Tommy's Attitude Adjustment Chapter 72
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 72: A Little Stimulation Never Hurt Anyone

The last two houses of that night were actually mundane compared to that. At the seventh house, Modesta had been called upon to hand spank an 11 year old boy until his bottom was bright red, but then had to do nothing more than that but listen while he apologized profusely for having molested her. (By this point, she'd convinced herself that she had indeed been the victim of all these boys, and she had listened self-righteously to his pleas and then granted him a princess-like absolution of sorts by saying, "I just hope you've learned your lesson.")

To top the evening off, at the eighth house, she had not been asked to do any spanking at all. Instead, she had sat on a wooden chair and a 12 year old boy, the only black child of her victims, had been forced to lean over her naked and grasp the sides of the chair firmly with both hands. He stood there looking down at her, his chocolate brown skin glistening with fear sweat. The boy's father had taken her hands and made her grip the boy's averaged sized, thin, uncircumcised penis with one hand (he hadn't lived up to the African American stereotype, much to her disappointment) and circle his growing but not exceptional ball sack with the other. The father hand then ordered her to pull upward on his son's penis, urging her to pull harder and harder until she'd stretched the foreskin out obscenely and the boy was wincing with pain. Then the father had made her squeeze his balls tightly enough with the other hand, the twin orbs feeling rubbery and alive in her grip, so that the boy could not move from his position without risking mortal genital pain. Once she had him gripped firmly enough to please the father, the boy biting his lip and panting in obvious distress and fear, his father delivered a cruel paddling to his bare butt, using an old fraternity paddle from his college days. Toward the end, it was only her grip that was holding the boy on his feet as he cried and begged twisted his head and scattered tears and snot all over her outfit. It was not until she was older that she realized how cruel her grip on his testes must have been at the time, as well as how painfully her fingernails must have dug into his vulnerable little penis, the shaft of which was sporting deep fingernail marks when he was released.

There were two more evenings of that for Modesta. They visited eight boys the next night and seven the night after that, and in each case boy's parents automatically assumed that their sons were guilty and that she was the innocent party. In each case, she also was asked to participate to varying degrees in their punishments. Modesta had never realized there were so many different ways of spanking and paddling boys' butts, genitals, and even anal regions, nor had she realized there were so many other ways of totally humiliating them. By the time they were done, she was a budding expert on the art of the punishment of young males. She had also come to realize there were better ways of seeing and examining boy's genitals besides playing doctor, ways that posed much less risk to herself. Because just a week after the last paddling, the mother of one of the 10 year olds came over to ask her to baby sit for her son, commenting that, "I know he's quite a handful, but you already know how to discipline him." And when the woman had left, she had added the comment, "don't be afraid to spank his bare bottom just like you did before if he acts up."

Wisely, she hadn't spanked the boy that night – she'd played with him, sent him to the bath, and read to him in bed, being the model babysitter the whole time. She didn't spank him the next time she sat for him either or the time after that, although she did start going in to check him in the bath, getting him used to the idea of her seeing him naked, and in treating her as if she was an adult and not just a barely older child. Gradually he settled into letting her wash him in the tub, and dry him, even handling his privates and his butt when she did, and dressing him in his jammies. In short order, she had progressed to the point where she always made him hard when she did this, and he accepted it as just something that happened.

And then of course he'd messed up seriously, as she'd hoped he eventually would. And she spanked him that night. She had made him undress completely and stand naked in front of her, and she'd left him standing there nervously while she explained why he was getting the spanking, his little penis drooping disconsolately over fear shrunken balls. She hadn't been unprofessional in any way – she had stated his misdeed, then guided him over her lap and reddened his little butt for him, slowly and thoroughly. Even though she was barely older than him, he accepted the spanking as his due, begging her not to tell his mother and relieved when she said she wouldn't. She spanked him many times after that over the next few years, but she also made him feel good many more times, gradually extending the drying time after baths to several minutes, most spent on his private areas, coming in to the bath earlier each time until she finally took up soaping him as well because "it was hard for him to reach down there," and basically making each bath time into an extended genital handling festival. Eventually both the soaping and drying had extended to the point that he began having orgasms during the final stages of drying. The first time she'd carefully acted like she didn't notice his panting, his sudden facial redness, and his barely restrained hip thrusting, but just kept rubbing him until his furtive convulsions died down. She kept up this charade during the next several times, too, during which he got less restrained, almost as if he wanted to see if she'd react. Eventually, their eyes met as he was finishing his final butt clenches, and in that glance he read in her face her complete knowledge of what she was doing to him. "Feels good," he'd finally said shyly as she finished toweling him.

