Tommy's Attitude Adjustment Chapter 79
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 79: Randy Makes His Mark

At the same time that Tommy and Wayne were steeling themselves for their grand entrance to their classroom, down the hall in the fourth grade, little Quentin was gazing up earnestly at the fourth grade teacher, trying to explain why his math homework was exactly the same as Sharon Reed's, all the way down to having made exactly the same stupid mistakes. The problem was, that there really wasn't any explanation, and Quentin knew it. He knew that because he had copied Sharon's work from over her shoulder where she had left it sitting on her desk.

"I still don't see," Mrs. Sanborn was saying, "how anything you said explains why your homework looks exactly like hers!"

"I don't know," Quentin said trying to look innocent, an attempt that failed miserably because he never looked innocent, even when innocent. "Maybe it was one of those coincidence thingies. Or a poltergeist. Or a wormhole in the space/time thingie."

"Don't insult my intelligence," Mrs. Sanborn said.

"Maybe she copied off me?" Quentin suggested.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Mrs. Sanborn said. "I'll agree that Sharon is not exactly a math whiz, but everyone knows she's ten times smarter than you! Besides, you're a boy and she's a girl, and it's common knowledge that boys are morally inferior to girls in every way along with being physically inferior to them." She looked up to the class, scanning the watching children. "Boys, remind Quentin why boys are morally and physically inferior to girls."

"Because boys are weak creatures who are always hostage to their genitals," all the boys, except Gabriel, immediately chanted. The latter boy, watching this scene warily, was immediately reminded of movies like Invasion of the Body Snatchers, or the Stepford Wives.

"Very good," Mrs. Sanborn said. "And what must all of you weak, spineless, hormone drive boy creatures always remember?"

"That I'm nothing but a boy, and boys are weak creatures driven by crude desires, who must be allow themselves to be guided by and obey girls and women," all the boys immediately chanted, this time including Gabriel who didn't believe a word of what he was saying, but had learned early in life which side his bread was buttered on.

"Very good," Mrs. Sandborn said again. She looked down at a very anxious Quentin. "Stand up, young man!" she said, "and follow me." Quentin slowly rose out of his chair and walked with grudging steps to the front of the room with its own tape line like Mrs. Rose's up in the 7th grade. Mrs. Sandborn walked to the front of the classroom, bending down by her desk and retrieving the clothing box. "You know the drill, young man," she said firmly. "You've done it enough times!"

"Down to my underpants?" Quentin asked hopefully.

"Down to the bare," Mrs. Sandborn said firmly. "Once you've been punished bare in my classroom, you're bare for all punishments thereafter. Shoes, socks, pants, and underpants into the box. You can leave the shirt on to keep your upper half warm. Don't worry about your bottom half, I'm sure it will be plenty warm in a moment, at least the back side of it. Quickly, we haven't got all day."

Quentin looked at her pleadingly as he slowly started to remove his shoes. "Does it have to be bare butt?" he asked plaintively. "Can't you just spank me in my underpants and just hit harder? Or I could keep my pants on too, and you can paddle me instead. You could paddle me real hard! Wouldn't that be better?"

"This isn't a negotiation," Mrs. Sandborn said. "Besides, everyone in this classroom has seen your little boy parts before. It's not like anything that any of you boys has between your legs is a big deal. If I had my way, the school uniform for boys would involve only shirts, shoes, and socks. You little boys are entirely too modest anyway. There's no reason you should have secrets from the girls in this class."

Quentin bravely stripped off his pants, then hesitated with his thumbs in either side of his white, little boy briefs. He half turned to face Mrs. Sandborn, revealing that Spongebob Squarepants was printed across his butt. He lowered his voice to a whisper, trying not to be over heard by the rest of the class. "Please??" he whispered. "I kinda can't take them off right now."

"And why can't you remove your underpants when I tell you to, young man?" Mrs. Sandborn asked archly.

"I got… my thing…it's pokey," Quentin said, with a whisper that a carried all the way to the back of the classroom.

"Pokey?" Mrs. Sandborn said, making Quentin flinch at her normal tones in repeating his words.

"You know," he whispered, still too loudly. "Sticking out. My thing."

"You mean you have a little erection?" Mrs. Sandborn said. Quentin's face flushed with embarrassment and he looked around wildly. "You obviously can't be all that afraid of being spanked, then, young man, if you can get excited like that." She crossed her arms and frowned with disapproval.

