The Orphanage Boys Chapter 14
by Chadlad

copyright 2009 by Chadlad, all rights reserved
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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 14: Fourteenth Floor: Language Instruction

A lot of females don't realize just how complicated the act of peeing is for boys. The general impression of females is that for boys peeing is a ridiculously easy process, and those same females often express some jealousy about the ease with which boys accomplish it in comparison with their own complications. They point out that boys don't have to assume a vulnerable and unhandy position, especially in places where toilets aren't available - they can simply remain standing as big as you please to accomplish the task. There's no need to lower pants and bare bottoms, no need to even squat. And they argue that the process is much less potentially messy - nothing to clean up afterward: you just give it a couple of shakes and tuck it away again, and if your underwear has to absorb a drop or two, well, that's what underwear is for.

What females don't reckon on is the pressure this ease of elimination puts on boys - because boys can pee just about anywhere, they're expected to do so. The sex that simply settles down comfortably on a toilet seat, with nothing exposed, nothing showing, everything demurely hidden never really appreciates how different the process is for boys. From the moment they're potty trained, girls can slip panties down quickly and immediately sit with legs closed, and everything that happens thereafter is out of sight and essentially private. Whether they're actually peeing or not, whether it takes them awhile to convince their body to get started or they can release their stream immediately is something others aren't privy to. Indeed, if a girl is wearing a skirt or dress, she can slip the panties down while still covered by the dress, sweep the dress up in back, and settle on the toilet set without every exposing her privates at all. And girls are almost never in the open around other girls during this process - they're usually in their own stalls, their own little isolated cubicles where they can pee in privacy.

Boys, on the other hand, are constantly expected to stand right next to other boys, expose their genital members, and pee side-by-side with full knowledge that the boys next to them can see the whole process even if they're making an effort not to. Those boys standing beside them can also note if they take excessively long to get started, and if they're just standing there with nothing coming out of their little tools. And the boy desperately trying to pee knows that everyone else knows they're having trouble, too. And in a surprising number of places, the urinal is nothing but a long, open trough, which means that the boy is even more exposed, a whole line of exposed little penises of different shapes and lengths dribbling or squirting simultaneously, with their owners so close their still clothed hip bones can brush each other.

And that's just in the bathrooms. No one expects the girls to pee in the open except in the most dire circumstances, and then extensive foliage will be sought and only one girl at a time will make use of the area. Boys, on the other hand, are often expected to line up at the edge of a tree line next to a busy highway and let fly right there, with any doubts dismissed with a casual - "You're facing away - no one can see you." No one, that is, except the supervising adult, who watches it all, and the other boys. And the people passing on the road, who know perfectly well what a group of boys facing away from the road with their hands in front of their crotches are doing. And peeing in the open, right onto the ground, means all the other boys know if you're having trouble letting go, if you're dribbling instead of peeing, or manage just a little squirt before you clamp down and can't start again. And they're manfully tucking their little fingers away while you're still standing there hanging out, trying to make something happen.

Peeing problems begin with boys right from birth, when every caretaker suddenly realizes that there's a major difference between the process of diapering boys and the process of diapering girls. If the caretaker is lucky, he or she will learn this through observation, as the little guy fountains into the air onto the furniture or his onesie, or, if he's more unfortunate, squirts himself in the face. If the caretaker is less fortunate, he or she will be seeking soap, water, and new clothing and come away much the wiser for it. The net result of this is that people changing boys go at it with a grim determination to keep the weapon covered as long as possible and cover it again as quickly as possible. Boys seldom are given the luxury of lounging naked during changings, perhaps being allowed to crawl a bit or grasp bare toes without all that padding interfering with leg movement, the kind of freedom toddler girls are often allowed. No, because of their peeing problem, boys are forced back into the prison of a hot, stuffy diaper almost instantly, never experiencing the freedom of the girls.

Then comes potty training. Most people would think the process is no different for girls than for boys, because they both sit down initially to learn the deed. But they'd be mistaken. Because when girls sit, their output will invariably go downward without any other attention on their part. But with boys, there is the problem of direction.