"I know," she'd said in a businesslike fashion, removing the towel and giving his naked body a more than cursory glance. God, he was cute, that little thing still hard but shrinking, the head bulging with satiety, the little balls just aching to grow and add their output to his pleasure. "Now let's get your jammies on."

Now that it was acknowledged, they relaxed. He quit trying to hide his ecstasy at all, and she quit trying to disguise her focus by pretending it was about washing and toweling. He went to bed sexually sated every time she sat for him. She still spanked him now and then, because she liked the powerful feeling it gave her, and, although he didn't like spankings, he accepted her dominance and submitted meekly enough, and sometimes she rewarded him later by lying beside him in bed and rubbing his erect member to orgasm and then to ease him to sleep.

Her success and popularity with this lad led his mother to recommend her to other mothers, and soon she had a whole string of boys that she babysat for, even several boys who were her age and a couple that were actually older but, were, as their mother's loved to point out, "so much less mature" than her.

She spanked them all from time to time, but she also masturbated them all, and they were needy enough or smart enough or stupid enough never to reveal her activities to any of the adults around them. Oddly enough, the big boys were the shyest ones about it, the most modest and yet the most needy. She made enough money as a babysitter put herself though nursing school, where she specialized in pediatric nursing and urogenital problems in young males, and finally ended up with the opportunity to handle and examine dozens of boys in a given day, not only being asked to wash their genitals in preparation for examination, photograph their injuries, and take pee samples, but also to probe immature prostates, allowing her to put the boys up in the stirrups and shove her fingers up their tight little butts, enjoying the embarrassed expressions on their faces as she violated them in such a secret place, all the time speaking to them soothingly, like a horse that might be about to spook, and at the end commenting on what brave boys they were. They all got hard during the prostate exam, every one of them, even the little toddlers. Sometimes her manipulation could even force an orgasm out of them, and then their humiliation knew no bounds, especially the 13 year olds in mid puberty, who had to submit to the humiliation of her cleaning up the after effects of their loss of control.

"Ma'am?" a voice intruded into our thoughts. "Ma'am, should we begin collecting the sample?"

Modesta started back to reality. "Oh, yes, of course," she replied to the girls across the way. "Yes, the sooner the better." She turned back to the boy spread out on her examination table. What a yummy little piece this was, she thought to herself. Henson, his name was. Chad Henson. She'd have to think of ways to get him back to her office again, soon. And didn't he have a brother? She would have to get him in here too, to see if he was as perfectly formed as his sibling. The excitement rose in her that she always developed when she was about to handle still another little boy's prick.

Across the room, S. F. stood stiffly looking at the floor, which meant he also was looking at his own penis, half hard and huge-seeming, a constant reminder to him of his inability to control his masturbatory activities and please his ultra religious mother. He still felt guilty about its size despite his father's insistence that his sinfulness had nothing to do with his genital maturity. Oddly, the old man had seemed to view his penis with admiration! He flinched as the girl on his right moved her free hand, the one not caressing his butt, and took his penis in an iron grip. He wondered if it was possible to die of embarrassment. No, it wasn't. Or he'd have done so on Friday, wouldn't he?

Just relax," the taller girl whispered encouraging. "Just shut your eyes and focus on how you feel. I'll take good care of you." She grasped his penis with her free right hand as she said that, giving it a reassuring squeeze. S. F., looking in no way reassured, snuck a worried glance her way, an embarrassed glance that didn't meet her eyes, then looked down at his penis, a good two inches of the tip sticking out of her small hand. She was going to – to – to handle him! A girl! How could he do the wild, embarrassing, humiliating things he did when that happened with these girls watching, and Chad, and Randy? He stole another glance at her cute, blond hair-framed face, feeling very much like a trapped animal. She gave his boyhood another gentle squeeze and then began slowly sliding her hand up and down it, gripping a little loosely, perhaps, more loosely than he'd have gripped himself. Yet the result was tantalizing, teasing, kind of. Her hands were soft and cool. "It's so big," she said loudly, looking at Mrs. Martinez to see if she'd react. Because she wasn't looking at him, she didn't notice S. F. wince at these words, never realizing that to him, her compliment was an accusation of his youthful indulgence, his inability to control self-pollution at a young age, just more evidence he was a freak.

