirt floor of that shed like a pig?"

It had taken considerably time, Modesta sobbing out protests, her mother wailing about sin and whoring and what the neighbors and the good father at St. Kathryn's would think, before she finally made her understand that her activites with the boys had been confined to looking and sometimes touching their "pipis," occasionally watching one pee, once in awhile letting one look at her own genitals, but nothing else. Once she'd understood this, her mother had looked at Modesta with overwhelming sadness. "Why, why, my daughter? Why would you do these things?"

Suddenly the way out occurred to Modesta. "They made me," she said, trying to look convincing. "They said they'd tell everyone I was a puta unless I touched them, and showed myself to them. I didn't want to, but they made me. A big boy made me do it first – you know, the boy with the crew cut who lives with his mother on 5." The boy she named was one she didn't particularly like, and she felt a grim satisfaction in citing him as the instigator of it all. "And then he told some of his friends, and then other boys started approaching me and making me do it. I didn't want to, but they made me!"

Her mother had immediately switched gears, her daughter going from whore to victim in her mind. Modesta had been led into this activity by the boys—been forced to touch them, to manipulate them, and even to show herself to them. Boys were always doing those sorts of things. She should never have doubted Modesta, who was obviously a victim of an evil cabal of boys who were passing her amongst themselves like their own personal slave.

"Oh, praise God that you weren't the instigator," her mother finally said. "When I'd thought you were responsible, I had asked Mr. Daubs from down the hall if he would be able to come over tonight and help with your discipline. He even said he had a razor strop he used on his own boys that he'd bring, and that he'd whip you the way he did his sons when they were whoring around in their early teens, by stripping you naked and beating you everywhere below the neck. But now I can call him off, now that I know you're innocent. Of course, if I thought that you'd led those boys on in any way…."

Modesta, picturing the awful Mr. Daubs leering at her naked body while he stood over her and whipped her, hastened to reassure her mother that the undressing of the boys had not been her idea, that she'd been forced to do it by threats of harm to herself. And then her mother had handed her a sheet of paper and insisted she list every single boy she'd played naked games with. "We must see that they all are properly punished, so that they don't attempt to do this sort of thing to you or other innocent girls again. And you can start by writing you little friend Jeremy's name on the list, because I've already talked to his mother and he admitted he was one of them you touched."

"Of course he did," her mother said warningly. "He admitted touching you and letting you touch him in the shed last summer. Although he tried to say that it was your idea, and he didn't want to do it. But now I know better, don't I? So get to work on that list. And you'd better not try to leave any other of those nasty boys out of the list, either. I already know who some of them are, so you might as well admit it. Unless you were more of a willing participant than you've let on?"

Modesta pictured Mr. Daubs looming over her, beating her naked body mercilessly with his belt. "Of course not, mother," she'd said. And so Modesta had written them down, all of them—from the innocent little 8-year-olds to the horny 13-year-olds who'd squirted sticky fluid rudely on her hand. She even included a boy or two she hadn't undressed, but had simply thought she might want to, just for completeness. She'd written down all of their names, and then her mother started making the phone calls.

In the end, there were 23 mothers to call, and only 8 were dealt with that first night. Her mother made a series of calls while she was confined to her room, and then she was told to put on her shoes and "Come along smartly." Because he lived the closest, they'd started with 10-year-old Jeremy, who'd been her first victim. She and her mother had marched smartly down to their door, knocked, and were let in by a red-faced mother who looked at Modesta in shame, apologized profusely for "my son's involvement in this sordid affair," and then said, rather cryptically, "I got him ready in advance so we can do this quickly." Walking into the parlor, she discovered, to her shock, that Jeremy was standing in the corner with his short pants and white underpants at his ankles, both turned inside out, wearing no shirt at all, so his body was naked from his ankles to the top of his head. He was sobbing hysterically, the rounded globes of his little bare bottom bright red in the centers and blushing pink over the rest of their exposed surface, from their outward jut from the small of his bony back down to the crease where they joined his legs. As she was looking at his butt straight on, she was somewhat surprised to notice that his legs did not actually join together where they emerged from his body, but instead had a small gap between them. However, being a very immature boy, nothing of his genitals was visible there for her to see. And, in spite of it all, Modesta still was possessed by a burning urge to see them, to once more glimpse his little pinky and pouch.

