MASTURBATION THERAPY    -    THE SEQUEL

          Pastor John Skelly anxiously waited for the last of the congregation to exit the church out into the bright sunlight.  You see, the last in line this morning was Bobby with his mother and parents in their Sunday best.  Indeed, the 14 year old was even sporting a coat and necktie.   A few paces behind them was the pastor’s wife Rachel looking tense and nervous.  You see, the previous Sunday Bobby had been delivered into the hands of the pastor for “masturbational therapy.”  The pastor had preached that masturbation was an evil act; it was the devil’s hand at play.  So when the boy’s mother had quite by accident caught the boy engulfed by the devil’s hand, she and his father had brought him to the pastor who promised to beat the devil out of him.  And indeed they had, caning the boy while he masturbated to train him to associate pain with jerking off.  Training by association, they had explained, much like training mice via reward and punishment.  John and Rachael had gloriously caned the boy’s ass black and blue with gusto as they themselves caned one another occasionally for their own lustful pleasure.  

               “Good morning Bobby; good morning folks.  It’s so good to see you,” said the pastor with a forced smile as he eyed Rachael standing there behind them with trepidation.  To the pastor’s great relief the mother and father gave him broad smiles as they both extended their hands to him while Bobby meekly stared at his shiny shoes.

               “Good morning, pastor.  A very good sermon this morning,” said the father.   “Oh, yes; a very good sermon,” echoed the mother.  “In this day and age discipline and self-discipline is so needed and so important.  

               “And it is so lacking in so many families these days,” joined in Rachael as she saw that the parents were not furious but quite the opposite; they were pleased.

               “And how are you, Bobby,” asked the pastor as he gently ruffled the hair of the boy as he remained standing there with his head down.  When he saw that no response was forthcoming he gently lifted the boy’s head.  Though now the kid’s head was facing the pastor his eye remained looking down.  “Bobby, head down is fine for prayer but not when an adult has asked you a question.”

               “Answer the pastor, Bobby,” instructed the father.

               “Fine,” he replied in a whisper.

               “I’m sorry; what was that?”

               “Fine.”

               “And how is your behind?”

               No response.

               “Answer, boy,” demanded the father.

               “Fine.”

               “Fine now,” injected the mother. “He sat in the pew with no problem, but he sure sat gingerly during the week.  You must have giving him a real good spanking.”

               “Obviously the therapy worked,” said the father.  “Today in God’s house he was cleansed.  We hope the devil’s hand remains where it belongs and not down, down there.”

               “Will it,” asked Rachel without hesitation since it was just the five of them standing there.

               “Yes sir; but . . . but . . . but . . . 

               “What if you have a wet dream?  Is that it?”  Bobby nodded.

               “How often do you have these wicked dreams,” asked Rachael.

               No reply.

               “Answer!” demanded the father has he gave the boy a pat on the rear.

               “Once a month but . . . but . . . but . . .”

               “More often,” asked the pastor.  Bobby nodded.

               “Bobby; as I’ve said before, wet dreams are natural, especially for a boy of your age.  Would you say about every two weeks?”  When the boy sheepishly nodded the pastor continued.  “I have a suggestion.  Do you spurt forth the devil’s venom in your pajamas or onto the bed sheet?”

               The boy turned his head aside as tears began to well up.

               “He doesn’t wear pajamas to bed,” said the mother.

               “Just undershorts?”

               “Just an undershirt,” she answered.
               
               “I guess I should have guessed.  The next time he has a wet dream, have him not only tell you but show you right away.  Yes, wake you up and show you.  Record the date.  The next one should be due two weeks later or so.  Record it too.  Should much more than two weeks go by before the next episode that will mean only one thing now, want it?  Yes; it will mean that he relieved himself deliberately.”

               “Pastor; you . . . you . . . you are so good; so smart.  Yes; we’ll do it, want we Bobby?”

                “But every two weeks he could have . . . have a hand in it; in that one,” said the father.

                “Well, I guess that’s true.  But half a loaf is better than none; right?  Better twice a month than twice a week.”

                “Or twice a day,” mumbled the father under his breath.

               “Good; then there we are.  If you have any more problem in this department, you know where to find me.  Right Bobby?”

               As the boy nodded a few tears overflowed from his eyes onto his cheeks.

-  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -

               In no time at all the word spread; not The Word of The Lord, but word of the masturbation therapy provided by the pastor.  Do women gossip?  Does day follow night? 

               As the congregation exited the church the following Sunday a father accompanied by his teenage son, daughter and wife slipped a note into the pastor’s hand.  In addition a woman with a boy about the age of Bobby had taken place at the end of the line.  It seemed that her husband was a travelling salesman who was on the road much of the time.  She too had caught his son – Billy – doing more than just soaping his body in the shower.  Would the good preacher take him on as a patient?  Of course he would.  Was he not the shepherd of his flock?  His fee?  Well pastor John hadn’t even thought of that.  No fee per se; but that’s wasn’t to say that her offerings might be augmented were she satisfied with his personal service. 

