Tommy's Attitude Adjustment Chapter 3
by Chadlad

copyright 2006 by Chadlad, all rights reserved
chadlad3@yahoo.com

* * * * *
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 3:  The Second Victim

Sam Farlow, called S. F. by most of the class (but never the
teachers, who called children only by their official names),
was feeling good, on the balance.  He felt kind of sorry for
the crying, half-naked Randy Martinez sitting in the corner
in the front of the room, but it had been kind of intriguing
to see the fat kid get naked.  He thought again about
Randy's appearance when he'd first been undressed.  It was
amazing how Randy's crotch bulged, yet his genitals hardly
projected at all.  And then later, the sight of Randy's hard
dick sticking up like a hook had been burned indelibly in S.
F.'s brain.  It had looked so utterly unlike his own tool,
and for that matter completely unlike any boy's dick he'd
ever seen.  He'd filed it alongside other freaks of nature
he'd seen in the past, along with the two-headed calves and
the pictures of giant goiters.  And that enormous butt!  How
did a kid like that manage to reach around his butt to wipe
himself!

It had even been kind of interesting in a gross sort of way
to watch Mrs. Rose stick that big tube up Randy's bottom
hole and fill him full of 7-Up.   Man, that must have
burned!  He himself had splashed 7-Up on a fresh scrape on
his arm, once, and had been forced to  immediately place his
mouth over the scrape and suck it off again, it burned so
bad!  S. F. had never seen anyone get an enema before, and
he wondered what it felt like to have to bend over and show
your butt hole to everyone, and then have a tube run up your
butt like that. And talk about humiliating!  Having to bend
over in front of everyone while they shoved a tube up his
butt!  He'd have died on the spot had it been his butt!

And Randy hadn't been the only boy to have to show his
genitals, butt, and butt hole to the class lately.  First it
had been Chad Henson, peeing himself while being underpants
spanked and getting bare butt spanked and paddled as a
consequence.  For peeing himself, he'd been put in diapers
for three days, which meant he had to undress each day and
get on the diaper table in the humiliating legs over head
position for diapering with all his stuff hanging out. The
same routine was also followed every time he wet himself. 
Chad's predicament had been intriguing in some ways – his
little boy dick and balls were small and inoffensive, he
didn't have a trace of body hair, and his butt was clean and
unmarred by pimples or other unsightly blemishes.  But then
it had been Joey Turpin's turn to get naked in front of
class and be spanked, and Joey's hairy butt with its crack
pigmentation had been disturbing, even though the girls
appeared intrigued by his pendulous genitals.  Alan and
Jimmy had followed shortly after that, both sporting small,
unsightly bulges in the wrinkled pattern of their butt
holes, but Alan's long, thin, symmetrical penis had
contrasted sharply with Jimmy's shorter, fatter, more
twisted looking organ.  He'd felt sorry for all of them,
having to exhibit their most private parts to everyone, yet
he'd been fascinated by the different sizes and shapes
penises came in.  Still, he hadn't been prepared for the
sight of Randy's boy parts.  That had been a real shocker.  

The sight of Randy in the corner also created great anxiety
in S. F.  for another reason. Five boys had been assigned to
the DA's out of the ten in class, and four of them had now
been stripped in class and publicly punished.  He was the
fifth, so far untouched boy in that group.  When the
assignment had first been announced, he hadn't given it much
attention, because school spankings were something he had
generally tended to avoid.  But then suddenly Randy Martinez
was being punished – the last kid you'd figure would end up
in that position.  As a result, he vowed again to carefully
watch his step.  He had his own genital secrets to hide, and
he desperately wanted them to stay secret.

One would think from his name, which sounded like something
from the back woods of Arkansas, that Sam Farlow was a dark,
hulking, brute of a boy, perhaps as wide as he was tall. 
Nothing could be more misleading than that name.  S. F. was
taller than either Chad Henson or Jimmy Chen.  He could look
Alan Delvecchio in the eyes and might have been just a bit
taller.  And he was just as slender as Alan, if not more so. 
When he took his shirt off, every rib showed, and his
stomach was flat and taut under his rib cage.  His butt
wasn't particularly slender, though.  It flared out from his
hips almost like a girl's, and his buns stuck out
prominently from the small of his back, firm and muscular in
typical boy fashion.  His face was narrow, his eyes were
bright blue, his hair was Scandinavian blond, and his skin
was impossibly white – so white that he glowed pink when he
exerted himself at all, and when he blushed he was like a
beacon from clear across a room.  He liked soccer, dogs,
and, quietly and from a distance, Sarah Hull (who was of
course unaware of his feelings, given he'd betrayed no sign
of them besides occasional longing looks and a tendency to
hang around at the edges of every group where she was).

"Get out your math worksheets," Mrs. Rose said from the
front of the room.  S. F. dutifully opened his notebook to
retrieve the worksheet he'd put there last night.  Something
flat and colorful slid out of his notebook, landing with a
slap on the ground.  S. F., tending to snapping his binder
claws shut, didn't look to see what it was for a moment. 
Behind him, he heard Joey Turpin suddenly chortle.  "Nice
jugs," he commented under his breath.  "But you'd better
pick it up before The Nose sees it."

S. F. looked over the side of his desk to see what the heck
Joey was talking about.  A nude woman smiled back at him
from the floor, her ample breasts bulging out over a flat
stomach, her legs spread, so that between them you could
see…

He stared, mouth agape.  You could see her pussy!  All of
it!  Wide open!  Even the pink part!  Around him, other kids
were turning to gaze at the ground, then do a double take
and stare.  How had that gotten in his notebook?  He had to
hide it!  He bent down, to snatch the magazine up from the
floor.  As his hand took hold of it, a large woman's shoe
landed on it, pinning it to the floor.  "What is this, Mr.
Farlow?" Mrs. Rose asked coldly, although she knew damn well
what it was.

"I, I don't know!" Sam said honestly.  "It fell out of my
notebook!"  Realizing how bad that sounded, he added,
belatedly, "It's not mine!"

"Is that so?" she said, stooping to pick it up.  She flipped
through it idly, frowning at the wanton tramps displaying
themselves lewdly every few pages.  She found it highly
distasteful.  Oh, Mrs. Rose had nothing against the female
body – in fact, she found its nude appearance considerably
more attractive than that of a nude male, with all that
unsightly hair and that ridiculous thing hanging down.  
That's why she insisted that her husband go for laser hair
removal on his chest, buttocks, and genital region, leaving
him only his arm, leg, and head hairs, or at least the head
hairs he had left.  But these girls all had pulled their
inner labia out so that they were spread open like the
entrance to the Holland Tunnel, and she found the look
highly repellant.  Why couldn't they pose with their vulvas
nicely closed, instead of open like common sluts?

Her attention snapped back to the classroom.  She turned to
young S. F.  "You admit this was in your notebook?" she
said.  

S. F. nodded earnestly. "Yeah, I opened it and it fell out,
and I was just going to pick it up when you stepped on it …" 
He realized she was glaring at him.  "It isn't mine," he
added again quickly. "Really!"

