The Orphanage Boys Chapter 10
by Chadlad

copyright 2009 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 10: Tenth Floor: Firearms

"Time for round three," the priest announced, too soon.

"Noooooo," Sam moaned. Jake gripped his friend more tightly, reaching across with his far hand and pressing his head against Sam's, hugging him with both arms. He could feel Sam's unshed tears against the side of his face and assumed Sam could feel his as well.

A rough hand, cold against Jake's hot skin, pressed higher up on Jake's butt this time, in the center of the top half of his bumpy, welted left globe. Jake gripped Sam tightly and gasped as the sting came and then the shaft of fire straight into his buttock, then the cold, spreading intrusion of fluid had him clenching his butt and squealing. This one did, indeed hurt worst of all, a fiery column plunging deep into his muscular flesh. His feet left the ground this time, to kick wildly in the air as his butt throbbed around the cold metal intruder. It seemed like forever this time before the needle withdrew, and the priest didn't massage his butt this time but moved right over to Sam, who was trembling violently at Jake's reaction. In moments, Sam was squealing in Jake's ear, squealing like a pig being castrated as the needle pierced his own buttock. Jake, fighting to catch his breath, had managed to stop his embarrassing kicking, mostly because it just made his butt hurt worse, and had lowered his bare feet to the floor once again, although he couldn't stop his trembling.

Now the priest was rubbing their butts again, tracing little circles around their three wounds, letting his hands trail down the cleft of their buttocks from time to time. Eventually it penetrated Jake's wounded senses that the priest had stopped rubbing his butt itself and was actually gently teasing the area around his anus and the smooth skin between it and his bunched scrotum, a sensation that was actually quite pleasant compared to the ache and burn in his thrice violated butt. It seemed odd and wrong that someone was touching him there, in that private place, but he had no energy to protest, and his body was just thankful that no more holes were being poked into it for the moment. Long minutes passed, and both boys became aware of hardening penises pressing the sides of the table, the result of the intimate fondling of their anal regions. Jake had the powerful urge to reach down and comfort his own aching organ, to vigorously rub it until that thing happened that had happened last night and again today, that wonderful rush that took his breath away and left him satisfied. He had an urge to thrust, to clench his buttocks and push into - into something. But his butt still burned with three shafts of fire, and he felt wasted and limp, too sleepy to want to move, let along release a trembling Sam and reach to his forbidden privates.

And why were they suddenly forbidden, anyway? His mother and Sam's mother had never forbidden them to handle their penises. In fact, Jake remembered, faintly, a time when he and Sam were being read to, that he'd let his hand drift to his penis and had made it hard, and he had even confided to his mother "my peewee is the best place," and his mother had chuckled and hugged him and said all boys felt that way, and she hadn't said a word when he'd held himself while she finished the book. Or maybe he'd fallen asleep that way - he couldn't distinctly remember. But now there were these nuns, and this priest, who was telling them, telling all the boys, that this good feeling part of his body was forbidden, and just when he'd discovered how really good it could feel.

Still, the assault on his buttocks followed by this soothing massage was making him physically drowsy - his body had experienced so many sensations in the last few days, intense sensations, excruciating butt pain that went on and on, sharp enema cramps and deep burning in his rectum, bone-chilling cold and wasting heat in the sauna and cold pool, humiliating embarrassment at nudity in front of girls - girls! And then this latest thing - fingers up his butt, coupled with deliberate stroking of his penis until those wonderful sensations came, first by the nuns, and now by this priest. It was sensory overload, and it was no wonder his body wanted to just shut down.

He and Sam had relaxed their grips on each other, their arms limply encircling each other's backs for now as they simply lay there, feeling the rush of sensations - the pressure of their body weight on stomach and chest, the still throbbing, aching injections, the pleasant, erotic, surprisingly light touch on their most private regions, and the insistent pulse of hard penises pressing impotently against the side of the examination table's padding. It had never occurred to Jake that gentle, teaching touching of his anus and the soft skin between his legs might be pleasant like this. His immature penis strained at the touch so near its base, yearning for something - to be enclosed by something tight, rubbed against something, thrust into something - it felt like it wanted all those things. But there were only the gently massaging fingers, pressing under his sack and its valuable contents, pressing right up to what felt like his penis' base.

