Tommy's Attitude Adjustment Chapter 80
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 80: The Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Fortune

Even when he was a child, and before he met his stepmother and stepsister, no one would ever have called little Abner Goodbody, future Reverend, a happy camper. He was an uncertain, serious boy before his stepmother and stepsister entered his life, and a yearning, guilt-stricken, continuously horny and frequently sore-bottomed boy afterward. Eventually he came to grips with God's plan for his life, though, and he'd become, ever since then, not a happy camper, but a man filled with grim determination and an almost arrogant self-righteousness that gave him great satisfaction along with a feeling of humble superiority.

Right now he was staring with an expert eye at the damage that had been done to the girl who was soon to be his most recent ward, the girl he had mentally dubbed "The Ninth," in honor of the Commandment she had so recklessly and repeatedly violated, "Thou shalt not bear false witness." In his day, the boys would have called her a carpenter's dream, flat as a board and easy to lay. (He'd heard this joke repeatedly in his pre-stepmother days, understanding the flat part but not the part about laying – he'd assumed at the time that it literally meant she was flat enough to lie down easily. By the time he'd come to recognize the double meaning, he'd also learned that such crudities invariably ended up with his bare fundament renewing its acquaintance with various wooden implements, usually at the hands of his stepsister, but sometimes at that hands of his stepmother as well, or even friends of his stepsister. ) His more crude friends in those years would have called her a "titless wonder." With his now much broader and more learned perspective, though, he now realized the girl was one of God's chosen, as Job had been, as he himself had been – a person privileged to experience great suffering in order to make it possible for her to develop great spiritual character, if she had it in her.

Actually, that tended to be the case for almost all of the boys and girls at The Farm. They were children who knew sin early and were dragged through the depths of it to the breaking point. They often felt self-pity because they didn't understand God's plan, and they turned to pleasures of the flesh rather than rising to a holier way of being. They fornicated with their hands and with each other, they ate with gluttony and ingested drugs for pleasure, and they built their small egos by dragging each other down. Only a few would take the opportunity that he gave them to rise above bodily feelings. By making them suffer privation, pain, and the wracking fatigue of hard work, he was giving them opportunities their more fortunate cohorts lacked. Only when that breaking point was passed and they despaired of life's pleasures would they be ready, as he had been, to actually hear God's message and then accept God's gift. He realized most who were tested didn't make it through and were lost to eternal sin and eternal damnation, and thus this one probably wouldn't, either, but he'd certainly do his best to hasten her to that breaking point and the chance to save her own soul, just as he had, years ago, obtained salvation when he was at his own breaking point, mad with pain and willing to give up on earthly lusts.

As paddlings went, this girl had received a quite impressive example. It wouldn't break her, of course, nor would the genital whipping she'd been promised and that he'd come to witness and provide his own expertise with. He hadn't been in the classroom when the paddling had been administered – he'd been talking to the 8th grade about The Farm and the new coalition between it and the school. But he'd hear the meaty smacks of wooden hairbrush on bare skin, and they'd clearly been hard and rapid. The boy who'd administered them had covered the entire area quite thoroughly, too, and fairly evenly for an amateur. The Reverend himself had administered more terrible paddlings to boys and sometimes even girls from time to time, and thus he knew they were just part of the road to holiness, along with privation, social isolation, and fatigue. And for serious pain he usually used switches or canes rather than the paddle. Nothing matched the all-encompassing squirt of fire across the fundament caused by a good, flexible cane, a searing bolt that was still rising in intensity when the deep, overwhelming throb of bruised muscle rose to add its sensation. Canings also could be lengthy, because it took the pain great amounts of time to subside from each blow and the child to be fully prepared for the next one.

Still, as amateur paddling went, was an impressive job, and was probably more effective for it having been administered by one of the girl's victims. And as this experience was going to be followed by a whipping of the entrance to Eve's garden, the Ninth was going to incredibly sensitive and sore for quite some time. This experience would change his approach with her, of course. He wouldn't initiate this one with an underpants spanking, as he usually did the more naïve inmates who were less ready for physical pain. She'd be in no condition for it, and it would lack the shock value it had for most of his inmates after this more severe experience. But she'd be even more sensitive to stripping and bodily intrusion after this, and he could take advantage of it. He'd take her to the medical wing, and do an elaborate induction search. Strip her in the presence of his senior boys, treat her like a piece of meat instead of a person. He'd have the boys go with the extreme body cavity search, accusing her of trying to smuggle in drugs, perhaps. He'd let the boys violate her with their hands rather than doing it himself, and have them take turns doing each orifice several times to "check on" each other. Then she'd go straight to one of the labor groups, to exhaust her and break her spirit. The mules might be ideal for her – yes, definitely the mules, he decided. Hard labor coupled with emotionless discipline and animal living conditions – perfect to break this one. And when she was filthy with sweat and her own dung, and exhausted beyond all comprehension, he could arrange the final breaking action that might help her ascend to Godliness. He knew just how to do it – he almost rubbed his hands together in glee. Yes, he'd break this one to God, and it would be glorious. In the tight confines of his white pants, his own scepter of Adam had hardened, God's signal that he was on the right track.