               That evening the lady delivered Billy to the pastor’s house just before dinner, as planned.  Billy was a freckled red head of obvious Irish descent.  Immediately it was clear that he was spunkier than Bobby and even seemed a tad inquisitive if not downright eager to see what lay in store for him.  When his mother turned him over at the doorway the boy gave her a peck on the cheek.  “I hope it works.”

               “Rest assured that we’ll beat that old devil out of him.  You can retrieve one well cleansed and redeemed child at nine o’clock.”

               Once inside Billy didn’t beat around the bush.  “Are you going to beat me with a cane too,” he asked right off.

               “I guess you heard about Bobby.”

               “Him and me are friends.”

               “Do you want me to cane you?”

               Billy shrugged his shoulders.  “You’ll do what you have to.”

               “We’ll get to that later.  Are you hungry?”

               Again he shrugged his shoulders.

               “We have our main meal at noon on Sundays, so it will just be a bowl of gumbo and a salad tonight.  Is that alright with you?”

               “Sure; but could I see the cane?  I’ve never seen one.”

               “Well they come in different sizes.  They are made of rattan.  Know what rattan is?”

               “You mean like furniture?”

               “They are used in furniture, but rattan is actually a tall palm tree with long, slender, tough stems.  It’s their stems that are using in making whipping canes, and just like stems they come in various lengths and thicknesses.  You’ll get the feel of one of them tonight; one suitable for a boy of your age and . . . wickedness.”

               “Can’t I see this . . . this . . . ‘suitable’ one?”

               “Well; okay.  Rachael, will you put one on the dinner table for Billy to . . . digest, please.”

               “Right,” she said with a smile as she ruffled the boy’s flaming red hair.

               Once in the dining room John had the boy take the seat at the head of the table.  A couple of minutes went by in uncomfortable silence as they awaited the return of the wife.  Finally the unease was broken as she brought in the large bowl of gumbo.  It looked scrumptious.  Billy’s eyes looked at it with unbridled delight.  “Wow!  That looks real good, ma’am.”  The bowl of salad quickly followed along with some cornbread.  Billy rubbed his hands as he feasted his eyes on the feast.  He had to restrain himself from starting to serve.  Rachael then left and returned with the two canes which she placed neatly in front of the boy, crisscrossing one another.

               Billy did a double-take.  The identical canes were about three and a half feet long with crocked handles.  Their texture was rough, almost hairy.  Their color was akin to rust.  The boy’s slaver glands instantly shut down.  Good God, he thought.  “These,” he asked of Rachael as she was taking her seat facing John.

               “Well you did want to see them,” responded John as he took a ladle in hand.  “Pass me your bowl.”  The boy did so without taking his eyes off of the menacing objects that lay before him.

                 “What do you think of them,” John asked as he poured a ladle full of gumbo into the boy’s bowl.  Then he poured another.  As he started to pour a third Billy shook himself out of the trance.  “NO NO; that’s plenty.”  He took his fingers and slid them down one of the canes feeling how rough it was.  Then he fingered one of its nodes.

               “Do you want oil and vinegar on your salad or blue cheese,” asked Rachael.

               “Oil; vinegar,” he said as he thought of being boiled in oil and . . . and . . . well; vinegar.   “No, no; I mean . . . 

               “Blue cheese?”

               “I . . . I . . . think I’ll skip the salad, thank you.”

               “What do you mean – skip the salad?  Are you not honoring our meal?”

               “Oh no sir; I mean . . . I mean I’ll have just a little.”

               “With oil and vinegar?”  The boy nodded as he now moved his hand to the other cane.

               “Billy; will you say grace, please?” 

                With his mind out to lunch so absorbed by the canes that he by rout replied: “Rub-A-Dub; Thanks for the grub.”

               The pastor and wife looked up from their saying-grace posture and at the boy in disbelief.  For a moment they both simply looked at him.

               “Opps.  Sorry.”

              Offended, Pastor John stood and took hold of one of the canes.  He raised his head and then recited, as he marched around the table swishing the cane viciously in the air:   “Lord, you are the doctor and the physician of our souls.  We beseech you to make powerless, banish and drive out every diabolic power and presence of this child before you.  We beg you to reach out your powerful hands and your most powerful arms and come to our aid this evening. We humbly pray that our arms may wield the cane this evening with sufficient force to drive satin from the body of this infected boy here before us.  Please give us the strength such that through pain and suffering this young boy shall this evening be cleansed, purified and truly redeemed.  Amen.”

               “Amen.”

               “Amen,” whispered Billy as he observed his hands and arms now shaking with fear.

               “Very well.  Now let’s all enjoy the gumbo,” he said softly as he returned the cane to its position in front of the boy crossing the other cane.