And then the hand stopped moving and left him, and a wave of disappointment spread across him. Then the shock of cold alcohol, being spread, this time, in his butt crack, across his butt hole, and down between his legs and over the surface of his tight scrotum. Jake gasped at the coldness of it, his buttocks clenching despite the reawakening of the injection pain this caused. He was swabbed again, thoroughly, in the same place, and then next to him Sam also gasped and then clenched as he, apparently, was treated the same. Jake relaxed, limp, the cold sensation stimulating him even more. And then the hand returned, this time spreading the bottom of his butt cheeks all the way, framing a section of the soft skin exactly between violated butt hole and tight sack. It took Jake a long moment to realize the implications of this, and thus the tip of the needle was already piercing him halfway between scrotum and anus, tunneling almost parallel with his perineum before he realized what was happening.

"Noooooooo!" he squealed back arching, arms extending, pulling Sam up with him, as the needle drove in, sharp pain stabbing him right between the legs. His butt clenched, which made the pain worse, but the needle stayed, the strong hand keeping his clenching buttocks from closing, the fiery needle slowly disgorging its contents in a line of fire just under the skin from his sack almost to his anus. He gulped air and screamed again. "Nooooo, please! Noooooo! NOOOOOOO! Take it out! Take it ouuuuuut!"

But the needle remained for a time as he gasped and squealed, before finally withdrawing. The hand let his buttocks clench, but the streak of fire running along under the skin remained, like the needle was still there. Jake's cries died to gasps and whimpers. He felt sick to his stomach as he collapsed back onto the table, gripping Sam tightly and trying to catch his breath. Sam, ghost white, gripped Jake so hard his fingernails were making half moons on Jake's back. Jake was sobbing between gasps now, the burn between his legs still intense, and then Sam bucked and screamed, screamed something like "Oh, Mommy!" over and over again, and Jake gripped him tightly and held him to the table as he dissolved into gasping sobs as well. And then the pain that had taken over the space between Jake's butthole and balls began subsiding, leaving a stimulating burn behind it, and he began fighting to control his crying, dimly aware the priest was now by the counter, cleaning equipment.

"You boys may stand up when you feel up to it," he said, loudly enough to be heard over their sobs. "Do not to touch yourselves below the waist, though," he added, as Jake's hands had started for his bottom, with the plan of pressing on the tortured, burning skin between his legs. "I wouldn't want you to spoil the injection so that I had to give it again."

Jake's hands froze, just short of pressing between his butt hole and balls. His hands hovered near the injection sites on his buns but he managed to force himself not to touch them. Next to him, Sam just gripped him and cried, his hot tears wetting Jake's shoulder. Slowly needing to be up now, Jake disengaged Sam's grip on him, transferring the other boy's hands to the surface of the table. Painfully, every movement reawaking the aching spots where the needles had entered, he stood up. Beside him, Sam rocked and continued to sob lying on his stomach.

Standing, now, Jake could see the little spots of blood marking the entry points on Sam's butt through his own blurred vision. They weren't big marks, not the ones on Sam's bumpy, abused butt. Little pinpricks of bright red, each with a fleck of blood marking the needle entry was all they were. But glimpsed between his legs, as Sam shook and rocked, running under the line joining his body together from anus to scrotum, the skin was raised as if tunneled underneath, just slightly, but enough, and reddened as if irritated. Jake matched what he was seeing with the unsettling, violated feeling between his own legs, and shivered, fighting the urge to reach between his legs and rub there, press on that still protesting flesh. Yet, meanwhile, his little pointed penis bobbed straight out in front of him, hard and insistent, as if the burn between his legs was exciting it. His tight sack clung to the underside, balls pulled tight.