"Really," Mrs. Rose echoed.  She flipped the magazine to the
front cover.  The worn-looking mailing label still said,
clearly enough to read, "Winston Farlow, Room 446,  Levinson
Hall Dormitory, 1245 University Road."

The final line was torn off, but Sam knew, had it been
there, it would say "University of Northern Minnesota,
Duluth, Minnesota" his father's alma mater.  It was his
father's name.  Could it be his father's magazine?  His
father had magazines like that?  His father who had
installed a website logging program on S. F.'s computer, and
threatened to blister his butt with a belt if he so much as
looked for internet porn?  His father once got magazines
like that sent to him in the mail?

"Isn't Winston Farlow your father?" Mrs. Rose was saying.  

"Yesssss," Sam said slowly.

"So put yourself in my place, Mr. Farlow.  A magazine with
your father's name on the cover comes out of your notebook,
and you expect me to believe that it isn't yours.  Surely
you can be more imaginative than that!  Why not say it's a
religious magazine and these girls are praying?  That
wouldn't be believable, either, but at least you'd show some
originality.  Now I'll ask you again – is this your
magazine, and did you bring it to school to show your
friends?" she said, with menace dripping from her voice.

S. F. was still overwhelmed by events.  "I never saw it
before in my life!" he declared.  "It's not mine, really! 
Someone must have put it there!"

Mrs. Rose noted a defect in the magazine's cover, where
someone had spilled something on the magazine, and it had
gotten stuck to another magazine and then the two had been
separated after the fluid had dried.   She shuddered to
think just what that fluid might have been – surely not the
output of this smallish boy – perhaps it was put there by
the boy's disgusting father years ago.  What would you
expect from someone who felt the need to quell his animal
desires with pictures of sluts like this?

At her seat in the front of the room, Emily grinned from ear
to ear.  It was all going according to plan.  That box of
old women's magazines she'd bought at the Farlow's yard sale
last summer, where she'd found the pile of Hustlers
forgotten in the bottom, had been the best buck she'd ever
spent!  She'd brought 2 of them with her, because they were
stuck together, but when she'd planted the one in the
notebook sitting alone on the little brat's desk she'd only
used the one so it wouldn't be too thick.  The other was
safely stowed in her own desk, alongside the blue folder. 
And now the smirky little brat was going down, and she was
the one who had put it into motion.  Too bad Lamsey was
going to get to do the honors on him, but she'd get to watch
from her front row, center seat!

Mrs. Rose had reached the end of her patience.  She grasped
Sam by the arm, yanking him to his feet and propelling him
forward to the front of the classroom.  "We have no more
time for this nonsense.  We've already spent too much class
time on one liar already.  Please go to the tape line, Mr.
Farlow!" she snarled.  

"But, but I, but I didn't –" S. F. began, stumbling forward.

"Silence!" Mrs. Rose said.  "We've all had enough of your
lies!  How dare you bring a piece of filth like this into my
classroom!"  She waved the magazine threateningly in Sam's
face.  "You obviously need a lesson in the importance of
respect for women and their place in the world!"  She
stalked over to her desk, slamming the magazine down on it
and retrieving an empty box from the floor behind her desk. 
Petrified, and white enough to give a vampire a run for his
money, S. F. toed the tape line, bouncing in agitation.  Mr.
Rose deposited the box next to Sam's feet with a loud plop.

"Lindsay," Mrs. Rose said, turning toward her.  "Would you
be so good as to come up and prepare this lying brat for
bare-bottomed punishment?"

Lindsay Kirk stood up elegantly and made her way to the
classroom, the picture of feminine self-confidence. As she
approached, S. F. quailed away from her.  "Nooooo!" he said. 
"I didn't do anything!  It isn't mine!"

Mrs. Rose cut his protests short by fetching him a quick
pair of smart smacks on the bottom, one for each of his
smoothly curved buns.  S. F.'s eyes widened and there was a
moment of stunned silence, then he bit his lip as tears
threatened to well up in his eyes.  His hands reaching back
to rapidly rub his stinging bottom.  Mrs. Rose caught them
both and held them above his head.  "Strip him of everything
but his shirt," she said to Lindsay.  "He'll need that to
wear to the lunch display."

Lindsay crouched down in front of the crying boy, lifting
each of his feet one at a time and gently sliding off each
shoe and stocking in turn.  She then unsnapped the button of
his trousers and smoothly pulled the zipper down.  S. F.'s
face was glowing red, now, his white complexion coloring
quickly in his distress.  As Lindsay tugged his pants over
his hips, they dropped immediately into a puddle at his
feet, and Lindsay divested him of them as well.  His muscled
legs, their colorless hairs almost invisible, looked almost
as white as his brilliant white briefs, which fit him
snugly, like those on a boy in a J. C. Penney's catalog. 
His crotch bulge, though, would never have made the catalog
cut – it was too large by far to belong on such a thin,
young looking boy.  There was a sharp intake of breath from
several girls near Chad, and Chad himself, despite an
attempt to be nonchalant and make a show of not caring,
found himself staring at the front of S. F.'s white briefs. 
No kid his size should have a bulge like that!  He found
himself, like most of the rest of the room, staring, urging
Lindsay mentally to hurry up and pull down the boy's briefs
so he could see the source of the bulge.

"Please no," S. F. said hoarsely, almost whispering. 
"Please no.  Please no!"  He shut his eyes, willing the
scene to go away.  This couldn't be happening to him! He
hadn't done anything.  He'd never seen that stupid magazine
before, and if he had, he'd have hid it somewhere around his
house, not brought it to school!   He opened his eyes again. 
He was still in front of the class, clad only in his
underpants and shirt.  He glanced down involuntarily at his
crotch.  They probably already could guess his secret – the
thing he'd worked so hard to keep everyone from noticing
during the last year or so.  Ever since the signs of his
shame had appeared, he been so careful -- timing his
bathroom visits when other boys weren't around, avoiding
swimming pools and tight pants and swim trunks, and making
sure no one, not even him dad, ever saw his private parts. 
And now they were going to take his underpants down, and,
with his hands held high over his head by the large and
determined Mrs. Rose, he couldn't do anything at all to stop
it!   

Lindsay, with a fine sense of timing and of building
anticipation, took her time.  First, she folded the boy's
pants neatly and stowed them and his shoes and socks in the
box.  Then she ran her hands up the outsides of the boy's
thighs, making him shudder, finally bringing them to rest at
the top of his waistband.  Curling her fingers in, she
pulled the waistband slightly away from his body and slowly,
very slowly, began drawing the boy's briefs down.  Chad
found himself, like most of his classmates, holding his
breath as the boy's briefs descended, revealing first the
flat curve of his lower stomach, then the slowly narrowing
pubic triangle, covered with a surprisingly full bush of
light blond, curly hair, and finally the half-moon root of
the boy's manhood, with the shaft gradually emerging from
the bush of hair as the briefs moved inexorably downward. 
More and more of it was revealed as Lindsay continued until
the wrinkled, bulging sack could be seen behind both sides
of the narrower shaft.  The bottom of the boy's scrotum came
into view, and still more of the shaft remained to be
revealed.  Chad marveled at the size of the boy's balls –
they were almost as big as Joey's, yet S. F. himself wasn't
any bigger than Alan!  

