Masturbation Therapy

By Rat Tails

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This work is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It may contain 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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MASTURBATION THERAPY

Pastor John Skelly and his wife Rachel preached the evils of masturbation to their flock on a regular basis. It was an unnatural act in violation of God’s will. When boys reached puberty it was natural for them to start having wet dreams occasionally. That was nature’s way. So let nature take its course as God intended. It was not for boy or man to interfere and try to force the issue. Were one to masturbate one would not be having wet dreams as nature intended and scheduled. No, the natural cycle would be interrupted. Masturbation was evil; it was the devil’s hand at play.

Of course Pastor Skelly himself had masturbated from the time he had turned twelve. Whether or not that was a contributing factor in his having an unusually large, thick cock was subject to debate. He thought that such was probable and who would want to debate a masturbator? He was the master.

The size of his cock had been a handicap on the sexual relations between the pastor and his wife. Though she was a stout woman, intercourse was often painful for her. More often than not their sexual satisfaction was found in oral sex. She also would encourage him to masturbate to lessen the frequency of intercourse. She would even assist him from time to time. Knowing that he was bisexual she would often hold up pictures of youngsters while telling him stories. His favorite genre was buggering boys who had just reached adolescence. Caning of young boys as well as girls was also a delightful storyline. Canings with buggering climaxes was a never-fail to please scenario. Rachel loved seeing that look of unbridled rapture as the pastor breathing would quicken and soon followed with that silly dog-like smile and widening of his eyes as he would burst forth on the scene.

One sunny Sunday a couple with their fourteen year old boy Bobby in hand asked for a word in private after the congregation had departed. It seemed that they the mother had caught the boy in the act when she had entered his bathroom to resupply it. What he had been doing while sitting on the john had been undeniable in view of his view of an array of naked girlie pictures there on the floor. Neither knew what to say.

At first there was the shock at the sudden and unexpected emergence of the scene. She had stood there with a fresh soap bar in hand. With mouths open the two had just gawked. Time stood still. At last she spoke.

“You know what the pastor has said about this, Bobby.” It hadn’t been a question but the boy had sheepishly nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be. I don’t know what to do. We’ll take this up with your father when he gets home.

Doom.

The boy started to shake as he sat there. Then tears tumbled down as did his john further down into the john.

“I don’t know what he’ll do. I guess he’ll have to whip you with that razor strap of his.”

“Yes, yes. Oh yes; I need that. I need to be whipped.” This had actually come as a relief to him. Anything to bring this present situation to a quick close. The mother had been surprised to hear this – this statement of contrition and quick acceptance of corporal punishment.

Late that afternoon she explained the matter to the boy’s father. As it turned out he hadn’t been the least bit surprised to learn that Bobby was jerking off. His only surprise had been that he had been caught. How stupid the boy had been in not locking the door. But when she told him that Bobby was expecting to be beaten the dad had hesitated. He had no desire to beat his boy for something like this. He racked his brain and came up with an alternate plan. Let’s take it to the pastor, he had told her. As quick as that he was off the hook. The pastor had been the one that created this problem. Let him solve it.

Bobby and his parents had been the last couple to leave the church that Sunday. Rachael had just joined her pastor-husband when they had quietly been told the story of Bobby and his masturbation affliction. The pastor and wife heard them out. Then the pastor had placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, looked him solemnly in the eye and said that he had done an evil act in violation of God’s law.
Then with Bobby’s nod of agreement he turned to the parents as if that was it. That was all there was to be done.

“You mean that’s it, pastor, asked the mother. “You mean he should go unpunished?”

“Oh no; I’m not saying that. It is only natural that you punish him in your role as parents.”

“Perhaps we might ask you, pastor, to do that. I think it would be more meaningful done by you.”

Pastor John looked at his wife whose eyes were lighting up as mental images of rattan canes at home occasionally used in sex play sprang to mine.

“Well I; I suppose I could help out. What do you think, Rachel?”

“Certainly we can be of help. After all, we are keepers of our flock. We can beat that old devil out of the boy, if you wish.”

“What do you think of that Bobby,” asked his mother.

“Oh yes – yes. He could use dad’s razor strap.”