Jake tried to step back from the table, and his butt protested, throbbing at the movement, and the stabbing pain between his legs reawaked and began shrilling at him. Yet his penis remained hard, hard and standing straight out, the foreskin pulled back and half the tip protruding with its tight pee slit pointing out and slightly separated from the strength of his erection. Sam groaned and slid off the table onto his feet, a quick glance showing Jake that his buddy's penis was hard, too, curving all the way to his flat stomach. The burn between both their legs appeared to be intensifying the hardness of their organs, Jake reasoned with a part of his mind that appeared to be separate from his pain-wracked body. The priest turned around, looked carefully at each displayed little penis, and gave them a stern look. "My, but you are randy little lads, aren't you? Keeping your two in check is going to be a challenge, I see, even with my treatments. And that may make the next part a bit harder - we need a urine sample from each of you, you see." He handed the boys each a fairly large glass bottle with a rubber stopper in the top. "Just remove the stoppers and fill the bottles, boys. Give me all of it you've got, and be careful not to spill. It would be best if you insert yourselves all the way into the tops of the bottles." Jake took the bottle he'd been handed and looked at it. "You want us to pee into these bottles?" he asked.

"That would be the gist of my request, yes," the priest replied.

"Where's the bathroom?" Jake said, looking around.

"No need for that lads," the priest said. "Just be careful with the spigots and make sure there are no drips and right here will do nicely for the operation. Besides, I have to watch you to make sure your urinary pathways are unobstructed."

"But…" Jake said. Sam was looking at his bottle doubtfully.

"But…" Jake said. Somehow, even though he peed next to other boys in the toilets regularly, you were still not this exposed - there was a wall in front of you, and other boys could only see you from the side, and they only looked out the corner of their eyes when they did look, so that they wouldn't be seen looking. Being caught looking would make you the object of derision from the other boys. And the other boys were focusing on their own business, anyway, if they were also at the urinals. Doing it in front of a priest, wide open, nothing around you, in a regular room, with said priest not just watching but analyzing, seemed wrong.

"Now what did I say about buts? And boy butts?" the priest asked threateningly.

Jake looked at his penis doubtfully, then at the bottle in his hand. He sighed and worked the stopper out and set it on the table behind him, the lowered the bottle to his crotch. He had to turn it sideways to get his hard penis into the top, feeling the cold glass against the top side of his organ as the bottle forced it down past horizontal. He slumped over a bit, so his penis could point more downward and not press so hard against the glass. Beside him, Sam struggled with his stopper, then held it out to Father McKenzie. The father took the bottle, easily removed the top, stepped to Sam with it, setting the stopper on the table. "Let me help you, lad," he said. He gripped Sam's throbbing, upwardly curved penis, forced it down, and slid it into the bottle, making Sam slump a bit as well as the cold glass was pressed against Sam's bald scrotum. His other hand went behind Sam, gripping the upper right cheek, the only place on Sam's butt that wasn't throbbing from the recent shots, and steadied Sam firmly. Sam shivered at the contact. Then, for awhile, both boys just stood there, their abdomens making little twitches and their weight shifting from foot to foot.

"Come now, me lads," the priest said. "You know what you need to do. I wager you've been doing this since you were wee little tots. Now stop this nonsense and open the spigots and drain those little water tanks." Jake struggled with his reluctant body. The setting was just too strange, and his urinary sphincter wouldn't relax. "I- I can't," he whispered, vaguely ashamed. Next to him, Sam shifted and dribbled a few drops into his glass before tightening up again.

"Sure you can," the priest said soothingly, massaging Sam's butt in encouragement. "Just relax and let it out. You're just a bit pee-shy, that's all, and that's easily gotten over. We have plenty of time."

Sam shut his eyes, and, a moment later, dribbled a bit more, covering the bottom of the glass. Jake felt tighter than ever, yet, at the same time, all this talking and thinking about peeing had made his bladder contract, so he wanted to pee, wanted to with all his urgency. But he couldn't seem to make it come out, and the wanting too just made it worse. He watched, helpless, as Sam managed an actual squirt into his glass. A moment later came a longer squirt, then, like a dam breaking, Sam relaxed into a surging stream that swirled into the glass and climbed the walls of it quickly. His eyes were shut and he seemed to be concentrating on the priest's hand rubbing his butt gently. The surge tapered to a dribble when the glass was about half full, and the priest gently pulled the glass down until just the tip of Sam's little dick was in it, expertly flicked the little cockle with his other hand to shake the last drops off, and then removed the bottle and gave Sam's butt a little pat before stoppering it.