"Just do your job in a professional fashion," Mrs. Martinez snapped back, irritated to be interrupted while soaking in the lovely sight of Chad's early pubescent body. Oh, how she loved these, the ones just entering puberty. The girl, not at all chastened, turned back to S. F. "Well, it is," she whispered to him. "And I like 'em big. There's so much to hold onto." More loudly, she said, "Now just shut your eyes and I'll be done with the sample in no time." S. F. squeezed his eyes tightly, his whole face flushed with embarrassment, the normally white skin of his face blazing red all the way to his chest. He wondered if you could get so embarrassed it made your butt blush. He immediately got a mental picture of Chad, after his first bare-butt spanking, his whole bottom a cherry red. Well, that was one way to make your butt blush. He felt the girl's hand slide from the base of his organ to the tip, the trip a long one with her narrow fingers. He wished she'd squeeze him harder – this was almost like being tickled. He tried to pretend it was his own hand touching himself, but of course it wasn't. And with that realization came the realization that her touch wasn't so bad, not really. The lightness of her touch was growing on him. In moments, he decided that it was much, much better than touching himself. She didn't masturbate him the way he would have himself – she didn't grip him the same way, she ran only her finger and thumb over the ridge of his penis head, not her other fingers, and she didn't go as far down to the base as he would have. Yet it still was better – more teasing, more unpredictable, more pleasurable, and more exciting. From the back, Chad and Randy could only see the girl's free hand stroking his butt, and his body shaking with her movements, and his pert little butt clenching spasmodically every so often. The shorter girl stood to the side with the specimen cup extended under the tip of his jumping organ, flinching with each clenching of his buttocks as if he was going to erupt at any second.

Mrs. Martinez began photographing Chad's genitals, his little dick now rock hard and pointed straight up like a little flagpole. Chad, despite being naked time and again around numerous people, still felt a wash of embarrassment to be on his back with his legs widely spread and everything, even his butt hole, on display. Randy, forgotten, shifted his position, and when he did, he found that he was looking in the mirror over the sink on the wall, and S. F.'s body was visible in it from neck to knees from the side, including the girl's rapidly stroking hand and his slightly curved, man-sized penis. The head was pulsing with her strokes, now, growing enormous and red in contrast to his white skin. The smaller boy's penis looked huge to Randy – frighteningly huge. As Randy watched, S. F. suddenly clenched his butt, grunted loudly, and two Randy's amazement and mild disgust, spurted ropes of white, thick fluid several inches from his dick. The first missed the cup in the waiting girl's hand entirely, splattering her wrist and the floor instead, but she uttered an oath and managed to catch the second substantial spurt and the third and fourth, smaller contributions. S. F. was on his toes, his back arched, his small boy butt pumping as the girl stroking him redoubled her efforts, her hand squeezing his hard phallus mightily. His penis pulsed several more times, ejecting a dribble more, and then he settled on his heels, relaxing his butt and opening his eyes again. Embarrassment overcame him as he saw the two girls watching his genitals with fascination, the one staring at the cup she was holding, and the other sluicing thick fluid from his dick head into the waiting cup. He looked at the thick fluid coating her squeezing, milking hand and flushed even more deeply than before.

"Here, wipe it on the cup rim," the shorter girl said, holding the cup under the other girl's hand and letting her scrape his dick across the rim. "Then you hold the cup so I can do my wrist." The pleasure that had consumed him moments before was gone, leaving behind only deep shame and a painful testicular throbbing to remind him that his balls were still injured and swollen. Remembering back, he now realized his balls had protested as he'd cum, aching noticeably with each spurt. For a moment, he was afraid he was hurt down there so badly that he'd spurted blood or something, but a glance at the cup in the girls hand revealed that everything that had come out of him looked normal as ever. He looked at the floor, painfully aware, now, that he'd just been masturbated by a younger girl while another watched, and had squirted his shameful fluid all over the taller girl's hand as well as in the cup and onto the tiled shower floor. He hated that he was so messy. He looked over his shoulder uncomfortably, and Randy looked away guiltily. Mrs. Martinez looked at the pale boy and nodded. "All done?" she asked. "See, that wasn't so hard. Girls, put the sample on the counter, and take him to the sink and wash him and yourselves off. Then wipe up any mess he made in the shower. Wash your hands thoroughly girls –he may not be fully grown in body, but he's very likely to be exceedingly fertile."