What was going on here, she wondered? Jeremy had obviously been spanked, and hard. Modesta's heart began pounding, as she realized what was going on. Her mother had brought her to this boy's house to spank her as he had obviously been spanked, hard and on the naked bottom. And she had obviously been brought here so that the boy could witness her humiliation. This seemed to be borne out a moment later, when the boy's mother yanked him by the arm out of the corner and swung him around to face the room, in the process displaying what Modesta now knew to be his meager genitals to her. Holding the boy by the upper arm, his mother reached down and gave the center of his bare bottom a vicious smack. The boy squealed, the force of the blow making him inadvertently thrust his hips forward, his small sagging wiener flopping as he did so. Despite the peril she was in, she could not take her eyes off his genitals. She had remembered his sack as being bigger, but now she could see that it was actually quite small, like a small Christmas ornament, or a ping-pong ball -- or maybe only half a ping-pong ball. His baby penis with a small too, although perhaps it was because this time it wasn't hard, and it had been the last time she'd seen it. "Apologize to her!" the boy's mother demanded, her hand raised to give him another smack on his unprotected behind. "Apologize this instant!" She looked at Modesta and her mother apologetically. "He tried to say that she made him do it – something about wetting his underpants and her hiding them. But I beat the truth out of him! I kept spanking his naughty bottom until he admitted it was all his fault!" The boy tried to reach behind it with his free hand to block her blow, at the same time clenching his butt and again thrusting his little penis at her.

"I'm sorry!" the boy shrieked. "I won't do it again! Don't spank me no more!"

"I'll spank you as many times more as I think you need!" the boy's mother stormed, brushing his protective hand aside and giving him another solid whack on the bare rump. The boy wailed incoherently, tears streaming down from his puffy eyes, snot bubbling from his nose. Modesta's mother began guiding her to a nearby couch. Oh, no! She thought to herself. Here it comes! Now she was going to be spanked, right front of her male victim! He was going to see her bare privates this time, and watch her bare heinie slowly reddened by her mother's hand! She swallowed and followed her mother meekly. She'd just have to try not to cry too hard, that was all. And she'd keep her eyes shut so she wouldn't see him looking at her.

But instead of drawing her daughter across her lap, her mother had pressed her down onto the sofa, and had pressed a small but sturdy wooden paddle into her hand. Looking at it in surprise, she discovered that it had printed on it in professional letters, "Heat for the seat" along with a cartoon drawing of a boy with his pants down, clutching a bright red bottom and crying freely. Under the caption, some one had written in crude magic marker, "For Jeremy's bare butt!"

Jeremy was being marched toward her, still squalling, but now begging, semi-coherently, not to be paddled, waddling awkwardly with his pants tight around his ankles. In moments, Modesta had a mostly naked boy across her lap, her already well spanked butt in perfect position under herright hand. "Get his legs," the boy's mother said briskly to Modesta's own mother, "and I'll get his arms." The boy's struggles diminished as he was stretched out across her, but his begging not be paddled intensified.

"All right, Modesta," her mother said. "Here's your chance to punish him for what he did to you. Give him a good hard paddling, and don't stop until his bottom is blistered all over!"

The boy began a thrashing again, loudly protesting that he was sorry and that he wouldn't do it again, that he wouldn't so much as look at a girl with her clothes on, let alone with her clothes off, not ever again, if they would just please, please not paddle him! Modesta fingered the paddle nervously and hesitated. She felt sorry for Jeremy. It was clear his little butt already hurt something awful from the spanking his mother must have given him before they arrived, the spanking that had obviously been so painful he'd been willing to say anything to make it stop, even the lies he'd told taking full responsibility for their adventures. And now they were asking her to make his butt hurt much more, to spank it with this paddle until he was blistered back there. He'd be sore for a week! Maybe a month! And yet he was innocent, mostly -- she was the guilty party!

"Get on with it," Modesta's mother said. "We have other stops yet to make tonight! I'm sure you want your chance to hurt this boy as badly as he hurt you!"

"Perhaps she's reluctant because she was a more willing participant than you suggested," Jeremy's mother said, obviously possessing a glimmer of hope that her son was not a budding pervert.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Modesta's mother said indignantly. "Everyone knows boys are the aggressor in these situations! Believe me, if I had any hint that she initiated these encounters, I'd take her out in the courtyard, strip her naked, and beat the bejesus out of her!"