"Good lad," he said. He looked at Jake. Jake swallowed uncomfortably, standing naked with his little penis throbbing helplessly against the edge of the empty sample glass.

"I can't," he whispered again, acutely aware that now Sam was watching his penis as intently as the priest.

"Shut your eyes," Sam said suddenly, startling Jake. "Shut your eyes and pretend you're in the toilet," he added. "Let him hold the bottle - it helps if you pretend it isn't there."

"That sounds like good advice, lad," the priest said. He took the bottle from Jake's hand and pushed the hand aside. Jake shut his eyes. He was in their apartment. At the toilet. Sam standing beside him. For some reason he pictured Sam and himself peeing like they did when they were 8 or 9, with pants pulled down and little butts bared along with genitals for peeing, something the two of them hadn't done in years now that they'd learned to pull penises out of flies. Two boys unembarrassed by each other, giggling as they emptied full bladders and felt the relief that came with it, pee surging out in a powerful stream that scoured the toilet, unhindered and flowing free…

A few moments later, a gentle hand began stroking the top of his less sore, right butt cheek. But not pressing this time, not hurting him. Just gently stroking the skin. It reminded Jake of the way his mother used to stroke his back when he was lying face down on the bed after some juvenile catastrophe or other, gently caressing the skin to reassure him that she was there and everything was going to be all right. He flashed back to a distant memory, from a time he couldn't place. Himself as a smaller boy, a much smaller boy, standing in trees somewhere, next to a bush, his pants at his ankles, his mother gently stroking his lower back, not much above where he was being stroked now, telling him to be a big boy and make pee-pees so he wouldn't wet his pants. He'd felt safe and proud then, being able to please his mother, making the big pee-pees she wanted, wetting down the leaves of the bush and feeling the internal relief he'd craved.

Liquid surged into glass, and before Jake realized what was happening, the priest was gently shaking his still hard penis to dislodge the last drops and stoppering the bottled.

It felt good to be in clothes again, even though the dreaded penance time now appeared to be upon them, and the boys dressed quickly. Jake felt a thrill of fear as he tried to anticipate what they faced. Maybe they were going to be spanked again. Or paddled, or even strapped. But why would they need to go on a "trek" to do that? He heart raced at the thought of any of those on his already brutally paddled and now needle-violated bottom. The needle track between his legs was especially disturbing as he and Sam hurried to keep up with the priest's long legs as he quickly excited his study and the building. It made him walk with a funny sort of bow-legged trot, a gait that Sam also seemed to be affected with. But if they were just going to be spanked, or even strapped, why were they going toward the main barns, on the farm side of the orphanage? Why not just spank them in the study, or the glass room, or even (worst case scenario) in the courtyard in full view of all the kids? They were clearly going to the farm that was a bit down the hill from the orphanage. Why would they be going there?

The younger boys and girls never went to the farm side of the orphanage - both Sam and Jake had been informed on arrival that the farm area and everywhere else outside the split rail fence surrounding the orphanage itself was out of bounds, and they'd heard terrible stories of the mean bull that lived over there, and the rams, and the boars that were almost wild and loved to run down unsuspecting children. The farm was where the big boys and girls had their dorms, did their work, and attended the few school classes they had. All the kids over 14 who hadn't been adopted by then went to the farm. Rumor had it that they labored in the fields and tended livestock, and were hired out to local farms, earning money and creating food supplies for the orphanage and the nunnery and the monastery down the hill. Perhaps he and Sam were going to have to labor for their penance - carry food for livestock, or weed crops, or some worse, more disgusting chore like shoveling manure.

They were approaching a gigantic barn, which they circled until they were at the back side of it, a broad expanse of weathered, unpainted wood, blocking the sun and making a shady area that was cool and rather peaceful. Sheep grazed in a pasture off to one side, and lifted heads to look at them as they approached, then went back to grazing. As his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, Sam could see that A pair of wooden platforms were stationed about 20 feet apart near the wall of the barn, and it was the first of them they approached. "Up you go, lad," the priest said, seizing Jake under the arms and lifting him onto the table-like affair. "Get on all fours, like a wee little doggie. Front toward the barn."