The problem is that boys' genitals project, but they don't necessarily dangle downward. To start with, some boys are barely boys at this tender potty training age. Although with puberty will come testosterone and respectable penile growth in most (but not all, much to their chagrin), they're a long ways from that age. And a button penis has a pee slit that points straight out, not down at all. For that matter, so does the pee slit of a boy with a half-inch penis. Yes, the boy can pinch the top, getting enough of that meager tool in his hand to aim the pee slit safely downward, but that takes coordination and presence of mind, and the toddler often has neither.

But what about the little boys who are, comparatively, hung like the proverbial pony? (A gross exaggeration, of course. Even young horses have penises that are more than a foot long). There are little boys whose penises measure a good 2 inches soft even when they're barely 2 years old, penises that are in constant danger from zippers and that hang obscenely visible from behind when their moms try to take those bearskin rug pictures. Their penises certainly point down, don't they? Well, yes, more or less. But they also get plastered to legs or groins with sweat, so that the tip points somewhere across the room so that when the little guy lets go the caretaker may be in for a rude surprise. And even the ones that do dangle downward don't always dangle downward. Because little boys get hard-ons, just like the big ones do. Especially when the boy has a pressing need to pee.

So most boys have to learn to take that penis in their hands and do what has to be done to point it into the toilet, and most boys aren't good at it, or may even repeatedly forget the need to guide themselves at all.

And then it's time to teach the boy to pee standing up, and a new set of problems arise, problems relating to aiming. Most little boys find aiming tricky at first, and stopping the release when the aim is wrong or correcting on the fly is often out of the question. So there's usually no telling whether they boy will pee into his target, or onto the floor, across the bathroom counter, into the wastebasket, or onto his own shoe, his pajama footie, or his bare foot. Add to that the possibility that the pee slit will get into some odd configuration, resulting in two or even three separate streams spraying out in different directions, and you get a grasp of the scope of the problem for everyone with male genitals.

And even when the boy is reliably potty trained, and no longer is likely to suddenly flood his underpants and send a river down a pant leg and into a shoe because he's more focused on the toy car he's pushing than his own body, he's still got problems girls often don't have. Because boys are far more likely to be bed wetters than girls.

Bed wetting. Pissing the bed. The shame of many, many children of school age, most of them boys. Boys who have to go through the nightly indignity of reporting to their mothers to be diapered, sometimes being forced to the toilet and told to "try," and to dribble out the least little content of their fallible bladders. Boys who have to be powdered or slathered with diaper cream over their most private parts by mothers who sigh and let them know how put upon they are for having such a disappointing son. Boys who go to sleep praying that they won't fail again tonight, and who wake with sinking spirits as they feel the hot wetness over genitals and buttocks, and have to report to their mothers to have their soaked diapers removed and be sent to the showers in shame, or, worse, stand naked in the family bathroom to be soaped and rinsed with a washcloth in their most private areas while older brother and sister, or, worse yet, younger sister brushes teeth or combs hair while smirking at her juvenile, bed pissing brother.

And some of these boys have punitive parents who blame them for their lack of control, parents who while diapering them threaten a spanking the next morning if the diaper is wet, and those who actually follow through with that promised spanking. Boys who cry loudly with red butts exposed afterward in the bathroom, as irate parents, hands still stinging from their attention to their sons' butts, heedlessly scrub those sore globes and the crevice between them, yanking that vulnerable little penis that causes the trouble, making every effort to scrub it raw while vowing to "really tan your hide," if the boy pees himself again.

But for the older boys like Jake and Sam, boys long potty trained, long night dry, the biggest problem is attacks of pee-shyness. Because even the most nonchalant boy can become pee shy in the right conditions. Hard-ons are always a potential problem - they're tougher to pee through, and sometimes the prostate swells and impedes the flow. But even without having hard-ons, as was the case for the boys now, under periods of severe stress the sphincters simply close down. And then a boy can't pee to save his life.