He let his eyes rove around the room, where children were hunched over desks working quietly on math problems, the boys feverishly, the girls, for some unknown reason, seemingly less hurried and more relaxed. His eyes fell upon a boy sitting in the middle of the second row, a mixed Asian-American with the typical Asian epicanthal folds but European face and hair coloring. He wasn't all that fond of those mixed race kids – in his experience, they combined the worst qualities of both races rather than the best. And this boy wasn't handsome, as some of those mixes are, although he wasn't ugly, either. He had that smart-aleck gleam in his eyes so many unruly boys had these days. (The Reverend could wipe that gleam out of a boy's eyes in exceedingly short order – they were of a type most easy to break.)

Something lower down caught The Reverend's attention and he realized that it was the boy's holy scepter – The lad had on no clothing from the waist down, and his scepter was standing up in full erection. This latter detail didn't really surprise The Reverend. This boy was 13, after all, and the early teens were hard and consumed with lust most of the time – it was part of God's test for them. He remembered, now, that this was one of the parade of boys who'd brought the Ninth into the lunchroom earlier, along with the naked boy with the bladder problem who'd been the object of the Ninth's unholy lust, and the bottomless young Mr. Farlow the boy with the freakishly large scepter. Nude and seminude boys were common enough at the Farm, of course, although he kept most of the children clothed most of the time primarily so that stripping them would never lose its humiliation value. Feasting his eyes, he was reminded again of how singularly ugly this particular boy's scepter of Adam was, though. He'd seen a lot of scepters of Adam over the years, sometimes flaccid, sometimes up thrust and jutting. Indeed, he was pretty sure that his position made him see far more than the usual man ever seesj. So he knew that many scepters were twisted, or had unattractive curves to one side or the other, or had badly placed urethral openings, or had overly tight circumcisions, or had knots of skin attached to the head along the top or sides rather than just the usual knot on the bottom. This kid had all those things – his entire scepter looked like a caricature, like the kind of scepter they depicted on Lucifer when it was explicitly shown, the kind of scepter used to scare young girls away from wanting to have anything to do with young boys. Adding to the absurdity, it had the word "PENIS" printed down its length in big letters.

He contemplated the boy's stiff, sharply up curved, asymmetrical appendage for a moment, thinking about the latest punishment he'd just introduced for the chronic Onanists. Some of the boys simply couldn't take his word for the joys to be had when one gave of the unholy practice of handling ones own holy parts and waited for God to grant his glory instead. Those boys needed his help and strict guidance, of course, to save their souls. Over the years, he'd come up with a serious of graduated punishments for the Onanists. First offenses resulted in a bare-bottomed spanking or paddling in his office, depending on how many spankings the boy or girl had earned already, along with a stern warning that more serious punishment would follow if it happened again. Second offenders were forced to recreate their sin for the education of others, this time in public in front of the lunchroom, prior to being publicly and mercilessly paddled during dinner. After than his punishments varied, to keep them guessing – he had restraint jackets that bound the hands, for example, keeping them away from the genitals. (The children who wore them went bare-bottomed all the time as a humiliation punishment, often with the words "Sin of Onan!" printed on their buttocks in stark red letters. Unable to defend themselves, they were often targets of boyish torture by the other inmates – bare buttocks were pinched and poked, scepters yanked, and even jewels of Adam were squeezed constantly during the boy's day in these restraint devices. They had to eat by burying their faces in the bowl like pigs, and they could not see to tending their own bladders and bowel movements like the other boys and girls, but had to suffer the humiliation asking others to wipe them afterward or the humiliation of going without wiping.) He had also at times used Crazy Glue to attach boys' scepters to their stomachs, making encircling the organ with the hand impossible, and creating quite comical effects when the boy had to urinate and tried to control his stream to let it trickle out without squirting himself in the face. But the new innovation he had just implemented was much simpler, and therefore more effective. He'd been taught the value of striking the smooth, flat glans of a boy's scepter with a small, rounded, wooden, very unforgiving spoon.