Jake, puzzled, did as he was told. The priest went behind him and tied two waiting leather straps around each of his calves, one by his knees, one by his ankles, securing him tightly to the board. The straps were far apart, and at the priest's urging he had to spread his legs widely to be strapped down, and the needle tunnel between his legs shrilled in protest at the stretching. His feet were turned out like penguin toes as the straps were pulled tight, already becoming vaguely uncomfortable. His back side made the shape of a flat-topped letter "A."

Then the priest picked up a large, rounded pillow-like pad from the ground beside the stand and slid it under Jake's chest, where it was large enough to reach up to his stomach, and wide enough to span the space between his knees. It was triangular, though, so that it tapered rapidly away from Jake's chest down to the platform. The priest walked around to Jake's front and indicated two pairs of straps some distance ahead of Jake's arms, on the platform itself. "Lean forward, lad, all the way, head down. Yes, that's a good lad. Elbows down on the table." There was a small pillow there, and Jake had lowered his head to that pillow and stretched his arms out to the straps, and the priest tied them down as well, one strap on each wrist, one on each elbow. His butt was now thrust in the air, the highest part of his body, his stomach and chest pressing on the inclined pillow, his head low. An additional pair of straps were on the big pillow under his stomach and chest, but the priest let them hanging for now. Jake squirmed and wiggled his butt in the air. He was supported not distinctly uncomfortable, but not comfortable either. His shots throbbed, the one between his legs burning hotly. His penis had remained hard throughout their trip.

"Come with me, lad," Father McKenzie said to Sam, and he and Sam moved away, to the other platform. Jake turned his head and watched as Sam was cinched down just as he had been. Sam looked panicked, and Jake understood that feeling. Were they going to be strapped in this position, or whipped with a bull whip? He'd read a book where a man had stolen a horse, and he had been whipped with a bull whip when caught. The book had described the whip as tearing the man's flesh, ripping his back to shreds, and gobbets of flesh flying as blood spilled down. Jake had shivered with a kind of perverse horror at the graphic descriptions of the flowing blood. They wouldn't whip a little boy's back like that, would they? Just because he'd tried to see some girls naked?

The priest disappeared, going out behind the boys where they couldn't see. Various rustlings and other noises emanated from there, then Father McKenzie was back, standing beside Jake. "Have to prepare you now," he said. "We'll be starting very shortly. Time to air things out a bit. No danger of sun burning your delicate skin back here." He moved behind Jake and reached between his spread legs, easily unsnapping and unzipping Jake's pants. He grasped Jake's waistband and began tugging Jake's pants down, shoving them all the way to his spread knees as far as they would stretch and leaving them bunched there. Jake's underpants followed, stretching as they were pushed down as far as they would go on his thighs, which was also just above his knees. Jake's butt felt cool air circulating around it, and he flushed as he realized that he was butt naked and shamefully exposed out in the open of the farm grounds. Heck, his balls had to be hanging down where everyone could see them, and he was bent so far his butt hole had to be visible! The priest walked to Jake's side and circled his waist and then under his arms with two straps and pulled them tight. He nodded with satisfaction as Jake tentatively tested his bonds and found he couldn't do much but clench his butt and his thighs feebly, and with his legs spread wide and himself bent over, he couldn't even begin to protect and hide his scrotum and anus. The shot tracks in his butt ached at his efforts, and the area between his butt hole and balls screamed in pain, and he stopped. He could twist his head readily, the only part of him that was really free, and he did so, turning to look at the priest, but Father McKenzie was already striding back to Sam, who, in short order, was just as bared from waist to knees and just as tied down as Jake, the white sides of his flanks and the sides of his dusky bottom just as bared as Jake's. Jake could see the puzzlement in Sam's eyes as he perched on the platform, crouched and tied, his white thighs and his reddened, blistered flanks projecting upward, the highest part of him. The priest disappeared from their sight behind them again, then, suddenly Jake could sense him standing directly behind once again.

