The Orphanage Boys Chapter 7
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 7: Seventh Floor: Men's Accessories

Jake awakened stiff, sore, and feeling a wash of sensations. His bladder was full to the bursting, for starters, and he had the erection that always accompanied that feeling, and that so embarrassed him walking to the toilet here at the orphanage. (At the apartment, he and Sam had giggled at each other's erections and even played a little "grab dick" on their way to the toilet sometimes, not really trying to get each other, just roughhousing like good friends did, only occasionally actually brushing each other's dicks with their hands. But now, having to leave pajamas in the big hamper and walk naked into the bathroom and then into the shower stalls with your dick bouncing, everything was different.

His stomach felt empty - more empty than he'd felt in a long time. He was ravenously hungry, and thirsty, too, so thirsty that his mouth was all cottony. And he was tired. Dead tired, even though he'd slept solidly throughout the night. His butt was stiff and achy and protested when he started to turn over onto his side, but he had to turn over, because a pair of fingers was prodding his shoulder insistently.

"Get up," the fat boy was saying to Jake as he opened his eyes. "Get up. It's confession day - we all have to get in the showers and get ready. And if you don't get up we might all get punished." Across from him, the thin, smaller boy was poking Sam just as insistently. Sam groaned and reached for his butt and rubbed it through his pajamas. "Ow." He muttered. "Still hurts."

Jake shifted himself onto his own butt and let his feet slip over the side of the bunk. "I'm up," he told the still insistently poking fat boy. The boy stopped poking and, to Jake's discomfort, slipped his pajama bottoms down and stepped out of them right by Jake's bunk, then slipped his pajama shirt over his head. For a brief moment, his button penis, encased in fat and barely visible above the flat wrinkles of his scrotum were almost in Jake's face, then the boy was waddling toward the hamper with his clothes, his fat, dimpled butt wobbling in his wake. Jake rose, his butt protesting the stretching, and slid his own pajama bottoms off, letting his hands cup his butt gingerly as he did. His butt skin felt coarse and dry, not the soft, velvety feeling he was used to. Twisting, he looked at what he could see of his butt cheeks as he kicked out of his pajamas, grimacing at the dusky red and purple hues of his bruises from all the spankings he'd gotten in the last few days. That slippering last night, on top of everything else, had been a bear. He looked across at Sam, now up and sliding off his own bottoms. Sam's butt was a mess of purple and dark red, bruises everywhere, scaly blisters covering the centers of his buns over the sit spots, running down his butt crack, and scattered everywhere else. Around them, other boys were slipping off pajamas, trying to look at their butts without being seen looking.

We can't take much more of this, Jake thought to himself, heading with the stream of other boys towards the urinals and toilets, a parade of tight, white, muscular butts of all sizes and flopping or bouncing penises. The other boys didn't meet his or Sam's eyes as they moved past each other, but Jake could feel their curious eyes on his butt, and would catch them looking away guiltily when he looked toward them. Most looked like they felt sorry for him and Sam, but a few of the big boys from Flip's corner smirked at their marks as they approached the showers, and Flip's proctor of the night before actually stopped both boys and, standing naked beside them with his much larger penis piss-erect, held each boy by the shoulders with one hand while massaging the boy's still sore butt with the other. Both boys winced at the rough treatment, and the proctor laughed at each one's discomfort in turn. "I'll tell Sister Grace you're just fine after last night's event," he said. "It's Father McKenzie's turn today. I wouldn't want to be you two!"

The shower was uneventful. Jake and Sam stood in the center again, sharing the shower with one of the older boys from the younger boys' room, a guy just as tall as them if not taller, and, despite his younger age, sporting a penis as big as Jake's and balls that might have been a bit bigger. Jake looked at the boy's smooth, white, tight little bare butt with envy, wishing his was that unmarked and innocent looking, and not covered with shameful welts and blisters. As they stood in the towel line, Sister Grace noticed them and mused, almost to herself, "No need to diaper you two today, Sister Mary Catherine says. You won't be having any movements for at least another day. And I'm told neither of you wet last night, but we still may need to diaper you tonight, just for safety. Well, we'll see what Father McKenzie decides."

"Um, Sister?" Jake managed to squeak out, his voice breaking embarrassingly. "What happens to us today?"