               Billy looked at the cross in complete bewilderment and with his hands and arms shaking and his breathing accelerating.   Good God; what have I done?  What am I in for?  He glanced behind him briefly for an escape route but when he turned back to see both the pastor and his wife staring at him, he gave up on that idea.  With a spoon shaking in his hand he dipped it into his waiting gumbo.

               “So tell us, Billy, when did you start beating your meat, as they say,” asked Rachael while taking a sip of her own gumbo.

               “Oh; not long ago.”

               “Tell us about the first time.”

               “The first time?”

               “Yes, the first time.”

               “Well it wasn’t really beating – more like rubbing.

               “Oh?”

               “I was in the shower and I rubbed up against the shower curtain.”

               “Why?”

               “Why?  Uh.  I don’t know.  I . . . I . . . I was thinking.”

               “Thinking?  Thinking about what?”

                Billy’s hand started to shake so hard that he had to return his spoon back to the bowl without sipping it.

               “Yes,” asked Rachael.

               “Please ma’am.  That’s private . . . you know; personal.”

               “It was about sex now wasn’t it, Billy,” said the pastor as he attempted to come to the rescue.

               “Uh; yes sir; I mean no sir.  I had touched the plastic curtain and it had felt so good that I started to rub it, you know.  The more I rubbed it the better it felt.  Then all of a sudden this goo came out and mixed with the shower water as it ran down the curtain.”

                “That was it,” asked Rachael in disappointment.  “That’s all?”

                “Yes ma’am.”

                “But now?  You must have been thinking about something when your mom caught you in the shower jerking off the other day?”

               “Uh; uh; uh.”

               “Which hand do you use,” asked Pastor John.

               “Which hand?    Uh . . . uh . . I guess the right one.  Yes; the right one.”

               “Why the right one?”

               “Why?  I don’t know.  I suppose I could try the . . . . 

               “Could try the . . .  Good Lord you are a sick one. Now you plan to use both hands. It will take all of our strength after dinner to beat the devil out of you.”

               “We?  We; sir?”

               “Oh yes; Mrs. Skelly will be taking a hand in this.  Right; Rachael?

               “Oh yes.  This Billy is one possessed boy.  You will need all the assistance you can get in healing this one.  That is why there are two canes laid there before the child.  One of the factors I used in making their selection was color.  With that flaming red hair of his I guessed that his pubic hair was probably also reddish, but most likely a deeper hue.  Do the colors of the canes fairly well match the color of your pecker hair?”

 -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  - 

               The trio retired from the table into the living room.  Billy brought the canes crossed in his arms like a young King Tut.  In this situation however the pharaoh was the slave; walking to his own impending doom.  Pastor John and wife Rachael of course referred to it as his impending therapy.  No flaming red head boy could possibly be confused with a prince of the Nile and surrounding desert.  Instead of marching to a throne, young Billy was marched to the block that lay in readiness there on the floor before the sofa.  Rachael spread herself out like Cleopatra with one arm in reach of the glass of Rose that she had brought from the dining table.   But Alas; no grapes.
 
               “STRIP!” came the command from the pastor-therapist as Billy stood there on the block looking at the lounging Cleopatra with a smirk now on her face.  With the two hideous canes held in his arms he didn’t know what to do.  Quickly the pastor realized that.  “Hand me one cane and the lady the other.”  He stepped down and did so.  Rachael took hold of hers and swished it in the air.  Billy move to remove his shirt was cut short by Pastor John.  “Back up on the block.”

                 From on high the boy disrobed.  With only his undershorts remaining he turned to face away from Rachael.  “Back around, boy,” ordered the pastor.  With all of his clothing now strewn on the floor he simply stood there naked with his hands now crossed over his private rather than holding the crossed canes.  He looked straight ahead with a slight shiver.  Rachael used the crock of her cane to remove one of the boy’s hands.  He voluntarily removed the other.  His small dingus was gazing down at the floor.

               “Not bad,” said Rachael as she compared the color or the cane with that of the skimpy forest of pubic hairs.  Billy didn’t quite know what she meant.  “I mean the color match.”

               “Okay Billy.  When I give you the first stroke I want you to start beating off.  Understand?”

               “Yes sir,” he mumbled.

               “The whole idea you understand is to learn to associate pain with beating your meat instead of pleasure.  It’s that simple.”  The boy nodded.

               “You do understand?”

               To this the just days shy of 14 added a meek “yes sir” to his nod.

               As the pastor took up position to begin the therapy the image of Bobby from the past Sunday came to mind.  How sweet it was to have a return engagement so soon, albeit with a red head variant.  No, this was actually good.

               “Swish – swish – swish – swish came the sound of the cane as the pastor commenced the torment.  Billy started jerking away.

               “STOP THAT!” called out Rachael.  “He’s already at it!”

               “Billy, I told you to start with the first stroke.  Have you had a stroke yet?”

               “Uh; no sir. Sorry sir.”