Modesta's pity for Jeremy evaporated and self-preservation took over, and she raised the paddle above the boy's unprotected butt, bringing it down sharply on first his right and then his left butt cheek. The boy squalled, first clenching his butt so tightly that his butt crack became white, then kicking wildly and spasmodically, so wildly, in fact that he flashed her glimpses of the tight little pucker set in between his buns, the little pucker she herself had invaded with a clothes pin. Picturing herself being beaten in the courtyard naked, with all her victims watching, she went about blistering the boy's butt with a will, ignoring his hysterical screams and frantic bucking and watching with clinical interest as her paddle turned his butt bright red, and brilliant red blisters begin flowering all over his seat. So intent was she on her mission that eventually the boy's mother had to let go of her son's arms and reach out and grab her hand and stop her. Only then did Modesta realize that the boy's butt was a mass of red blisters, and that some of the blisters in the centers of his buns and running down both sides of his crack were actually bleeding. The boy's mother yanked him off of her and stood him on his feet, having to support him on limp legs. The boy was hoarse from screaming, and he stood there, his chest heaving, making incoherent gasping sounds. His genitals were directly across from Modesta's seated position, and she noted to her surprise that his small penis had practically crawled inside his body, with only the mushroom head sticking out, and his small bag was pulled so tightly to his crotch that it was nothing but a wrinkled patch of skin there, the place that, despite all her experience with boys, she still felt like there should be furrow, with a tunnel inside going into the body.

"Thank her for spanking you!" the boy's mother insisted, giving him a shake. "Or I'll have her do it again!"

Jeremy had gasped, and choked, and blew snot from his runny nose, and hiccupped, and sobbed incoherently for a few moments. Finally, in an effort that seemed Herculean, he managed to say, "'M thorry! Thang you frrr spanging meeeeee!"

"And are you going to undress any other little girls and touch their privates, or display your dirty boy parts to any other little girls ever again?" his mother insisted.

"Noooooooo!" the boy wailed. "Neeeeeveeeer! 'M thoooooorrrrrry!"

"All right, then!" his mother said with grim satisfaction. She gave him a push that sent him sprawling. "Get your perverted little butt in the corner!" she snapped. "And no rubbing!" she ordered as the boy's hands had already begun exploring his ruined bottom. His hands dropped reluctantly away, his butt clenching and unclenching instead. "You will stay there until bedtime, with your nose against the wall and your hands behind your head! And if you move 1 inch from there, or try to rub your bottom, I'll give you a paddling that will make the one she just gave you seem like love taps! And no bathroom breaks, either! I know that trick – always saying you have to go so you can leave the corner! You will stay in the corner and think about your behavior the entire time!"

Jeremy had looked at her, his nose still snotty and his eyes puffy. 'Wad if I haf to go real bad?" he semi-sobbed.

Jeremy's hand had shot to his crotch to squeeze his little wiener tightly, and looking comical and yet pathertic, he managed to stagger to a corner, walking with a stiff legged gait that betrayed how incredibly sore his bottom was. Modesta's mother bid the other woman goodbye and hustled her out of the house.

They went to seven other houses and apartments that night, and Modesta was compelled to punish 7 more boys, in various ways, in various positions, and using various implements. In some cases, the boys were unaware of what was coming when she entered, and in other cases, as with Jeremy, they were already showing the signs of earlier punishment by their parents. Some, like Jeremy, were crying in a corner with a red butt on display. Two were in the process of being spanked when she and her mother knocked on the door, and were led in by siblings while the parent continued their sons' lessons. One, the 13 year old who lived on 5, who she'd accused as being the mastermind of it all, was standing stiffly by the table, fully clothed, his face puffy and tear stained, writing "I will not expose myself to little girls" over and over again on stacks of paper when she came in. He'd been stopped from that activity and told to put down his pen, and when he did, Modesta saw that both his hands were red and raw and swollen, his mother explaining that she'd whipped each of his hands "12 times with the strop" for the evil they'd done. She hadn't wanted to give him so many, but it took that long for him to admit that he'd instigated the whole thing. Modesta felt a bit guilty about that, and was even more worried the boy would denounce her, but the fight had clearly left him with the beating of his hands – when told to get ready for more punishment, he'd fumbled his pants open with swollen hands, undressed himself completely with a minimum of fuss, and bent over the couch to be whipped with a doubled-over men's belt that his mother hand placed in Modesta's hand, crying out with each blow and clenching his butt, but making no attempt to resist. He'd risen again when his mother ordered him to, after 30 stripes had been laid on his butt, criss-crossing and purpling the skin, and in a barely controlled, sobbing voice had apologized for "making everyone pick on her." She'd been unable to take her eyes off his genitals, his large, swaying, pendulous balls, so much bigger than Jeremy's, the full bush of hair he had on his groin, and the shockingly limp penis dangling above, shriveled now with embarrassment and pain.