"Ah, but we need a nice paint job here, now," the priest said cheerfully. "Got to do the job just right - everyone's an art critic, after all." Suddenly, cold wetness was applied directly to Jake's butt hole, a soft, tickly feeling spreading the wetness out until it covered his entire hole. He clenched, but his butt remained wide open and the cold wetness was unimpeded. The soft tickling stopped a moment, then started again as father McKenzie applied more wetness to Jake's anal muscle, spreading the coldness into a circle that must be covering the whole wrinkle pattern. A cold trickle suddenly started down between Jake's buns toward his sack, following right above the buried needle track. "Opps," Father McKenzie said. Cloth suddenly touched Jake's scrotum and began scrubbing, making Jake yip at the pain it awakened in the shot site. "Good thing I brought a rag with me - I'll just wipe this up," the father muttered, massaging Jake's balls and increasing is discomfort. Then the cold daubing began again, circling the tight slit of his butt hole. "That's better," the priest muttered. "By the way, lads," he said, speaking loudly enough for his voice to carry to Sam as well. "Do ye know what this part of your body is called? That is, what it's properly called? This part I'm painting - the tight little muscle inside your bum that so neatly disposes of your wastes?"

He paused talking and daubed more cold wetness on the orifice he'd just mentioned.

Jake swallowed. He knew what the boys called it, knew two names the boys called it, actually. But he couldn't say them to a priest. Father McKenzie appeared beside him, holding a rather large artist's paintbrush. Oh, so that's what he'd felt. A paintbrush painting his butthole. The paintbrush was dripping slightly with red paint. "Come lad," he said cheerfully, smiling. "Surely ye must have a name for the little beastie!"

Jake swallowed. "I can't - it's a bad word, father," he said. It was hard to talk crouched over your chest like he was.

"And just what would that bad word be, exactly?" Father McKenzie said. He crossed his arms, then noted he'd splashed paint on his cassock and uncrossed his arms again, then began dabbing at the mark with the rag in his other hand. He looked up a Jake a moment later. "Come, lad," he said. "What do you wee lads call that part of you? I know you know."

"My…my…" Jake whispered, his face scarlet.

"Your what, lad?" The priest prompted. "You can say it."
"My…my butt hole," Jake said.

"Yes, indeed," the priest said. "Or an arsehole, that's what we used to say in the old country. Although you Americans appear to have shortened it to 'asshole,' a much less musical sounding word, and all the displeasing to the Lord for it." He smiled at Jake. "But none of those are right, you know. It's like the black dot in your eye. People say that part of you is your pupil. But the pupil is just a hole for light to go through in your eye, so it's really a word for nothing. So it's silly to call the pupil a part of your body—it's the absence of a part. The body part itself is the iris, the part surrounding the pupil. And the same is true of this other part of you. That part I just painted is your anus, not your butthole, or your arsehole, or even your asshole. Those things are the open space it makes when it opens to expel wastes, they're not the thing itself. Your anuses open to create your arseholes, and when they close your arsehole is gone, and only the muscle of the anus remains. So I didn't paint your arsehole red just now, lad. I painted your anus."

Jake digested this. It actually made sense, in a certain way. After all, the wood surrounding a knothole wasn't a knothole, only the hole itself was. Father McKenzie chuckled at his expression. "I'll just go do your partner, lad, and then we'll switch colors and work on your bum cheeks."

Jake watched as the priest moved to Sam and daubed between his buttocks, then walked back out of sight. He returned behind Jake in a moment, and then the cold wetness sploshed on his butt crack and quickly became a large circle surrounding his anus, perhaps an inch or so away and an inch or so in width. A second circle was added some distance out from the first, across his buttocks, and then a third wet circle was drawn around the outside edges of his flanks. The circle stopped on his thighs, though, and, although Jake had been expecting his scrotum to be painted initially given that the brush appeared to be making a circle, the priest left the tight, wrinkled bag unmarked and moved on to Sam. Now Jake could see that white paint was dripping from the brush in his hand and running down the edge of the container in his other hand. Sam whimpered as his butt was painted, and then the priest disappeared again behind them.

It seemed some time before he returned, scrunching the grass behind Jake. This time he walked to the side, where Jake could see him. "Now we just have to install these," he said, holding up two small leather objects. Looking closely, Jake realized they were little pouches, with leather drawstrings hanging from their open tops. "Glad you'll be that you have them, mark my words. Sister Mary Catherine is coming, and she's all that not fond of your boy parts, as you may have already guessed. Even cute, innocent, wee little parcels such as you boys have. She'll wish to be spared viewing yours, and, no doubt she won't want our other participants to feast on the sight of your endowments, either, however meager and innocent they may be. Also, you're entitled to some protection of your sweet little jewels - we need you good little Catholic lads to do your part to expand the faith, after all, and the Lord knows I and my brothers at the Monastery aren't doing our part in that direction."