He'd come about this knowledge at a religious retreat. He'd actually gotten quite a number of his ideas at such retreats – you met the most interesting like-minded people at such places. Mingling during a coffee and fruit juice social, he'd struck up a conversation with a man who ran a small home for boy s 10 to 14 who were wards of the state, and had soon discovered they had much in common in outlook and in the way they ran their respective institutions. They'd discussed various paddle manufacturers and the effects of different paddles on clothed and bare skin, they'd talked about the sad lack of chastity these days and the gluttony that surrounded them, and they'd talked about the sad decline in corporal punishment from parents. Then the conversation had turned to modesty.

"Our minister was also boy's youth group leader," he'd said. "He didn't put up with any of this modern modesty nonsense among boys. He made us understand that females must be kept properly clothed, of course, to reduce the temptation they posed, but a boy's body was a gift of God, to be celebrated, not hidden. In the summer, when he'd lead the scouting hikes, the clothes came off as soon as we were in the woods and away from civilization. You'd have a whole line of boys in nothing but caps, socks, and shoes, the way nature intended, and not ashamed of their God-given bodies. You reached a good body of water, and what did you have? A whole pond full of brown, fully suntanned little bodies, holy scepters flashing in the breeze. It cut down on unholy temptations, too. Our minister could see when we were thinking unholy thoughts by the rise of our scepters, and discipline us. And a boy learned to keep his hands off himself when he was always in the open like that. Plus, having the boys bare made discipline on the hikes easier. No inconvenient clothing softening the lesson or delaying it – just lift a boy into position and begin."

"Times were simpler then," The Reverend had intoned.

"Even in church, in services, he had a no-nonsense attitude toward false modesty. When you served as an altar boy or usher, you stripped off everything before putting on the robes, so that there was nothing but bare skin under the vestments, and bare feet padding the floor. If you let your attention wander or got lazy, he merely had to lift the back and bare the fundament for his smacks. He didn't even have to pause the service. And our parents supported him – you didn't dare complain about your hind end being seen in church because of the smacks – if you got sitter smacks at church, you got more at home, probably bare naked and on your front porch so the neighbor kids could watch. It kept us in line, I'll tell you," the man said, smiling.

He leaned into the Reverend. "Of course, as we got older, it was the pee-pee whacks that made us toe the straight and narrow. "

"Pee-pee whacks?" the Reverend had repeated with a raised eyebrow.

The man had smiled. "That's what we called them. That's what my wards call them now, too. I've adapted the minister's methods and improved on them over the years. They're an especially effective punishment for wayward boys. You uncover the scepter, peel back the foreskin if they have one, cup the scepter in the palm of one hand, and then strike it firmly on the flat part of the tip with a small wooden spoon. You know how sensitive boys are about that body part – it really makes them sit up and take notice."

"Doesn't that damage the soft tissues inside?" The Reverend asked. "You wouldn't want folks alleging that little Jimmy was done permanent harm by the crude if well-meaning religious leaders, not in these times."

"The risk isn't that high," the man had replied. "You have to be careful not to strike too hard, of course – a swift, firm blow is sufficient, about ½ as hard as you'd strike his fundament with the same implement. And you have to make sure of placement. You want to stay well above the orifice in the tip. If you've done it correctly, you'll end up with a rounded, red bruise in the center of the glans. If the bruise extends around the orifice, you struck too low and he could have problems with elimination for a day or so. If the bruise extends off past the bulge of the glans, you struck too high and might damage the tissue of the shaft. But centered on the glans is just right."

"And you say you can strike a boy multiple times there without doing permanent damage?" The Reverend persisted.

The man looked around, seeing they were more or less alone, and lowered his voice. "It's the route to sexual continence," he said seriously. "The sin of Onan is rife these days, but not in my boys." He looked around some more. "Perhaps you'd best come to my room," he'd said. "I've some things I'd like to show you."

They had quietly moved down the hall to the man's room, where the man had opened a briefcase and pulled out a set of picture circled by a rubber band. "My work," he said simply, handing The Reverend the pictures. There were about 24 pictures in all. The first few were of red and welted juvenile bottoms in position over a man's lap – small, tight little butts with smooth cheeks, big, sloppy fat ones with cellulite, and muscular butts with a few hairs sprouting from the crack. Then came pictures of boys bent over and grasping their ankles, taken directly from behind – pictures in which the subjects were clearly boys, because all depicted dangling genitals of various sizes and compactness. The last set, though were pictures of penises, taken from the top – little 1-inchers barely projecting from hairless groins, dangling 2-inchers with foreskins drooping, up-jutting 3 and 4-inchers with prominent, dark pink heads, and long, thin black penis with a pronounced upward curve. All of them had a visible reddened oval coloring the head – the red glow was even visible under the pigment of the black boy's organ.