"It's not just that," Quentin said, as the class, who could hear him just fine despite his attempts to whisper, began to collectively giggle and move about trying to see the front of his underpants, looking for a visible tent. He turned a brighter shade of red. "I kinda pooped in my pants during lunch, just a little."

The class, hearing every word, immediately dissolved into hysterics. Mrs. Sandborn calmly ignored them, feeling, as most of the teachers did, that being mocked by the class during punishment made the boy's punishment more effective. She immediately walked over to Quentin, pulled the back of his underpants out as far as the waistband would allow, and looked in. She made a noise that sounded a lot like "Hrrrmuph," and pulled the back of his underpants out further. She shook her head. "Not fully potty-trained yet, I see," she said, sending the class into another round of hysterics. "Well, we can't let your hygiene problems stop you from receiving the punishment you so richly deserve. We'll just have to clean you up before tanning your little behind. And, as you seem to have a problem with evacuation, you'll be given an enema after your punishment and before your corner time." Pushing Quentin's hands aside, she peeled his underpants inside out and down his legs, immediately revealing to everyone in class Quentin's diminutive genital package. Actually, Quentin wasn't badly hung for a little boy. His classmates had noted that before. It had been just three weeks before that Quentin had become the first 4th grade to be spanked bare, for making an injudicious comment during the period when Chad was being masturbated by all the girls in Quentin's class before being introduced to The Stimulator. Quentin's 2 inch, rock hard, circumcised penis stuck out at a slightly above horizontal angle over a nicely shaped, tight scrotum. Of course, Quentin's penis didn't look like any other boys' – not exactly, anyway. No two penises look alike, no matter what they always said. None of this "you seen one, you seen them all" garbage. Quentin's was lighter in color, of course. In contrast to his light skinned body, Quentin's genitals were a medium brown, and thus stood out darkly, making them look more prominent. There was a stark slant to his glans, which had a rather racy look in the way it sloped back from the bottom of his penis to the top. The circumcision scar about half an inch from his penis head made a deep brown circle around his shaft, and the head itself, currently engorged, tilted upward so that the pee slit looked like the tiny vertical eye staring up the class. But the class really wasn't looking at his vertical eye or his hard on, not after the first glance. They were looking at the caramel-brown spot in the lower center of the boy's underpants. To heighten Quentin's humiliation, Mrs. Sandborn rotated him so that his butt faced the class as she stripped him the rest of the way out of his underpants and held them up so the class can see his shame.

Quentin's humiliation was complete. Not only had the whole class seen him with a hard on once again, but his flat butt was so thin that the matching caramel-brown smudge at the base of his buttocks was also faintly visible. One boy began the taunt, which was quickly picked up by another, until the entire class which chanting, gleefully, "Quinton pooped his pants! Quentin pooped his pants!" The teacher let the chant go on for a while before speaking once again.

"Bend over, Mr. Simmons, and spread your legs apart as you do! Grasp your ankles! We need to see the extent of your mess." Blushing more, Quentin bent down as instructed, his thin butt spreading immediately. Quentin's accident hadn't been all that serious. A thin yellow-brown splotch coated the insides of both butt cheeks in a perfect circle around his anus. His underpants had absorbed most of it, leaving only the hint of color, but it was there, and that was enough for his gleeful classmates.

Mrs. Sandborn quickly busied herself scrubbing him roughly with baby wipes. Not content with just cleaning the surface of his buttocks, she also reached between his legs and roughly scrubbed his entire genital region, yanking the rock hard penis, squeezing his wrinkled sack, and repeating the process several times. Although the scrubbing was rough, the effect was strangely erotic to poor Quentin, who with his hair trigger, was almost brought to orgasm by her several rather vigorous tugs of his organ. (He could bring himself to climax within 30 seconds most times, even when he'd already done it 4 times at various points earlier in the day.) He almost whimpered when she stopped short of one last, final tug that would have sent him over.