"Oh, that'll be up to Father McKenzie," Sister Grace said brightly. "Like I said. He'll decide after he hears your confession. He decides punishments for all the boys on Wednesdays. Now all you boys get dressed and line up, largest to smallest. You big boys have confession first, you know." And then she was gone, and a sea of naked boys rushed to their bunks and began dressing hurriedly.

Breakfast was routine, and he and Sam were directed to a separate table with a bunch of other boys and two girls. There, they discovered, that instead of the eggs and bacon the other children were getting, the y received a bland porridge the other children at the table called "punishment mush." It looked disgusting, and had no taste at all that Jake could see, but he was ravenous, so he dug in immediately as the other kids picked at theirs and complained. Beside him, Sam was eating just as fervently.

After his stomach had been sated a bit, Jake began noticing the other kids more. Across the table, two boys from the younger group were also squirming on what appeared to be painfully sore butts. As he tuned into the conversation, he realized that the boys were being teased by a boy and girl their own age, with the details of how they'd been spanked by their teacher the day before on underpants covered butts in front of the class, boys and girls included. The girl was relating, with shining eyes, the details of how they came to be spanked, how much they wiggled and squealed, and how they rubbed their underpants covered butts while standing in the corner afterward. "You should have seen Floyd while he was waiting his turn. His eyes were like saucers, they were so big," the girl was saying. "And the Sister turns to him, right in the middle of spanking John, and says, 'you watch good and close - yours is going to be bigger than his.' You should have seen it - he about peed his pants."

"He did pee his pants," the boy next to him corrected. One of the squirming, spanked boys, looked intently into his bowl as if he didn't hear. The boy, sitting next to him, nudged him. "You peed your underpants, didn't you!" he said. "I saw it! When she pulled your pants down! You underwear had a spot on them, right in front!" He pointed down to his little crotch bulge, which, being under the table, nobody could see but the aforementioned Floyd. "Right under the tip of his dick," he whispered. The girls giggled and looked at their plates. "If sister had seen, you'd be in diapers right now!" he added.

Another boy looked across suddenly at Sam and Jake. "Hey, weren't you guys supposed to be in diapers today? How come you're dressed? Didn't you both pee your beds yesterday?"

 "Yeah, but why aren't you in diapers?" the boy persisted. "Guys who can't control their dicks and pee themselves go in diapers for a week! Everybody knows that." He glared suddenly at the boy across the table from him. "Hey, Howard - stop kicking me!"

"They aren't in diapers because we have plans for them today," a cold voice said from behind the boy. His friends had been trying to kick him from across the table, having seen Sister Mary Catherine motoring up, like a silent-running submarine. "Father McKenzie will hear their confession and examine their bodies thoroughly before deciding upon their particular punishment for today, and like most men, especially childless men, the dear father does not like dealing with diapers and the mess they entail." She had placed both hands on the boy who'd been talking, and had been gradually tightening her grip on his small shoulders while she did. The boy was flushing with fright. "He does like his boys clean," she said, almost to herself. Then she squeezed the shoulders of the cowering boy in front of her. "And as for you, young man," she said, tightening her grip even more, so that the boy's face began grimacing in pain, "you will report to the glass room after dinner this evening for a pants- and underpants-down lesson in proper language use. You've seen what these boys got, so you should know what to expect. Remember, God hears everything you say and knows your thoughts," she added.

"But all I said was 'dick,'" the boy squealed. "That's what all the boys call their things! What am I supposed to call it?"

"You shouldn't talk about the dirty, private parts of bodies at all, especially among young ladies," Sister Mary Catherine said icily. "You shouldn't even think about those parts of your body, or look at them or touch them any more than you have to for sanitary reasons. And you should not discuss disgusting bodily functions at the breakfast table." She released the boy's shoulders just as it seemed he was about to scream with pain, and the boy slumped, his hands going up to rub his shoulders immediately. "Now, you will report to the glass room after dinner as directed. And for that last remark, I will be using one of my sturdier paddles instead of my hand." The boy's face collapsed to a look of pure horror. "Tonight after dinner," she said again. "And don't forget to confess your sin to Father McKenzie. He may want to have a private talk with you in his study." She turned away and began cruising between the tables again.

"Idiot!" the boy who was across from now devastated boy. "What did you think I was kicking you for?"

