Tommy's Attitude Adjustment Chapter 84
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 84: You Can't Go Home Again

Back and forth they'd gone. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. From classroom to office to classroom to office. Over and over again. Each time bearing the entire weight of a pair of heavy books with their ball sacks alone, the books swaying on the sling between them as the two, joined at both forearms, walked sideways and tried not to make the sling move suddenly and yank their vulnerable balls even more painfully than the weight was already doing.

The cooperation device was a fiendish thing – the two had to move together, all the time, or both got punished. Tommy's balls were one big ache, and the skin of his scrotum where it joined his body screamed in protest continuously, feeling like it was being torn off his groin. Despite the cool temperatures outside, both Tommy and Wayne were sweating, their underarms soaking their shirts, and beads of sweat gathering in their butt cracks and trickling uncomfortably down their nether clefts. They'd stopped talking quite some time ago, lacking the spirit or energy to bother. Somehow, though, no matter how many trips they'd made, the trip into the classroom itself and down the rows of their classmates never got easier. Walking sideways up the aisles (Mrs. Johnson making them use different routes each trip to make sure all the kids got equal chance to see their suffering up close), they could feel the eyes of both boys and girls on their erect penises, kept in a state of constant stimulation by the pressure of the cuffs on their scrota. Almost always there were several whispered and even normal voiced comments about their respective anatomy as they passed, remarks that ranged from the suggestive, "How come you're hard? Hot of each other?" or the derisive, "Nice dick, Sakarov – my baby brother called, he wants it back," or just a restatement of the obvious "Hey, Henson, your pecker's red." During one of the trips, one girl had wiped her hands across both of their sweaty butts in turn, commenting, "Eewwww, heinie sweat!" to the amusement of her friends.

But all the touches were hard to take, not just that one – gentle caresses of their butts, pinches that weren't gentle at all, and once or twice, a quick attempt at finger invasion of Tommy's anal region. Almost all the kids bumped their penises putting the books in, sometimes trailing hands over them (mostly girls, but some boys, too), and sometimes bumping them hard enough to make them rebound against their stomachs (mostly girls as well). Every trip the pawing and caressing and grab ass and dick moves got worse, and Mrs. Johnson said nothing, an apathy that just inspired the next group. The previous trip into the classroom, a boy in back had actually pinched the head of Tommy's penis after dropping his books hard into the sling, creating a double assault on Tommy, his balls and dick complaining at the same time. The girl next to that boy, in her turn, had commented as she dropped her book into the sling, "P U! You guys smell like dirty, stinky butts!" which had garnered much laughter but no comment from the teacher all. Tommy wondered if Mrs. Johnson would continue to merely look on if one of the girls or boys grabbed his and Wayne's dicks in their fists and yanked, or smashed both of them in the balls. Probably. He didn't really want to know, and he hoped none of his fellow classmates would test her.

Down the hall they went, stumbling into the classroom door, Wayne taking the impact on his shoulder. He merely grunted, though, and the two of them pressed on, the books swaying between them, their scrota felling like they were tearing off. Up to the front of the class, hands fluttering against their butts, dicks being grabbed at by several kids this time as they passed. Mrs. Johnson stopped them at the front of the row and took the books there, this time, allowing time for a feminine hand, unnoticed by Mrs. Johnson, to spread Tommy's butt and poking his butt hole with a sharp fingernail, almost feeling to Tommy like blood had been drawn. Mrs. Johnson ignored his yelp of protest and sudden butt clenching, the books were removed, and Tommy and Wade stumbled to the end of the row to be loaded up one more time. The two students whose books they took on were surprisingly gentle for a change, setting each text in slowly, the boy giving Tommy an encouraging pat on the butt instead of a pinch or an invasion of some sort, and the girl staring at Wayne's penis with its partially retracted foreskin (not with any kind of lust, but rather like a child might eye a snake in a terrarium). Only then did Tommy realize that they were at the end of the last row. Could they be almost done? He realized that the books they'd brought in had emptied the box in the office as well, and, now that he thought about it, there hadn't been another box sitting, waiting. His heart almost leapt! Done, done, done! They'd be out of this soon! He'd get his pants and underpants back and the bell would ring, and he could go home...