“Now that’s not necessary. No, we have a rattan cane or two that we occasionally use for – for – therapy, shall we say.”

Bobby and his parents exchanged looks.

“Perfect,” said the father. “I don’t know how to thank you pastor. I feel that a great burden has just been lifted off my shoulders. Oh thank you so much. Thank the pastor and his wife for their helping hand, Bobby.”

“Thank you pastor John.”

“Just drop the boy by our home around seven this evening. You can pick him up at nine. We’ll beat that old devil out of him yet. Right, Bobby?”

- - - - - - - - -

The doorbell was answered by the pastor still wearing his black attire and white color. There stood Bobby studying his shoes with his father behind him with his hand on the boy’s shoulder. The pastor placed his own hand on the boy’s other shoulder and the exchange was made. As soon as the door was closed about him Bobby saw the pastor’s wife. She was standing there with his feet spread and her hands crossed in front. She was wearing a black pantsuit and holding two menacing rattan canes in her hands, crossed like an X.

Bobby’s mouth dropped open. A chill ran up his back. He turned to look back at the just-closed door which could provide an escape route. It was blocked by the pastor who now also was standing with his feet apart and his arms crossed. His lustful look was unlike any look he had ever shown in church. Bobby turned back to see the stout wife still standing there defiantly with an equal look of lust on her face. Bobby’s breathing raced.

Once again time stood still for Bobby. He continued to look at the wife and to turn his head around to look at the preacher. No word was said. The two stout adults continued to stand like two immobile statutes; like two sentinels.

Bobby began to look around the room. He noticed that all the curtains were drawn. Finally he broke the silence of impending doom.

“What do you want me to do?”

“What do we want you to do, you ask. We want you to atone for your sins of course. We want you to repent.”

“But how?”

“Through pain. Without pain there can be no gain.”

“Are you going to beat me with those canes?”

“Of course we are. What do you think you’re here for? What do you think I’m holding them for?”

“Can I leave my pants on then – please?”

“Of course - - - - of course not. How could we see where to strike if they were to stay on?”

“Oh. But how many times will you hit me?”

“As many as it takes,” spoke up the pastor for the first time. “Bobby, come sit with us on the sofa and I will explain how this session in therapy will work. It’s really rather straight forward.

“Tell me Bobby, do you know anything about psychology?”

“Psychology? No sir; not really.”

“Do you know how they train animals by risk-reward techniques?”

“You mean like mice?”

“Exactly. They use reward-punishment in training. Sometimes with mice and rats the rodent will be punished as with an electrical shock when he acts in an undesired manner and rewarded as with food when he acts in a desired manner. Our masturbation therapy is conducted somewhat along this same line. It’s called ‘association.’ Our goal is to train you to associate masturbation with pain rather than with pleasure. It’s really as simple as all that.”

Bobby listened intently as he continued to eye the two canes in the woman’s arms.

“With caning we will hopefully teach you to associate masturbation – jerking off – with remembrance of pain. So when you think about screwing some pretty girl and want to masturbate, the memory of pain will, shall we say, cool you off; it will override your sinful lust You will tell yourself: Devil be Gone. GO AWAY! So what do you say? Do I have your vote for exorcism? That is what this is called, you know.

Bobby looked again at Rachael who had her eyes wide open beneath her arched and raised eyebrows as she fondled the two rattan canes like she was playing the drums. He turned away from that sight, looked down, and softly mumbled a yes-sir/yes-ma’am.

“Good. Are you ready to start?”

Bobby nodded vigorously while he stole one last glance at the menacing canes.

“Good. Now I want you to strip down to your shoes and socks. As it is a bit cool in here you may keep your undershirt on.”

“But sir; please not on the bare. Please, not there in front of your wife!”

“Don’t be silly. That is essential for several reasons. The therapy necessarily involves masturbation. After all it is masturbation therapy, isn’t it? How can you masturbate with your clothes on? Also I, or rather we, need to see the marks on your skin made by the cane. You don’t want the strokes to fall atop one another. You don’t want to bleed, do you? Of course not. No, we want to return you to your parents with an abundance of painful welts but without the skin un-breached. Do you understand now?”

Bobby nodded as his eyes began to well up with tears.

“Now stand up facing my wife here and hand her your clothing. She will return them to you at the conclusion of this session.”