No two boys were punished the same way, each parent having a different idea of how pain should be administered to young males. The next boy was fully clothed when they arrived, but bore red marks on his face, handprints from having been repeatedly slapped. One was tied naked to an exposed overhead pipe in a garage when they arrived, his arms pulled so high he had to stand on his tiptoes. He'd been very frightened, even though his body was untouched. She could tell just how frightened, because as she entered, he'd jetted a long stream of pee that shot out a shocking distance, than trailed down to a dribble by his feet, leaving an embarrassing puddle of wetness in front of him on the concrete floor, and a telltale spattered trail from the puddle leading down between his legs. She'd only watched there, watched while a grim father took his belt to the boy's butt, not folded over like she'd done to the boy on 5, but full length, the leather whistling repeatedly through the air and landing with a sickening crack on the boy's soft flesh.

Most shocking all was the sixth boy's position – because when Modesta was brought into their living room, he was standing naked in front of his two little brothers and four sisters, two older and two younger, vigorously rubbing a very sore penis while they watched and made fun of him. "I told him he had to play with it until you got here," his mother said by way of explanation. "After all, that's what he did to your daughter, made her play with it! So I figured if he wants to do it in front of an audience, I figured I'd give him an audience!"

"He's already squirted his stuff five times!" One of the younger girls said excitedly. "But the last couple were just little dribbles!"

"Can I quit now Ma!" The boy pleaded, a hint of panic in his voice. "It won't get hard anymore! And it's awful sore! I won't be able to pee!"

His mother had looked at her watch. "Three more minutes,"she said. "That'll be the end of the hour. Then I'll have the girl go to work on you."

"But it hurts!" the boy pleaded. "It hurts so bad!"

"Good," his mother said. "I want it to hurt. And move your hand faster, and squeeze harder. Put some effort into it, or I'll take a belt to it. "

Modesta had watched as avidly as the boy's siblings as the boy had been forced to continue standing in front of them, pulling frantically on his limp, red, and obviously sore early pubescent penis. By the time he was allowed to stop, it was clear that he had created skin burns along the shaft on both sides and behind the head, skin burns that looked very sore and painful.

But the greatest pain for him was yet to come, because it was in this house that Modesta administered the most vicious punishment, even greater than the whipping with a belt she'd been forced to watch being given to the boy who'd been tied from the pipe. First, she was seated on a firm wooden chair, across from the watching siblings. To her surprise, boy was told to pull his pants and underpants back up from around his ankles, where they had been all the time he'd been forced to abuse himself in front of his siblings. He had not been wearing a shirt when they'd come in, and she had assumed he would be forced to remove his pants and underpants as well. After all, all five of the boys she had visited before had been spanked or paddled or whipped naked, all of the parents proclaiming that boys who want girls to see them deserved no less when being spanked. This was the first case where a boy was redressed for punishment rather than undressed. She noticed, without surprise, that he winced as he stuffed his limp penis back in his underpants, and winced again as he pulled his pants over his genital pouch and raised the zipper.

"Are you right or left-handed?" the mother asked Modesta.

"Um, right," Modesta said after a moment. The boy's mother guided him over and made him bend over her left side, the boy had meekly obeying, stretching across her lap and gripping the rung between the chair legs tightly.

"Use your left hand," the mother said. "Don't want it hurting too much at first – better if you let it build." She glared at her prone son. "Position!" she snapped. "Just like you do with me!" The boy jerked on her lap, then he spread his legs so his feet were about 2 feet apart, stretching the blue cloth until it clung to his flanks tightly, then tilted his butt up provocatively, waiting there tensely.