"I see," The Reverend had said, handing the photos back. "So you feel this is the approach the Lord would approve of for your wards?" he asked.

"Oh, I know it is," the man had said. "He's sent me the sign numerous times, not only for their treatment, but in treating my own continence." He leaned toward The Reverend in a gesture of confidentiality. "I haven't lusted after a living person, man or woman, since my teen-aged days," he said quietly. "And God has rewarded me for seeing the light."

That was when The Reverend had realized he'd met a man he truly had much in common with. "Nor have I," he said. "God showed me the way to fulfillment by pursuing his ministry, and he sends me his blessing periodically to show I'm doing well."

"I, also, have been rewarded. God who told me to talk to you today – he made me walk up to you because he wanted you to know what I know," the man replied. "And now he's telling me I must show you, as well."

He stepped back and, without warning, unsnapped his trousers and boxers, letting them fall to his knees. He unbuttoned the lower part of his shirt so that his genital region was revealed.

The Reverend was not repulsed by this sudden nudity – he had no homosexual urges, or heterosexual urges, either, and he wasn't threatened by the sight of a man's generative organs. The man put a hand under his mostly flaccid, average length scepter and cupped it, raising it to the horizontal. The Reverend could see the bulbulous head and straight shaft in the light of the room. It was surprising, really, how much like a boy's the 60 plus year old man's scepter appeared to be – he had public hair in abundance, but none on his smooth penile shaft, and he was remarkably free of the veins most adult men had disfiguring their organs. The tip was a slightly darker than the shaft, and full and smooth, and the faint circumcision scar matched it in color. Without the perspective for size, it could be a toddler's, a preschooler's, or a 4th grader's. "The minister himself gave me a good whacking countless times on youth trips," he said. "I was a bounder in those days, always getting into trouble. Almost wore out my fundament many times, too. But neither treatment did me permanent damage, as you can see."

The head of the man's scepter did indeed appear to be flawless and undamaged. "And you say that one can strike the scepter more than once during a particular session without damage?" The Reverend said, examining the man's organ without embarrassment.

"I got 5 pee-pee whacks once," the man said. "The minister caught me attempting to fornicate with his son. Just touching, of course, no unholy penetration, thank the Lord. But all it did was get red and swell a little – it was back to normal in a week." He smiled in memory. "I never tried that again."

"And you say you strike about half as hard as you'd strike the bare fundament?" The Reverend asked. Without answering, the man turned and reached into the open briefcase on the table. He hefted a smallish wooden spoon from a pocket inside.

"Don't leave home without it," he commented wryly, cupping his own scepter with his left hand and stretching it out like a sausage in his hand, the large head facing up. He swiftly raised his other hand and brought the spoon down on the head of his own organ with a sharp motion, creating a meaty smacking noise. He stiffened for a minute, then raised the spoon and held his scepter out for The Reverend's examination. A reddish spot was appearing in the center of the glans. "Just like that," the man said. "Here, you try it."

He pushed the spoon toward the Reverend and held his scepter out invitingly. The Reverend raised his eyebrows and hefted the spoon thoughtfully. "On you?" he asked. "Are you quite sure?"

The man let go of his scepter and guided the Reverend's free hand toward his organ. It had stiffed slightly since he'd pulled his pants down, and thus hadn't sagged back down when he released it. "You have to hold it yourself or the danger of missing is too great," he commented. "Don't worry, it's actually quite spiritual," the man replied. "Remember, you're the hand of God when you touch the boys' private areas, and they're God's creations. You're bringing them to a greater understanding of spirituality. And don't worry about damaging me – as I eventually learned as a boy, it's actually quite a religious experience -- something not welcomed initially, perhaps, but something that makes you a better person for having experienced it."

The Reverend grasped the other man's scepter firmly. It really didn't feel any different than those of the boys he'd handled during other punishments, except theirs were often rock hard when he touched them, and this one was a bit softer, although clearly stiffer than it had been when the man had originally pulled it out. Never one to hesitate when the holy spirit was guiding him, the Reverend lined the spoon up and brought it down swiftly and decisively. The penis in his hand jerked as the man stiffened and shuddered for a few seconds, almost rising on his toes before settling down. The red splotch on the head was more pronounced now.