And it's hard to imagine less congenial circumstances than the one the boys were in right then. After days of horrendous punishment culminating with being repeatedly shot from close range with BB guns, both boys had throbbingly painful butts - butts that stung and burned with every movement, butts that itched and tingled and felt hot and tight. And as a result of Father McKenzie's preliminary "treatment" as well as having several BB's fished out of them by said Father's big index finger, both boys had burning rectums that had spasmed tightly in protest, tightening up muscles in that area still further. Then you add to that the fact that each boy had emptied his bladder not all that long ago in reaction to especially painful shots while they were serving as targets, and that they were naked in front of two girls roughly their age who were examining their genitals openly, it was clear peeing was going to be a difficult proposition. Then throw into the mix a wrinkled, diminutive, but formidable old nun with a low opinion of males who was threatening to cane both boys bare naked in front of the entire orphanage at dinner time, and you don't have a mix conducive to bladder relaxation. You've got a combination of circumstance, instead, that would make even the most uninhibited boy tighten up. Then the final straw - being positioned over a fellow boy, naked and face up, his eyes squeezed tight, his face screwed up into a grimace, his small, hairless genitals doing their best to climb into his naked crotch, positioned so that even the least little dribble out of the boys was going to hit the boy's crotch (in Sam's case), or his face (in Jake's case), and peeing becomes an impossible dream.

So what happened next was, well, pretty much nothing. Sam faced Jake, Jake faced Sam, while both focused alternately downward and inward, trying to will uncooperative muscles to relax. And those muscles refused to take the call. Dusky, blistered little butts flexed, little feet shifted, muscles in lower abdomens rippled, penises wiggled and sometimes jumped, but nothing came out of either hooded, pointy little organ. After an extensive period of time, the boy lying on his back unsquinched one eye, then the other, then let his eyes dart around wildly from one penis pointed threateningly at him to the other. His face was still chalk white with fear. His hands twitched on the ground as he waited, clearly ready to squeeze his eyes shut if the little pointed penis arching over his face or the one over his crotch suddenly were to erupt. Finally he couldn't stand the wait any more.

"Come on, get it over with!" he pleaded with the two boys. "I can't stand waiting!"

Mother Superior stepped forward, raising her cane over the boy on the ground. "Silence, you!" she commanded. She settled the tip of the cane quite deliberately onto the boy's crotch, right above his curled little weenie, pressing down so that the little finger shifted and rolled upside down, so that the underside of the circumcised little tool was exposed, complete with its messy, bulging knot of skin right under the pee slit itself. Slowly, she lifted the cane and prodded the tightly wrinkled scrotum that was currently trying to pull its contents right into the body, pressing first on one bulging little orb and then the other. She pressed each quite deliberately for several seconds, then lifted the cane and stepped back.

"We don't have all day," she said to Sam and Jake, glaring at them. The two girls behind her remained silent, their eyes glittering as they shifted the pointed penises of the two standing, uncomfortable boys to the mushroom headed one of the boy on the ground. "If you can't do this, I will have no choice but to give him an alternative punishment. And in this case, it would be a caning, with him dressed just as he is tonight at the front of the dining room. Only I'll make it 12 of the best, 6 to a side, if you boys can't come through and punish him as he himself decreed. I've never caned any boy naked in front of the dining room - he would be the first. And I've never given any more than 8. If you don't punish him, I will, and he won't walk for a month."

The boy's eyes shone in terror. He'd seen canings in the past, conducted in the glass room with only the boys watching. He'd seen big boys get "six of the best," and be reduced to blubbering, begging basket cases before the end. He'd seen the welts, red and glistening as they bulged out of hairy or smooth adolescent butts. The idea of taking twice that many on his own velvety soft tail was more than he could bear. His own penis, now pointed at his stomach, erupted in terror, pee squirting in an arc most of the way up his chest, the arc dying quickly and soaking him all the way to where the tip of the offending organ rested. The girls began giggling as urine ran off each side of the boy's body and wet the rock, some pooling under the small of his back, dribbling in a river between his buns, and emerging between his legs to flow against Sam's feet. Sam stepped back in surprise.