                The boy dropped his arms and hands down to his sides.  With that the pastor resumed his horrid swishing of the cane behind him.  It wasn’t till the seventh swish that the cane landed with a THWICK! across the center of the boy’s rump.  Billy gasped, raised his head and grabbed his ass.  Rachael sprang off the sofa, gave him a forehand slap to his face immediately followed by a backhander.  “HOW DARE YOU,” she screamed in his face.  Billy grimaced as he twisted his head.  His arms flew to his sides where they fluttered like a birds.  Then the fluttering gave way as his arms fell limply to his sides.

               “Billy, it seems that you don’t know the difference between your pecker and your ass.  You are supposed to have your hands on your fucking cock; not on your behind.  Now back to work.  

               With that Rachael resumed her position on the sofa.  Billy took hold of his limp cock again and started to jerk.  A few moments later the second smash of the cane hit home just below the first.  Billy reacted to this by twisting his torso and flinging his free hand and arm about in the air.  His other hand managed to hang on to this limp prick.  Seeing that all it was doing was hanging on, Rachael commanding “Beat it; darn you.  Beat the frigging thing.  There is no time-out here.”

               With his torso still twisted and his head held high in a silent scream and with his free arm and hand still twisting in the air, the boy restarted pumping his cock.  Pastor John waiting him out as he slowly regain control.  Rachael watched too as the boy stood on the block looking straight ahead while pumping with his right hand with his other arm and hand merely trembling along his side. 

               “THWICK!”   The third stroke landed just beneath the other two.

               “OH GOD!” the boy cried out as he continued to jerk with one hand and now fling his other arm and hand about in the air.  Tears were now streaming down his cheeks.  It was probably Rachael who noticed the swelling of the pecker before Billy did for his brain was simply overwhelmed.

               With a slow cadence the therapy continued.  The pastor maintained a slow but methodical tempo as he caned his way down the boy’s ass while Billy continually jerked and jerked away.  It was like a musical composition.  Beautiful;  so melodious.

                THWICK!  jerk-jerk-jerk-jerk-jerk-jerk-jerk    THWICK! jerk-jerk-jerk-jerk-jerk     THWICK!  jerk-jerk-jerk-jerk-jerk THWICK!  To Rachael it was if John were playing the role of drummer in a band, slowing beating out the tempo while Billy sawed away on his fiddle in staccato:  DUM – zing-zing-zing-zing  DUM – zing-zing.  “Come on; come on; come on AAHHHHH; come on; come, Billy whispered.  Rachael found herself now breathing rapidly as her hand fell to her crotch. 

               By this time the youngster was bent well over as he jerked and jerked and jerked which of course made it easier for the pastor now that he was working low down on the boy’s ass.  With a smashing cut into the crease where ass meets legs Billy at last erupted.  A surprising large load was off-loaded in spurts like a machine gun.  Rachael would think that that was it when behold another spurt would follow and then another and still another and yet last more.  To Pastor John it had been a joyous experience watching the cane land right in the crease which had seemed to trigger the ejaculation.  What an absolutely glorious sight.  Any maestro would have been proud.  He lowered the cane as he realized that his own heart was racing.

               Rachael looked beyond the lad at John’s flushed face.  He returned her look with a sheepish smile.  Both wanted to break away and bang each other.  But they managed to overcome that momentary urge as they looked at the naked boy standing there before them upon the block with his face lowered as if taking a bow for his performance.  Their own copulation would have to wait. 

               The now-spent boy’s eyes came into focus as he looked at the streams of cum slowly oozing down his thighs leaving trails like leaches.  Being atop the small block had of course required that he keep his legs together during the ordeal . . . I mean therapy.  When he instinctively made a move to wipe Rachael handed him a tissue.

               “John; that was a superb job you did.  Yes; a splendid job.  

               “Why thank you, Rachael.  I’m still working on my wrist action.  I’m satisfied with my aim but I think I could deliver force were I to snap my wrist right at impact.  What do you think?”

               “I suppose so.  From her I can’t see the impact but I do see that you have a good follow-through.  Don’t you agree, Billy?  Isn’t the pastor a superb therapist?”

                                                               -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -

               The note that had been handed to Pastor John denoted a more serious matter than that of a mere youngster being caught jerking off.  It seemed that a fifteen year old boy named Sandy had been caught by his older sister in bed with another boy, a seventeen year old named Freddie.   Fortunately it had been just a matter of the two jerking each other off and not yet the more wicked matter of a sixty-niner or, heaven forbid, a buggering.  The older sister had surprised them with a factious “can I help out here?”  The boys were of course mortified.  Though neither denied what the sister saw before her, both denied being gay.  No, at first they hadn’t been doing each other, but then . . then.  Well; you know  One thing had simply lead to another.  “MOM;  COME HERE QUICK!!”

               Pastor John and Rachael considered the matter.  They could of course simply take on the boy Sandy as a . . . a . . . a . . . patient, but what about the other, older boy.  It just didn’t seem proper to cane one without the other.  That didn’t seem fair.  Moreover the session would come across as incomplete with a piece of the medical puzzle and problem missing.  The devil would still dwell in the older predator.