"You can touch the damaged spot," the other man said. "Be gentle, it's very sensitive, and will remain so for days." The Reverend gently felt the soft tip with his fingers, noting the heat it appeared to be giving off, and the slightly raised nature of the contact surface from the skin surrounding it..

"And this doesn't interfere with urinary functioning?" The Reverend asked.

"Not in the least," the man said. "It does prevent Onanism quite effectively, though," he added. "They're generally too sore to appreciate even a spontaneous hardening for a week or so afterward."

The Reverend continued probing the red spot on the man's penis in curiosity.

"You might even lead them to a greater holiness," the man said. "God has many glories."

The Reverend let go of the penis. "What do you mean, exactly?" he asked, his interests piqued.

The man looked at him, then seemed to come to a decision. "It's easier to demonstrate," he said. "God is close to me now." He reached to a nearby table and snatched come tissues from a box. "It would be wise to grip me somewhat back from the tip this time," he said. He held out his penis with one hand and moved the handful of tissues nearby with the other. "And you can strike a bit harder than you did before. God demands a certain amount of suffering" he said. He indicated the exposed head of his scepter with a nod. The Reverend looked at him searchingly, saw the resolve, and grasped the now hard scepter back of the head, raising the wooden spoon. The organ appeared to be as fully hard as any little boy's, now, and the head was swollen and pulsing with the man's heartbeat Aiming carefully, he brought the spooned down on the tip a bit more sharply than before with a meaty slap. The man stiffened and went rigid, his body quivering. As The Reverend watched, fascinated, the head of the man's scepter swelled visibly and then began pulsing, ejecting ropy white spurts into the ready tissues he had moved under the tip. The pulsing continued for a surprisingly long time before becoming weak dribbles and then ceasing. The man wiped himself fastidiously and carefully with the tissues, treating the now bright red spot gingerly, then tucking himself back in and raising his trousers.

"You see, I've been favored by God," the man said. "He's taught me that mortification is the route to holiness, and he rewards me for my piety. It's a lesson that few boys learn, but a rewarding one."

The Reverend nodded, understanding. He, too, had been favored by God, allowed to enjoy God's glory through holy work rather than fornication.

"God favors me as well," he said gravely. "Though he gives me his gift generally when I've properly chastised a young one." He offered the small wooden spoon back to the man.

"Keep it," the man said. "I have others. And it's hard sometimes to find the smaller ones like this. Bigger spoons are simply too large to use on the little guys." The two had shaken hands and parted ways, the Reverend marveling again at the curious ways of God.

The Reverend had put his new knowledge to work that same evening on returning home. As it turned out, when he entered his office just before midnight that evening, he found a 14-year-old chronic Onanist standing in the corner reserved for boys awaiting punishment, fear on his face and tears streaking his cheeks. (Had the Reverend not returned that night or not gone to his office, the boy would have had to sleep there in the corner with no bathroom access and await his punishment the next morning.) The boy was clearly in deep trouble --his farm pants were at his ankles along with his underwear, a bright red, hot and splotchy bottom curving out from the back of his shirt. "Why are you here, young man?" The Reverend had asked, and the boy had wordlessly handed him a strip of paper which he had read.

The Reverend had taken the boy's shoulder and made him turn around, lifting the boy's droopy scepter and examining the mushroom tip while the boy looked away guiltily. Abrasions around the head and down the right side were clearly visible, testifying to the boy's lack of control as well as the fact he was right handed. He led the boy to his desk chair by his grip on the boy's scepter and sat. "Which hand do you abuse yourself with?" he asked, although he already knew from his penile examination of the boy.

"Sir?" the boy said, trying to sound innocent and looking guilty as hell. His right hand twitched involuntarily toward his penis, the fingers slightly closed as if preparing to circle a penile shaft.

"You heard me," The Reverend said evenly. "Answer. Which hand to you use to commit the dreaded sin of Onan?"

"Um," the boy said, biting his lip and trying to decide whether a lie or the truth was the best way to go here. He'd seen what happened to masturbating hands before in the common room. He came to a decision to at least try to protect his favored hand. "This one," he said, raising his left hand.