His heart sank. He knew what waited at home. Beth. Beth and her paddles and her strong spanking hand, her humiliations and her tortures. Ball squeezing, butt slapping, butt-hole invading Beth. And Gabriel, too, demanding his dick be sucked, and maybe Chad, or maybe not. But no reprieve, not until Friday, when his mother was supposed to come home...

He and Wayne, moving more slowly all the time, made it out of the classroom and headed for the courtyard. "This is the last load," Tommy said. "We're almost done."

Wayne didn't react. "Did you hear me?" Tommy said. "Just this load. Then we'll get these things off our balls."

Wayne still didn't respond. Finally, as they were entering the other building, he stopped them after passing through the door. "What if Aiesha tells Gram?" he asked in a forlorn voice. "What if she tells Gram I got into trouble? I can't tell the truth – she has the pictures of me... of me..." he lapsed into silence.

An idea struck Tommy. He'd had an inkling before of how to address Wayne's problem, now it was more like a plan of action. "Leave that to me," he said. "I'll tell my brother I have to go to your place to work on a school thing. That's true, because this is a school thing. You said the cousin she wants you to do stuff for lives nearby, didn't you?"

"He's in the same apartment house we're in," Wayne said. "But on the other side of the courtyard, so I don't see him much. Aiesha lives on the third side."

"There you go, then," Tommy said. "You just take me over there, and I'll talk to him. I bet I can persuade him to our side. He's got to have something on Aiesha or she wouldn't be pressuring you. I bet I can get him to tell me what it is. You just have to trust me and let me be alone with him for a bit."

"Okay," Wayne said doubtfully. "But I don't see how you're going to get him to tell you, even if he does have something good on ol' big butt. Why would he want to do anything for you?"

Tommy had an answer to that, but he kept it to himself. Meanwhile, he felt a stirring inside him, a kind of rising excitement that made his dick head swell even more. This would work – it had to. It would keep him out of Beth's clutches for awhile and save Wayne from Aiesha. And, if Tommy worked it right, it might just be a bit exciting.

Back in the grade school building, Quentin was frantically fingering a red and extremely sore little penis, trying to coax it back to erection. His little butt was beet red and blotchy, having just absorbed his 6th spanking by a fellow female classmate, this latest one for cumming while trying to keep himself hard as ordered by his teacher. Starting back at the beginning with his double spanking for cumming and not announcing it, he'd next been spanked for cumming once again about 15 minutes later. In that case, he'd been playing with himself quite carefully, but as he continued the line between maintaining an erection and reaching orgasm had simply gotten closer and closer until they crossed and he'd cum just trying to keep himself from going soft. He'd had the presence of mind to announce his cum, although rather than saying, "here I go!" like he was supposed to, he'd shouted, "I'm gonna squirt!" which was ridiculous because he couldn't squirt, a fact which his classmates took turns pointing out with much hilarity then, and many times since once he'd been spanked and been placed back on the pedestal and ordered to coax an erection out of his sated penis once again. He'd been able to persuade his dick to at least semihardness in time, and then he was able to keep things balanced for almost half an hour after that, his penis getting progressively sorer, but a wandering mind had led him to thinking about internet pictures of naked girls with big boobs, and then before he knew it he'd not only cum but had failed to announce it, and it was over two more laps for two more sets of 25 naked butt spanks, administered by girls much bigger than him with sadistic streaks who raised him to new heights of crying. After that, Mrs. Johnson had allowed him a 15 minute break and even given him water (to keep his strength up, she'd said). She'd also filled his hand with lotion when his break was over to ease the friction on his now reddening little boy organ and periodically replenished it thereafter. Still, his dick was getting quite sore, and he lost his erection after 15 minutes or so and failed to get it back within the next 5, so it was over still another girl's knees for 25 more quite painful spanks. Even after a 15 minute break in the and having still another girl rub soothing lotion on his sore hindquarters, Quentin was still sniffling (he spent the break standing on the pedestal so the other children might have a good view of him – they were sketching "boy sated from masturbating" now).

He thought he might be forgiven after than, but Mrs. Sanford had looked at her watch, announced, "break's over," and turned his right hand around into a cup, squirted a quantity of lotion in it, and had pointe to his red, sore, barely dangling little organ, and Quentin was off to the races again, trying desperately to get himself hard in the 5 minutes he was allowed. He didn't want a 7th spanking, he truly didn't. His little butt still burned and throbbed from the 6th. He pulled more disparately on his little weenie, trying to coax it to life. His hand became a blur as he tried to produce some feeling down there besides the hot burn he currently felt. Instead, his little organ remained as soft and unaroused as it was possible for a horny little boy's dick to be. He looked with consternation at the clock – it had to have been 5 minutes already. But his dick remained a spongy little nub rather than the hard, proud little warrior he often sported. He was going to get spanked again! He almost sobbed in frustration.