"How was I to know why you were kicking me?" the boy snapped back. "Man, she's going to give it to me bare, just like those two! The girls will all see my -" He looked around, making sure no nuns were nearby., and lowered his voice to a whisper, "- my stuff!"

"You're gonna have to go to Father McKenzie's study," a boy across the table from him muttered. "I'd be more worried about that."

"Aw, McKenzie's all right," the boy said. "He'll just give me one of his treatments."

"You hope," the other boy said. "And even if that's all he does, Sister's gonna tear your butt apart. And the girls are still going to see it all. Including your thing."

The girls lapsed into giggling again, one almost falling into her porridge. The boy facing a spanking got a glint in his eye and turned to Jake and Sam, sitting across from him. "What are you looking at?" He demanded. "I won't be able to hide mine like you guys did yours," he said. "Mine's not tiny like your guys'. My mom used to say I'm hung like a horse!"

"That's yours," the other boy said. "Mine's like this!" he held his hand about 6 inches apart. Sam rolled his eyes - he had, after all, seen all the bigger boys and the smaller ones naked in the showers and at the toilets. He didn't remember even noticing this boy's equipment, which pretty much indicated it wasn't any bigger than those of the other smaller boys.

"In your dreams," Floyd said. "Besides, you might as well stop lying - you're not hung like a horse, and all the girls will be able to see you're not tonight. Or not see, I guess, since they won't be able to see it."

"Maybe he means he's hung like a hobby horse," a boy at the end of the table said. After a moment, when no one responded, he added, "See, they don't have dicks...." He was interrupted.

"We got it, stupid," Floyd said. "It just wasn't funny."

"Well, his little dick is funny," the boy whispered back. "You can't even see it unless he pulls it out. He 'bout needs a crane to pull it out to pee!"

"Hey, it's bigger 'n yours!" the boy protested. "'Specially when I think about girls with big ones."

"Better confess that to Father McKenzie, too," Floyd said. "Then you won't just get a treatment, he'll paddle your butt, too."

There was silence a moment, then one of the girls managed to stop giggling long enough to pipe up, "Well, we'll see, won't we?"

The eyes of the boy on the end suddenly lit on the girls. "Hey, they musta got spanked, too," he suddenly said, his face showing bright interest. "You did, didn't you? Kids only come to this table when they get spanked. Did they do it bare? With all the other girls watching? So they could see your girl stuff while you got it?" The last part he added in a whisper, his eyes shining.

The girls looked into their porridge.

"Come on, we know you got spanked," the boy insisted. "Or you wouldn't be at the spankin' table. Come on, tell us about it - we told you about us. And you say them get it," he added, indicating Jake and Sam."

"We only got spanked a little," the girl said, shaking her pigtails. "Just on our panties, with the bare hand. It barely even hurts."

"That's not fair," one of the boys complained. "We guys get our butts blistered, bare naked, with the paddle, and you only get a few swats on your underpants. You get to see our naked butts, and sometimes our other stuff, too, but we never get to see you guys' stuff."

"So should boys'," the boy replied.

"Uh uh! That's not true! Sister Agatha said! She said that God put boys' privates on the outside, sticking out like that, so your mothers could keep an eye on you, and know when you have dirty thoughts! But girls' privates are inside and hidden because we're pure and chaste and un- unsullied. And we don't have dirty thoughts like you do. Like those two, who were sneaking around, trying to look at us naked!" She glared at Sam and Jake.

Sam looked up. "You were trying to look at us naked yesterday," he accused. "When we were out on the lawn! You were at the front - I saw you!"

"That's different," the girl sniffed. "Boys are different than girls. It's okay if we see you naked, because we're going to be mommies, and mommies have to see their boys naked so they can diaper them and wash them and stuff. Besides, God made it that way! He put boys' stuff on the outside, so everyone could see, but he hid our stuff."