"LIAR!" The Reverend thundered. "When will you boys learn that the Lord speaks to me, and tells me all? My question was merely a test, and you failed. Because you failed, you will pay, with both hands. Hold your left hand in front of you." Shaking, pretty sure he knew what was coming, the boy held the indicated hand out in front of his chest, palm up. The Reverend reached slowly and deliberately into his drawer, retrieving the narrow plastic paddle that he used mostly on bare hands, but at times on the sensitive skin between a boy's legs and sometimes even their jewels of Adam. "Keep your hand in place," he ordered. "Every time your hand moves, you get that one again, as well as an additional one for moving. This punishment is for lying about which hand you used. "

A little whimper of fear escaped the boy's lips as the paddle rose above his palm. The whimper became a sharp gasp as the paddle descended, and the boy's fingers twitched, but he fought the voice in him urging him to withdraw to his hand, merely trembling more violently as the Rev. raised his paddle again. Two more times the paddle descended on the boy's hand, the boy's gasps becoming sobs as his body reacted to the burning pain in his palm. The Reverend looked in satisfaction at the angry red splotch crossing the boy's palm.

"Put that one at your side and raise your right hand," he intoned. The boy shakily complied, pressing his injured palm against his bare flank. The Reverend raised the paddle over the boy's right hand. "As this is the hand of evil," he said, "it must suffer the most punishment." The boy's face became beet red, and his trembling became even more violent. But he kept his hand extended, even as his sobs became louder and more pleading.

"Quiet yourself!" The Reverend ordered. "This is just the beginning of your punishment, you hell-bound, sex crazed brat! You will learn to control your impulses! Your sinful right hand will receive twice the punishment of the innocent left for the sin of Onanism! Then we will punish the part of your body that is the main source of the trouble!"

The boy, assuming the Reverend was going to paddle his butt some more after tending to his hand, was trembling so violently he could've been use as a paint shaker. "Please, sir! The ward leader, sir! He already spanked me so hard! On the bare! With a spatula! It hurt real bad! It still hurts real bad! I don't think I can stand it if you spank me anymore!"

"Oh, you will stand it," the Rev. said smoothly. "You will stand it, because you have no choice. In fact, just to show you that you can stand it, after I am done with you, you will go back to your ward and tell ward leaders to paddle you on your bare fundament with the paddles of their choice. And tell them you are to go on display for the next four days on the genital restraint stocks during every meal time as a lesson to the other boys. I, personally, will renew the cleansing pain in your bottom during each of those meals."

"But that's three spankings a day!" The boy exclaimed. "I'll die!"

"No you won't," The Reverend said reasonably. "You'll just think you're dying." He raised the paddle over the boy's right hand.

The boy had stood for his six whacks on the right hand reasonably well, only curling his fingers after the fourth and requiring that The Reverend uncurl his fingers and hold them firmly out while he administered the last two. By then, of course, tears were coursing down his cheeks in rivers, and snot had pooled above his upper lip and was slowly oozing around his mouth.

"No comforting yourself," the Reverend then ordered. "Place each of your dirty, masturbating hands on the centers of your dirty, disgusting fundament and leave them there." he said. "Hold absolutely still."

The boy, shaking and sobbing, slipped his hands to the prescribed location, wincing elaborately as the blazing hot skin on his hands contacted the still dully throbbing skin of his thoroughly paddled bare butt. His fear was thick and hot.

"Hold still," the Reverend said again, and not needless, because the boy was shaking like a leaf. He took out the newly acquired wooden spoon, then reached over and cupped the dangling penis. The boy's organ still extended for a good 3 inches despite his extreme fear, but it looked tiny in his hand compared to the larger scepter on the man he'd met and learned this delicious punishment from. Still, despite its fragile appearance, the small scepter was quite firm under its velvety skin, almost like hard rubber.

"What...What are you gonna do, sir?" the boy asked, his voice on the edge of panic.

"I am going to cleanse you, lad," The Reverend had intoned. He had gripped the hard rubber of it and held it firmly and brought the spoon down, once, then again and again. The boy had stiffened in shock at the first blow, squealed on the second, and then yanked his body away after the third, collapsing on the floor in a fetal position, clutching his organ and wailing. The Reverend did not pursue him at that moment, as he would otherwise have done, because as he'd struck the last blow, he had experienced God's Glory in all its fullness, pumping hot jets of holy fluid into his absorbent adult diapers, the heat of it almost searing his genitals. The experience was extremely powerful this time, and he let the boy wail on the floor for a few moments as he as he sat in his chair, marveling at the wonder of God's plan, and God's clear message that he was on the right track. Finally he arose and yanked the boy back to his feet. "Do you want more, boy?" he'd asked menacingly.

"NOOOOOOOO!" the boys wailed, clutching his genitals with his sore hands, the pain in his palms forgotten for a moment. "NO, SIR! PLEASE! NO MORE!"