"Get back into position!" Mother Superior ordered, as the terror-stricken boy flushed in shame, his face now red and hot like a butt that has been spanked bare and hard. Sam, his lip curling in distasted, stepped back into the boy's puddle of pee. "Piss on you, isn't that what you told the dear Sister? We shall stay here until these boys do just that! And your own disgusting output is no substitute!"

Sam shifted uncomfortably, the bottoms of his bare feet now slippery with another boy's pee. He looked down at his pointy finger of a penis, the open hole of the foreskin contrasting sharply with the neat slit of the circumcised dick of the boy on the ground. Muscles above his genitals flexed and he clenched his buns several times, grimacing with the pain he stirred up sensations in that ravaged area. "I can't," he whispered.

"Can't died in the poorhouse," Mother Superior snapped. "Don't be telling me you can't piss, boy! You've been doing it since you were born! And unless you want this boy to undergo a punishment more severe than any boy here has ever felt, you'll be doing it right now!" She glared at the boy on the ground. "How 'bout it, you despicable piece of slime? Would you like to appear in front of everyone where they can see this? I'm sure it would give everyone a good laugh." She stabbed at his groin with her cane, neatly flipping his limp, now damp penis back down so that it pointed at his feet. Then she looked at Jake and then Sam. "It's up to you," she said. "You can spare him that pain, or you can make him go through it."

Sam flushed and looked down at his uncooperative penis. He flexed his lower stomach again. His little penis jiggled with his movement.

"It won't go!" he said, his voice rising. He felt sympathy for the kid on the ground and he didn't want to watch the boy suffer such a terrible-sounding beating. Across from him, Jake shut his eyes, trying to close out the scene around him and forget about the watching girls with their glittering eyes and their giggles, the angry, disapproving old woman, and the unfortunate boy in dire jeopardy directly under him. I'm alone in the bathroom, he said to himself. I'm alone in the bathroom, and I've gotta pee. It's just me - there's no one around. Mom's asleep. Sam's mom's asleep, too. Sam's in our bed, snoring softly on his back like he always does, the covers kicked off and his legs bent at odd angles, his penis tip sticking out his pajama fly like it always does when it's hard. I just got up to take a quick pee, then I'm going back to bed. I'm naked because I took my pjs off because it was too hot. I just got up to pee.

He tried to relax his urinary sphincter and his butt throbbed in protest. My butt hurts because I got spanked, he told himself. Me and Sam both. We got spanked for... for going into the construction site down the street, yeah, that's it. Mom spanked me and Sam's mom spanked Sam. That's it - it was just a little spanking, so my butt's a little sore. And I'm going back to bed in a minute, and snuggle up against Sam again and go back to sleep. I'll just pee quick and I'll be right back in bed, at home, safe.

A longing for his home overwhelmed Jake then, a longing that shouldn't be if he was in his bathroom at home. He knew he wasn't-he was somewhere all wrong, and bad, bad things had been happening to him and Sam. He fought that realization, pushed it aside. That was just a bad dream he'd been having, a bad dream where unspeakably awful, humiliating things had happened. But he was awake now, and he was going to pee and go right back to bed. And for a moment, he believed it, that it had all been a dream, and Sam was right in the next room snoring, and he was going back to bed just as soon as he could do this thing. He sighed, his abdomen relaxed, and liquid dribbled out of him, quickly expanding into a short-lived but full stream as he made the powerful young muscles that he'd soon use for ejaculation go into action.