Mrs. Sandborn capped this rather rough wiping process by placing a wipe directly over the boy's now spotlessly clean, tight little orifice, and then ramming her index finger covered with the wipe hard and deep into his rectum, causing a startled yelp and vigorous anal clenching from the invaded Quentin, who struggled to straighten up. "Hold still!" Mrs. Sandborn ordered, forcing his back down to horizontal. "Unless you'd rather be paddled on the bare rather than spanked!" She twisted her finger in the boy's rectum roughly, then withdrew the wipe and replaced it with another, ramming her finger into him once again. She repeated this three more times, until the last wipe came out clean. By this point Quentin was gasping, his rectum was burning, and he felt like an entire gain of bikers were taking their turns with his butt.

Gabriel watched this process with a sort of detached fatalism. He'd seen lots of terrible things happen to kids over the years of his short lives. He'd watched bullies in alleys gut-punch little kids and leave them bawling, running away with their lunch money. He'd kept silent in an orphanage ward as an older boy carefully pulled aside the blanket of a smaller lad and climbed astride his back, clapping a hand over the boy's mouth and then shoving down the boy's pajama bottoms, forcing an impossibly long penis between the white buns revealed in the moonlight and rutting until he shuddered in ecstasy over the quietly sobbing victim's body. He'd watched his sister get spanked bare-butt right in front of him with emotional detachment, simply noting the progressive reddening of her butt, the lewd, gaping display of her genitals between her kicking legs, and her squalling distress as a scientist might watch a developing experiment. He liked Quentin, but bad stuff happened to other kids, and there was nothing you could do about it except be glad it wasn't you.

Mrs. Sandborn told Quentin to straighten up again, turning him to face the class. Returning to her desk, she obtained a Velcro restraint. Making Quentin cross his arms in front of him, she wrapped his forearms with tthe restraint so that his forearms arms were immobilized crossed over his chest, out of the way of both genitals and buttocks. She fixed Quentin with a steely glare. "Mr. Simmons," she said. "You have cheated on a class assignment, and then to compound the problem, you tried to blame an innocent girl for your cheating. In order to teach you a lesson, and to send a message to all the other boys in this class, you will have to be severely punished, punished much harder and more thoroughly than any boy has been punished in this class before." She frowned down at Quentin's penis, which was still sticking up in all its two inch glory despite the frightening nature of her pronouncements. "That means paddling in addition to spanking, young man," she added. She looked at his penis, expecting his throbbing hardness to wane, but if anything the upthrust organ looked even harder. She pursed her lips, frowning more deeply. "It appears, class," she said, "that Mr. Simmons not sufficiently frightened of his punishment, as he should be. In fact, one would almost get the impression he finds the idea of being spanked and paddled in front of the class sexually stimulating!" to emphasize her point, she reached over and batted the end of the boy's penis, making it dip down as she struck it, and then recoil with a hard slap against his stomach before settling back to its position above the horizontal, bobbing slightly. "Is that true, Quentin? Do you find a the fact that you are about to be spanked sexually stimulating?"

"I see," Mrs. Sandborn said. "And yet, you have an erection."

"I don't mean to!" Quentin wailed. "It just does that!"

"Well, you'd best learn to control it," Mrs. Sanford said. "Because boys in my classroom who have erections after they've been punished will be dealt with severely. Most severely. It's imperative that any such connections a boy may have be broken at this early level. Make sure you lose that erection by the time I'm done spanking and paddling you." She nodded to a girl sitting in a front row. "Get my paddle, please," she said mildly. "Then stand here beside me with it while I give Quentin his spanking. I'll be switching to the paddle somewhere in the middle."

She moved herself to Quentin's side. "I'll be spanking you standing today, young man. I think, in the circumstances, that it would be best as a deterrent if the entire class could see your face and fully experience your reaction to the punishment you'll be receiving. And spanking you in this position will also greatly reduce your ability to struggle or kick compared to the traditional way of spanking naughty little brats." She frowned at his erection again, which showed no signs of diminishing even though Quentin was clearly agitated and white with fear. The contrast between his now even whiter skin and his brown genitals was striking.