                 When they called the mother they explained their quandary.  She replied that there was no problem.  She had already spoken with the older boy’s mother and how he had obviously instigated the horrid affaire.  The mother had said that she was too petrified to tell her husband and that she could do with her son as she saw fit.  Just keep it quiet.  You see, when she had confronted her boy he had not denied it.  There had been too many witnesses . . . this time.  The mother of course had already been suspect.  

               Pastor John and his wife Rachael pondered the issue.  Should they treat the boys separately or together?  John was troubled by the prospect of handling them together.  He would be outnumbered and they might well rebel.  Rachael opted for togetherness.  It was true that each had been guilty of masturbation, but in this case they had gone beyond that and had jerked each other off.  That was far more morbid.  It was that act that required ‘treatment.’  They should be treated together.  Don’t try to uncouple the couple.  It was a joint problem (with their young joints) which had been joined in play.  

               Upon their delivery to the pastor’s home John had them take their seats in two easy chairs that faced the sofa.  Hot tea awaited them and their therapists upon a coffee table between them.  The setting was like any conventional afternoon tea.

               “I propose a toast,” said the pastor as he sat there beside Rachael upon the sofa.  When he lifted his tea cup the others followed suit.  No, let’s make that a prayer.

               “Lord, the Lord Satin has entered into the bodies of these two children that sit here before us this evening.  He had manifested His presence in the most discussing and filthy manner possible.  Not only has he led them into the dark shadows and abyss of masturbation, he has spread His evil and hideous disease as if it were contiguous.  He has led this youth by the name of Master Freddie not only to practice this wickedness upon himself but to tempt his junior, Master Sandy, to follow his evil example.  But no; that was not enough, Lord.  No this wicked seventeen year old did not only counsel this mere fifteen year old innocent to practice the same, he went so far as to actually partake. 

                Lord, I have never myself encountered such wickedness, such evil.  I am no match for the Lord Satin.  So I humbly beseech you to guide me and help me in reclaiming the souls of these lost boys.  Give me the strength to drive the demon this evening from their bodies and from this humble home.  Give me the strength and endurance to beat and beat and beat and beat them so that the pain that I may inflict may be so excruciating and unbearable and a living hell that the devil himself is unable to remain embedded in their beings and makes for a hasty exit forever.  Amen.”

          “Amen,” added Rachael, reverently.

          The two boys with their tea cups still raised had had their heads bowed for the prayer.  By the time the pastor had uttered the third “beat them” they had raised them in shock.  Thus when John opened his eyes and raised his own head he found them staring at his with their mouths and eyes wide open.  Had they heard right.  Had he actually uttered these words?  Worse still, would he actually act out what he had said?   When John took a sip of his tea which was quickly followed by Rachael taking a sip, the two adolescents seemed frozen.  Finally their sips of the warm tea broke the ice.  When silence followed the pastor spoke.  “I failed to hear an Amen from either of you.”

               With the tea cups still at their mouths they exchanged glances.  “Amen.  Ugh . . . Amen.”

               “You do wish for the therapy . . . the exorcism to work, right?”

               “Pastor, I think your littler ‘prayer’ was flawed,” volunteered Freddie.

               That the boy should say this shook John.  Then again, he now was dealing with a seventeen year old; one that was almost a grown adult.”

               “And what pray tell might that be?”

               “You said that you wanted to create a living hell in our bodies which would drive satin away.  That doesn’t make sense.  Isn’t Hell satin’s home?  Why would he want to leave his home?”

               Sandy looked at Freddie in admiration.  Now it was his time to smirk.  Freddie was smart.

               John was dumbfounded.  He looked at Rachael who simply returned his look.  She had no answer.  He searched his own brain for an answer.  Coming up empty he like a politician, changed the subject.

               “Sandy, I want you to tell us exactly what happened when your sister found you and Freddie in bed together engaged in homosexual acts.”

               The boy turned to his mentor who merely shrugged.  No help there.

               “Well?  Speak up.”

               “But . . . but . . . she is here.  Can’t we talk in . . . private-like?”

               “Private-like?  That sounds like you are ashamed.”

               “Are you ashamed, Freddie?  Are you, Sandy?”  The two boys looked at each other and then meekly nodded.

               “Being ashamed means that you know that you did wrong – that you deliberately went against nature and God’s will.  Acknowledgment is a good first step.  The next step is to confess; to air your acts publically; not merely make a private confession between the two of you.  No, as much as I know that my wife Rachael would love to be permitted to leave the room and not go through the ordeal of hearing the sordid detailed, explicit homosexual acts that you two engaged in, I am asking her to stay and bear with a hearing out of the facts.  Now thank her for bearing witness.”

               The boys looked down and mumbled their ‘thank yous.’

               “Now Freddie, you being the older I assume that you were the instigator.  Is that correct?”  To this the boy responded with a nod.

               “I asked you a question; I deserve an answer.”