"Time's up and you're not hard, young man," Mrs. Sanford said.

"That's probably sufficient, then," Mrs. Sanford said. "But you'd better be telling the truth. If you get hard again between now and the end of class, we'll know you were lying, and the consequences of that will be grave."

Quentin nodded seriously. He certainly would try not to get hard again, not that he had any control over it. Sometimes it seemed his dick had a mind of its own, a one-track mind that focused on naked girls, especially naked girls with big boobs. He almost felt a stirring inside him and diverted his thoughts, forcing himself to look his teacher directly in the eyes. He could almost feel his little penis shrinking more when he did – she was enough to scare the stiffy out of anyone!

Mr. Sanford looked him up and down, studying his groin for any sign of arousal. She nodded as she took in the raw, red appearance of his overly stimulated little cock. "Now tell the class what you've learned from this experience."

"Um, not to be bad?" Quentin said hopefully.

"Be more specific, young man, unless you'd like that next spanking anyway," Mrs. Sanford said.

"Um, um..." Quentin racked his brain. What was he being punished for again? He did so many wrong things, it was kind of hard to keep track.

"Ten seconds, young man," Mrs. Sanford warned. "Perhaps I need to spank you this time."

What was he being punished for? Something about school. Oh, yeah – the math cheating thing! "Um, don't copy people's homework!" he sputtered out.

"Good," Mrs. Sanford said. "I think you've been punished enough today. But just to bring the message home, I believe that you'll spend the rest of the week on the clothing proscription list."

"The what?" Quentin asked, not knowing what she was saying but not liking the sound of it.

"It's very simple, young man," Mrs. Sanford said. "Tomorrow morning, and each morning for the rest of the week, you will arrive in school in your school uniform as usual. You will then go to the front of the class, take off all of your clothing, put it in the box provided there, and stand at attention with your hands behind your head facing your classmates until the bell rings and I give you permission to be seated. In fact, as you'll already be in front of the class, I believe that you'll be the one to lead us in the Pledge of allegiance each day. And, of course, as you're going to be bare all day, we'll have to inspect every inch of you for cleanliness before you're allowed to sit on school property."

Quentin's heart fluttered. Every day? An entire week of being bare when everyone else was clothed? An entire week of kids looking at his weenie, kids grabbing his weenie, kids pinching his butt? A week of his many hard-ons being on display? A week of spreading his butt and letting them inspect his butt hole? How was he going to stand the humiliation?

Mrs. Sanford appeared to be waiting for some acknowledgement. "Yes, Ma'am," Quentin said automatically.

"Oh, and you're banned from the boys' bathroom for the week. If you have to urinate, you'll do it in a jar here in the front of the room. You shouldn't need to defecate during school hours – you can go at home, before or after school. If you decide you absolutely can't hold it, you can request a diaper, and then go to the nurse to be changed. She can make sure you're spotless back there before you come back. And if we go to that trouble, you can be sure you'll be facing a spanking of monumental proportions when you return! I don't want to either see or smell your disgusting dirt in class, so you'd be wise to hold it until you get home."