With that, he walked behind Jake. Next, Jake flinched as he felt a gentle touch on his genitals, then his small, drooping penis and sack were gently stuffed into the pouch by the priest's nimble fingers. The pouch was a tight fit and getting his hard penis in took the priest some struggle. Finally, though, the edge of the sack was against his groin, tickling his hairless pubes. Moments later, he felt the top close firmly as the priest pulled up the drawstrings. His balls were forced down into the bottom of his tight sack, and then even lower as the priest circled the top of the sack several times with the drawstring before tying it into a neat bow knot. His balls and cock were now tightly bound in a leather bag, leather strings firmly closing it and forcing his balls to the bottom of the sack. Father McKenzie crossed to Sam and began working between his legs, clearly binding his genitals as he had Jake's. Jake could see the consternation in Sam's face as his balls were forced down as uncomfortably as his own had been, and the base of his also hard penis squeezed by the ties as well. Finally, satisfied, Father McKenzie straightened up.

"There," he called. "You should be able to wear those for at least a few hours without endangering the goods, so to speak. Although no doubt they'll get more and more uncomfortable as the time passes. By the way, lads - I'm thinking it would be best if you refrained from wetting yourselves while wearing these little chastity devices. You'll just fill up the bags and then steep in your own juices from that point on." He smiled at first Jake and then across Sam. "But as you've just emptied yourselves moments ago, that should be a problem." He smiled at them in turn again, then looked over his shoulder at a noise he'd just heard. "And just in time, too, because here come the females," he said cheerfully.

Jake twisted his head, and, to his horror, saw Sister Mary Catherine rounding the barn, moving like a silent battleship as usual, and then a string of girls appeared in their school uniforms of blouses and long skirts, following dutifully behind in pairs, holding hands as the children always did when moving as a class around school grounds, gawking as they passed the two semi-naked boys and disappeared out of sight behind them. More and more girls appeared around the barn and passed by, voices tinkling and shrilling as they began reacting to what they were seeing. Jake and Sam both flushed red as they realized the girls were going to somewhere directly behind them, where they'd have a full view of the boys' painted bare butts and assholes and even their tightly bound and enclosed genitals, or at least the bags holding and concealing them.

There was excited conversation and giggling behind them as the girls settled in back there, perhaps 20 feet away where there was a clear view of their butts and the bags covering their genitals, a babbling of voices that made it hard to pick out individual comments except for words like "naked" and "bottoms" and "bare." Talking about their painted bare butts, obviously. Now why had Father McKenzie painted their butt holes red and then painted white circles on them? What did he have in mind? Jake could not, for the life of him, think of any reason why that would be.

Father McKenzie moved between the two boys and cleared his throat. "Well, lads, now that I've prepared you and the ladies are here, we can begin your penance for your grievous sin of lust. The ladies who you so wantonly spied on while in the shower were quite angry about your actions, so in recompense they have all been gathered to help extract your penance. They'll be doing so using a pair of special tools." He looked between the boys off to where the girls must be. "If you'd bring one to me, please," he said to someone out of sight. Moments later, Sister Mary Catherine motored into view, carrying a long, thin, stick like object that she handed to Father McKenzie. "I'll bet you recognize this," he said, beaming. "Because every red-blooded American boy wants one."

Jake stared, and so did Sam. They knew what it was, all right. They'd drooled over similar ones in the window of the local hardware store, knowing their mothers would never let them have such a thing in the city. It was a genuine Red Ryder BB gun, named after Red Ryder, the most popular radio show for boys currently on the air. And suddenly, the incongruous painting of his and Sam's butt made sense. Because BB guns meant things to shoot at. Targets. And bulls-eye targets was exactly what Father McKenzie had just painted on them. Circles on their butts just like a target. Jake's heart almost stopped and he went cold, as he realized just what part of him was the red bull's eye!