"I'm ready, ma'am," he said quietly in a shaking voice.

Modesta had been given a ping-pong paddle and told by the boy's mother to "give it everything you've got!" Assuming that this paddling was going to be the boy's only punishment, besides, of course, having been forced to masturbate in front of her and her siblings, she swung the paddle as hard at his jeans covered butt as she was capable of. The boy took his paddling stoically to start with, just lying there stiffly with his butt tensely up turned as the loud smack of each blow filled the room. Somewhat challenged by his lack of reaction, she tried spanking him harder on the fifth blow, and was rewarded by him giving a surprised grunt. He was silent the next few blows, though, and she found herself a bit irked. It wasn't fair, after all, that he should have an easy time of it, when all her other partners had cried so piteously all evening. Hitting upon an idea, she stopped spreading her spanks around, instead aiming all of them at the low center of his butt, right where he sat down. This was more satisfying as he began grunting again, and even twitching his buttocks perceptibly in his jeans. She continued paddling him there over and over throughout the long spanking, but could not get him to do any more than then tense his muscles and grunt. Finally the boy's mother called a halt to the process, and yanked the boy back to his feet. To her disappointment he was still dry-eyed, although his lip was trembling and he was flushed in the face. Well, she had tried. She was looking for a place to put the paddle down, when the boy's mother's voice surprised her.

"Time to take down your pants, the mother said sternly to her son. "Leave your under panties on for now." The boy stripped his jeans off quickly and settled back over Modesta's lap, again spreading his legs, grasping the chair rung, and tilting his buttocks up obligingly for her paddle. This time his flanks were covered just by spotless white briefs, the cloth lighter down the middle over his butt crack and darker where it was stretched across his skin. The area between his legs bulged intriguingly. Motioning at the boy's barely clad bottom, the mother signaled for her to begin again. This time there was more reaction to her efforts, the boy stiffening visibly with each blow as the paddle stung him through the thin cloth of the white briefs. Modesta, feeling guilty about assaulting just his sit spots before now that she realized he was going to get a more severe spanking, spread the paddling around, covering his entire underpants area, and marveling how the resilient muscles bounced and rippled with each blow. The sound was different now, less muffled, more solid, somehow. She continued paddling methodically, wondering how long they would make her go on and whether this was the last punishment he'd be receiving or not. The boy's grunts became little moans, uttered through clenched teeth. About half way through this second paddling it dawned on Modesta that she could feel his boy parts through the thin cloth of his underpants and through her own skirt as well—could feel them, pressed soft and squishy against her leg, even through her skirt. She wondered if it hurt to have his sore penis pushed against her leg like that. Well, probably not any more than his butt was hurting him right now. She wondered how much longer they would have her paddle him before they decided it was enough. His butt had to be getting mighty sore, and her arm was getting tired.

Shortly after that, the boy's mother stopped her again. "Get up, you little pervert," she ordered the boy, who was panting in distress but still not crying. He rose, his face flushed, looking at the floor and not meeting her eyes. He looked smaller now, smaller and younger in his tight little boy briefs. Modesta noticed he was now trembling more powerfully now. His butt must hurt far more than he was revealing. He stood by her side stiffly.

"How's your butt feel?" the oldest sister said mockingly.

"Bet it hurts," another sister commented. "What about it, Bobby? How does it feel being spanked by a girl?"

The boy flushed, biting his lips. He looked like he might cry at any moment.

"Answer them," his mother said forcefully. "Tell them all what it feels like! Maybe your little brothers can learn from your bad example."

"It hurts," the boy said with a bit of hysteria in his voice.

"A little or a lot?" the oldest younger brother asked.

"A lot," the boy said back, his voice breaking.

"Like sitting on a hot stove?" the older sister asked mockingly. "Or like having a thousand fire ants bite your butt? Or is it more like having the doctor give you a bunch of shots in the butt?"

"Worse than all them," the boy said.