Now that he was post-orgasmic, S. F. was feeling considerable humiliation. Why did he do that? Why did he get so caught up in the urgency of his need that he forgot everything and mindlessly focused only on the satisfaction of his base bodily urges? What would those two girls think of him? And what about Randy? And Chad? He liked Chad more than a little, even though they'd hardly interacted at all prior to this weekend. Chad made him feel comfortable. In fact, Chad was making him feel a little better, right now. Because he suddenly remembered that Chad had gone through what he'd just gone through – satisfying his base desires in front of female witnesses. Only it had to have been worse for Chad, because he'd been forced to masturbate himself, and that had to be worse than being manipulated by a girl. And he'd done it in front of the whole class! And Chad had survived it, hadn't he? He couldn't have looked as ridiculous being masturbated as Chad had doing it, could he? He remembered Chad pounding away at his crotch, his hand reversed from the grip S. F. normally used in private, Chad's little fingers flying, his baby wiener jumping. Well, yeah, he finally concluded. I probably did look as ridiculous as him, even though I wasn't doing it myself. I probably looked stupid and disgusting shooting my stuff. They probably had to fight to keep from throwing up – like when someone coughs and snot blows out into the air. He flushed even more deeply as he stood at the sink, the girls fussing over him with paper towels and soap and water, washing his now overly sensitive, post-orgasmic genitals like he was a baby, stroking his butt and handling him much more than seemed necessary. He wondered if he'd get hard again with all their touching. To distract himself, he looked across the room, but Randy appeared to be studying the floor, not looking at either Chad or him, and Chad was now on all fours on the table just as S. F. himself had been a few minutes before, his tight little butt in the air and legs spread widely apart, his tennis ball of a scrotum visible between his legs just below his pink and brown butt hole. S. F. wished, somewhat wistfully, that his boy parts were still small like Chad's – life would be so much simpler if they were. Subdued, he let himself be led back to the vicinity of the examination table and stood stoically while the girls prepared an icepack. They then seated him on a chair with his legs widely spread and his heels drawn up to the seat, while they applied the pack's shocking cold to his sensitive, swollen balls, perineum, and anal region. The shorter girl returned to the shower and got on her hands and knees to scrub his deposit off the floor, where it glistened on the tile, like a glob of white snot, an enormous glob that would have done the nose of a rhino proud.

He wondered if he'd ever get any clothes to wear, or if he and Chad were destined to be bare all day along with Emily Gitt. Randy wouldn't meet his eyes, looking studiously toward the examination table, where Mrs. Martinez now had Chad sitting up with his mouth open, and was photographing the inside of it. She looked over her shoulder at S. F. "Just keep the ice on him for now," she said. "It'll be painful, but the swelling will recede faster that way, and with luck he won't suffer any lasting damage."

S. F. shivered, his bony body highly reactive to the cold. The ice felt good and unbearable at the same time. Chad got down from the table, Mrs. Martinez having finished photographing him as well as cleaning up the gore on his face and stopping the bleeding of his nose and his mouth cuts. He stood there looking nervous, hoping he'd be told to go sit down. Instead, to his dismay Mrs. Martinez handed him a specimen cup. "Your turn," she said. "Judging from your pubic hair pattern, I'm guessing you're capable of producing watery semen, if not the mature kind." She looked over at the candy striper who had just finished cleaning S. F.'s mess and was washing her hands vigorously. "My girls will help you, just as they did your compadre. It's really very fortunate you're rather immature -- they need to practice their technique with the little boys. You poorly endowed boys are a bit of a challenge – it's hard to keep one's hand from slipping off."

Chad looked visibly diminished at hearing himself described as "poorly endowed." "But..." he said tentatively, not moving.

"But..." Chad said again. "I don't need any help," he added quickly when she frowned at him. "I mean, I can do it myself. I know how," he added lamely.  "The girls can both help you instead."

Mrs. Martinez frowned more deeply. "I have no doubt you're extremely good at masturbation, young man. All of you boys have that one talent, at least. But I said my assistants need practice, and I meant it. So you're going to put your hands out of the way, behind your neck, and you're going to stand in the shower area like a good little boy and let my assistant stimulate your little penis until she collects her sample, and you're not going to give me any more trouble. I know seven different chemicals that make a boy's penis burn like fire when he ejaculates – do you want me to dip your little phallus in one of them before the girls go to work on you? You don't even notice the chemicals at all until you orgasm, but then, well, judging from the screaming, it's an experience best avoided."

"Um, no ma'am," Chad said hastily. He almost ran to the shower, his little penis bouncing from side to side as he did. Standing over the drain, he laced his fingers behind his head and stood facing the wall, his back to the rest of the people in the room. Mrs. Martinez studied him from behind.

"No, that won't do," she finally said. "I need to be able to critique the girls' techniques. Turn around and face this way."

Reluctantly, Chad turned so his genitals now faced the the boys and Mrs. Martinez. The shorter blond girl moved over to stand beside him. She looked at his genitals dubiously. "I guess it's my turn," she said. "But it's not fair – she got the easy one. I can't even see his thing."

Chad felt stung. His penis wasn't even that small at the moment. It actually was extended enough to hang downward over his pubescent scrotum, extending more than an inch from his groin. Mrs. Martinez lowered her gaze to Chad's genital region.

"Penis. It's called a penis. Use the proper words. But you might be right -- we'll have to make allowances for your underendowment. Move your hands to your buttocks instead of behind your head," she ordered. "Lean back a bit and thrust out your hips. Perhaps that will make your phallus more prominent."