Quentin nodded seriously. He could probably handle that – he almost always had to poop right after breakfast, before he went to school, and then he was good for the day. He normally got up, took a shower, got dressed, ate breakfast, and then went for a poop. But if he was going to be naked in school, and bend over to have his butt checked in front of everyone, he'd better take his shower after his poop. But he'd have to eat breakfast first, then. Because eating breakfast made him want to poop. So he'd have to eat breakfast in his jammies. His mom would question him about that, but he'd just tell her the truth – he'd gotten spanked, and he was being punished by being made to be naked. His mom approved of the school punishing him – she actually seemed pleased every time his butt got attention in school, like he'd learned something important each time. He got butt inspected every time he got spanked – when he'd bring home the school note (he never considered not bringing it home, because they usually called, too), she'd make him take down his pants right there in the living room and go over her lap, and she'd taker her time examining the state of his tiny butt, exploring every red spot and bruise and spreading his buns wide to examine the depth of the bruising and check that his anus wasn't damaged. (If she thought his anus showed even a hint of redness, she would immediately order him to undress completely and lie on a blanket on the floor while she prepared the enema bottle. He hated that, because she used an entire bag of soapy hot water, and he had to hold it until the cramps were unbearable, then he'd have to run to the bathroom in the hall buck naked, his hands clenching his buns together tightly to hold it in. And she didn't care if anyone witnessed his embarrassment – once she'd stopped a bridge game with her friends in the living room to bare him and examine his butt, and a tiny spot of redness on the edge of his hole that had nothing to with his being spanked and everything to do with his having had a very hard poop that morning had inspired her to strip him right in front of the fascinated group of ladies and shove the enema hose up him right then and there. He'd felt ridiculous displaying his hairless genitals to them and even more ridiculous running to the toilet clutching is butt with his little weenie flopping in the breeze, but the bridge ladies had gotten an enormous kick out of it.

"Can I get dressed now?" Quentin asked hopefully.

"What part about you being naked all week wasn't clear, young man?" Mrs. Sanford snapped back. "Just stand there quietly for a moment while your classmates put the finishing touches on their pictures. They you can help me pick the ones that we'll put on display in our art box in the hall."

Art box in the hall? They were putting pictures of him playing with his weenie in the hall? For everyone in the school to see, for days and days and days?

Mrs. Sanford appeared oblivious to his distress. "The two or three best pictures we'll put in the year end art show for the parents to see."

Quentin felt like his spirits had hit rock bottom. Everyone was going to see the pictures of him jerking off – everyone! Well, they were just little kids like him – how good could their art be?

Very good, as it turned out. Although most of his classmates drew much like Quentin did (Quentin had recently drawn a picture of a dog in art that his mother had thought was a hippopotamus), some of the children were very good artists indeed. In particular, the little Jewish boy, Michael Abramson, had a remarkable ability in figure drawing, capturing brilliantly the crook of Quentin's fingers on his hard member and his frown of concentration. He had drawn Quenting as viewed from 45 degrees to the right of front and center. The shading and detail work was primitive, but the essence of Quentin had been captured perfectly, right down to the swelling of the head of his little cock peeking out past his fingers. And two of the girls had captured more detailed pictures, one a close up of his genital region and his stroking hand, the other a beautifully detailed picture of Quentin's bare butt, so beautifully rendered that the marks of his recent spankings were clear even in pencil. To Quentin's partial relief, you couldn't tell he was masturbating in this latter picture, but, on the other hand, his wide stance and lack of fat on his thighs meant that his small scrotum was clearly visible from between his legs, all the way down to the tight wrinkles, the bulge of his immature balls, and the prominent line joining the two halves of his sack down the center. The girl appeared to have taken special pains to draw in and shade each wrinkle of his little bag.

These three pictures were immediately picked out as the best by Mrs. Sanford, who disregarded Quentin's attempts to divert her to the picture that made him look rather like a largish rabbit scratching his crotch and the one that made him look like an amorphous blob with a giant pole coming out of the midsection. The three chosen pictures were taped to the blackboard in the front of the room, and Quentin was ordered to the corner for the remainder of the day, still naked from head to toe. To add to his discomfort, the teacher made him bend down and grab his ankles once there, so that he spent the last half hour of the day gazing uncomfortably between his legs back at his classmates, many of whom were enjoying smirking at his flushed face and spread butt with its exposed butt hole. His little red wiener dangled between his legs despite being red and raw, the abused tip clearly visible past his little-boy balls. The position became almost painful very quickly, especially as it required stretching his poor, abused, well-spanked little butt. Then, to top that off, his butt crack developed the most uncomfortable itch, making him squirm uncontrollably, to his classmates' joint amusement.

In the 7th grade, a shame-faced Emily Git was taking stock. She'd finally gotten control of her piteous moaning and come to her senses again, although it had taken most of an hour. Her entire private area (if you could call it such a thing now that everyone had been staring at it for hours) was still a throbbing mass of pain. Her butt hurt all over its surface, with an intensity that she wouldn't have thought possible before today. She now had grudging respect for Chad and what he'd gone through in the gauntlet – she hadn't realized being spanked and paddled hurt so much!