Finally, the descending waistband revealed a bulging in the
narrow shaft, and then it tapered in dramatically, coming to
a sharp point as the boy's foreskin was revealed and his
underpants whisked off.  With the foreskin hanging off the
end, it had to be 4 inches long!  Yet it was thin as Alan's,
giving it the overall appearance of a deathly white snake
attached to the boy's crotch.

"Wow," Cynthia, sitting next to Chad, said under her breath. 
"It's like a third leg!  If it's that big when it's soft, I
wonder how big it gets when it's hard?"

"Who cares," Chad whispered back, trying to act nonchalant.

"Someone's jealous," she snapped back, then instantly
regretted it when she saw the hurt look in Chad's eyes.  

Meanwhile, Celeste, never one to keep her remarks about
boys' anatomies to herself, voiced her opinion.  "It makes
him look like a tripod," she said.  Tripod, Chad thought. 
Two to one that's S. F.'s nickname from now on.  Well, it
beat Microdick, he had to admit.

S. F., meanwhile, was staring at the back wall, thoughts
circling his head so rapidly he couldn't focus or keep up
with them.  He was naked!  He was standing in front of
everyone with his boy stuff hanging out!  And now they could
all see his secret, see all the hair he had on him and see
how freakishly big his balls were and  how long his wiener
was!  He blushed deeply red all the way to his chest in
shame.  They'd know what he'd been doing – what he couldn't
stop himself from doing even though he tried.  The evidence
was hanging right there between his legs.  

Years ago, when S. F. had been a very young boy, he and his
baby sitter of the time, Jason, had come in from the
backyard where they'd been playing for some time both
needing to pee so badly they couldn't wait any more.  They'd
stood at angles beside each other aiming their streams into
the toilet.  S. F., marveling at the older boy's much bigger
penis and balls and his nest of curly hair, had asked Jason
why the older boy's stuff looked like that, and so different
from his own tiny equipment.  Jason had told him quite
seriously that when boys played with their wieners a lot
until they got all hard and tingly they got bigger and
hairier, and that his would do that too if he played with
himself every day.  

Eyeing the older boy's big, hairy privates with distaste,
he'd vowed he'd never touch himself again, because he
certainly didn't want to look like that!  His vow had lasted
about a week, and then while half asleep he'd started idly
stroking himself again and couldn't stop until he got the
tingly feeling again.  For awhile he'd vowed that each time
would be the last time, but he'd find himself doing it
again, promising himself, "just this one time" each time,
and examining his penis critically the morning after for
signs of an increase in size or the appearance of hair.  But
for a long time nothing like that happened, so he thought it
must be okay after all, and gradually increased his self-
stimulation until he was doing it almost every morning
before he got out of bed, every night before he went to
sleep, and sometimes in the afternoon as well when he got
home from school.  He'd also, at times, pleasured himself in
odd places, such as in the old shed in his yard and in the
woods behind his house.  He'd see a secluded place, get
those twinges of excitement inside him, and before he knew
it his wiener was rock hard and he was slipping his pants
and underpants to just below his butt and frantically
tugging at his foreskin, rolling it over the head of his
penis and back again until the tingles made him thrust his
butt and bite his lips to keep from crying out.  Afterward,
he'd look around guiltily and yank his pants up, chiding
himself for taking such chances, but as the years had gone
by and nothing much had changed about his genitals, he put
Jason's comments out of his mind.

That is, he put them out of his mind until about a year and
a half ago, when he'd suddenly noticed that his balls didn't
fit as comfortably into his underpants anymore, and his
wiener seemed to be getting hard all the time, not just in
the mornings and when he had to pee.  And then hairs were
sprouting all over his crotch, and his wiener appeared to
double in size overnight, and all of the sudden he was
leaking liquid out the end of it when he played with himself
and the tingly feeling came!  He realized that everything
Jason had said was true – he'd played with himself, and now
his penis was freakishly big and hairy!  He thought about
going to his parents about it, but he couldn't bear the
shame of them knowing what he'd done!  He had dreaded his
Jr. High physical last year, because he just knew the doctor
would know, but the old man had just flipped his penis up
and examined it, looked at his balls and felt each one, and
then said lightly, "Everything looks okay here," and let S.
F. get dressed.  

Still, he knew the doctor knew what he'd been doing, and if
his own parents had seen him naked, they would know, too. 
So S. F. had become a very private individual.  He didn't
stop playing with himself – obviously the damage was already
done, and he couldn't quit, anyway.  The fever would come
over him, and he just had to do it again.  He'd gathered
from people around him that other boys had the same problem. 
He'd seen himself the results of Jason's lack of control
years ago, and in the last three weeks he'd seen the hair on
Alan, Jimmy, and especially Joey that exposed their shame as
well.  Only Chad Henson's small  genitals suggested he could
control himself, and he'd been forced to rub himself in
front of everyone!  He was probably growing hair right now! 

Maybe if he shut his eyes and opened them again, it would
just be a bad dream and they'd go away!  Nope, still there. 
His butt throbbed from the mighty smacks Mrs. Rose had given
him.  But he'd been telling the truth!  He shifted position
and felt his wiener swaying as he did.  It was out in the
open, not bound up in his pants as usual.  Normally S. F.
hated the tight quarters of his underpants – his mom
insisted on getting him briefs that would fit a 10-year-old. 
Yet to ask for bigger underpants would be to admit his shame
and lack of control to her.  But ever since the explosive
growth of his boy parts over the last year, he'd been
acutely conscious most of the time of how tight things were
in his pants even in normal conditions.   And when he got a
spontaneous erection, things were unbearable!  He'd have to
slip his hand surreptitiously into his pants and adjust the
throbbing shaft so that it pointed upward and hid against
his groin, but he was always aware of the tip brushing his
pants waistband.  But standing here with it hanging free
just felt weird.  He could feel the air stirring around his
genitals, and blowing across his equally exposed bottom.

His bottom!  Anyone behind him could see it, and Mrs. Rose
was standing behind him right now.  He wanted to cover up,
to slap one hand over his crotch and the other over the
center of his bum crack, but neither of his small hands
would have been adequate, of course.  Where had the magazine
come from?  He'd never take a thing like that to school. 
Oh, he'd look it if he found it at home, he wasn't a little
sissy, but he'd never have risked taking it to school!  He
shifted again.  He could feel his wiener swaying.  Mustn't
think about that.  When he thought about his wiener, it
tended to get hard, and this wasn't a good time.  His
thoughts bounced to what was coming up.  Was he going to get
an enema, like Randy?  Or maybe a spanking, or even a
paddling!  What did they do to kids who brought porn to
school?  But he hadn't brought porn to school!  Did Joey
Turpin put it in his notebook, maybe to hide it from
discovery by putting it with someone else's stuff?  But Joey
had looked surprised to see it, and had eyed the girl on the
front like he hadn't seen her before!