"You will of course, need some restraint to stay in position through what is going to be a very painful experience," Mrs. Sandborn added after a moment. Reaching down with her left hand, she pressed her forefinger on the bottom of Quentin's brown scrotal sack and ran her thumb across the top of his hard erection. Coaxing his balls ahead of her grasping fingers, she tightened her grip until she had the boy's balls pulled away from his body, her long forefinger and thumb closing on the boy's hard shaft and soft sack and gripping firmly . Closing her other fingers on the small orbs trapped ahead of her pincer grip, she gripped the hard little lumps tightly, just firmly enough that Quentin and was made aware she could cause him great pain anytime she wished, and to make him hold very still for fear of that same pain. With her right hand, she began circling the boys small, soft butt. She liked caressing little boy's butts before spanking them – she loved the soft feel of the skin and the smooth roundness most boys possessed. Quentin was a bit disappointing there, his butt being so soft and flat that she could cup each cheek easily with just the one hand. In one respect, that was excellent, because she could set an entire cheek on fire with just one blow, and even when spreading the blows around she'd never allow any area of the boy's butt to go untended for more than one intervening spank. But it also limited how long his spanking could be – boys with big butts had more area to spank, and that took longer.

Quentin tensed, clenching his buttocks and holding his breath, expecting searing pain any second, but time passed and Mrs. Sandborn she simply continued circling. Finally, when he just wanted to scream in fear, she spoke again. "Young man, will remain standing during your entire spanking and the paddling that will follow, because if you do not I will simply use my grip on you to hold you up, and I believe that would be very painful. You also keep your bawling to an absolute minimum, because the louder you cry, the harder I will spank and paddle you. Do I make myself clear?"

Small heart pounding, Quentin bobbed his head in terror. He knew he shouldn't have copied, but he had forgotten to do the homework, and he'd have gotten spanked for that, too, and it had seemed worth a try. And now he was a whole body of regret, but that regret wasn't helping.

Mrs. Sanford felt a strong sense of satisfaction as she contemplated reddening the rambunctious little-boy ass under her hands. That was all she intended to do, redden it. Well, he'd get a few blisters in the centers, but that couldn't be helped. She wasn't cruel, not the way many of her colleagues were. Mrs. Rose, for example, she felt was too inclined to punishments that truly tore up a kid's bottom. Mrs. Sanford thought that was a terrible waste. For one thing, if you blistered a kid's butt, you weren't going to be spanking him again any time soon – you had to wait for the blisters to heal. That might take a week or more. But if you reddened his bottom and stopped, he still had a memorable lesson, and if he failed to remember it sufficiently, you could redden his bottom again that afternoon, the next morning, and the next afternoon if you wanted. Ultimately, she felt such a lesson was much more effective than a single terrible spanking would be.

Her feelings were part of the reason that the class had opted for masturbating Chad and then putting him on The Stimulator rather than spanking or paddling him. Yes, the punishment had left his penis rather red and sore, but the spankings that he was scheduled to receive had left him blistered and welted, and she had no desire to beat anything as attractive as a young boy's bottom that badly.

She rather liked young boys' bottoms. Yes, some were of questionable hygiene, as Quentin had been moments before, because at this age they were always just barely in control of their orifices, but they generally had few or no pimples, they weren't marred with random body hairs (she especially disliked hairs around the anus and in the cleft), they seldom had the unsightly pigmentation commonly known as "runner's butt," and their buttocks were muscular, but the covering skin was almost baby soft. It was irresistible to run one's hands over, as she was currently doing. And to tell the truth, she liked running her hands over them when they weren't all bumpy with welts and blisters, so why ruin a good thing? Oh, that didn't mean Quentin would escape his due – he'd have a bad time of it over the next few minutes, and he'd be good again for a few weeks before he was up here again for another bottom warming, but she wasn't going to make it impossible for him to sit down comfortably for a week, as some of her colleagues did, especially with the older boys. And in the end, he'd learn control of himself and good deportment as effectively through a group of small spankings as he would have in one or two terrible ones. And in the bargain, she'd get many more opportunities to caress his very soft (if a bit small and flat) little butt.

She liked feeling boys' butts even when they weren't nude – it was one of the perks of the occasional spankings her pupils earned. In some ways, a boy with his buttocks encased in white briefs or boxers was almost as erotic to the touch as a boy who was completely bare. Boxers had that whole "now you see me, now you don't" thing going when the boy moved, where the front fly would gape as he moved, giving her and the class tantalizing little hints of the maleness within. And smoothed over their butts in spanking position, boxers were like little, thin, short shorts. Boys looked smoother in them, with all their wrinkles and discolorations and rudely projecting organs covered.