The boy hesitated only a moment, then, looking more scared, skimmed his briefs off to reveal to Modesta, for the third time now, his pubescent genitals. His drooping penis was still red, raw, and sore-looking. She noticed for the first time that the bag under them was actually quite a lot bigger than that of the smaller boys whom she'd already spanked that night – it was actually as big as the bag on the boy who'd been hung from the pipe, with oblong hard orbs swelling the wrinkled skin. He stood there awkwardly, his brothers and sisters commenting on the redness of his butt, which Modesta really couldn't see with him facing her, except for the redness that spilled over his flanks. "Over her knees," his mother ordered. The boy started to settle across her. "No, idiot boy! The other way," his mother chided. "Switch to her right side this time — I'm sure she needs a fresh hand by now."

The boy again meekly settled across Modesta's lap and tilted his butt up to her paddle, this time under her right hand. Now that she could see his butt for the first time since they'd played doctor weeks ago, Modesta found herself surprised by a few things. Oh, not the fact that the boy's bottom was blushing red all over and darker red in his sit spots – that was to be expected after all the spanking she had done. No, what surprised her was how much bigger his butt was than those of the smaller boys she'd taken over her lap. (The boy she had whipped while he hung from the pipe actually had an even bigger, more mature butt, but she hadn't noticed because he hadn't been over her lap.) Not only was his butt bigger, but the skin was coarser, and it even had a few hairs sprouting out of it, especially in the crack, fine, downy hairs like the ones he had on his groin. And with his butt tilted up toward her, she found that rather than just having a shy peek at the boy's butt hole, she had a full-on view of it, right there in the middle of his butt crack. Modesta stared at his butt, remembering she had see this sight before – she remembered the dark pink of his anus, the mole just to one side of the center line between his legs, and the way his balls clung to his crotch, each orb bulging obscenely in their tight sack. She thought she could smell poo faintly.

"Warm him up good!" the mother said encouragingly. "Get him nice and ready for the switch!"

The switch? Modesta thought to herself. Well, there was no time to think about that – they were all looking at her – the boy's mother, her own mother, and the siblings across the room. And so Modesta once again began paddling the boy, this time on unprotected flesh. This smack of the paddle sounded louder now, and meatier. It filled the room and echoed off the walls. The boy's grunts resumed with each blow, and the small clenches of his buttocks as he tried to stay in position with his butt up tilted were now visible to everyone in the room.

"What's the matter, Bobby," one of the boys sisters mocked. "Does it hurt? Are you going to cry? Is the little baby girl going to make you bawl?"

"He's gonna cry!" another sister said. "Thinks he's such hot stuff waving his little weenie at people! Always flashing us in the bathroom! Well you're not such hot stuff now are you, perv! You're just a little crybaby – just a perv little boy getting his little butt paddled"

Whether it was the girls taunts or simply the greater pain of being paddled on the bare wasn't clear, but the boy had begun crying then, crying softly with little girl like sniffles that he was clearly trying to suppress, but crying nonetheless. The taunting by his sisters, and even by his little brothers increased, and as the spanking went on, so did his crying. Having blistered several boys already that night, Modesta was not surprised when blisters begin forming on this boy's bottom as well, but she was surprised when the mother had her continue paddling him even when the blisters started to break, and several began bleeding. The boy had stopped being able to keep his butt tilted up to meet the paddle sometime in the middle of this particular paddling, and by the time she got to the end of it, he was drumming his toes on floor in little spastic motions and begging through his crying for them to please, please stop spanking him. Finally, the boy's mother stopped her and made him stand up. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, his face was puffy, and snot pooled under his nose. She handed him a wet washcloth. "Wipe your butt," she ordered. "Wipe it all over. Get all the way into the crack, too." She turned in explanation to Modesta's mother. "I soaked it in alum. It tightens the skin and stops the bleeding nicely."

The boy was gingerly moving the cloth around his butt as ordered, the wet cloth obviously uncomfortable against the freshly spanked skin. Consternation increased on his face, and he suddenly begin squeezing his butt and squealing. "It hurts! It stings! It burns!" He pulled the rag away from his butt and shivered in agony, his butt tightly clenched.

"It does that," his mother said laughing. "Burns open sores like fire!" She pointed to two of her daughters. "Take that rag and wash his butt good for him. Make sure you get it nice and wet! And you-- stand still! Better still, bend down and grab your ankles so that can get all the blisters."