Jake sat puzzling through all this, swallowing his porridge reflexively. Just how were girls different from boys? Big girls had breasts, like his mom, but not girls his age and smaller. They were as flat chested as him and Sam. And he knew that they didn't have what he and the boys had - he'd discovered that on the monkey bars when he'd started kindergarten. There were girls who liked to play on them, and you saw up their dresses to their panties quite a lot. The panties were smooth -- they didn't bulge at the crotch the way boys and men did, but were instead surprisingly flat. Like there was nothing there. Yet girls talked like they had something there, just like this girl referring to her "stuff" just like boys did. They'd have to have a place the pee came out, like the little slit in his penis the he could see when he retracted his foreskin. Maybe, though, they peed out of their butt holes. He knew girls didn't pee standing up, because he'd heard boys joking about that. And once he and Sam had been taken by their moms into a tavern and had needed to visit the toilets while their moms had a serious conversation with the bartender about "business." The doors on the bathrooms didn't say "men" and "women" or "boys" and "girls." They said "setters," and "pointers." He and Sam had been forced to ask which one to use, and when they asked later, while walking briskly home, why they were sent to the bathroom labeled "pointers" and why the other said "setters," Sam's mother had giggled and said it was because boys stood up and pointed themselves at the toilet when they peed, but girls always sat down, so they were "setters." At the time he'd taken that at face value, but now it just added to the mystery. It was one of the reasons he'd gone along with the idea of trying to see the girls in the shower - he wanted to know, now, with a burning intensity, just what they had under those panties!

The thought made his penis tingle and harden in his pants. It did that a lot, lately, more than it had when he'd been younger, he was sure. And the tingle had a longing to it. He flashed back to the night before, when Sister Grace had rubbed it in such a strange fashion, and he'd felt like he had to pee, then like he had to do something but didn't know what, and then he had felt the most wonderful but overwhelming sensations. He'd known holding his hard penis felt good, and even rubbing it a little felt good, too, but if he rubbed it very much it always got too tingly and he'd stop. Sister Grace had kept rubbing beyond that point, and then it had stopped being too tingly and that's when he'd gone away for awhile, like he was floating on clouds of bliss. When he'd returned, he'd felt embarrassed and ashamed, especially as all the boys had been watching his display. But it had been interesting watching Sam react the same way he had when he'd gotten the same treatment. He wished he and Sam were somewhere they could talk privately, so that they could talk about what had happened, but they'd been surrounded by people from the moment they'd gotten up.

Breakfast was finished and they all joined the line and rinsed and stacked trays, and the boys and girls his age were lined up and marched off to the chapel, where they formed a long line outside a little booth. The girls were in line ahead of the boys, and all the waiting children began talking quietly in little bunched. Then a tall, thin, red-haired young man in a black suit and white collar came rushing through the door.

"Good morning children," he said, surveying them. "Let's get started." He opened a door on one side of the booth and slipped in, shutting it. A moment later, the first girl in line opened a door on the other side and slipped out of sight.

"What's going on?" Jake asked the fat boy, who was in line in front of him.

"Confession," the boy said. "Ain't you ever done confession before?"

"No," Jake admitted.

"Never?" the boy said, obviously impressed. "Never ever?"

"No," Jake said.

"Him neither?" the boy said.

"Neither one of us," Jake said. "So what is it?"

"Well, you go into the confessional, that's that place, and then you sit down and Father McKenzie opens the little door in the wall, and you say, 'Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.' And then you tell him how long it's been since your last confession. I guess that's your whole life in you guys' case. Then you tell him all the bad stuff you've done since you last confessed. You know, like stealing stuff, or using bad language, or talking back, or fighting, or cheating, or self abuse - stuff like that," the boy said.

"Why do we do that?" Jake asked. "Why does he want to know what we did? Does he tell Sister Mary Catherine?"

"He tells God what we did?" Sam asked. "Doesn't God already know what we did? I thought He sees everything."

"Yeah, but you gotta confess it," the boy said. "So God knows you're sorry. And you gotta do penance."

"What's penance?" Sam asked.

"It's stuff you got to do so that God will forgive you. It's usually 'Hail Marys" and 'Our Fathers,'" the boy said. "But sometimes it's other stuff. Like if you take stuff, you have to give it back. And if you talk back to the nuns you gotta apologize and offer to do stuff for them - chores and stuff. And sometimes you gotta go to Sister Mary Catherine and tell her what you did and ask her to beat your butt. I had to do that a time or two - lots of kids do. If you done something real bad."

"What do you have to do if you looked at the girls in the shower?" Sam asked, looking slightly pale. The last thing he wanted to think about was Sister Mary Catherine beating his butt, especially as it ached continuously and was covered with blisters and welts already. His hands had unconsciously moved to cup his small bottom, as if to protect it from its fate.