Bobby stood and then turned to face Rachael as he wiped away a few tears. Slowly he unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants under the intense gaze of Rachael. He handed them to her which she threw haphazardly onto the sofa there beside her. This was no time for her to take the time to lay them aside neatly. No, she was now much too busy googling the bulge in the boy’s jockeys from which his lily-white legs extended.

Bobby himself stood there looking down through teary eyes at the bulge which was no more than a foot away from the pastor’s wife’ flushing face.

“Well,” demanded the pastor. “We haven’t got all night. Your father will be retrieving you at nine.”

Bobby put his thumbs under the sides of his jockeys and pulled down, or at least he tried to pull them down. You see his rock-hard pecker was impeding that. Now he had to shift his thumbs from the sides of his jockeys to the front and pull the material out and then down over his cock. As he did so his fourteen year old pecker, which had been pulled down, sprang out at a forty-five degree uplifted angle no more than six inches from Rachael’s engaged face. Normally he would have bent down during this exercise but with the preacher’s wife face where it was he had done this while standing erect as his hands and arms trembled.

“Good God. Look John. The boy has the unbridled gall to have a hard on. He almost poked it in my face!”

“You are a sick one all right, Bobby. Now finish up,” said the pastor.

The boy removed his shirt but left his undershirt on. Not knowing just what to do, he simple stood there facing the wife with his pecker still standing at attention. Suddenly she cupped his balls with one hand and his cock with her other and began to manipulate the whole package as if she were giving a medical exam. Bobby raised his head and bit his lip. Then Rachael gave his pecker a slap causing it to swing from side to side as she proclaimed “The face of the devil itself. How evil it is and, and, how disgusting.”

“Bobby, do you see that block over there? Go fetch it and place it where you have been standing. I need your butt to be higher,” instructed the pastor. He and his wife watched as the boy did so with his cock swaying from side to side with each step he took. He retrieved the wooden block which was one foot square and a half-foot high and placed it there in front of the anxiously enthralled Rachael.

“Mount it.”

Bobby did so and stood erect with his feet close together due to the smallness of the block.

“Which hand do you use to jerk off?”

“Uh . . . uh . . . uh.”

“Well?”

“Uh . . . uh . . . I guess my left.”

“Never your right?”

“Uh . . . uh . . . I don’t think so.”

“Do you ever use both hands when you’re really getting with it?”

“Uh . . . not yet.”

“NOT YET! Not yet you say? So you have future plans to use both?”

“Oh no sir; I didn’t mean . . .”

“ENOUGH, you little sinner you. Put your hands on top of your head and look straight ahead. My God what a wicked boy you are. You will now feel the Almighty’s wrath.”

“Swish swish swish swish came the sound from behind him as the Pastor warmed to the task. Bobby felt the cool rattan laid on his naked butt. Then he felt light taps of the rod upon on the center of his behind. Now he felt nothing.

Once more time stood still as Bobby stood on the block, ramrod straight with his teary eyes unfocused while Rachael lustfully staring at the adolescent’s rock-hard young cock and the pastor studying the boy’s waiting ass.

Bobby waited. He waited more. Finally the silence was broken by the sound of the cane cutting the air followed by a resounding ‘twick!’

For a moment the boy felt nothing more than the mechanical feel of his ass skin being depressed. But then that feeling began to give way to one of warmth which quickly gave way to one of heat which quickly gave way to one of unbridled fire. Now it felt as if a red-hot wire had just been placed on his lily-white ass cheeks.

Bobby mouth open wide in a soundless scream as did his eyes. His body shook. He couldn’t believe the pain. Never before had he experienced such. As he gasp for air he felt the preacher’s hand laid upon his shoulder.

“It’s pretty something, isn’t it, Bobby?”

The boy turned his head to face that of the smiling preacher with his eyes and mouth still wide open. He nodded an affirmative.

“I am glad that you did not cry out. I will not tolerate any outcries or pleas. Understand?”

All the boy could do was to nod at the preacher’s face which was right in front of his own. Down below Rachael continued to watch the boy’s cock as it reacted to the stroke of the cane and to the pain as it intensified as it approached crescendo. She was captivated by its rhyme tic motion.