The boy directly under his genitals was caught by surprise, as he had been looking across at Sam fearfully simply because Sam had been talking, unable to take his eyes off the crude circular opening of the uncircumcised boy's penis, so unlike his own and those of the other boys at the orphanage. Illogically, he'd been picturing that hole suddenly gushing a fountain of piss like a fire hose, assuming its great size meant that the boy was capable of peeing like a racehorse. And thus he wasn't looking straight up, didn't see the dribble of liquid erupt directly over his face and rapidly become a powerful, if short-lived squirt of boy-hot liquid. And so his eyes weren't squinched, and his mouth was partly open, and suddenly hot spatters were splashing his eyes, dribbling over his nose, and then the follow-up squirt shot dead center into his slightly opened mouth.

The boy screwed his eyes and mouth shut in sudden revulsion, but it was too late - his mouth tasted of hot saltiness, much like the taste of sweat, and disgusting rivulets were already streaming down his face to the rock, soaking into his hair, and threatening to fill his nostrils. He sputtered and choked, spitting and snorting, trying to simultaneously clear his nose and prevent the contents of his stomach from coming up, twisting his head from side to side and scattering Jake's meager little dribble and squirt that was the entire contents of his bladder in every direction like a dog shaking off after coming in from the rain. The girls watched open mouthed in amazement. "It went in his mouth!" one whispered to the other in awestruck tones. "It went right in. The pee. In his eyes and his nose, too. And it's in his hair!"

Mother Superior stood with her arms crossed, leaning on her cane in grim satisfaction. That ought to teach the little, foul-mouthed brat a lesson! A sense of holy satisfaction settled over her, the same feelings she got after delivering a firm, well-deserved caning to one of the boys and watching his face as he hobbled away after being released, pulling underpants and pants over red welts. The wonderful feeling she'd felt first when she was 12, and was babysitting 8-year-old little Seamus McLeod, and he'd defied her command to "get into the bathtub for your bath this instant" by standing insolently by the side of the tub, stark naked, and impulsively peeing directly into the bath water, then announcing she didn't dare make him take a bath in that water now. Her eyes had lit upon the plump little bag that was pushing out his quite generous but still prepubescent penis, and before he could react she had grabbed him with her right arm and pinned his arms to his body, and then had pushed the little, still dripping penis up and closed her long, bony, adolescent forefinger and thumb around the base of that plump sack, where it joined the boy's body, and squeezed as tightly as she could, forcing the surprisingly large balls for such a small boy down until they stretched the wrinkles out of the bottom of the bag. "You think that's funny?" she said, pulling the bag downward away from the boy's body with all her strength. "You think peeing in the water is funny? Well, maybe I'll just rip this right off of you, and you'll never pee again!"

Even though her statement had not made any sense, the boy had been petrified into silence. She'd made it in the completely ridiculous assumption that the sack that little boys sported under their peeing things was where boys stored pee, a belief she was to hold for some months yet before a girlfriend corrected her with humiliating laughter. She was holding his much smaller body completely off the ground with the arm that was pinning his against his body, and her grip on his testicles was absolute, just tight enough to hint at hurt without actually hurting, firm enough that escape was impossible and thrashing to escape unthinkable. "I'm sorry!" he squeaked. "Really, I'm sorry."

She'd maintained the grip she had on his balls, which were showing a surprising ability to stretch away from his body. He wasn't hurting, not yet, but he could feel the firm tug of the skin pulling on his groin and his asshole and butt crack. "Now I'm going to set you in the tub, right in your pee," she'd said. "And you're going to be a good boy and wash yourself, even your face, in your pee water. Because I'm not letting go of this part of you until you're out and dried again, you understand? And if you don't wash yourself thoroughly enough, I won't hesitate to rip this right off of you!"

She'd felt powerful then, holding the boy's balls in an iron grip as he scrambled awkwardly in the water to run the washcloth over his body, and to dip his head in the water and shampoo himself and then rinse it off. All through his ablutions, she'd held the surprisingly hard little orbs in her fingers, even though those fingers throbbed with fatigue and cramping long before he was done. She'd even used her grip to help lift him out of the tub when he was done, and to hold him on the mat while he dried off, too frightened of her to protest or disobey. Then, and only then, she released his balls, warning him that he'd better watch his step or word of what he'd done would go directly to his mother, who would probably "cut your peepee off with her scissors" when she heard.