"You'll probably have to go to Father McKenzie's study," the boy said. "The really bad kids usually do. And the kids who touch the girls, or do self-abuse, they have to get treatments so they won't do it any more. That's what the older kids say. I ain't never had a treatment, but they say you have to bet naked and he rubs medicine on you. But sometimes you have to do worse stuff. Like there was this kid, Brad Tolliver? He kept beating other kids up. And he had to go to Father McKenzie's study, and Father McKenzie made him take off everything but his underwear and put on boxing gloves, then he brought the kid out in the yard and they had a boxing match in this little fenced off flower bed. There weren't no flowers in it then. But the fence meant the kid couldn't run away, and the rest of us all got round the fence, anyway, and we had to push him back in if he tried to get out. And then he beat the living crap out of the kid! He made Tolliver's nose bleed first, then Sister Mary Catherine stuffed it with cotton and Father McKenzie went to work on his face - blacked his eyes, beat up his face, then he beat the kid's body all the way down to his waist, until he was beat all the way down to his underwear. He beat him until Tolliver fell to his knees, begging for mercy. And then Sister Mary Catherine took him to the glass room right away, and beat his butt bare for about a half hour! She didn't let the girls watch, but all us boys had to. She beat his butt 'bout as bad as you guys got beat! After that, Tolliver could barely move! He just laid on his bed and cried, like a little baby. He cried all night. But he never hit no one again. He got 'dopted right after that."

Jake looked at Sam, consternation showing on their faces. "And there was kid Oscar who was here for a little while. He made a little kid do a real bad thing, and he had to go to Father McKenzie's study."

"Bad thing? What kind of bad thing?" Sam said.

The fat boy looked around him, saw that the other boys were talking to people around them, and leaned in closer to Jake and Sam. "It was right after he got here. He made the kid kiss his butt. Right on the hole! And then he made the boy lick his thing! You know, his front thing. Like he was licking a popsicle! He made the kid do it for a long time, until he peed some stuff on the kid's face. We told him he was going to get in trouble, but he just laughed and said he didn't care, it was worth it! And he had to go to Father McKenzie's study. And I know Father McKenzie beat his butt, because we all heard it! I mean, you could tell it was bare hand and bare butt, by the sound! And it went on a real, real long time, and he was squealing like a stuck pig! And was real sore afterward, and all red and purple-like the next day in the shower. Like you guys are. But he was there a long time before Father McKenzie beat his butt, and a long time afterward, so he got other punishments, too. But he wouldn't talk about it, just clammed his mouth shut and looked away if we asked. Some of them who go there are like that - they won't tell us what punishment they got. And some of them have been there a bunch of times, and they don't always get spanked. A couple of them don't even act like they're afraid when they have to go, and I don't get that at all. But most of them hate it - you can tell by the way they act. The try to act like it was nothing, but you can tell they're afraid. Not the kids getting treatments - that's different. It's the kids that get the other stuff, whatever it is. Even Flip is afraid of Father McKenzie."

They stopped talking for awhile after that, and the line moved slowly forward, girls coming out looking relieved, mostly, but sometimes upset, and a time or two, a girl would come out fighting back tears. Then the boys started their turns in. "You guys know what you're going to say?" The fat boy finally said.

"No," Jake said. "What are we supposed to say?"

"I didn't pee my bed," an exasperated Jake said.

"Whatever," the boy said. "And you have to tell him if you used bad language, or stole something, or hit someone, or had unpure thoughts."

"What's unpure thoughts?" Sam asked.

"I don't know, exactly," the boy admitted. "But I think it's, like, thinking about girls taking their clothes off and stuff like that. Oh, and self abuse - you know, touching yourself. You gotta tell Father McKenzie if you touch yourself."

"Touch yourself?" Jake asked. "Like with the soap in the shower?"

"No, stupid," the boy said. "Touch yourself down there. Except holding it to pee - that's okay. And shaking it after you pee - that's okay if you don't do it more than three times."

"Why would we do that?" Jake asked, although, as he said it, he remembered Sister Grace's touch and realized, suddenly, he might know why.

They lapsed into silence again. Finally, Sam said, "But if you get punished for telling him stuff, why do you tell him?"