Feeling acutely embarrassed with S. F.'s and Randy's eyes on him as well as those of the two girls, Chad complied, gripping his buttocks and forcing his genitals outward. The girl beside him tentatively reached over and gripped his penis with two fingers, lifting it gingerly like it was something diseased. To his chagrin, though, his penis responded to the touch, pulsing and beginning to extend. The girl began masturbating him inexpertly, her fingers losing their grip periodically, but Chad's body still responded eagerly. "Let me know when you're going to squirt your stuff," the other girl said to Chad in a big sisterly tone. "So I can get the cup under it." Chad didn't respond, his face blazing as a girl his brother's age milked him like a farmer milking a cow.

Mrs. Martinez nodded satisfaction at the girl's manipulation of the small boy's penis. She remembered her own gradual growth in experience with penis manipulation, garnered at the expense of dozens of little boys ranging from toddlers to teens, during her rampage playing "doctor" that one tumultuous summer and during the babysitting jobs she held afterward. The toddlers she'd simply depantsed, told them to hold still or she'd spank them hard, and then trotted their little organs up and down until she'd tired of playing with them. Some orgasmed, and they almost always were eager for her to play the naked game with them again. The older boys, though, took persuading, their modesty often greater than that of any blushing pubescent girl. She'd always loved the way their bodies betrayed them – they'd be hard as soon as she lowered their underpants, even while they were blushing beet red, and they never wanted her to stop handling them until they'd cum, after which they all grew painfully remorseful, so remorseful that she had no fears of them telling on her. Well, almost all of them. All but the fat kid she'd approached as her next victim the last week of that summer. The fat kid who'd ratted her out, caused her great embarrassment, but ultimately caused her to choose the life she'd chosen. She'd always hated fat kids ever since, and couldn't help but take her feelings out on them. Well, they deserved it, especially fat kids like this one – an obese little nothing if ever she'd seen one. She turned to Randy. "Why are you still dressed?" she asked. "Clothes off, now. All of them. Clothes off and up on the table. We don't have all day."

Randy blanched, his brown skin becoming noticeably paler. He'd been traumatized on Friday when he'd been stripped naked in front of everyone, then was publicly given an enema while he stood facing the class, his fat shrouded, almost hidden genitals as on display as they could get. He'd been able to think of nothing else the entire weekend—just images of kids laughing at his fat stomach and tiny prick and baby balls and fat butt and general hairlessness. "I.. I can't," he whispered.

Mrs. Martinez frowned. "You," she said to S. F. "get that ice pack tight against your scrotum." S. F. had been holding the pack away from his genitals for the moment, letting some feeling return to the numb tissue. He clapped it guiltily back onto his body. She looked across to the trio in the shower. Chad was grunting now, his back bent backwards and his hips thrust forward so that his hard penis projected like a probe in front of him as the girl milked it rapidly, having become accustomed to its limited length. The taller girl stood with the cup held loosely by her side, obviously not expecting to have to catch anything. "Get that cup ready," she ordered. "He's already up on his toes – he'll be ejaculating within seconds."

Verifying her judgment, Chad began his little pig-like grunts almost immediately, his penis ejecting a thin spurt of clear fluid that the girl barely caught in the cup, along with most of the spray of drips that followed, until the last drizzle slid under his penis and onto the girl's finger tips. Chad took a deep breath and settled back on his heels. The girl wiped the tip of his penis on the cold edge of the cup. Mrs. Martinez looked back at Randy. "So, young man," she said. "Explain to me just why a boy your age can't get undressed by himself – even a toddler still in diapers knows how to take his clothes off – mine certainly does it often enough."

Randy's dark skin took on a distinctive ruddy hue as he blushed, his skin a nice contrast with the equally naked S. F., who was shuddering from the cold as he held the ice pack to his swollen balls and his now tight but still scarred anus. Randy shook his head slightly, beginning to tremble. His hands moved to his pants buckle, then away again. Mrs. Martinez dropped her hands in impatience. "Enough of this!" she snapped. She nodded at the taller assistant, who had already finished washing her hands and was wiping them on a paper towel as she approached the chubby boy and her mentor. "Strip him," the nurse ordered. The girl dropped the paper towel in the trash and stepped to Randy and began stripping his pants off him like he was a little boy. Randy trembled, but held still and lifted each foot for her to yank off his shoes, then stepped out of each pant leg as she nudged each foot. His shirt followed, his huge gut spilling over his underpants. The girl reached for his waistband and he flinched away a foot, stopping her progress, looking at her like a mouse eyeing a snake. The girl looked at Mrs. Martinez. "Should I just cut them off?" she asked sweetly. "I can get the scissors."