"Then stop touching yourself!" The Reverend had said, raising the paddle threateningly. With great effort, the boy forced himself to let go of his violated organ and stood with his hands twitching helplessly by his sides. The Reverend had resolved at that moment to put the next boy he did this to in a hand-restraining jacket before proceeding, to ensure his helplessness and cooperation. He looked at the boy's soft, dangling scepter. It was a good-sized tool really, probably more than 4 inches erect. The boy had once had a sparse covering of pubic hair, too, but that had been shaved and preliminary fuzz was only now starting to color his groin again. "Tell your ward leader to shave you tomorrow," The Reverend said. Pubic hair was generally denied to the boys unless they had earned it. The center of the head of the boy's cut scepter glowed red and was slightly swollen, but The Reverend noted with pride of accomplishment that he'd hit neither the shaft nor the tight slit in the lower tip. "Go back to your ward," he ordered. "Keep your pants at your ankles the whole way. Show the boys there what happens to Onanists. Then give the ward leaders my message, including the instructions to paddle you and put you in the stocks. I'll be there to give you a well deserved spanking at breakfast, and for every meal thereafter."

The boy, sobbing, had turned away, hobbling along in little shuffling steps with his pants around his feet, his half-grown scepter bobbing as he did, the red spot a beacon to all who would see him. The Reverend, remembering the unusual power of God's sending this time, vowed to include his new toy in the punishment of Onanism henceforth.

He frowned in concentration at the girl's exposed fundament. This one was probably an Onanist, as well – she certainly showed no ability to resist temptation, so resisting bodily temptation would not be likely. His small wooden spoon would probably serve as well on the entrance to her holy garden as it did on the holy scepters of boys of all ages, especially on her abnormally large Eve's button and the surrounding hood. He almost hoped that she'd be caught with her hand in her garden, and soon. Meanwhile, he would have to do something appropriate in the way of punishment to this girl's lying tongue and lips. She would learn about the ninth commandment, yes she would! And the seventh and eighth as well. Yes, there were many pleasures to be enjoyed in the near future!

At that same moment, Tommy and Wayne were not enjoying pleasure at all. Their first entrance into their classroom had been a nightmare of humiliation, as they waddled up the center aisle of the classroom with their bare, recently paddled butts on display and their penises wrapped in black sleeves and supporting two books in the sling between them. Children commented excitedly on the wonder of seeing both Tommy's and Wayne's bare butts for the first time. They also noted, with children's sharp, critical eyes, the relatively larger size of what they could see of Tommy sack compared to Wayne's, as well as the shocking color of Tommy's sack. Tommy also heard comments about his complete lack of hair as well as about the paucity of Wayne's few active follicles. Mrs. Johnson had taken her time emptying the sling, then had directed them to the front of the first row on the left, ordering the first two girls in that row to place their old books in the sling. This brought both girls to within less than a foot of the boys' bare bottoms and crotches, and they had used the opportunity to increase the boys' humiliation by brushing their hands across everything they could in the guise of loading the sling. The girl in back, in fact, use the concealment of the boys' bodies and the distraction of the girl in front of her finding and placing her book to slyly part f the unsuspecting Wayne's bare buttocks and flash his tightly pursed anus at the boys and girls seated behind her. Wayne yelped and was about to protest, only to be silenced by an admonition from Mrs. Johnson that boys being punished were to be seen and not heard. "Hurry those books back to the office," she ordered, "don't dawdle along the way!"

Tommy and Wayne were only too glad to flee their classroom in their shuffling, sideways walk, but as soon as they were crossing the courtyard between the buildings, Wayne spoke up again. "Watch it, butt hole!" He grumbled. "You keep stretching my thing!"

"You're the one that's stretching it!" Tommy snapped back. "Although given how small it is, it could use some stretching!"

The two maneuvered to the door, Tommy reaching around and opening it. The books shifted and banged the door, yanking his penis painfully. "Watch it, dorkface!" he snapped. "Your dick may be nothing, but mine's delicate!"

"My thing is as big as yours," Wayne snapped back. "It just looks smaller because of all that skin it has on the end."

"That's stupid," Tommy said back as the door shut behind them and they entered the dark corridor. "If it's got a lot of skin on the end, it means it's even smaller than it looks! It's even smaller than my brother's!" He regretted bringing his brother up as soon as he said it – Chad had been decent, under the circumstances – why did he always feel like attacking his brother?

"No one's is smaller than your brother's," Wayne grumbled. "Besides, your stupid brother may have a small boy thing, but at least he's not an asshole like you!" He started down the corridor without warning, yanking Tommy's penis painfully as the sling swung between them. In the process he bounced it against his foot, making it swing more violently the other way, yanking both their organs sharply again.