Now Bobby felt the dreaded tapping of the cane again along a line just beneath the single line of fire that remained from the first stroke. He gritted his teeth and clinched his ass cheeks as hard as he could.

“No clinching, Bobby. Now unclench those cheeks. I will not allow that.

Bobby did his best to unclench but he couldn’t unclench any more than he could make his pecker go soft.

The boy concentrated and concentrated. Finally he was able to relax his cheeks which happened just as Rachel cradled his balls in one hand and began to squeeze. Instinctively he re-clinched. The preacher grabbed his chin and gave him a little slap to each of his face cheeks. The shock from this unexpected act caused his to unclench. The preacher retook his position for caning and tapped his ass a few more times. The ass cheeks failed to clinch; they only quivered. A pause ensued in silence only to be broken by the whooshing sound of the cane as it cut the air and then cut into the skin precisely on target with a resounding THWICK. At that moment Rachael squeezed and shook his nuts.

Now knowing how horrid the pain would be Bobby reacted by bending over, almost striking Rachael’s head in the process. She instinctively pulled back and in doing so yanked his ball towards her. Bobby’s back arched backwards as his hands flew off of his head and flung toward to burning behind. He almost stumbled off the block.

“HOW DARE YOU,” screamed the preacher. “Not only do you disobey me and cry out but you took your hands off your head and grabbed for your ass. HOWD ARE YOU, you undisciplined piece of masturbating crap. How can I start your therapy if you cannot follow simple instructions? Taps of the cane to his arms cleared the boy’s mind. Slowing he reassumed position while the red-hot pain was still increasing from the second stroke to join the pain from the first. As tears streamed down his face he uttered an ‘ I’m sorry.’ Rachael released his balls as his cock began to soften.

“The penalty for such a breach of discipline is an additional stroke atop the other. You will learn, boy.”

Bobby was horrified to feel the cane softly tapping the line of fire that had yet to reach its peak. The preacher waited out the usual thirty seconds for the pain to reach its zenith before delivering the penalty stroke. Again his aim was precise.

This stroke seemed to suck all of the air right out of the boy’s lungs. He struggled in tormented silence as the impact sunk in. He body gyrated as he struggled to maintain his stance atop the small block. He bent down, twisted his torso and swayed from side to side all the while gulping in air in silence as he kept his hands in place atop his head.

The preacher watched as the welt formed from the double stroke and began to darken from its bright former bright red color. Damn if I’m not good at this, he thought. Slowly the boy’s movements tapered off. Once more he was standing straight looking straight ahead through teary eyes. But now his undershirt was wet with sweat.

“There now; that wasn’t too hard, was it?”

No response.

“I asked you a question, boy.”

A meek ‘no-sir’ followed.

“Do you feel that you now understand the pain that my little cane inflicts?”

“Yes sir,” he mumbled.

“Good. And you now appreciate the importance of maintaining discipline and obedience to your elders”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. I say ‘good’ because now we can get started with your therapy.”

“Started?”

“Yes, started.”

“But . . . but . . . When will it be over?”

“Over? It will be ‘over’ when you are ‘over.’ This session will be ‘over’ when you ejaculate . . . when you climax and the toxin is release from your evil body. Are we ready to start?”

“Yes sir; I guess.”

“Right. So here’s the therapeutic procedure. You will begin to masturbate. As you masturbate the cane will remind you of just how wicked it is. I shall continue caning you until the devilish cum is ejaculated from your possessed body. In this manner you will learn to associate jerking off with pain just like rats and mice learn through pain-reward training. Is this clear?”

“I guess.”

“Okay. Take your hands down and begin the devil’s work.”

Rachael smiled as she saw that the boy’s pecker had now shriveled and shrunk. It was just like a threatened turtle had drawn in its head in the face of impending danger.

Bobby had earlier been horrified to find his friend with a hard-as-rock hard on. Now he was even more horrified to find it missing in action. As he felt the menacing tap-tap-tap again of the cane on his ass cheeks he fumbled to find the withdrawn and now hiding creature. Shit, he thought. The tapping of the cane continued as Bobby struggled to bring forth his frightened cock.

“SWISH . . . . SWISH . . . . SWISH . . . .