That girl – she'd been sitting there smiling, with her legs
open and everything on display.  Did girls ever sit like
that, buck naked and smiling because you were looking at
them?  Girls who didn't mind you looking at their boobs, and
maybe touching them?  His penis gave a twitch, and he
realized, too late, that this was not a productive line of
thought.  Noooooo, he thought to himself.  Don't get hard
now!  He involuntarily glanced down – his penis was not
hanging down anymore – it was angling out from his body a
bit, the head swelling and the narrow girth widening.  He
tried to think about other things – he was probably going to
get spanked!  Hard!  On the bare butt!  With everyone
watching!  It was gonna hurt – even Joey had cried when he'd
been spanked!

S. F. tried to think back to his last real spanking at home. 
It had been before his wiener had gotten big and hairy, that
was certain, because he'd gotten it bare butt, and he'd have
been mortified if his mother had seen the evidence of his
shameful behavior.  It had been over that internet business. 
He'd gone to a website his cousin had mentioned was "really
good."  The site had been good—there had been girls with
their tops off on it, showing their boobs to whoever logged
on.  None of them showed their bottom halves, to his
disappointment, but he'd spent a happy 10 minutes looking at
boobs and rubbing his penis until he got all tingly and good
feeling.  He'd closed the browser down, unaware of things
like browser histories until his mother had called him into
the study, tight lipped and angry, showed him the sites that
he'd just visited, and asked him if he had anything to say.

S. F. had just looked at the floor with nothing to say, and
his mother had sighed.  "I'm very disappointed in you,
Samuel," she had said.  "You should know from Sunday School
the evils of staring at loose women with lust in your heart. 
I'm going to have to punish you severely, and when your
father comes home, I'm going to report your activities to
him!"  She had then pulled him, mortified with shame, over
to her, methodically pulling down his shorts and underpants
and stripping them off his legs.  Her lips compressed into a
thin line as she spied the erection that he had developed
while being undressed.  She had unceremoniously hefted S. F.
over her lap and, without another word, slowly and carefully
spanked his bare bottom all over until blisters had appeared
in the centers of his little white buns.  S. F. had no idea
how many spanks he'd gotten that day, but the spanking
itself must have taken several minutes, and he howled for a
very long time after that lying on his stomach on his bed
with his head buried in a pillow and his crimson butt
blazing with pain and too sore to touch.  

His father had come in later and sat on his bed, rubbing his
butt softly while talking about how web sites like that were
sinful and that he had to resist sin, and noting that he had
put a tracking device on the computer and would be
monitoring S. F.'s every move from that point on to protect
him from the fires of hell.  S. F. didn't pay a lot of
attention to his father's words at the time, but now
something that had seemed insignificant at the time made a
bit more sense.  His father had rambled on about how when he
was a boy it was hard to resist temptation, and that he'd
made many mistakes himself as a young man and "swilled from
the hog trough of temptation," as he'd put it.  Suddenly the
connection between those words and the dirty magazine with
his father's name on it came into focus.

At the time, though, he'd paid little attention to his
father's words – he been focused on two things – the first,
that his butt still stung and burned terribly from his
mother's long and hard spanking, and second, that despite
the terrible stinging pain, he still had a hard on and that
his hard on pulsed and tingled, begging him to touch it,
every time he pictured standing naked before his mother and
being told he was going over her lap for a long, hard
spanking.  He couldn't understand the thought tingled so
pleasantly – the actual spanking had hurt something
terrible, and he hadn't felt anything but pain and a desire
to escape while it was going on.  Plus, it had taken him the
better half of an hour to stop bawling, yet he still tingled
with excitement at the idea of being in that position in
front of an authority figure again.  He'd found himself
wondering if his father was going to spank him, too, and was
relieved and yet disappointed when his father gave him one
last final pat on his sore rump and left the room.  S. F.
had never ventured to enter any questionable web site
thereafter – in fact, he'd been so strongly ashamed that he
was afraid to mention any sexual topics to anyone or stay in
the vicinity where others were making sexual references, and
thus knew little more at 13 about sex than he had several
years before.

S. F. focused on his memory of that very painful lesson from
his mother now – the incredibly sharp pain as his bottom was
struck repeatedly, the way it built and built until you
couldn't stand it, trying to frighten himself so much that
his penis would go down.  His mind kept drifting away from
the actual spanking, though, to the feeling he got when
standing naked in front of Jason playing the son to his
babysitter's role of father..  Slowly, as if it had a mind
of its own, Sam Farlow's long, slender penis rose to an
angle from the ground to a position pointing straight out,
then to a position slightly above that.  Its head swelled
the foreskin, which retreated to make a neat little hood
encircling the now visible tip with its neat little pee
slit.  Blue veins stood out prominently under the almost
transparent skin.  Emily was the first to notice S. F.'s
swelling tool, staring with fascination and lips slightly
parted as it rose until it was pointing at her face and then
slightly higher, like a cannon elevating and about to send a
volley out to the enemy.  More and more people began
staring, until everyone in the room was staring at his
stiffly pointing flesh, even Chad, who'd been trying to look
disinterested.  At the same time, his scrotum pulled up
snuggly on either side, until it looked like his shaft was a
lever seated between two large, oval ball-bearings.

"That's got to be more than 5 inches long," Cynthia
breathed.  "But it's so thin!"

"Joey's is wider," the girl next to her replied, "But I like
this one better."

How can he be that big in the pants and have that much hair?
Chad thought in wonder.  S. F.  was barely a month older
than him, and hardly any taller!  He reflected briefly on
the unfairness of life.

Cynthia, meanwhile, was considering her own puzzles.  How
did S. F. walk, or ride a bicycle, or zip up his pants, for
that matter, with that outsized package bulging between his
legs?  Didn't all that stuff get in the way?  Eyeing him
closely, she decided that it must tend to stay in front of
his legs all the time, so that it didn't hinder their
movement.  

Go down, S. F. was silently willing his recalcitrant penis. 
Go down, go down!  But the attention he was giving it just
seemed to make it harder.  He wanted, more than anything, to
run away, but Mrs. Rose was holding his arms over his head,
and that was out of the question, as was anything but
standing there being stared at.

Ramona, feeling guilty about looking but looking anyway, was
marveling at how far above his genitals the nude boy's navel
must be.  It's funny, you always think of a boy's belly
button as being at the bottom of his stomach, but boys still
had a lot of abdomen below there until you got down to where
they boy parts were attached, almost like stuff stuck onto
the surface of their bodies, and much lower than she'd
always imagined.  She remembered the scene again years ago
when Jimmy Chen's pants had been pulled down in front of her
and the neighborhood kids.  As his pants had dropped she'd
kept waiting to see something, but it wasn't until they were
almost off that anything other than smooth skin appeared.  

She directed her attention lower, to where the boy's legs
joined his body.  She'd always thought of the legs as
joining together at the crotch on both boys and girls to
make an inverted V, but experience the past few weeks had
shown this usually wasn't the case.  Although Randy
Martinez's fat thighs joined together under his genitals, S.
F., Chad, Jimmy, Alan, and Joey had all had quite a bit of
space between their legs where they entered the body, so
that their scrotums hung or clung tightly to their bodies
with daylight behind them.  She'd verified, by looking in
the mirror at herself after emerging from the shower, that
the same was true of girls – they had quite a bit of open
space between their legs.  She felt that familiar naughty
twinge of excitement that she always felt when seeing a boy
undressed against his will.