She'd never for a moment feared that he'd complain, of course. Boys in her day were soundly spanked by parents for the embarrassment they caused the family if they clashed with baby sitters or teachers, often even when the baby sitters or teachers were at fault. And she'd developed a hatred of everything under boy's underpants or diapers from that day on. She'd found their little penises that could do things like pee into bathtubs unnatural and disgusting, and their smooth little butts she saw as just Trojan Horses hiding inside them that disgusting orifice that spewed body waste like a sewer, waste that was likely as not to end up smeared all over the tight muscle where it exited. She treated their boy parts roughly when she changed the toddlers and babies, yanking little penises repeatedly, pressing hard on the orbs in their wrinkled sacks, pressing on anuses hard enough to bury a finger into them. And she made the older ones use the bathroom in front of her, insisting on wiping them front and back to "make sure you're really clean," and threatening to tell parents if they didn't cooperate, which all the boys believed meant a spanking or paddling without question.

Break them, make them cry, make them as disgusted with themselves as they ought to be, that was her motto. So she smiled with grim satisfaction as this boy on the ground sputtered and spit and slobbered bubbles of drool down his chin as he tried to cope with what the other boy had done to him. And while he was doing this, Sam, forgotten at the other end of him, suddenly, belatedly, obtained control of his own sphincter, and jetted a powerful stream that arced out to the boy's neck and then settled down to his chest for a full second, before diminishing and trailing down to his groin, where the final drops from Sam's also diminished output spattered the boy's genitals and the washed down his partially-exposed butt hole.

The net result was wasn't pretty. The boy on the ground was still sputtering and trying to get the salty taste out of his mouth and the smell out of his nose and eyes when he was suddenly hosed down again with boy-hot urine. Like spilled milk, it felt and looked like much more than it was, and as it ran off his sides he began writhing in disgust, sputtering even more and even retching slightly. A few remaining drips fell off Sam's pointed penis, and a solitary drip slipped off Jake's as well, missing the boy's twisting face and spattering his cheek instead. The boy on the ground scrambled to get up, only to find Mother Superior's cane pressing hard on his chest, pinning it to the ground.

"Just where do you think you're going, young man?" she asked loudly. "I don't believe I gave you permission to rise." She looked at Sam and Jake, her face twisting into a contemptuous smirk. "I assume that this paltry effort is all you two can manage?" she asked in cutting tones that cast aspersions on their manhood, questioned the manhood of all their male relatives back four generations, and even suggested that their clearly visible male genitals were a sham. "Very well, then. Step back. This brat has another task to do and another lesson to learn."

She moved her cane off his chest and prodded his side. "Get up," she snapped, even though she'd just told him to stay down. The boy was still spitting, so she prodded his side harder, painfully this time. "Get up!" she snapped. "Get on your knees, right there!" She pointed to the circle of pee the boy himself had created with his shameful loss of control moments before, a circle Sam had added to. The boy looked down with distress, his face still dripping with pee and spit and snot from his now running nose, but he settled into the small puddle, looking sick.

"Now, what was the other thing you told my dear Sister in Christ?" she asked the air.

"He told her to kiss his - his behind!" one of the girls shouted gleefully.

"Yes, that was it," Mother Superior said. "A very, very inappropriate thing to say. You must learn how inappropriate such a statement is. You, the one with the brown hair. Come over her and stand right here!" She pointed to a spot on the rock just in front of the kneeling, distressed other boy. Jake walked uncertainly to where she indicated, keenly aware that his bare genitals were swaying in the open and that the girls had a full, unobstructed view. In moments his welted, blistered, purple and red butt was in the boy's face. It looked hot enough, still, to roast marshmallows on. The boy on his knees looked even sicker as he tried to swipe pee-dampened hair out of his eyes. He sniffled and looked at Mother Superior pleadingly.