“Come on, damn it, said Bobby to himself. Get out here.

“THWICK !!! “

The impact jogged him forward on the block. Fortunately it also awoke the little beast as it too was jolted forward bringing Its head into view.

Tap . . . tap . . . tap . . . tap . . . tap . . .

Under the gaze of Rachael Bobby pulled the head. Reluctantly it emerged further and in doing so began to bring forth the stem to which it was attached.

“SWISH . . . . SWISH . . . . SWISH . . . . SWISH

Come on. COME ON, Bobby urged his pecker. It was like calling forth a cobra which would only ever so slowly emerge from its crate in response to the siren sound of a flute.

“Come on boy; you haven’t even started. THWICK!!!”

“It seems the little thing doesn’t want to come out and play,” said Rachael.

Bobby struggled and struggled. He had just managed to take hold of the whole pecker, even though it was still rather shriveled, when he felt the tap-tap-tap-tap of the cane again. Frantically he started to jerk but it was like messaging a mass of meat rather than stroking a protruding stem.

“SWISH . . . . SWISH . . . . SWISH . . . . SWISH”

Oh no, thought Bobby. Come on, damn you. GET HARD!

“SWISH . . . . SWISH . . . . SWISH . . . . SWISH”

“Damn you,” he cried.

“WHAT, yelled the pastor.

“I’m talking to . . . to . . . IT . . . SIR.”

“THWICK !!!”

This scenario is continued on for four more cuts of the cane with the boy only becoming more and more frustrated in his futile attempts to jerk himself under the cane in front of the bemused glare of Rachael. Finally the pastor made an attempt to break the impasse.

“Rachael. I think that you need to give him a hand.”

“Certainly. I’ll give it a try.

As Bobby stood ramrod straight atop the block Rachael went to work on his gentiles. She caressed them so softly and lovingly. As she worked her female charm on the boy’s cock and balls the pastor watched the developing show from behind. Watching the welts develop was somewhat akin to watching the rainbow of colors that soap bubbles could make in a bubble bath as reflection of light from the internal rear of the bubble reunited with reflection of white light off the leading surface to produce off-phase light waves of color. Not only were colors of the fresh welts changing – darkening in most instances – they were growing. But unlike soap bubbles these welts would not likely end up bursting. No; they would grow to full maturity to create a painful impression that would have lasting power. It would be days before his butt would be back to normal.

Slowly Bobby began to become a little aroused. Rachael recognized this and decided to add encouragement. Tenderly she kissed the end of his knob. Then with a single gulp Bobby found his entire knob to be inside the lady’s warm mouth as her hand continued to stroke his rod. Behold he now found enlightenment. His cock also now saw the light and hardened. Now fully aroused Bobby took things in his own hand – to Rachael’s somewhat disappointment. It had been so nice having a small cock to suck. Bobby shoved away and went to work pumping and pumping like a fucking jack rabbit.

Meanwhile the pastor found himself trying to cope with a moving target. Bobby’s was now jerking about like a jack rabbit while his butt cranked back and forth like a locomotive’s drive. No longer could the pastor take careful aim. Finding his strokes now haphazard he coped by easing off, letting the strokes more or less fall where they may.

Back in front Rachael saw what was coming. She grabbed a paper tissue and was ready when it happened. Bobby spewed forth as Rachael followed to succeed in catching most of the pulsating stream in mid-air. Bobby’s body came to a halt.

With his target now dormant the pastor took deliberate aim. Without tapping he positioned the cane diagonally across the tortured center of the boy’s ass. Slowly he brought the cane fully back over his shoulder like a professional golfer, paused, and then unleashed a crippling blow. Bobby’s exhausted stage of momentary tranquility was unexpectedly broken by this harshest blow of them all. Apparently the preacher had somehow become jealous.

He screamed and stumbled off the block as his hands flew to his stricken ass. Then he hopped around on one leg and then the other grasping his ass cheeks as tight as he could. After hopping about for a half minute he fell forward onto his knees and the sofa, sobbing. Rachael leaned over and gently stroked his head. “I think it’s time for a time-out,” she said as she dried his tears with another tissue.