"'Cause you're really telling God," the fat boy said. "Father McKenzie just listens for him. And then he tells Father McKenzie what you have to do, and you have to do it, because it comes from God. And if you don't confess and you die, you got straight to the bad place instead of to heaven."

"Oh," Jake said. He thought about that for awhile as the line moved up until the fat boy was next. The door opened and a slight blond boy came out, smiling.

"I just gotta do 10 Hail Marys, he whispered to the fat boy. "Piece of cake." The fat boy wedged himself through the door and was gone. Moments later, he was exiting, looking glum. "I gotta do 40 Hail Marys and 20 Our Fathers," he said. "It ain't fair. I didn't do as much as he did." He pointed to the boy who'd exited before him.

Jake was next. He looked at Sam for moral support, gulped, and opened the door and stepped in. It was dark in the little booth, but he saw a little door down low on the side and knelt beside it, letting the door shut and creating almost total darkness. The door slid open with a soft clunk, and he could see the priest's silhouette. Jake immediately forgot what he was supposed to do and his mouth went dry.

"Yes, my son?" the priest finally said.

"I, um, I did some bad stuff," Jake began.

"Are you new to the confession then, lad?" the priest said in an Irish brogue. "You must be one of the heathen boys who just came last week. Start with, 'Forgive me father, for I have sinned.'"

Jake mutter the phrase. "Now tell me your sins," the priest said.

"Well, me and my friend Sam kinda tried to look at some girls in the shower," Jake began. "But we got caught and paddled a lot for it, so we kinda paid for that already. And I said a bad word to my mom before we had to come here - I said the 'H' word. And...." He paused. "I can't think of anything else."

"No self abuse?" the priest said.

"Self abuse?" Jake responded.

"Surely you know what I mean, lad! The temptation is always there for boys! Have you been having impure thoughts while touching your private parts? You must confess - God knows and sees all, you know," the priest said in a reasonable tone. "And a boy who wants to gaze on naked girls must be driven by lust."

"I don't touch my private parts," Jake said. "Except to pee - then you've got to - sometimes it gets - hard—and it won't point down..."

"I see," the priest said. "And does your private part get 'hard' often?"

"I guess," Jake said. "Seems like it does it all the time, now." He paused. "Does that mean I'm going to the bad place?"

"Perhaps," the priest said. "If you don't atone. Have you had unpure thoughts about females?"

"Like what?" Jake asked, his voice genuine.

"Thoughts about sins of the flesh? Trying to picture females unclothed? Thoughts of a carnal nature?" the priest persisted.

Jake thought back to his speculations about what girls had in their panties at breakfast. "I guess," he said.

"I see," the priest said. "Well, coupled with your attempt to spy on the girls in the shower, this is a serious issue. You will have to report to my study after confession is finished. Let's see, I need to see the Atkins boy first - tell your teacher you have to report at about 10:30. You'll both need to begin a course of treatments, and then we will discuss your penance, which will have to atone for your affront to the girls you tried to view, and also set an example for the other boys to fear. Ask the other children if you don't know the way to my study. Now go my child, and sin no more."

Sam came out of the confessional a minute later, to report that the priest had given him the same instructions. The fat boy, listening, nodded. "I knew it," he said. "You're going to get treatments, and then you're going to get something real bad. Can you guys promise me something? Can you promise to tell me what he makes you do in there? I really want to know. And no one will tell me."

"I guess so," Jake said. He mind was elsewhere. What could the priest possible do to him and Sam that hadn't already been done? He had talked about a penance to atone for having tried to view the girls in the shower, one that would be an example the other boys would fear. Hadn't they already been such an example? They'd had all sorts of liquids forced up their butts, they'd been spanked and paddled and slippered until their butts were a mass of welts, they'd been roasted in the sauna and frozen in the icy pool, and they'd been diapered, pooped themselves, and been hosed off and washed in the yard, and been seen there naked by most of the kids (but with their privates covered mostly by their hands, at least). I suppose we could be spanked more, Jake thought. Or whipped, or strapped with a belt. Or maybe even hung by our dicks. Did they hang boys by their dicks? It sounded like something Sister Mary Catherine would approve of.