Randy gave a start. "NO!" he said forcefully. He had a momentary picture of himself coming home with no underwear on, trying to explain to his mother why his brand new boxers weren't in the wash for her the following day. His mom had a thing about him destroying clothes – she'd probably just kill him on the spot. "No, don't! I can do it!" He hastily grabbed his own waistband and lowered his boxers quickly, cupping his genitals with one hand under his gut and dropping the underpants on the pile with the other. To his surprise, the girl slapped his hand sharply, causing him to withdraw it in surprise and leaving his crotch unprotected. "You heard Mrs. Martinez," she said, as if talking to a toddler. "No playing with yourselves in the infirmary. Geez, is that all you boys ever think of?"

"I wasn't playing with myself," he said indignantly. "I was just..."

"Don't argue with my assistant, little boy," Mrs. Martinez said. "You have no reason to conceal your genitals – we're medical personnel, and we've seen everything a boy could possible have. And it appears you have less than most." She began guiding the boy to the table, noting with approval that he was a poorly hung as most early pubertal fat boys. She liked humiliating poorly hung fat boys – it was payback for the boy who had spilled his guts, and it was almost like a treasure hunt to find and examine their genitals. "On your back," she said. "Legs spread and up in the stirrups. With a boy of your immaturity and heft, it's especially important to position you if we're going to get any kind of view of your anal and genital regions!"

Randy laid back nervously, his fat gut and feminine breasts sliding to each side of his body. Even so, his genitals were still half hidden under his overhanging stomach. Mrs. Martinez lifted one foot and then the other into stirrups, securing them with Velcro straps. Randy looked nervously at Chad and S. F., now standing naked and uncomfortable to one side of the room, trying not to look at each other or be caught stealing curious glances at Randy. He fought the urge to cover his genitals, which, in this position and in the cool room, consisted more or less of a rough patch of skin under a slightly bulging button of a penis, both mostly hidden by his sagging stomach. Mrs. Martinez nodded at the latter. "Hold that up," she said to Randy. "Up and away from your genitalia. I need clear pictures of the damage."

Blushing, Randy pulled his substantial gut up toward his chest, baring his genital region completely. Chad and S. F. tried not to look, but still could not avoid making furtive little glances at the other boy's now wide-open anal and genital regions. Chad's penis had settled into post-orgasmic satiation, and was now a miniature of S. F.'s with its swollen head. The two girls showed no reticence in looking at the third naked boy in the room, crowding on either side of Mrs. Martinez and staring wide-eyed at the boy's privates.

Randy's big butt was spread and his groin was an enormous expanse of flesh, the puckered skin of his scrotal patch almost tiny in all that space. His shrunken, fat-shrouded penis pointed skyward, a barely projecting push-button in an ocean of fatty skin. Randy's anus was now clearly visible, an asterisk of wrinkles converging on a tight line deep in his butt that twitched involuntarily from time to time, his penis wiggling in concert as it did. There seemed an acre of space surrounding his genitals, an acre of brown skin that made his penis and scrotum look even smaller. Mrs. Martinez moved the examination lights to eliminate all shadows on the boy's genital region and began photographing the boy's genitals and then his anus. "Minor bruising of the scrotum," she said. She stepped from behind the camera and began probing Randy's barely projecting sack, expertly isolating each testicle and pulling it out from his body so the girls could see the diminutive size of both. "I doubt if we'll need to ice you," she said. "With generative organs this small, a direct hit is generally needed to cause damage. In this case, I think the fat absorbed most of the blow. You can see that the surface of the skin is tender, but the boy's testes themselves are insulated by his ample fat padding. I don't see any scrotal damage."

I don't see any scrotum, Chad thought to himself, then immediately felt guilty. The last thing a guy with a dick as small as his should do was to make fun of the small size of another boy's genitals! Mrs. Martinez, meanwhile, was finishing with Randy. "Off the table," she said. "Go with the girls so they can get a sample. I want you girls to take turns with him so you can both have experience with stimulating the fat-shrouded genitals on heavier boys."

"But..." Randy said, standing naked by the table, his gut once again mostly hiding his genitals.

"But what?" Mrs. Martinez said sharply. "Why does everything have a 'but' when you're involved, young man?"

"Maybe because his butt is so big," the taller girl suggested.

Mrs. Martinez gave her a warning glare.

"It's just... I... I can't... I can't..." Randy stammered.

"No," Randy said. "Not that. I can't... that is... I can't..." his voice trailed off, muffling the end of his sentence.

"Can't what?" Mrs. Martinez asked curtly.