"Ow! Hey watch it, dickhead!" Tommy snapped. "You might have nothing between your legs, but I do! You're gonna pull mine off!"

"Who cares," Wayne retorted. "It looks like a little turd.. You'd be better off without it, anyway!"

"Like you should talk! Your dick is stupid-looking!" Tommy mocked. "Any girl who sees it just wants to point and laugh!"

"Yours isn't anything but skin!" Tommy retorted. He yanked his hips back away from Wayne, making the books rise in the air again and start swinging once more.

"You're the queer!" he snapped back. He pulled his hips back sharply, making the books jump in the air and then slam down as they fell, yanking both small penises viciously. "You're the queeriest queer of all!"

"Oh, yeah?" Wayne replied. "See how you like this!" He jackknifed his own butt, making the books jump almost to the level of their scrota before falling again, yanking their trapped penises even harder. Tommy winced, then jackknifed his own butt, making the books jump to a height even with their dicks this time. A sharp pain shot through both their groins as their members were yanked, then there was a loud thump as the links that protected their penises separated, and the books slammed on the floor, leaving the cables dangling aimlessly from their penile cuffs. Both boys froze, looking at the disconnected sling with dismay. Then they looked at each other.

"You broke it," Wayne accused.

"You broke it," Tommy said back.

"No, you did, asshole," Wayne swore, his face growing white. "Why do you have to be such an asshole all the time?"

"You started it," Tommy said. He jerked on their jointly bound arms, making Wayne stagger.

"No, you started it, Wayne replied, regaining his balance and yanking back. Tommy was braced though, and they ended up straining against each other, fighting for advantage, gasping and jockeying for position.

"You suck pig balls," Wayne said through gritted teeth.

"Well, you suck butt holes," Tommy retorted. "You suck the shit out of them and lick your lips and ask for more."

"Your breath smells like farts!" Wayne replied, trying a new angle and giving a mighty shove. Tommy easily adjusted and blocked him. "And you suck donkey things!"

"You—" Tommy began. "You—" he looked down. "We're in trouble," he said. He looked Wayne in the face. "Really," he said. "We're both in trouble." He continued to strain against the force an angry Wayne was exerting in trying to knock him over. "Look," he said. "I'm going to stop now if you stop, too." He let the tension go out of him slowly, monitoring to make sure Wayne did, also. The two relaxed visible and quit pushing, panting at each other. "Donkey things?" he said after a moment. "Donkey things?" He giggled suddenly. "Can't you say dick?"

Wayne blinked, opened his mouth, and hesitated. "No," he said finally, and giggled himself. "I don't think I can."

"For you," Wayne said. He looked down a moment, then up again.. "I can say 'asshole,' he said, almost smiling. "And 'shit!' And 'turd.'"

He giggled, then paused and looked at the separated sling and the books on the ground, sobering instantly. "We got a lot of splainin' to do," he said mournfully.

"She'll put those things on us that go on our balls," Tommy said.

"Yeah," Wayne said.

"You suppose it hurts?" Tommy said.

"Probably," Wayne said.

"Maybe we can rehook it, somehow," Tommy said.

"How?" Wayne asked. "We're tied together."

Tommy looked down. "Maybe if we both get down by it, we can get one of our hands close enough to kind of snap it together."

"Okay," Wayne said. They began folding their legs together, lurching and the collapsing to the ground. It felt cold on their bare legs and butts.

"Hey, get your foot out of my crotch," Tommy complained.

Wayne hadn't noticed the squishy softness under his shoe to up to that point. He withdrew as if shot. "You're sitting on the sling," he said to Tommy. "Move your stupid butt."

"I'll get it," Tommy said. He tried to grab the metal ends of the separated ropes, but found his hand lacked the mobility it needed. "Shit," he said. "We're screwed."

"Definitely," said a voice right next to them. Wayne squeaked in surprise, and Tommy lurched, inadvertently kicking Wayne in the crotch, fortunately hitting his padded, cuffed penis and not his balls. Mrs. Hendricks was standing there, looking at the separated sling. "Not even one full trip," she sighed. "You boys just aren't very smart, are you?" She crossed her arms. "Get up," she said in a voice that brooked no argument. With some effort, both boys managed to get back on their feet. She leaned down and rehooked the sling onto the dangling cords hanging from their penile sleeves, giving each of their organs a firm tug as she did. "Come on, you two. Let's get to the office and empty this load, and then get your scrotal slings attached. I'm afraid this job has just become a considerably more trying ordeal for both of you."