After confession his group went off to classes. But it seemed no time at all before it was 10:30, and he and Sam were told to go past the administration building to the smaller, house-like structure behind it. "No stopping along the way," the sister added. "Father McKenzie is surely waiting."

The boys hustled across the yard in silence, both aware of the ache in their butts from stiff, sore, well-paddled muscles. Jake felt a strong need to pee, but was afraid to stop for fear that would make them late and make things worse. They hustled up to the closed door of the building and stared at it. Not a sound could be heard inside. Then Sam noticed a note attached by the side of the door.

"All children are to wait on the bench until summoned inside," the note said in a fine, neat hand. There was a bench sitting under the long eaves of the building, and both boys settled on it. The moments ticked by in silence, the boys alternately shifting on sore butts, scuffing the dirt with their shoes, and fidgeting. Suddenly, the door swung open, and a boy stepped out. His face was flushed and his eyes puffy from crying, and he was sniffling as he stepped out, walking with an odd, hesitant gait, one hand rubbing the lower center of his butt while he shut the door with his other hand. He seemed disheveled and in disarray. He carefully shut the door and then stopped, startled, when he saw the boys sitting there, his hand flying rather guiltily from his posterior to dangle, twitching, as he licked his lips and stared at them. It took Jake a moment to recognize the boy who'd been told to see Mary Catherine that evening. The boy licked his lips again, moving his jaw like his mouth was bothering him. Then, without a word, he turned and trudged away, still walking with that odd, hesitant gait, looking at the ground. As he walked away, his hand went back to his lower butt again.

Jake looked at Sam and Sam looked back at Jake. "I didn't hear anything," Sam said. "I thought that kid said you could hear kids gettin' spanked right through the walls. But he was rubbing his butt."

Jake shrugged, trying to hide his fear from Sam. The younger kid had been seriously upset, that was clear, and he was hurting, and it had something to do with his butt. But it wasn't a spanking. "Maybe he got an emena, like we did," he said.

"Me, too," Jake said. They both looked at the ground. "Hey," Jake said after a moment. "What was the deal with Sister Grace last night? You know, what she did to us? Touching us... there."

"Yeah," Sam said. "That was weird."

"It sure felt weird," Jake agreed.

"It felt good," Sam said, looking up and directly at Jake, challenging him to admit it.

Jake looked up, feeling his gaze. "It felt super good," Jake agreed, letting a shy smile grace his face for the first time in what seemed like days. "I never felt so good before."

"You think it always feels that good if someone does that to you?" Sam said. "Would it feel like that if we did it ourselves?"

"Sister said we aren't supposed to touch ourselves down there," Jake said. "Or we'll go to the bad place."

"Yeah," Sam said regretfully. "But it must be okay for them to do it. Maybe they'll do it again tonight."

Jake thought about this. "I don't think so," he said finally. "I think they were just checking something last night. They seemed to expect us to do something, and when we didn't they seemed satisfied."

The door swung open abruptly, and Father McKenzie was there, his jacket off, his clerical collar loosened. He looked down at the two of them. "You lads best come in," he said. "We have a lot of work to do with you too." He stepped aside and they rose and entered, passing into the darkened hall, and he shut the door firmly behind them, turning the lock with a key and dropping it into his pocket. "Into the study," he said, pointing to an open door down the hall. The two boys walked ahead of him into the indicated room. A large desk was near one side under windows with heavy closed drapes. A padded chair behind it and various texts and papers were piled on the top. A long couch on the other side faced two large hassocks with broad tops. Cabinets and bookcases lined the walls. Heavy drapes covered the windows down one side, so the room was not nearly as bright as the bright sunshine outside. Against the final wall, looking completely out of place, was a wide medical examination table, with counters and a sink behind it like a normal doctor's office. The priest stopped at the door and contemplated the two boys, who stood uncertainly just inside the room looking back at him waiting for their eyes to adjust to the dim light. He finally came the rest of the way in and shut the room door with a decisive clunk.

"Well, best get on with it," he said in a friendly tone. "Over to the examination table, and off with your clothes, boys."

"What?" Jake said, not sure he'd heard.