"Nonsense. You may be too immature to ejaculate, young man, but fat has nothing to do with it. If it did, Mr. Martinez wouldn't have given me any children at all, would he now?" She smiled quietly to herself, picturing her portly husband naked, his genitals hanging pendulously or ragingly erect, both a stark contrast to the limp meagerness of this youngster. Come to think of it, he had put on a few pounds since their marriage, hadn't he? She wondered why that extra fat didn't bother her on an adult male. Maybe because the tool under that fat was so impressive.

Randy looked more distressed. "It's not just that," he stammered. His face was now so flushed that it appeared beet red. "I don't... I can't... I don't do it that way they do. I can't. My....my... my boy thing is too short. I can't keep my hand on it. It's too short. The girls won't -- their hands -- they can't, either. So there's no need for them to... no reason for them to...they don't have to do it," he finished. "I'll just get dressed."

"Nonsense," Mrs. Martinez said. "I could have guessed from your total lack of pubic hair and the infantile genitals that you aren't capable of ejaculation, but I still need to document that there's no damage to your genital functioning. And there's no reason the girls can't stimulate your manually. I've seen plenty of boy toddlers with appendages no bigger than yours manage quite adequately to stimulate themselves. The girls will need to bring you to orgasm, just as they did your two classmates, to verify that you aren't damaged. And as you can't produce semen and provide evidence of your functionality that way, there's no need for you to go clear across the room. We'll just have the girls stimulate you to orgasm right here, where I can watch you and verify that you are, indeed, still capable of functioning at all levels."

"But I don't.... I can't...I've never been able to do it that way," Randy protested.

"Nonsense," Mrs. Martinez said again. "You're not going to convince me that you don't stimulate yourself – all of you boys do it incessantly."

"But not... not that way," Randy protested. His face was beet red, now, displaying his acute embarrassment.

"Oh?" Mrs. Martinez said archly. "And just how do you manipulate yourself, young man? And don't try to tell me you never do it – I have a very effective paddle with holes in it that's perfect for liars."

Too late, Randy realized he had said entirely too much in his protests. "Um....I...um..." He couldn't say he didn't do it, not now – she'd paddle him! He sure didn't want his butt to look like S. F.'s blistered example, or like Chad's had a few weeks back! "Um, I just rub over it..." he began, his manner radiating falsehood.

Mrs. Martinez frowned. "I guess I'll have to get out my paddle," she said firmly. "I hate damaging you young boys any more than necessary, but some of you just can't learn to keep from lying to me without suffering a lot of pain, I guess."

"No!" Randy said, frightened so badly he almost squirted pee where he stood. "Please, don't spank me! I...um...I...," he paused, looking at the girls. "Do they have to hear?" he asked plaintively.

"They're learning to be medical professionals," the nurse said shortly. "They're not going anywhere. So stop acting like a baby and answer the question. Now what did you mean when you said, 'that's not how I do it?' Just how do you masturbate, young man? And you'd better not try even one lie this time – I'm thoroughly out of patience with you."

Randy's face was doing a decent imitation of a stop light in its glowing redness. He looked from one girl to the other, then at the nurse, then at Chad and Randy, standing looking pointedly away from him. "I snuggle the bed," he finally whispered, looking at the floor.

"What was that? Speak up, young man!" Mrs. Martinez said.

"I... I snuggle the bed," Randy said, speaking barely any louder. "Well, a pillow, actually." He paused, hoping that explanation was enough.

"What do you mean, you snuggle the bed?" Mrs. Martinez said.

Randy looked down, unable to face the three females. The girls were looking at him with glittering, fascinated eyes. "I...I use a pillow. I put it... I put it up against me. Against my – you know. And I kind of straddle it and snuggle it." He waved his hand in a sort of bouncing motion.

"Ah," Mrs. Martinez said. The girls were clearly trying to puzzle this out. "So your normal masturbation technique is to put a pillow against your genitals and thrust against it, is that right? Do you get on all fours to do this?"

"Kinda," Randy admitted in a whisper.

"What do you mean, 'kinda,'" Mrs. Martinez said.

"Kinda," Randy said. "I kinda get flat on it, then push... you know, push against it. Kinda like rocking."

"I see," Mrs. Martinez said. "Well, I doubt there'll be any need for you to use that technique here. I've found almost any boy will respond to the stimulus of a feminine hand. But if not, then, well, you'll provide the girls with an interesting challenge."

The next 10 minutes were a living hell to Randy. He'd thought he'd felt all the humiliation a boy could feel on Friday, when he'd ended up standing in front of the class while an enema tube was inserted in his butt hole and burning 7-up was squirted into him, then stood facing everyone with his bare body on display trying not to poop himself while the enema burned inside him. He'd thought nothing could be worse than having to squat over the toilet and expel the enema while Emily Gitt watched and smirked. He'd been wrong. No, true humiliation was standing naked while two younger girls tried to make your tiny, barely visible penis erect itself, having them frantically rub you down there while making comments about the fact that what little portion of your penis that projected was still as soft and unresponsive as so much silly putty. True humiliation was having the nurse take over for them and fail as well as she teased and prodded and rubbed his almost flat genital region, and finally also admitted defeat.