               “Yes sir,” the boy mumbled.

               “Explain exactly what happened.”

               “Well . . . like . . . you know . . . ugh . . . 

               “No; I don’t; not until you tell me.”

               “Well, ugh, I kissed him.”

               “You mean like a French?  Did you put your tongue in his mouth?”

               Freddie turned to Sandy who was studying his shoes.

               “Well?”

               “Yes sir.”

               “And did he respond?”

               Freddie looked again at Sandy there beside him who returned his look.

               “Yes sir.”

               “Look, Freddie; I can’t provide sound therapy if you simply give me one or two word answers.  I need details.”

               “Well he . . . he . . . at first he just let me do it.  I mean he let me move my tongue all around in his mouth.  Then he let me throat him; throat him real good like, you know.”

               “Is that true Sandy?  You let Freddie throat you,” asked Rachael.

               “Yes ma’am.”

               “And did you respond?  Did you tongue him back?”

               Sandy looked at Freddie who now was the one to study his shoes.  Then he nodded as he joined in the studying of shoes.

               “Like it?  Oh no, ma’am; of course not . . . ugh . . . ugh . . . I guess . . . I mean . . . I mean a little, I guess” he said as the two boys gave each other an eye-to-eye sheepish look.

               “Proceed,” demanded the pastor.  “You did proceed, obviously.”

               “Well then I was getting all excited-like.  You know, I had this big hard-on.  I . . . I . . . felt his thing, you know, and found that he was hard too, just like me only not as big, you know.”

               A long silence ensued.

               “Well?  Go on.  I assume that you both were still fully dressed.”

               “I guess I . . . yes, I put Sandy’s hand down . . . down . . . there . . . and . . . and . . . 

               “At this pace this is going to take forever, John,” said Rachael.

               “Right.  Freddie, did you get in bed with Sandy and jerk him off?”

               “Yes sir; that’s right.”

               “And Sandy, did you let Freddie do this thing to you?”

               “Yes sir,” came his meek reply.

               “And did you jerk Freddie off?” 

               Tears began to well up in Sandy’s eyes as he nodded.

               “And did you enjoy jerking Freddie off?”

               Surprised by the question Sandy instinctively shook his head.  They he thought better of it and his head shaking turned into a nodding. 

               “So you both had cum on you there in the bed,” said Rachael.  To that the two nodded.

               “And afterwards did you too suck each other off,” asked John.  

               “Oh no,” said Freddie, “there wasn’t enough . . . enough . . . 

               “Time?  That was when Sandy’s sister came into the room?”

               Freddie nodded.

               “So you had planned to have Sandy blow you.  Did you also have plans to bugger the young boy; to stick your filthy cock up his virgin ass?” 

               Both boys looked up in surprise.  Pastor John had his answer.  Obviously they, or rather Freddie, had not made such long range plans.  They had been taking one thing at a time.

               “Right.  We will now move on with the therapy.  Strip down to your shoes and socks.”  When neither boy moved, Pastor John raised his voice.  “STRIP, I SAID!”  That said the pastor and wife sat back deeper in the sofa and moved along with their hot teas.  It was now the show part of the Show and Tell prelude to the caning.

               The boys looked at each other and then at the preacher and his wife sitting there on the sofa in front of them with their tea cups in hand so proper- like.  Pastor John’s face was expressionless but his wife’s showed one of expectation – of pleasant and exciting expectations.  After all, there were two of them about to be; well, to be sized up.

                 Freddie turned around to face away from them.  Sandy followed his lead.  Just as Freddie was starting to unbutton his shirt the pastor ordered an about-face.  The two proceeded to strip, putting each article of clothing neatly down upon the chairs in which they had been sitting.  This proceeded until all that remained were their socks and shoes and undershorts.  After a tense pause Sandy led the way down with the shorts.  Rachael almost salivated when she saw that both boys’ cocks were rock-hard.  Sandy’s was pointed straight ahead but Freddie’s was looking skyward.  Then Rachael watched in amazement as Sandy’s also slowly rose to the occasion.  Orientation became fixed when Sandy’s young cock reached a 45 degree angle and Freddie’s a full 60 degrees angle.  Neither boy could understand just why or how this had happened all on its own.  Perhaps nervousness.  

               “Right.  I see you are eager to proceed with your therapy.  Very well.  Put those easy chairs over there and replace them with those four block there.  We’ll need your rear ends raised.”

                ‘We’ll’ wondered Sandy.  Apparently both of them were going to beat them.

               Pastor John had the boys arrange the foot-high wooden blocks in the position of a rectangle.  Once in place he had them mount the blocks facing each other.  The two blocks for each boy were spaced apart so that their legs were well spread.  The boys themselves were close enough for each to jerk the other.  They stood there looking at each other eye-to-eye, with Freddie’s head being the higher one.  Time passed with the boys just standing there with their arms dangling, in want of something to do.