“I agree. Bobby, you may put your clothes back on. How about a drink? Want a coke?” The boy nodded. Maybe he could pour it on his burning ass to extinguish the blaze.

After the boy had redressed he took a seat in one of two easy chairs that faced the sofa. Rachael fixed him a coke as the pastor fixed himself a glass of port and a sherry for Rachael. Then they took seats side by side of the sofa facing the boy. Fully dressed now the boy looked normal on the outside save for the pain shown in his face, the red eyes and dried tear stains on his cheeks. On the inside his butt remained a burning furnace with each slight movement churning a flaming coal as he tried to sit. The continuous struggle to try to sit was interesting to watch. Obviously he could find no position that offered relief. If only he could stand.

“So tell us Bobby what brings on these spells of yours,” asked the pastor as he saluted Rachael and sat back comfortably deeper into the sofa. The pastor was mindful that he was taunting the boy with his posture of pleasurable confortness as the boy struggled with his own painful posturing.

“Uh . . . uh . . . what?”

“I mean what do you see or hear or feel that makes you want to reach for your cock?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it in response to your seeing a pretty girl, perhaps?”

“John, his mother found him jerking off in his bathroom with a bunch of dirty pictures on the floor. There was no girl around.”

“You’re right. What made you want to put out a bunch of dirty pictures? For that matter how did you even come to have them? That required planning.”

“And money,” chimed in Rachael.

“Well I . . . I . . . I don’t know.”

“Well I think I do. All that had to have been motivated by dirty thought, right.”

“Yes sir,” came Bobby’s response as he took a sip of his drink.

“Tell us about these dirty thoughts,” demanded Rachael.

“Well I . . . I . . . I . . .”

“Do you think of girls tits? Of their bottoms? Of their pussys,” she asked.

“Sometimes, I guess.”

“Do you think of them sucking you off?”

“Well I . . . I . . . I . . .

“Perhaps it’s another boy you think about,” asked the pastor.

“John, the pictures were of girls; not boys. Tell me Bobby, do you think of screwing them in front . . . or in the rear? We can’t help you without your cooperation, you know. Now give us details so that we have a clearer picture.”

“Ma’am, I . . . I . . . I can’t. I mean I don’t . . . I don’t . . . I

“You mean you won’t. You WON”T.”

Bobby watched the movement of the ice cubes in his Coke.

“Damn you boy. You are so insolent,” said Rachael as she threw back her sherry in one final gulp. “John, recess is over and time is running. Let’s move onto the second sessio and this time I want the cane.”

Bobby looked up from his Coke to see Rachael’s head turned to the pastor sitting there beside her in front of Bobby.

“That’s alright by me. In that case I think we need tocall on ‘Buster,’ what with your being a member of the weaker sex. That way we can have more consistency. Bobby, take off your clothes again. You can finish your Coke later.”

In no time at all Bobby found himself back up on the block wearing only his socks and shoes and his damp undershirt. When the pastor had brought in ‘Buster’ and handed it over to Rachael, she had the boy turn around. She handed the stout cane, which was of a more rustic color and rougher texture than the other, to Bobby for him to hold and to feel from end to end. “It’s a dozy, isn’t it,” she asked. Now educated in matters of the cane, Bobby shuttered in fear. No longer did he find this woman smiling lustfully but with a look of meanness, even anger on her face. Now he realized that she had wanted to hear some dirty stories from his mouth only to have been denied that pleasure. “Turn around so that we can get to work. Looking at the pathetic state of things down there. Where has your boyhood now gone? John, I see we have more work cut out for us.”

Bobby turned around to face the pastor who also now saw that he turtle’s head was again withdrawn far back in its shell. Without being told Bobby replaced his hands atop his head.

Rachael carefully studied the boy’s ass. It bore a number of distinct welts about half of which had now turned to a deep red. A couple were purplish. But the most striking features of this landscape was the single diagonal welt that was thicker and raised higher than the others save perhaps for that doubled-up penalty one. Slowly and lovingly she ran her fingers along their ridges. Back and forth she caressed them as she absorbed the twin feelings or upraised welts and of the heat that radiated from them. Finally she stopped and took up a stance behind and to one side of the object of her attention. She spread her legs wide apart and practiced her strokes without executing them.

“BEGIN,” she ordered.