But that paled compared to the throb of her butt crack. The inner flanks of her buns blazed with throbbing heat where she had been so relentlessly whipped. It felt like her butt crack had been flayed, stripped bare of flesh. She could feel her anus throbbing most loudly in the center of all that pain. She couldn't see it herself, of course, but it felt like it was swollen and projecting like the cone of a volcano about to erupt. Thank goodness she'd been cleaned out entirely that morning – she didn't even want to thank of trying to use the agonized muscle as an elimination organ.

But worst was the fiery pain that encompassed her poor, abused pussy. Her secret part, her private place, was clearly visible when she looked straight down between the twin little cones of her underdeveloped tits, and it was puffy and red, covered with red stripes that crossed each other and pulsed with every beat of her heart. And bisecting the middle of the top of her puffy slit was her poor oversized clit, now swollen and distended until it rivaled Chad's cute little dick in width, and probably in length, too.

Chad's cute little dick? Now where had that thought come from? No boy's dick was cute, and certainly not Chad's, she admonished herself. Dicks were disgusting, nasty things boys had that peed all over everything when they were babies and squirted snot on things when they were older. Dicks were nasty clubs boys used to invade girls and subjugate them. Dicks were like little turds permanently attached to boys' front sides, disgusting things best not viewed. Dicks were soft-skinned on the surface and rubbery or iron-hard on the inside, and boys rammed them into you where they filled you so fully and ....

No! She almost said it aloud, she was so shocked at herself. No, No, NO! They didn't fill you fully. They didn't fill you at all! They were disgusting, and she meant to stay away from them the rest of her life! She hated dicks, and she hated Chad's the most.

Just then, Chad rose from her desk right in front of her and walked past her on his way to the blackboard to put up a math problem from the assignment they'd just done, his small penis neither hard nor retracted but swaying gently from side to side as he passed her, the mushroom head perfectly formed and the little shaft in nice proportion over his clearly growing ball sack. She stared at his groin as he passed, unable to take her eyes off of his downy scattering of pubic hairs, the abrupt emergence of his penis from that nest of down, and the swelling balls underneath. She kept following him with her head as he strode past, watching his nicely rounded, muscular butt flex as strode the rest of the way to the board. It was cute, that butt. Cute and soft looking, the skin still bearing some redness from the swats he'd gotten that morning, back when she'd thought those swats were just the prelude to the beating she was going to get to give him, while she held his cock and milked it, and tried to make him squirt his dick snot in her lap so she'd be able to punish his genitals further...

People were looking at her, noticing her twisting her head to follow Chad's progress. "Look – she wants him," Jimmy said to Cynthia, just loud enough for Emily to hear but not for Mrs. Rose, who was pointing out one aspect of Chad's calculations to the class. Emily snapped her head around and glared at Jimmy, trying to put all her hate into one disdainful stare. Jimmy smiled and stuck his tongue out at her. Emily couldn't retaliate in any way with her face (Jimmy's underpants still swelled out of her now dry mouth). Feeling a fullness inside her, she tensed, pushed, and forced out a loud, drawn out fart in his direction.

And realized immediately that this had been a big mistake. Her butt hole blazed with sudden new pain at being pressed into vibration, pain that made her moan and cry out despite her attempts at stoicism. And Mrs. Rose suddenly remembered that she was there.

"Mr. Git!" she snapped. "We will not have that kind of disruptive behavior in the classroom from any boy, no matter how poorly developed in the boy department he may be! Clearly you need to be taught an additional lesson!" She leaned over her desk, pulling out her bottom drawer, what Chad and Jimmy had started calling the punishment drawer. She rummaged around. "Here it is," she said triumphantly, coming up with a bottle of liquid with spray top attached. She marched over and handed it to Jimmy. "Get up, Mr. Chen," she said. "Wet down Mr. Gitt's hindquarters and genitals with this. It should give him something else to think about besides making mischief and disrupting class.

"What is it?" Jimmy asked, walking toward Emily and giving the handle of the squirter a tentative pull.

Jimmy grinned at Emily between her legs, aiming the bottle at her spread pussy. "It'll be a pleasure, Mrs. Rose," he said sweetly. Funny how quickly memory of pain fades. But as the mist of Jimmy's first enthusiastic application soaked her butt hole and the surrounding area, Emily suddenly remembered, and she knew agony once again.