And briefs? In Mrs. Sandborn's opinion, there was never a better designed piece of clothing than boys' briefs. They smoothed the package in front and made it a respectable, symmetrical bulge that hinted at the contents without being rude about it. They emphasized the sleek flanks of the buttocks and hinted at the butt crack without revealing anything. They made the complex curves of a dangling or bulging scrotum into a smooth, neat line tapering between the legs, all one uniform, pristine white color. A boy's butt felt good through his briefs – the thin cloth did little to conceal the tense muscles from the eye or disguise it from the hands, and certainly did little to protect it from her spanking hand or paddle. And there was always the indescribably fine sensation one got when gently peeling them off…

She focused on the present, enjoying the flicker of tension in the boy's firm butt as he tried not to react to her gentle touch. She rather liked the genital grip she had one the boy, too. The skin of his sack felt soft and squishy, but the two distinct orbs felt tough and firm – they were deceptive that way, she knew – in your grip, a boy's testes felt far tougher than they, in fact, were. And the hardness of the little shaft at the top of her grip! Adult men seldom got that hard, even at their most excited – it felt to her like you could ram this kid's dick through tin cans, maybe dispose of the can opener entirely if you had him around! She'd made an issue of his hard-on, acting like it disgusted her, primarily because she didn't want the boys to know how much their erections thrilled her. That would give them power over her, and it wasn't power she wanted to give. Let them think she was disdainful of their swelling rods, and they'd never guess how much she liked handling them. At least Quentin hadn't been a grave disappointment. She remembered the last boy she'd spanked naked before Quentin, a sturdy little Asian kid with too much lip for his own good. By the end of the year last year, he'd worked himself up to a bare-butt spanking, and she was glad to give it to him. She remembered his shock when he realized that losing his underpants wasn't just an idle threat. She'd waited until he was over her lap, and then she'd yanked them down. It had taking the boy a few moments to realize that he was truly naked from the waist down, and that the class was looking at his butt. He'd done what all boys do in that situation, reached back with his hands to try to shield his nudity, but she'd captured first one hand and then the other in her free hand, and then had reddened his behind for him until he forgot the shane of his butt being visible.

Forgot it, that is, until she'd stood him on his feet, crying, facing the class, and he'd rubbed his sore behind for at least 30 seconds before it dawned on him that his genitals in all their glory were bobbing as he faced the class rubbing his sore bottom, and everyone was staring at them.

He'd been a disappointment, though – almost an Asian stereotype. He was uncut, of course, with a penis no bigger than a mushroom cap and a finger of skin drooping off the tip like excess fabric in a poorly tailored suit. She had enough experience to know that some Asian boys were truly well-hung despite the stereotype, and you could always count on them to look even more impressive because they were all uncut, and this one hadn't lived up to her hope.

At the moment, though, her own heart, thrilled at the pulse she could feel in Quentin's unrepentant member – he must be very frightened indeed of the spanking she was about to give him, despite the arousal he was showing. She knew she was partially responsible – she'd deliberately stimulated him in the guise of cleaning his butt. But then again his fright was all to the good. She needed to clamp down on little Quentin before he went on to the more vicious Jr. High teachers. Better that he be cured of cheating and talking up in class and making those demeaning remarks about females now, while he was in her tender clutches, than later, with dear, sadistic Mrs. Rose determined to make an example of him.

Still, she'd have to punish him if he still had his erection after his spanking and paddling. And the punishment would have to make an impression on the other boys, so they would fear being in Quentin's position even more. She'd have to think about what would be appropriate while administering his current spanking.

Mrs. Sandborn caressed young Quentin's flat little rump one more time. She could almost entirely cover each cheek with one hand. It was one of the reasons she didn't feel the need to spank the boy to the point of blisters – even if she alternated sides, every second spank would go right on top of the very same spot, and the buildup of pain would be swift. She'd spanked boys with butts so big that it took 3 blows per side to cover it all, and thus it took 6 blows to return to the beginning site if you spread the spanks around, and that site would have cooled considerably by the time she returned. No such luck for the boy she was spanking today – fully half of his little butt was going to come alive when she struck the first blow, and then the other half would follow moments later.