Bobby went a-hunting as the pastor watched with his face just a foot or so from the boy’s crotch.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said to BEGIN!”

Frantically Bobby made use of both hands in trying to retrieve his pecker from its place of hiding.

“BEGIN, DAMN YOU!” And with she delivered her first cut to the center of the already well caned boy’s bottom. “THWACK”

Bobby shuttered under the impact. Unlike the former, thinner cane, ‘Buster’ made more of a deep thud sound and buried itself deeper into the ass meat. A guttural grown emerged from Bobby mouth between clinched teeth.

“Come on; let’s go boy. Let’s get with it.”

As Bobby continued to fumble in trying to awaken the beast as he sensed Rachael’s move to the other side. The next blow would apparently be a backhander.

“Bobby,” said the pastor. “Think of a pretty young girl. Try thinking of you being the one to cane her – to cane a cute 13 year-old’s cute little ass. Yes, try thinking of that.”

Now Bobby felt the tap-tap-tap of ‘Buster’ right in the crease where the ass cheeks and legs merge. Rachael, you see, was searching for virgin meat; meat that the pastor had not already devoured. She had found that the pastor has left untouched the bottom of the boy’s ass cheeks as well as his legs. She wondered if that had been intentional done for her benefit. Probably not, she guessed.

“Too soon.”

“What was that,” asked Rachael. “I’m not rushing this.”

“No; I mean too soon for me. I haven’t had time to . . . to . . .”

“Refill?”

“Right. I can’t cum again this soon.”

“Nonsense; right John?”

“I’m not sure. I’m just not sure at his age.”

“He just needs encouragement.” With that she delivered a cut right into the crease.

The blow almost knocked him off the block. The pastor watched the boy suffer and struggle as he continued trying to retrieve his pecker. Unlike Rachael, he wasn’t about to lend the boy a hand . . . literally.

“Bobby, think if had been you who had just delivered that stroke. Think if it had been use who had slammed a cane into the frail, quivering butt of a cute blond, a pigtailed blond named Susie. Think about that!”

“THUD!” Rachael had just delivered a fore-hander to the boy’s legs just beneath the crease. Bobby tried to ignore it and focus on the image of this cute phantom Susie. And behold, it began to work. He felt the beginnings of a volcanic rumbling down below.

“Think of cute little Susie as she pleads with you. Bobby, she says, please don’t; please not so hard. It stings; it hurts.

“THWACK!!!” Another cut on the legs.

“It stings; it hurts. Bobby; Bobby. I’ll be good. I’ll let you screw me in the butt. I will. Please Bobby.”

Blood flowed; not from the boy’s ass but into his pecker. His cock was back – back again to its full upright and locked position. Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

Bobby went to work jerking and jerking and jerking. His work was matched by that of Rachael as she working down the boy’s legs delivering fore-handers to his right leg followed by backhanders to his left. Yes, they were now working in unison as a team – a dozen jerk-strokes to one cane-stroke. Yes, therapeutic teamwork was now at play.

Pastor John now found himself so wrapped up and vicariously excited himself from his own story that somehow had intermingled with the scene being actually played out in front of him that he fail to see what else was about to come. No, he was living the moment and enthralled that he didn’t have the presence of mind that Rachael had had in reaching for a tissue.

The pulsating image before him was suddenly broken by a splattering of cum onto his eyeglasses and nose. Rachael caught this which broke her caning trance. She laughed and pointed the cane at her husband. John joined in the joke and chuckled as he removed his spectacles. What a spectacle it made as he wiped away the boy’s cum. He slid to one side on the sofa and then stood. Rachael threw her arms around him while still holding ‘Buster.” Then they engaged in the longest of French kissing.

Bobby, who had found himself once again kneeling on the floor with his chest on the sofa and his hands grasping his stricken legs, turned his head to one side. There stood the two adult creators of pain embraced in a seemingly endless French kiss. They seemed so happy; so very happy and self-satisfied. Never before had he seen that in any other therapist’s office.

The boy watched as the two finally broke off their kiss. He watched as they smiled as if in newly found love. He watched as they gently stoked the other’s face and smiled.

Bobby now realized that his so-called therapy had really been an education. There was so much to be learned about life.

(The End)