"Your erections should fade as soon as the pressure is removed," Mrs. Hendricks said to the two boys, pressing the relief valve in both scrotal pouches simultaneously. There was a hiss of air, and both Tommy and Wayne doubled over in sudden agony as blood flowed freely back onto their ball sacks once again. It felt like their balls were being stabbed repeatedly with needles. Tears flowed freely from Tommy's eyes, and Wayne actually began sniffling, but both boys quickly fought back their reactions, straightening to half crouches and clutching their packages freely around their erect members. The needle stabbing sensation continued for some time and Mrs. Hendricks ignored their suffering, bustling about putting away the SCOOB. Finally putting the box on a shelf, she turned her attention back to the two boys, naked from the waist down. "Your clothes are in the boxes on the desk," she said. "I have to go oversee dismissal. Leave here as soon as you're dressed. My assistant will make sure you behave yourselves." She turned to Sally Pendergast. "You make sure they dress and leave, without touching anything else. And you, young lady, make sure you don't touch anything, either. You know what I mean."

And with that she was gone, leaving the boys with Sally, both suddenly realizing the spectacle they were making clutching their balls in front of her. Slowly the each straightened up and reluctantly released their tingling balls. Despite Mrs. Hendricks' assurance, neither Tommy's chubby orange erection nor Wayne's stubbier pink one was subsiding.

"Mrs. Hendricks says you boys play with your things all the time," Sally volunteered. "She says that's why you get all big like that. Is that true? Do you play with them all the time, like, when you're home, or at bedtime, or in the shower? I've got a little cousin who's 6, but he never touches his, even to pee – he just lets it hang down when he goes. How do you guys play with it? Do you just pull on it, or do you just rub it? The kids in the other classes said your brother rubbed his up and down. Do you guys do that?" Sally said in a rush.

Wayne and Tommy, like synchronized swimmers, turned their backs on Sally simultaneously and began digging into the clothes boxes, pulling out their undies almost simultaneously and lifting one leg and then the other to slip them on, covering the privates from the view of their irritating classmate. The results weren't all that satisfactory, though – both boys' penises were still hard. Thus, Tommy's orange member immediately created a prominent tent in Tommy's briefs. But the effect was worse for Wayne in his undersized underpants – the waistband wouldn't stretch far enough to cover his dickhead, and the tip remained peeking out the top as he tried to pull them up. Keeping his back turned to Sally, he quickly donned his pants, which, to his relief, at last covered his genitals. Both boys squatted on the floor to put on their socks and shoes.

"Really, is it true?" Sally gushed. "Do you guys play with yourselves?"

"Do you?" Tommy snapped back.

Sally blinked, taken by surprise. "Don't be ridiculous," she said. "I'm a girl."

"We only have your word for that" Wayne said, grinning up from tying a shoe, in an accent that suggested he was quoting another movie. Wayne, it appeared, had donned his good humor again along with his clothes. "Unless you want to show us."

Sally glared at him, opened her mouth, and then closed it again as the bell rang. "I'm telling," she said, turning and running from the room.

"Suppose she'll tell on me?" Wayne said.

"Probably," Tommy said. "But you've got a tough butt, you can handle it."

"No I don't," Wayne said. "I'm a delicate flower." This time his voice took on a feminine lilt.

"Never mind, anyway," Tommy said. "We have to hurry and meet my brother. You need to tell him we have a school project to do at your place – tell him it's a video project and we have to film some scenes. Then we'll go find this guy that has stuff on Aiesha."

"Leave that to me," Tommy said. "Just give me half an hour alone with him, and I'll solve your problem."

"Why?" Wayne asked again. "Why do you want to help me? What is it you want in return?"

"You're already helping me," Tommy said. "You're saving me a couple of hours with my sister beating my butt or worse. Heck, maybe we can stretch it out for the whole evening. And maybe I'll need help from you some day, you never know."

"Oh, I get it," Wayne said. His voice dropped into a hoarse, menacing whisper. "Some day, and that day may never come, I'll call upon you to do a service for me."

"Huh?" Tommy said.

"Nothing," Wayne said, taking an experimental step of two in his shoes. "I watch a lot of old movies."

"No shit, Sherlock," Tommy said.

Wayne smiled, then took a step. He stopped and tugged at his still clearly hard penis through his pants, then cupped his genitals. "My balls feel three miles wide," he said. He walked slowly to the door. "Come on," he said. "Let's find that brother of yours."