She thought back to the Asian boy again, the only other boy she'd stripped in front of the class recently. She was glad of the new, tougher rules of spanking the school had instated in terms of the opportunities for caressing and viewing naked boys. She was rather hoping for an excuse to do the same to that new Latino kid, and to sturdy little Dwight Wright sitting in the back, the only black child in her class. She rather enjoyed the opportunity to spank the black and Latino boys when the chance arose. This wasn't because she had racist feelings or a dislike of colored boys any more than white or Jewish boys. She enjoyed spanking the black and Latino boys because she always wanted to know if they fit their stereotypes or not. Of the black boys, she knew a secret few people were in on – although they all enjoyed pretending it was true of them, almost none of them came close to living up to the African American stereotype of large genitalia. They were little boys just like the kids of other races and backgrounds, and they tended to have little penises as a consequence. But because they were aware of the stereotype and their secret that they didn't fit it, pulling down their pants while they were facing the class was more humiliating for them than it would be for an Asian American or Jewish boy and their stereotype of being hung like gerbils. (In fact, she'd noted that the Jewish and Asian boys often looked bigger to their classmates than they were when they pulled down their pants. Even with all her experience, she herself was always expecting less from them, and when they turned out to be the normal inch and a half or 2 inches, flaccid, or 2 plus inches erect, they seemed bigger, somehow.)

Likewise, one always expected to see a python on the black boys, so it was often extremely gratifying when they didn't live up to the stereotype. And she was betting little Dwight wouldn't live up to the black stereotype. The boy had no visible crotch bulge at all (something Quentin definitely had). It would be a pleasure to pull down the leggy boy's pants and demonstrate to all his poorly-hung condition.

Gabriel intrigued her because she loved the coloring of the Latino kids. There was something about that brown butt that made spanking more exciting – the redness showed more reluctantly, and when it did show it was deeper in color. And they were always uncut, and she preferred uncut penises.

On the other hand, dragging a shame-faced Dwight over her lap would also be pleasant, as would be the chance to demonstrate to the class that the there were two false stereotypes of African Americans – they weren't all hung like horses, and they didn't necessarily have tough butts. And there was something very satisfying about the way a black child's haunches glowed deep red after a brisk spanking, even when they possessed dark brown butts.

That new kid, Gabriel, possessed quite the attractive butt, too, she told herself. His was well-muscled and rounded, and jutted nicely even when standing. It would give her much more to hold onto than Gabriel's flat little rump. And she bet he'd be tough, too, making the process of making him cry more of a pleasurable challenge (not to mention the fact that when he did cry, and he would, he'd be more humiliated by being broken).

But back to Quentin. She made one last circle of his buttocks, then raised her hand and tightened her grip on his genitals. "This is going to hurt," she said unnecessarily, and was gratified that Quentin clenched his buttocks and screwed his face up in anticipation. She waited him out patiently until he relaxed his buttocks again, then struck his bare butt for the first time.

Back in the 7th grade and at exactly this same time, Randy Martinez was trying to find a comfortable position standing beside Emily, who was still tied to the horse (and who also had to pee so bad by now she could hardly stand it). Jimmy Chen's underpants were still stuffed in her mouth, though, so she couldn't very well communicate that information or anything else about how she felt about her impending punishment to an already unbearably sore bottom. Jimmy, naked from the waist down, watched from his seat with glee as Randy fumbled around and then finally rested his left hand in the small of Emily's back to steady himself. His dick hung between his legs, not hard for a change, the cool seat touching his dick head in a rather pleasurable way. He looked at the back of Chad's head where he sat in Emily's usual seat, with its perfect view of the proceedings. He wished he could be up front with Chad, too, looking right up the bitch's cunt like Chad was. He'd have spit on it, that's what he'd have done.

The distant crack of bare hand on bare butt could be heard from the grade school wing, followed immediately by more such sounds, evenly spaced out as a metronome click. Randy almost jumped at the sound, then raised the wicked looking hairbrush and eyed Emily's butt hesitantly. He didn't move for some time, just listened to the crack, crack, crack of the bottom of the unfortunate boy across the way, who finally was giving voice to his feeling about having his butt sat on fire with high-pitched squeals.

"Go ahead, Mr. Martinez," Mrs. Rose chided. "We haven't got all day."

The spanking across the way had gone on for some time, and there was a sudden pause in the evenly spaced cracks of bare palm, but no pause in the crying. Then the metronomic precision of the blows began again, but this time with the unmistakable deeper, more clear sound of wood on bare flesh, accompanied by more frenzied, even more highly pitched squealing. The change seemed to spur Randy into action. He looked at Emily, and his look was pure hatred. Then he readjusted his grip on the paddle, bore down his weight down on the small of Emily's back, and brought the paddle down in the center of her butt, just under her buttock cleft.