Mrs. Rose, meanwhile, was ready to move things along.  "Mr.
Farlow," she said, addressing S. F. as she held his arms
over his head, keeping his entire body exposed.  "You have
shown extreme disrespect for our school by bringing in a
clearly pornographic magazine, and you have displayed an
unforgivable lack of respect for females in doing so.  In
order to teach you some respect for females, I'm going to
have your D. A. administer a painful paddling on your bare
bottom which will continue until I believe you have learned
a lesson about the dignity of females and the need to follow
school rules."  

She rotated S. F. easily so that his bottom faced the class,
his stiff penis bobbing like a sword as he turned and
slapping against her leg before sliding free and waving in
the air.  Several of his classmates laughed.  She released
his hands.  "Hands behind your head, young man," she ordered
as S. F. looked about ready to try to reach back and cover
his bottom from the view of the class.  

"Hey, look!  Handprints!"  Celeste said gleefully, pointing
at S. F.'s bottom.  Sure enough, there were two fairly clear
impressions of Mrs. Rose's manly hands on S. F.'s bottom,
glowing pinkly against his white skin.  The left bun
handprint was indistinct, but the right side showed an
impression of her palm and 4 of her five fingers.  

Mrs. Rose examined the boy's bare bottom critically. 
"Hmmmm," she said.    "All this very white skin reminds me
of something.  I've got a new paddle that I'd like to try,
and the whiteness of your bottom, Mr. Farlow, should allow
me to see its effects more clearly.  I'm afraid you're going
to find your trip over your DA's lap a very bad experience."

S. F.'s heart was pounding in his chest.  He was gonna get
paddled!  He watched Mrs. Rose like a nervous mouse peering
out its hole at a cat as she went to her drawer, opened it,
fished around, and came out with an odd –looking paddle with
a thick plastic handle.  It sported a round spanking surface
with a metallic pattern on it.  She took S. F. by the arm
and rotated him back to face the class again, this time
adroitly avoiding his erect sword of a penis as it swung
around, still bobbing in the air.  "Mr. Farlow, meet Mr.
Sparky," she said, holding the paddle under his nose.  S. F.
looked at the paddle with dread.  It appeared to be made of
hard black plastic, but it had narrow metal lines running in
a spiral on the surface.  

"Mr. Sparky is nicely sized to sting a disrespectful boy's
bottom quite painfully by itself, and its hard plastic
surface has very little give, so all of the spanking force
is transmitted directly to the boy's bottom." Mrs. Rose
explained, holding her new toy up so the class could see it. 
"But what makes this paddle special is what's in the handle,
and these spiraling lines.  The spiraling lines are actually
embedded wires – 10 of them in all. They spiral parallel to
each other from the outside of the paddle to the inside. 
The wires are connected to quick charge capacitors in the
handle.  The circle in the center of the paddle is the
ground contact. When this switch on the handle is switched
on, the paddle recharges the capacitors each time it is
raised, preparing them for contact with the boy's bottom. 
When the paddle shifts position on its way down, the
charging circuit is turned off, but the capacitors remain
charged, waiting for it to contact the boy's bottom.  When
'Mr. Sparky' come in contact with a naughty boy's bare
bottom, it not only causes the normal pain that a paddle
like this would cause, but also delivers 10 small but
painful shocks in various places on his bottom as each wire
contacts his bottom and the current in the capacitors rushes
through his skin to the ground contact.  I tried this one
out on my nephew just last night, and I've found the effect
to be quite satisfactory."  She turned the paddle so the end
of the handle faced the class.  "You'll note that there is a
dial on the end that adjusts how much current flows through
to the paddle when it is discharged.  The scale ranges from
one through 9.  A setting of one barely tingles the bottom
when it lands, a setting of 9 can produce intensely painful
welts.  For you, Mr. Farlow, I'm going to set Mr. Sparky on
5.  That should be very painful without marking your fair
skin too vividly."

As S. F. looked on in horror, she turned the dial up to 5. 
"One more thing," she said, turning to the class.  "Mr.
Sparky can also be used on a boy's genital region.  One
needn't strike blows with it – the shocks alone are quite
painful.  I tested that quality on my nephew last night as
well, and I was quite satisfied with the outcome.  You, Mr.
Farlow, had better be completely obedient throughout your
punishment and for the rest of the day, or you will discover
how Mr. Sparky feels on your genitals for yourself."

S. F. was paralyzed with fear now.  His bare bottom,
currently facing away from the class, felt incredibly open
and vulnerable.  Yet the position he was now in was also
associated with sexual excitement, and his penis got still
harder and began throbbing with his heartbeat.  Despite his
current jeopardy, his mind slipped back to when he'd been
between the ages of 5 and 8, and the aforementioned Jason, a
boy of about 12 or 13, had been his steady babysitter.  His
parents had always been deeply involved in church
activities, many of which they could not take him along to,
so S. F. had spent quite a bit of time with Jason in those
years.  

Most of the time they'd follow the same routine when Jason
babysat at night.  They'd eat the dinner S. F.'s mother had
left in the oven, and watch TV or play on S. F.'s Nintendo. 
Then Jason would say that it was bath time, and ask if S. F.
wanted a bath by himself or wanted to go in the shower with
Jason.  Sometimes he'd choose a bath, and Jason would help
him undress and run him a bath with mounds of bubbles, and
then sit by the tub and play in the water with him for
awhile before taking the washcloth and washing S. F.'s upper
body.  After finishing his upper body, Jason would always
have him stand up while he washed S. F.'s legs and then
carefully, using his hands, soaped S. F.'s boy parts until
his little weenie got hard and stood up and then got so
tickly that S. F. would protest.  Jason would always rub it
several more times, anyway, stating that little boys
dribbled pee on their wieners and it had to be washed well
for that reason.  After that, Jason would have him bend over
and carefully soap his spread bottom, always commenting that
you had to take your time and do a good job there, because
"That's where the poo comes out."  Then he'd rinse little S.
F. and let out the water and wrap him in a big towel and dry
him off, again giving special attention to his private
regions on the grounds that they were never out in the air
and needed to be extra dry.

If S. F. opted for a shower, and he usually did, he and
Jason would gleefully strip off their clothes together. 
Jason, who seemed so much bigger than him at the time and,
as S. F. had found out on his first visit had hair around
his much larger penis, presumably from playing with it a
lot, would scoop S. F. up and hold him on his hip with his
legs gripping Jason around his tummy, so that his head was
even with Jason's, while Jason held him with one arm and
soaped him with the other.  He still remembered the feel of
Jason's fingers and the soap traveling over his body and
finally plunging between his spread butt to tickle along his
butt crack and push on his tight little butt hole.  Now and
then Jason's soapy finger would slip into his orifice
slightly, and Jason would always say "Ooops, sorry, but I've
gotta get the poo out of there" and remove it again.  Then
he'd have the smaller boy grip him around the neck with his
hands while he turned the boy's crotch to face the water and
soaped his genitals until his penis would stand up and get
that tickly feeling again, after which they'd leave the
shower and the toweling would commence as before, but this
time with Jason drying himself off first, then standing
naked by S. F. as he dried the younger boy.  S. F.
remembered staring in wonder at the boy's much bigger penis
and balls swaying as he was toweled dry, and at the nest of
downy hairs on his crotch.  Jason was the only older male
he'd ever seen naked, as S. F.'s own father had never
undressed in his presence, as far as S. F. could recall. 
Jason always put his clothes back on again at this point,
but S. F. would hand Jason his towel and then run, naked,
down the hall to his bed, his penis flapping from side to
side and slapping his body as he did, racing to crawl into
the bed and pretend to hide from Jason.