"I'm afraid we'll just have to do it his way," she finally said to the girls and the two boys, the latter of which had been watching furtively the whole time while trying to look like they weren't watching. Fortunately for the sanity of both of them, neither had shown signs of arousal during this time. Mrs. Martinez walked to the side of the room, returning with a futon-like mattress which she placed on the floor. She then obtained a pair of pillows from the cabinet and placed plastic covers over them, then pulled pillow cases over the outsides. She placed one pillow at the head of the mattress, the other back in the center, lengthwise. "Go ahead, young man," she said, indicating the mattress. "Stimulate yourself in your usual way."

Randy looked like he'd die on the spot. But Mrs. Martinez gave him a firm glare, and flicked her eyes toward the wall. There, leaning on a shelf, Randy noticed, for the first time, the most fearsome paddle he had ever seen – a foot-long slab of wood with a series of 5 holes drilled in the tip, a half-inch thick slab of children's nightmares with a padded, thick handle. Hurriedly, he got down on his knees on the mattress, pushing the pillow between his legs as he did, so that it stuck out a bit behind him. I'll just pretend I'm alone, he decided. Closing his eyes, he clutched the pillow against his groin by cupping it around his genital region, and hid his face in the other pillow. Slowly, he began making little humping, rocking motions, his big butt squeezing gently and contracting as he thrust his bald, barely projecting genitals into the thick pillow. Mrs. Martinez reached down and pulled on Randy's legs, spreading them farther apart. "Keep your legs apart," she ordered. "So the girls can see your technique."

Randy complied, all too aware that his butt was spread enough in this position that his flat scrotum was clearly visible between his legs. He could even feel the air on his anus, making it clear that it was also visible to the watching girls. He tried not to think about that, concentrating on the feelings in the tip of his penis, trying to get this over with as soon as possible. His body was responding, nonetheless – his little penis emerging from his flat groin so the tip was contacting the pillow, sending out those pleasant feelings that he loved so. Often, when masturbating this way by himself, he would rock slowly for up to half an hour, letting the warm feelings flow over him, fighting the building orgasm so he could prolong the enjoyment. He'd seen dogs fucking in the position he was in, and sometimes he pictured himself as the top dog, humping into his pinned partner the way a Great Dane might hump a poodle. But today he just focused grimly on his penis, trying to maximize every feeling and get done and out of here as soon as possible.

His penis finally was stretching out, the curved, almost hook-like expanse of it arching out from his groin, now rubbing more fiercely against the soft cloth. He picked up the pace, rocking more violently than he usually liked to, making his fat butt jiggle with his pumping and his broad thighs sway and his little dick rub its underside against the soft, padded pillow. The girls squatted down behind him, where they could now see his curved little dick assaulting the pillow (Randy's balls being so small that they didn't block this back view of his penis at all). His movements were getting frantic, now, and he was panting and gasping, his bare body actually beginning to work up a bit of a sheen from his efforts. Even Chad and S. F. couldn't keep their eyes off their friend's big butt clenching and relaxing, clenching and relaxing madly as his now visibly curved penis squashed the pillow underneath him. Finally, with a shudder that convulsed his whole body, Randy came, squeezing his butt tightly, straightening his legs, and madly thumping the pillow like he was trying to flatten it into the mattress. He stiffened with his back arched and shuddered violently for a few moments, then collapsed, panting like he'd run a marathon over the pillow.

Now that he was done, Randy was overcome with shame. He'd done it – he'd actually done it! He'd masturbated right in public, in front of his friends and in front of those younger girls. He buried his face in the pillow in front of him. How would he be able to get up again, and face them?

So that was true humiliation, and Randy felt it, realized that being given an enema naked in front of the class had been a picnic in comparison. Because now they all knew his secret – knew the secret way he pleasured himself, and probably could picture him doing it at will. That was humiliation. But he did have to get up again – Mrs. Martinez made him, prodding his butt with the toe of her sensible shoes until he rose, still blushing, his penis now projecting but soft, like a little red cherry tomato begging to be squashed. On the other hand, he was allowed to get dressed unmolested at that point, the girls' attention begin drawn back to Chad. But, as he stood there blushing, S. F. making such a show of not looking at him that he felt ashamed, Randy couldn't think of anything but how he must have looked, his big butt in the air, humping madly as he fucked the pillow with his little baby dick. He'd be a laughingstock!