Emily's body stiffened like she'd been electrically shocked, all the muscles contracting at once. Then it shuddered uncontrollably, her buttocks clenching as if trying to drive the impaling rod pinning her cunt to the horse out through her anus. Randy, meanwhile, brought the paddle back and struck her in the center of her butt again, but this time lower down, using the peeping anal eye as his target. Emily's butt tightened again with a strength that was alarming, and a grunt escaped her lips around Jimmy's now sodden underpants. Hot liquid poured out around the base of the rod and down the legs of the horse to puddle on the floor. Randy stepped back in alarm, afraid the gathering pool would get on his feet.

"I didn't tell you to stop," Mrs. Rose said crossly. "Henson – get some towels from the closet and clean that up."

Emily was shuddering uncontrollably, seemingly unaware she'd just shamefully wet herself in front of the class. The upper and lower centers of her butt were on fire! It hurt much worse than the spanking Chad had given her, worse than she could possibly have imagined. Her hip bones had to be sticking out from a blow like that! She was probably bleeding from her ass! It hurt, it hurt, it hurt!!!! She tried to scream at them to stop, that she couldn't take it, but her mouth was full of Jimmy Chen's boxers, and all that came out was a moan.

Chad wasn't exactly thrilled to be on pee duty, but he grudgingly got up from his perfect seat and got the towels, squatting under the horse on the other side from Randy and beginning to mop up the puddle. Half-way through, he realized he hadn't even thought about the fact that he was still naked, and probably flashing his butt hole at everyone. He guessed it just didn't matter any more – he'd been naked so many times in front of class he could just stay that way and not care. He wasn't hard, but if he had been he still wouldn't have done more than mentally shrug.

Randy had gone back to paddling Emily, and he was laying into her butt with a will that surprised even Jimmy Chen, and he hated Emily quite a lot. The spots that he'd already struck with the paddle were a livid red, and placed the paddle marks overlapped were welted and almost purple. Her butt was going to be hamburger before Randy was through. Emily's moans, even thoroughly gagged, were loud enough to drown out the squeals from the little boy across the way, so the class wasn't even aware of when his spanking had stopped. They were looking at Emily's swollen, blistered and welted butt, purpling as Randy found a rhythm and increased the strength of his blows.

Emily wasn't conscious, not as a person. She had no self-awareness, no thoughts of a human nature at all. She was a trapped animal, flailing to escape but completely immobile, her brain screaming "Fleeeeee! Fleeeeee!" but her body unable to comply. She was aware of pain, pain that kept multiplying to impossible levels, pain that came from her hindquarters, near her elimination orifices, which were now surrounded by it. Pain that came in waves, accompanied by loud cracks of sound, and built to impossible heights. She made unearthly wails around the gagging underpants, but the pain just kept building and she couldn't stand it but couldn't escape, either.

Randy landed a good 40 blows before he began to tire, panting like a steam engine, his face so red he looked like he was going to have a massive coronary on the spot. He finally staggered on a final blow, caught himself, and then let his shaky, tired arm hang limp, looking with some surprise at what he'd done. The flesh now bent in front of him hardly looked like a girl's butt – it was purple and angry red, covered with welts, and blistered and bumpy over its entire surface. The person the butt was attached to was shaking in an inhuman fashion, trembling and twitching all over, wheezing and moaning around a huge, sodden gag. Mrs. Rose took the paddle before Randy could convulsively drop it, and motioned him back to his seat. Ignoring the loudly moaning, suffering girl on the horse, she walked back to her desk, put the paddle on it, and spoke loudly to be heard.

"Page 51 in your math books," she said. "Boys are to do all the problems, writing out all your work. Girls may do only the even numbered problems. And what I said about touching your dirty bodies still goes, boys – if any of your hands leave the desk, you'll regret it." She glared around the room, her eyes falling on the contorted face of the be-damned Emily Gitt, almost unrecognizable with its tear-swollen puffiness and the streams of snot dropping from her face to a large puddle on the floor. Let the brat suffer, she thought to herself in satisfaction. Let her suffer, and then we'll take her off the horse, put her on the diaper cart, and the suffering can really begin!