Jason would come in and pretend to look for S. F., who was
always giggling in the center of the bed, and finally
announce that he couldn't find the boy, and he was going to
lie down and rest.  He'd then lie on S. F., complaining the
bed was lumpy, and poke and tickle S. F. through the covers
until he'd finally burst out, laughing hysterically, to
announce, "here I am!"  Jason would scoop him up and tickle
him some more, poking the usual places like his underarms
and his tummy, but also tickling S. F. in places no one else
did such as around his weenie, under his balls, and along
his butt crack.  S. F. wondered at this, but found the
touches so pleasurable that he never complained, and his
little weenie would get rock hard again and stand up.

At that point, Jason would slide pajamas on him, and then it
was always time for the "Father and Son" game.  Jason would
sit on the bed and say, "All right, son, you know you've
been naughty.  Tell me every naughty thing you did today,
and don't you dare leave anything out, because I already
know what you did, anyway, and if you leave anything out, it
will go worse for you.  S. F. would stand in front of him
and recite a series of wrongdoings, some of which were true,
but many of which he made up.  

"I peed my pants," was one of his favorites, even though it
was something he never did, at least, not any more than the
little dribbles all boys got on themselves now and then.  He
also liked to use, "I showed a girl in class my weenie," 
or, "I showed a girl in class my butt hole,"  because that
sounded deliciously naughty, even though he'd never have had
the nerve to do either of those things.  (Although in
kindergarten Jimmy Chen had done both in the same week and
gotten spanked twice on the seat of his pants, once for each
transgression.  S. F. had stolen the idea from him after
witnessing Jimmy's punishment.)   

After S. F.'s recitation of real and imaginary wrongs he had
done, Jason would say, "You've been a very naughty little
boy.  I'm afraid I'm going to have to spank you on your bare
bottom.  Take down your pants."  S. F., excitement rising in
him, would slip down the pajama bottoms he'd just put on. 
His penis was always throbbing with his heartbeat by that
point, and Jason would invariably acknowledge that, telling
him that he was extra naughty for being hard and that he was
going to get a bigger spanking because of it.  S. F. would
climb over Jason's lap, giggling while trying to be serious,
his penis still throbbingly hard, his pajamas around his
ankles, positioning himself so his penis was between his
belly and Jason's leg, where the pressure of his body weight
on it added to his excitement.  

Jason would rub his bottom and tell him how hard his
spanking was going to be and what a bad boy he was, then
he's say, "I'd better check your bottom, I don't want to get
poop on me," and he'd take both his hands and pry S. F.'s
little butt apart, leaning over to study his butt hole and
looking so closely that S. F. could feel his hot breath
against his exposed skin.  Often Jason took his time in this
examination, running a finger around and across S. F.'s
pursed orifice and following the raised ridge of skin that
led from his butt hole down to the base of his balls.  S. F.
had sometimes lain on his back and bent himself almost
double so that he could see this normally hidden area,
picking curiously at that ridge of skin and wondering if it
was where his mother had glued him together when she made
him, just like the joining ridges on his model cars.

Jason would almost always accuse him of having a dirty butt
and failing to wipe properly, and then announce that he was
getting more spanks because of it.  S. F., though he knew
perfectly well his bottom had to be spotless because of
Jason's thorough washing, would play along, apologizing for
not wiping his tushie and begging Daddy not to spank him. 
Jason would also reject his pleas.  Then Jason would begin
his spanking, patting S. F.'s bottom firmly but not hard
enough to hurt, while S. F. would go into his fake crying
routine, kick his legs, and promise to be good and beg not
to be spanked anymore.  Sometimes Jason would announce that
he was kicking too hard and needed to be held down, and then
he'd reach around S. F.'s small back and grasp the tip of
his penis as he went back to patting S. F.'s bottom, and
these times S. F. liked most of all.  

Usually after that, he'd stand S. F. on his feet, still with
pajamas down, and ask him if he'd learned anything from his
spanking, and S. F. would act the dutiful son and respond
that he'd never do the things he'd confessed to again.  That
was usually the end of their play, and Jason would pull up
his pajama pants, always brushing his penis pleasurably as
he did, and then tuck him in, read him several stories, and
then lie beside him comfortingly while he held his own penis
tightly until he fell asleep and awoke the next morning to
find Jason gone again until the next time.  Once in awhile,
not wanting the game to end yet, S. F. would vary the
scenario and say something like "I'm not sorry, and I'll
show my wiener to the girls again," or "Daddy's a poophead,"
so that Jason could use his show of defiance as an excuse to
go through the whole spanking ritual again.  Once he'd even
done this 3 times, so that he underwent four rounds of play
spanking and having his penis stroked, his excitement
building each round.

A couple of times the scenario was different – after the
shower, Jason would ask S. F. if he wanted to be the father
or the son, and Jason almost always chose to be the son. 
But  twice S. F. choose to be the father, and then it was
Jason who stood before the seated S. F. and recited his
misdeeds.  His misdeeds tended to be more colorful and
confusing than S. F.'s – he once told S. F. that he'd fucked
a girl, for example.  S. F. wasn't quite sure what fucking
was, except that it was a word you never said around anyone,
and it could get you in bad trouble, and it involved doing
something involving a girl's privates.  But he knew it was
bad, so he'd told Jason that he needed a big spanking and to
take his pants and underpants down at once.  He wasn't
particularly intrigued by the sight of Jason with his pants
and underpants at his ankles – after all, he'd just seen him
stark naked in the bathroom many times.  But he was
fascinated by the fact that Jason's penis, always much
bigger than his, got really big and hard those two times,
something that didn't happen in the shower.  It had felt
funny against S. F.'s pajama clad legs when he'd bent over
S. F.'s lap for his spanking.  S. F. had followed the ritual
to the letter, inspecting his babysitter for poo by
separating his muscular butt and studying his butt hole,
and, as he'd never actually looked at it before, he'd been
intrigued by the way it looked kind of like a little mouth,
changing shape constantly as he eyed it.  When he started
Jason's mock spanking, Jason had surprised him by begging
him to spank harder, until he was actually hitting Jason
hard enough to hurt his own hand.  He'd been more surprised
when he'd stopped and Jason had insisted he be spanked some
more, saying, "Daddy's a dickface," to inspire S. F.  Of
course, such an insult did call for more spanking by Daddy,
and Jason's butt was quite red by the time he was done.  But
Jason's penis was still rock hard and sticking out like a
pole when he stood before S. F. to say he'd never fuck a
girl again or call Daddy names, so S. F. had decided he must
not have hurt his friend after all.