The boy and managed to hold still, clutching his ankles with all his parts on display for his siblings while his sisters roughly sponged his butt with the alum soaked rag, but his trembling and repressed sobs made it clear that it was all he could do to do so. As she finished, his older sister reached under and tweaked his hanging penis. The boy flinched away, trying to protect his delicate, irritated organ. "Hey, stop that!" he begged. "Ma, she shouldn't be touching my peenie."

His mother turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "Girls shouldn't touch boys on the privates, is that what you're saying? That wasn't what you thought when you were molesting her, though, was it?"

"Quiet, you little pig!" the boy's mother stormed. "You're a liar! Everyone knows it's the bull who crosses to the cow, not the other way around! You want to tell lies still? You'll pay the consequences, then." She suddenly reached out and grasped her son's arms, pinning them behind his back cruelly. She looked at her other children. "Get the rag good and wet in that bucket by the sink again," she said. "Then sponge off his little dangler and its two friends. You don't have to be gentle."

The girls had roughly pulled the boy's penis out with a cruel grip on the head and scrubbed it with the alum dripping cloth, finally sending the boy into full fledged crying instead of the soft sobs he had been emitting. He trembled and tried to free his hands, but was unable to do so. As he stood there, wailing in protest, clenching his butt, Modesta realized that the skin on his bottom had tightened considerably, and his penis was rapidly shrinking into his body, too, the loose skin tightening as it did. The question must have shown her face because the boy's mother spoke up. "Alum is an astringent," she said. "Makes the skin nice and tight. Perfect for a whipping." She looked down at her crying son and released his hands, which flew to his butt but then hovered over it, like he was afraid to touch it. "Go out to the front yard and cut a switch from the apple tree," she ordered. "A nice big one that will be able to stripe your perverted little bottom and legs but good! I'm going to have her break it over your ugly little butt!"

"But…" the crying boy wailed. "There's kids… out there playing! They'll see me!"

"You didn't mind her seeing you, you shouldn't mind them seeing you. Now go. Or I'll have each of your siblings go cut a switch themselves and we'll each break one over your perverted little bottom instead!"

The boy had taken the offered pocketknife and gone outside, hobbling from pain. From the sudden shift in the children's voices outside, and the excited shouts and catcalls, it was clear that the naked boy was indeed seen by his peers as he hurried to cut his switch and race inside again. This time, the boy had lost all dignity – he came back in pleading like a 4-year-old. "I don't wanna get switched!" he wailed. "It hurts so bad! Please, I'm already so sore! I'm sorry, really! Don't make her whip me, please!"

His mother ignored him, merely setting the stage for the ultimate act in his punishment. This time, instead of being put over Modesta's lap, she had been told to get up from the chair, and the boy was forced to stand straddling it, with his knees clasping the corners of the front and his hands holding the knob on either side of the back of the chair. His mother then circled his hands and the knobs several times with duct tape, then did the same with his shins and the chair legs. In this position, his scrotum hung visibly between his legs, balls clung protectively to his body. He trembled, head down and already weeping. His penis dangled limply from his angled body, a useless little finger nothing like the handsome sausage that he'd shyly shown her, during the incident that had originally gotten him into this trouble.

Modesta learned how to switch boys that night, how to swing the switch just right so it cut evenly across their bare butts, leaving a straight narrow line of searing pain behind it. She got plenty of practice in swinging the switch, because it took 26 whistling blows to break it, and the boy's mother insisted that the switching not stop until the switch broke on his butt. By then his butt was a mass of weals, purple, bulging weals that must been totally unbearable, yet the boy had borne them, (Although what choice he'd had, being duct taped to the chair, wasn't clear). By the time the switch broke, his body was shaking and his tears and snot had made a large puddle on the seat of the chair. Worse yet, when she'd finally broken the switch and the boy's mother had pronounced his punishment over, and the tape was torn from his arms and legs, he was forced by his sisters to an even greater indignity. As Modesta was leaving, the boy's wailing behind her suddenly reached new heights, and she turned in surprise to see that the boy's sisters had made him sit on the tear puddle on the hard chair, and were forcing him to grind his sore bottom into his own salty tears and snot. Modesta left the sobbing boy's house thinking that she'd never have another erotic thought about a naked boy again, let alone want anything to do with spanking one. But that just shows how wrong one can be in predicting the future.