"You know what you are to do," Mother Superior said firmly. "You suggested it yourself. So you will do it, and if you resist, I will make you do it, and you will do the other one, too."

"But...I didn't mean..." the boy paused and looked at her as if he was about to throw up. "Please?" he finally added.

"This is taking too long," Mother Superior said. "You must learn the cost of disobedience. You!" she added, pointing at Jake with her cane, prodding him just above his vulnerable genitals. "Bend down and grasp your ankles!"

Jake, swallowing, bent over slowly, moaning slightly as his throbbing, sore butt was stretched and the bruised, invaded, and blistered muscles and skin complained. In moments, his butt was thrust back toward the boy, his butt crack spread widely, his butt hole now visible to everyone there. The swelling from the enemas made it puff out almost like the lips of a mouth, and the whole thing looked red and violated after Father McKenzie's treatments as well as the repeated invasions of BBs just shortly before. Mother Superior took her cane and prodded Jake right in the center of his exposed ass hole, pressing it firmly and making Jake moan again as the sore muscle was irritated. "Right here," she said. "You will put your lips right here. And you won't remove them until I say!"

The boy looked green now as he eyed the unsavory target, then looked at the smirking nun beseechingly. "I... I can't!" he wailed. "That's dirty! You can't make me...."

"Is that not what you told my dear Sister in Christ to do?" she asked. "Didn't you even think about what you were saying?" She moved with lightning speed, dropping her cane and lunging at the boy. Before he could even more, she had her fingers threaded in his hair and a claw-like grip pinching his shoulder. Bearing down as the boy squealed in pain at the sensation that his hair was being ripped out as well as his shoulder muscles being ripped from the bone, she slowly forced the trembling face between Jake's welted buns until his nose was pressed against the other boy's soft, pulsing skin and his lips were pressed against the pseudo lips of the other boy's anus. And then she held the boy there for a long 10 count, while he held his breath and tried not to choke and pushed back in vain. Then she released him and let him stagger back, spitting and coughing and wiping at his face in revulsion of what he'd just been forced to do.

"You two, get back in the stream and wash yourselves," the old nun commanded, picking up her cane. Jake and Sam stumbled back to the creek. She turned to the green faced, spitting boy. "You! Lie face down on the one of the other rocks - a dry one! You need to dry off before you put your clothes back on."

"But... but I'm dirty!" The boy wailed.

"That was your idea. You're the one who told my dear Sister in Christ, if I remember correctly, 'Piss on you!'" And so it is piss on you that you will have, until shower time tomorrow morning." She started to turn away, and the boy, looking even sicker, began to settle down on the rock. As his crotch settled down, he reached to readjust his penis but saw her glare just in time and snatched his hand back, having to accept that his penis was curled uncomfortably under him. His starkly white butt reflected the bright sun. But Mother Superior wasn't done yet. "Spread your legs apart so your inside thighs can dry. And reach back and spread your bottom so it dries inside," she snapped, smiling grimly. The girls standing just behind her watched with big eyes as the boy slowly complied, his face blushing fiercely as he took in their gaze and knew that his most private place was about to be revealed to them. He half-heartedly pulled his soft buns slightly apart.

"Wider!" Mother Superior snapped. The boy separated his buns more, his face flushing deeper. His tight butt hole appeared for the first time, small and with a tight slit down the center, but pink-red with irritation and slightly smeared.

"Yuck!" one of the girls exclaimed involuntarily. Mother Superior leaned in and studied they boy's butt for a moment. "Wider!" she thundered, her voice too big for her small body. "I want to see the skin stretch!"

The boy, staring with fear at her waving cane and feeling his vulnerability, pulled his buns until the center of his crack burned, the skin just above his hole stretching until it made a small fold joining his two buns. He pulled so hard that the tight slit of his butt hole opened slightly, revealing a darker pink inside the slit.