The second and last time they reversed roles, Jason had
surprised him at the end by saying, as he stood with his
pants at his ankles, that S. F. should punish him more. 
"You can make me take that in my mouth," he'd said, pointing
at S. F.'s hard little weenie poking out the front of his
flannel p. j.'s.  S. F. had refused, primarily because he
couldn't convince himself that Jason would not bite him in
this delicate place if he complied.  Jason begged to be
humiliated in this way a few more times and then pulled up
his pants and they went on to story reading, and thereafter
S. F. carefully chose the son's role to forestall any more
odd requests by his favorite play partner.

Then, suddenly and without warning, Jason's parents moved
away, and Jason was gone, and there were no more exciting
games.  S. F. pined for the loss for awhile, and tried to
nudge other babysitters into playing with him as Jason had,
telling them he needed a spanking, but they always just
laughed and tucked him into bed, and he had gradually
forgotten about it and went on with life.  He hadn't even
thought about it recently, not until just now, when his bare
bottomed state and his hard penis bobbing in front of him
became a dιjΰ vu moment.  God, he missed Jason.  But this
wasn't Jason waving the paddle in front of him, it was Mrs.
Rose.  Also, he knew from the spanking he'd gotten from his
mother over the internet incident as the examples of the
boys who'd been bare-bottom paddled in his class over the
last few weeks that the pain he was going to experience and
the begging he was going to do would not be pretend.  

"Mr. Farlow, I'm only going to tell you once more," Mrs.
Rose was saying.  "Get over Lindsay's lap for your paddling,
or I'm using this on you genitals right now!"

Coming to life, S. F. scrambled to drape himself over
Lindsay's lap, almost shying away when she reached over and
firmly circled his penis as he prepared to settle down
across her.  She gripped it in her fist, the class marveling
at the fact that the head of S. F.'s penis stuck out the
other end with room to spare.  Lindsay herself marveled that
it felt so much like Joey's penis, except it was, if
anything, even harder than Joey's.  She began wondering what
it would be like to give this boy the oral favors Joey had
so often begged from her – he might be more appreciative,
she thought, and she bet he was every bit as potent and
virile as her boyfriend.  

Expecting pain, S. F. was surprised when her unfamiliar grip
on his penis felt pleasurable instead.  He was even more
shocked when, as soon as her hand was out of sight trapped
between their laps, she shifted her fingers so that she
could stroke the underside of his penis with her thumb. 
She's trying to make me squirt my stuff, S. F. realized in a
moment of clarity.  She's trying to make me squirt my stuff,
so I'll be in trouble like that kid who squirted his stuff
when the Nose was paddling him.  She'd probably use that
electric thing on his dick and balls if he did!   A jolt of
panic cut through him at the thought.  He shifted his
thoughts to the upcoming spanking to try to reduce his
response to her touch.  It's gonna hurt, he told himself. 
It's gonna hurt real bad!  And everyone's gonna see and make
fun of me!  I'm gonna cry, and they'll all call me a crybaby
like they did Chad!  He thought he could feel his penis
softening.  He tried to focus more on how scared he was. 
It's gonna burn my butt, he said to himself.  It's gonna
shock me, and it's gonna burn like fire.  It was
working—despite Lindsay's surreptitious stroking, his penis
was getting softer.  They're looking at my butt, he told
himself.  They're looking at my butt right now.   They're
making fun of me, and everyone can see the dense growth of
hair and freakish size of my wiener and they all can tell
that I can't stop playing with it!  

His penis was shrinking, but he was also raising his fear
almost to the point of peeing himself, he realized.  He
clamped down on his bladder muscles just in time to prevent
an embarrassing squirt and 3 days in diapers.  One of the
moments he'd been dreading came --  Mrs. Rose placed a hand
on each of his buns and pried them apart, inspecting his
anus.  She let go and turned abruptly, stalking to her desk,
picking up the baby wipe container, and stalking back. 
"You, Mr. Farlow, are dirty!" she said in disapproving
tones.  "Disgustingly dirty!  How dare you present yourself
for punishment in this state!"  She spread his butt with one
hand and roughly drew a baby wipe down the length of S. F.'s
butt crack, digging it into his hole as she went.  She held
up the soiled result for the class to see and appreciate,
then held it under S. F.'s nose.  He recoiled in distaste,
certain she was going to wipe his face with it.  But then
she tossed it in the trash and attacked him with a second
wipe.  "You obviously need instruction in proper anal
hygiene," she continued, now working on her third wipe.  S.
F. flinched as she dug her nails into his butt hole and the
surrounding area.  "This afternoon I'll have to take you
aside for remedial potty training," she announced grimly,
examining her latest wipe and then tossing it.  

S. F.'s cheeks burned with shame at her words.  Potty
training!  She was going to teach him to wipe his butt? 
Like you would a toddler?  Did she mean to do it in front of
the class?  His penis had shrunk down to its normal soft
state at this point, despite Lindsay's efforts to make him
hard.  

"Now before we start, Lindsay, we need to put a bit of this
on his naughty bottom," Mrs. Rose said, bringing what looked
like a toothpaste tube from her desk.  "It's conductivity
lotion – it increases the conductivity of his bottom so that
it conducts electricity more readily.  That way, we get more
current flow through his body with each contact of the
paddle, increasing the sensation and making the spanking
more effective."

More effective?  S. F. thought to himself, now in a state of
complete panic.  "You mean it makes it hurt more?" he
croaked.

Mrs. Rose looked at his anxious face, turned back over
shoulder as he watched the proceedings.  "Yes, Mr. Farlow,
that's exactly what it means.  I'm going to have Lindsay rub
this lotion into your disrespectful bottom so that the
paddle stings more every time it lands.  With any luck it
will hurt so badly that you stop thinking of women as
objects of your lust and start thinking of them as people
with power equal to or greater than yours."  She smiled
grimly to herself.  He'd learn, all right!  The very fact
that females like herself could force him to undress and
exhibit himself to the entire class should by itself teach
him which sex really has the power.  And having to lie
across the lap of a girl his own age while she repeatedly
strikes an intimate part of his anatomy and not be able to
stop it should make the lesson even more vivid.  The trouble
with all of these young boys was that, like men, they too
often thought with the little head between their legs rather
than their perfectly good brains.  It did them all a world
of good to have to expose those little penises they were all
so proud of to the ridicule of the class – it made them all
more subdued and respectful.  She squirted two dollops of
the lotion on the boy's white butt, one in the center of
each bun, and motioned for Lindsay to rub the lotion over
the entire surface. 

S. F. felt rather than saw the lotion being applied to him,
and moments later Lindsay's right hand began making gentle
circles on each of his buns as she rubbed the lotion in.  It
actually felt good, but his rising anxiety kept his penis
from erecting itself again.  He wondered how bad it was
going to hurt.  He'd seen the other boys get paddled before
with normal paddles and often with pants and underpants to
protect them, and they'd squalled like they were dying
during the paddling and afterward.  He'd seen Chad's red,
blistered butt after his paddling, and Alan's welted behind
after his.  Was his butt going to look like that in a few
minutes.  More frighteningly, he'd seen them kick and squirm
and bawl like little babies while they were being paddled,
squeezing their butts together and generally making a
spectacle of themselves.  They weren't doing that just for
show – it had to have hurt a lot.  He remembered again the
bare butt spanking his mother had given him more than a year
ago, and how he cried for an hour afterward.  This was going
to hurt more than that – it had to, with that nasty electric
thing they were going to paddle him with.  Realizing he was
near to wetting himself in fright, S. F. clamped down on his
sphincter again and tried to calm down.