               “Right,” said the pastor as he put down his teacup beside Rachael’s.  He reached under the sofa and pulled out his two wicked rattan canes, the same ones that he had used in the prior sessions.  When he handed one to Rachael she acknowledged receipt with a “thank you, pastor.  I am glad to be of assistance.”  

               The naked boys looked at the hideous rattan beasts in horror.  John moved behind Freddie as Rachael took up her position behind Sandy.  “Now put your hands on each other’s . . . on each other’s . . . . 

              God, he’s going to have us jerk the other, they both thought.  “On each other’s shoulders.  Good.  Now look at each in the eye.  Do not takes your eyes off each other’s eyes nor your hands off the shoulders.  Do you understand?”

               “Yes sir,” they whispered as they felt the strain placed on their spread-apart legs and the cool air on their testicles hanging down in empty space.

               “We’ll see which one of you is the first to cry under the cane.”

                “My bet is on Sandy,” said Rachael.

                With all now in readiness the pastor and his wife-assistant began to slash the air with their canes.   “Swish . . . . . swish . . . . . swish . . . . . swish . . . . . swish.”  Sandy’s arms began to shake as Freddie tried to maintain an upper lip.  Then Sandy’s eyes began to well up with tears.  “I’m scared; please don’t.”

               “Look John; he’s already crying before the first lick.”

               “Yes, I see that.”

               “Swish . . . . . swish . . . . . swish . . . . . swish.  Sandy’s entire arms were now shaking in fear as were his hands upon his mate standing there before him.  Then there was a break in the horrid swishing sound.

               “THWICK-THWICK.”  The timing had almost been perfect as the two canes met boy ass almost simultaneously.  The two impacts were just a quarter-second apart.  Each boy gasped as their heads jerked up.  It was bad; real bad.  But it could have been worse, they thought.  

               Actually the cuts had broken the tenseness of the wait.  But slowly the true pain began.  Up and up rose the pain as the tramlines formed in red.  It will soon stop and go down thought Freddie, but he was wrong.  On and on the pain rose only to reach its zenith after a half minute had elapsed.  Now it felt as if a red-hot wire had been only been placed across their asses but left there to continue searing the skin like a steak being cooked on a grill.  Nothing can get worse thought Sandy but it did with the sound of the canes once again to begin filling the air.

               “Swish . . . . . swish . . . . . swish . . . . . swish.”  Pause.  The boys waited . . . and waited . . . and waited.  “THWICK-THWICK.”  This time there had been a full second between strikes.  Rachael had jumped the gun just a tad.

               “NO!” screamed Sandy right into Freddie’s face as both of his hands lifted off of Freddie’s shoulder in an aborted attempt to grab for his ass.  Quickly he realized what he had done and replaced them as the second line of fire began its hideous slow increase in intensity.  

               Slowly, methodically and unrelenting the punishment continued until a full “six-of-the-best” had been applied.  It was just after the fifth one that Freddie broke and joined in Sandy’s crying.  Thus when the sixth struck home neither boy could clearly see into the depths of the other’s eyes, what with the flood of tears.  Though neither now could feel it, both erections had withstood the caning.  If anything it had only served to reinforce.  John and Rachael stood a moment in silence as they admired their handiwork.  The welts were rising and darkening.

               “Okay boys, you can step down and take a short break,” said the pastor as he and Rachael retook their seats on the sofa to finish up their teas.  Seeing both reach for their flaming asses John started to cut that short but then decided to allow a rub.   After a few seconds though he cut that short and had them stand side by side facing them on the sofa with their cocks still at attention and their hands on their heads after having wiped away their tears.  Now they had a clear view of the canes which were resting upon their tormentors’ laps.  Once having finished with the tea the pastor spoke.

         “Um; that was good.  Was it still warm enough for you, honey?”

          “Yes dear.  Quite tasty still.”

          “Well I guess it’s time for the boys to have another dose of their medicine – of their therapeutic medication.  Right boys?  Shall we get on with it?”  Receiving no response he ordered them back into position up on the blocks.  Once there each again felt the cool room air about their drooping and exposed balls.  God they were so exposed and vulnerable.  What if a cane were to hit there?  Perish the thought.  With their hands once more upon the other’s shoulders, the good ‘doctor’ spoke.

            “In this treatment session we shall seriously attempt to remove the devil from your bodies which obviously is still there from the look of things down there.  I want each of you to take grip of the root of the other’s problem, of his cock, while cradling your own balls with your other hand.  Upon the first stroke of the cane you will begin your own stroking of the other’s evil appendage.  As you stroke, so will we.  This will continue until the devil’s venom has been expunged.  That will terminate the caning of the one cleansed but he shall continue stroking of the other until he too is cleansed while, of course, being helped along with the cane.  Is this clear?”

          Each boy studied the other’s eyes, nodded and took hold of the base of the other’s cock.  At least they now held protective custody of their own balls.  The doctor and his assistant resumed their positions behind the boys.