"Take off our clothes," the priest said with a friendly smile. "Didn't the sisters tell you? I'm the orphanage doctor as well as its priest. You're new arrivals, so of course I need to give you each a complete physical, and make sure you've had the necessary inoculations. Also, you've endured some pretty serious punishments in the last few days, so I must make sure that no permanent damage has been done to you, and I must report back to the sisters concerning how much more punishment your bodies can handle. And I need to investigate the source of your unusual levels of lust for such young, immature boys as well, and you'll both need to begin my special treatments. So off with the clothes, boys," he finished. "Quickly now - haven't got all day. There is your penance to consider, too."

Jake and Sam stared at him, then at the medical table. They'd never, in their recent memories, been to a doctor's office, and both of them associated doctors' offices with shots, because that's what other kids told them. A boy they'd known in their apartment house had developed "something with his liver," as his sister put it, that turned him "yellow like a squash." She'd enjoyed telling Jake, Sam, and a circle of other neighborhood kids about how they all had to get a shot "right in the butt!" while pointing to the center of her right buttock for emphasis. The needle, as she described it, had been so long she'd thought it would come out her front, and the doctor had, according to her, buried it to the hilt into each of the siblings in the family, one at a time, as they bent over a medical table with pants and underpants down or dresses flipped up and panties down. She claimed that she still couldn't sit down the next day. Jake had been filled with excited but scary thoughts, like you got at a horror movie, hearing her account. He'd shivered with the idea of having to pull his pants down among girls—he had no sisters, of course, and neither did Sam. But picturing the girl with her dress flipped up and her panties down, bent over a table, filled him with a pleasurable tension, like tightening a guitar string and feeling it hum. In his mind, the girl had a butt like his and Sam's, tight twin globes split by a deep crevice, with a wrinkle-ringed little slit deep inside that would be visible, just barely, when she bent over. Beyond that, he just couldn't picture the girl naked then, and he couldn't now. She wouldn't have Sam's tight bulge between her legs, because girls didn't have a bulge like that. But he didn't know what would be there, and he pictured it as just flat, smooth skin, but rather vaguely, as if that part of her in his mental picture was out of focus.

He and Sam's eyes both scanned the medical area, and, at the same time, both the syringes, lined up next to each other on the medical counter, their pointed needles reflecting back the dim light of the room, the syringes already loaded with various colored liquids. Eight of them, total, in two groups of four. Jake's and Sam's blood ran cold as they did the math. There were two of them, and two groups of syringes with their sharp needles. Four needles for each of them. The priest saw the object of their stares, and read their consternation.

"Yes, those are for you," he said, confirming their fears. "But don't worry just yet - we haven't gotten to that part. I'll give you plenty of warning before I start poking holes in you." He looked at each boy's face in turn. "I do hope you lads will take your medicine like men, and not whiny little babies. I wouldn't have to call in a couple of the older girls to put you in diapers before you go back to class. I understood that you'd already found out what that's like. Now are you boys going to give me a hard time, or not?"

"Uh, no sir," Jake said. "We'll be good."

"Yeah," Sam said.

The priest crossed his arms. "Then why am I not seeing a pair of naked little boys by now?" he asked, his Irish brogue growing stronger as he gazed at them in challenge. "Do I have to warm up a pair of bottoms to get you moving? Because the penance I have in mind for you two will be trying enough, without doing it with a glowing red bottom. Or in your cases, even more blisters." He looked at the boys sternly.

Sam and Jake still hesitated. Nothing good had happened to them lately after being forced to undress. The priest crossed his arms. "Look, lads," he finally said. "There's no need for this. We're all boys here - you two and I all have the same things, the things that God gave us. There's no reason for shyness. Why, when I was just a tad living in the seminary, before I knew the callin', we swam at the Y once a week, men and boys all together, from old Father Hannity all the way down to little tads barely out of swaddling clothes with nubbins that barely showed. And none of us ever wore a swimsuit. We're all as God made us - there's no reason to be modest. Indeed, a young boy's body is a thing of beauty, a thing to be contemplated and appreciated, not hidden under clothing. If I had my way..." He paused, his eyes glittering. "Boy and girls shouldn't be in an orphanage together," he finally said. "It would make many things so much easier if there were only boys here—we could celebrate the beauty that is boyhood." His eyes glittered on that last statement, and Jake felt an instinctive shiver. There was something about the priest's tone during that last statement that set off alarms in his head. And what about this penance he was talking about? What could Father McKenzie do to him and Sam that hadn't already been done?