The old nun picked up her cane and slowly, deliberately, planted the flat end dead center on the boy's asshole, then pressed until her weigh was on it. For a moment, the boy felt like he was going to be impaled on the wooden rod, then she eased the pressure up again. "This part of you is dirty!" she thundered. "That is unacceptable! There's a reason I buy all you boys all that toilet paper! I expect you to use it! For the next week, you will go to the sister in charge of you after each bowel movement, and ask politely to be checked for cleanliness, is that clear, boy? You will also ask to be checked before going to bed."

The boy straining to hold his butt apart, didn't answer. Mother Superior leaned back on the cane again, pushing harder and harder. The watching girls expected the tip to disappear into the boy's bottom at any moment.

"Yes ma'am!" the boy squawked. She eased up the pressure again.

"Good," she said. She turned to Jake and Sam, shivering in the cold water and splashing themselves half-heartedly. "Step out of there and wipe the water off yourselves with your hands. Then come lie beside him in a position identical to his," she commanded. "You will all stay in that position until your backs are dry. Then you'll turn over and dry your fronts. You girls will stay here and supervise them. You will not touch them, but you will make sure they stay in position until they're dry. When they're dry, send those two to the infirmary, and make Mr. 'piss on you' dress and send him back to class. Then you can go back to class as well. And I encourage you to tell everyone you see today what you saw here-in fact, I order you to do that."

She turned back to the boy on the ground, who was getting more and more uncomfortable holding his butt widely stretched apart. "Make sure he keeps his bottom apart until he turns over," she added. "And if he or either of the other two disobey, he will be receiving 1 stroke of the cane for each instance of disobedience, in front of the dining hall tonight," she added. "I will not punish you two because I have other plans for you down the road. But I'm making Mr. 'Kiss my Butt" his brothers' keeper. If you're compassionate, you won't make him suffer for it."

"What?' Sam said, standing beside her now, dripping and shivering. "I don't understand."

Jake put a hand out to Sam. "Come on, Sam," he said. "Just do what he's doing. Lie down here and hold yourself open like him. 'Cause if we don't, he's gonna get whipped, and we don't need more enemies." He settled painfully, shivering with cold, onto the rocks, wincing as his incredibly sore butt protested. Slowly, moaning through clenched teeth, he gripped his butt gingerly and pulled the cheeks apart until he was panting with pain and effort. The red welts from the may BB strikes bulged painfully, and he could feel the tracks of the needles like giant tunnels throbbing inside him, and the bruises from being spanked and paddled and slippered. Sam, gulping and gritting his own teeth, settled right next to Jake on the same big rock, then spread his slightly smaller butt. His whiter skin made his own welted butt look even more irritated, and his swolled butt hole bulged more redly.

"Excellent," Mother Superior said. "Spread your legs wider, all three of your, so your business can dry from the back, too." All three boys complied, so that three tight little scrota now were visible from the back as well, just under the smooth skin that trailed down below the three anuses, two sore and bulging, one tight and virginal. "Now watch them, and make them turn over when they're dry. I'm late for today's verses" Mother Superior commanded. She turned and began hoofing up the path, never looking back. The girls settled on a rock and leaned back comfortably, their eyes shifting from one exposed butt hole to another, comparing the three matching and yet dissimilar anatomies in front of them, leaning together to whisper confidences to each other and collapse into giggles.

Jake looked at the boy with astonishment. "We-we had to!" he protested aloud. "She was going to beat you in front of everyone! Naked!"

"I don't care!" The boy hissed back. "You still pissed on me. and I'm getting you for it. You'd better watch your backs. And maybe I'll call you out at Saturday Vespers."

"But..." Jake gave up trying to explain that he'd had no choice, that to disobey would have been to subject the boy to even more punishment, when he'd suffered so much punishment already. Sam, though, whispered a heartfelt, "Sorry," to the other boy.

"You will be," the boy hissed back. "You'll be real, real sorry."

Jake, with a sinking heart, found himself nodding internally. He was sure they would be. In fact, he and Sam being sorry was the only thing he was sure about for the foreseeable future.