            John studied the six welts before him.  They made a neat row like a furrowed field with none overlapping the other.  He walked over behind Sandy and looked.  One stroke had gone off line and overlapped a couple of the others.  The crossing points were raised and purple.  Quietly he instructed Rachael to ease off.  This time they would take half strokes all over the premises but in rapid fire sequence.  Only the first stroke was to be of full strength and it was to be laid in the still virgin crease.  That was always a dozy, they had heard.

          “Swish . . . . . swish . . . . . swish . . . . . swish.”

          With each sound each boy increased the force of his grip while maintaining eye contact.  They were tensed like a sprinter as he waited on cocked legs for the starter’s pistol.  Only here and now it was cocks themselves that lay, or rather, stood in wait.

          “Swish . . . . . swish . . . . . swish . . . . . swish.”  Would this ever begin?

          “THWICK-THWICK.”  The question was answered.

          With the sound of the starter’s pistol the two lads starting to jerk.  

          Sandy jerked away frantically.  Not so with Freddie.  No, Freddie’s jerking was more restrained; more mature.  Actually it wasn’t even that.  It was fake.

          “THWICK- THWICK . . . THWICK  . . . THWICK  . . .  THWICK . THWICK . THWICK 

          Both John and Rachael were making short popping strokes all over the canvasses that stood before him.  The result was a feeling that the entire asses of the boys were now being slashed with sandpaper.  Not exactly.  It rather was like being whipped with sand-encrusted twigs or stems.  Cross-over points felt like a thorn had struck.

          Meanwhile back in front Sandy was bringing Freddie to a quick climax.  His entire face showed a strange rapture made so by the wonderful feel of his cock being mixed with the feel of the burning inferno of his rear.  But to Sandy no such feeling existed.  He only felt the insidious and unrelenting caning.  Why?  Why?  

          Now he saw Freddie’s facial expression turn even weirder, if that were possible.  It now bore a hideous smirk as he eye-motioned for Sandy to look down.  Sandy did so to see that Freddie was and had all along been moving his hand up and down over Sandy’s pecker without actually touching it.  He hadn’t even begun!  He had been duped.  Just then Freddie exploded.

          “I’m done; I’m finished here.  See?”  And the evidence was clearly present.  John stopping his beating of the boy as he had promised.  Rachael continued her unrelenting work without letup on Sandy.

          “But he’s not jerking me.  He never has.  He’s just pretended,” cried Sandy.  Freddie didn’t make a denial.  To the contrary when Pastor John took a closer look Freddie had even expanded his “grip” further as he smiled at the cock inspector.  John waived off Rachael.

          “So it’s true.  You’ve been doing nothing.”

          “Preacher man, you yourself said to do so was evil – was the work of the devil.  I ain’t going to do the dirty work of no devil.”

           “I see.  Okay then, I want you to kneel down.”

           “Will you be praying along beside me?”

           “That’s not what I have in mind.  I will pray for your soul later.  No, we have unfinished work here to do.  Kneel.”

           The boy knelt down on the floor between the two block he had been standing on and looked up at the preacher for guidance.  John nodded to Sandy’s still ridged pecker that was standing there right in the boy’s face.  Freddie looked at it, then back at the preacher as he instinctively backed away.  “But you said masturbation was wrong; that it was evil.”

           “Hell, you know full well that I am not telling you to masturbate young Sandy.  Now take him in your mouth and suck.  Suck him dry, you hear.  And don’t you are spill a drop.  With that John nearly bent his cane double for Freddie to see the alternative. “Open your damn mouth.”

          Freddie turned back to face the young cock that stood there waiting in his face.  He opened his mouth in amazement at the audaciousness of the preacher.  Before he could react Sandy jammed his tootie-toot-toot fully into Freddie’s mouth.  “This way there can be no faking it this time, Freddie,” said John.  “You’ve got one minute to perform.”

          Sandy beat him to the punch.  He grabbed Freddie by the ears and pumped rapidly away like a jack rabbit.  In a matter of mere seconds he unloaded down Freddie’s throat.  “Goo . . . gaa . . . ga . . . goo . . . go,” was all that he could say as he held his hands up as if in surrender.  His reach to shove Sandy away was cut short by cane taps by Rachael to his hands.  “Swallow it boy.  Swallow it all, you deceitful bastard.”  Moments later she squeezed the boy’s mouth and took a look around much like a dental hygienist.

          “You can get dressed now,” said John.  

          When both boys made a move to eagerly comply, John cut them off.  “I was talking to Sandy; not to you, boy.  Only Sandy is now, I pray, purified and cleansed.  Being that the devil purge was dissolved in Sandy’s semen, his cleanliness has unfortunately been had at the expense of the devil in him having been transfused into you.  And since the therapy obviously was applied to you without success, as evidenced by your devious deception, you now have two devils who have taking up residence in your body.  You will now resume your position up on the blocks.  Rachael, please assist me.  You take forehand while I take backhand.  Double devils call for double caretakers.  I’m afraid that we have much work yet to do.”