But calming events weren't on the agenda.  Mrs. Rose handed
Lindsay the electric paddle, pushing the button to activate
it and smiling in grim satisfaction when the red light came
on.  Around the room discussion raged about S. F.'s pooping
and wiping habits, at least three kids talking about him
being Captain Poopypants with great amounts of laughter,
other kids taunting him about being a stinky butt.  S. F.
tensed as the paddle rose for the first time, the red ready
light blinking on the handle.  As it fell out of his sight,
a burning sensation bloomed on his right bun accompanied by
a loud smacking sound.  S. F. jerked and yelped, his legs
shooting out and his butt tensing so hard that hollows
appeared under each hip bone and for a moment he looked like
an anorexic.  Inside the burning circle of impact, he could
feel a number of individual points like bee stings that must
have been where the electricity had run across. 
"Ahhhhhhhh," he squealed.  "Nooooo moooooooore!"  Lindsay
ignored him, of course, landing a second spank on his left
butt cheek even as his legs were still extended and his butt
still tensed.  This time the sound was somewhat different,
landing on his powerfully tensed muscle, but the burn, if
anything, was worse, with S. F. swearing to himself that he
could feel each individual shock from the nasty thing even
as he squealed again and waved both of his fully extended
legs in the air impotently, looking like a scissors opening
and closing.  Lindsay gave up trying to stimulate his
flaccid penis and instead stretched it out to its full
length, pulling until he felt stabs of pain deep inside him. 
He couldn't protest, though, because he was squealing again
from the third spank, which Lindsay had sadistically planted
right on top of the first, tripling his bodily response.  

The rest of his paddling was a blur to S. F. – unending
waves of pain from the base of his butt as he thrashed and
squealed and screamed until he was hoarse.  Lindsay never
moved her target, alternating buns systematically and
landing each blow in exactly the same two spots, the center
of his left bun, and the center of his right.  Without any
respite between spanks, his butt burned excruciatingly in
those two spots.  His penis also burned just where it
entered his body, and he had to fight continuously to keep
from peeing himself and Lindsay, and earning the diaper
treatment.  His face, contorted with his crying, was as red
as the centers of his butt, and he'd created a puddle of
tears mixed with snot under it as Lindsay finished the 30th
blow and Mrs. Rose halted his punishment, examining his
buttocks as he continued to flail and kick his legs
impotently.  She noted the almost solid pattern of red welts
made by the electric shocks with approval.  "Well done," she
said over S. F.'s wailing.  "Rub the sore spots vigorously
so that he'll remember this lesson well."

Lindsay handed Mrs. Rose the paddle and began kneading S.
F.'s sore butt with her right hand, feeling the iron
strength in the muscles under the hot, blemished skin.  How
could such a tender butt be so solid underneath?  These boys
were really a marvel that way.  She parted the boy's buns
and noted, with approval, the whiteness of his butt crack in
contrast with the red circles on each bun.  The boy's pink
butt hole winked at her as he randomly contracted various
butt muscles, trying to ease his pain.  She went back to
massaging him for the next couple of minutes, and then S. F.
was allowed to sag over Lindsay's lap for a minute more,
bawling at the top of his lungs, while Mrs. Rose cleaned up
the snot and tears on the floor and put the paddle away. 
Finally, she grasped S. F. under the arms and lifted him to
face the class, his soft penis still as long as before but
swaying gently between his legs now rather than standing
stiffly.  He continued to cry unabashedly for several more
minutes, his puffy eyes looking blearily at the far wall,
his nudity forgotten in the overwhelming butt pain that he
couldn't comfort because Mrs. Rose had firmly placed his
hands behind his head again.  

Then she wiped his face with baby wipes, and he was rotated
so that his ravaged bottom faced the class, and the deep red
circles Lindsay had made in each bun glowing brightly at the
class.  Lindsay pointed at the welted skin, commenting, "I
should get extra credit for that.  You know how we're
studying Japan?  I made two Japanese flags!"  Mrs. Rose
smiled indulgently.  Against S. F.'s white skin, the almost
perfect red circles did look like Japanese flags.  

S. F. was eventually rotated to face the class again, and
after about 10 minutes had calmed his crying enough that he
was ready to apologize to the class and take his place in
the corner.  Mrs. Rose came to stand by him.  "First, Mr.
Farlow, you will apologize to the class for having to view
your disgusting body and for being so naughty you needed to
be spanked.  Then you will thank Lindsay for spanking you,
and you will apologize for your exploitive attitude toward
women and for bringing that disgusting magazine into my
classroom.  

"But I didn't…" S. F. started to protest. Mrs. Rose's face
darkened immediately. 

"Mr. Farlow, we've heard enough of that tune.  We all know
you brought in that magazine.  Now either apologize for your
behavior, or I'll get Mr. Sparky and you can testify to your
friends what it feels like on your genitals."

S. F. cringed.  "Noooooooo!" he said quickly.  He gulped. 
There was no escape – she was sure he'd done it, and she'd
just keep punishing him until he agreed.  "I mean, I'm sorry
you had to look at me naked and that I had to be spanked,
and, and I'm sorry I brought in that magazine."  He felt
hurt inside.  He hadn't done it!  You weren't supposed to be
punished when you hadn't done anything!  

"What else, Mr. Farlow?  Don't you need to thank someone?" 
Mrs. Rose said nastily.

"Ummmm," Sam said.  He saw Lindsay in the crowd, now sitting
at her desk.  "Oh, yeah – thank you for spanking me," he
said over Lindsay's head.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Lindsay said primly, smiling
slyly at him.  

"What about your attitude toward women?"  Mrs. Rose said.  

"Huh?" S. F. replied, dancing a bit to try to soothe his
still burning bottom.

"Apologize for your degrading attitude toward women," Mrs.
Rose ordered.

"But I like women," S. F. protested.  "I like my mom, and I
like my aunts, and I like girls.  I don't hate women!"

"You're saying you need more paddling?"  Mrs. Rose said
evenly.  "I'll have to get Mr. Sparky."

"Noooooo!" S. F. said, looking terror-stricken.  "Okay, I'm
sorry I --- what was the word again?"  

"Degrade," Mrs. Rose said.  "When you go around looking at
women with lust in your eyes like that and thinking only of
your base male desires you degrade women."

"I'm sorry I degraded women," S. F. finished.  His penis
twitched, causing him to look down at it and generating
hilarity in the classroom.  He flashed back again to his
games with Jason, when he'd stood in front of his babysitter
just like this.  Oh, crap – he was getting hard again!  "May
I go to the corner now?" he asked, hoping to be seated
before his erection became obvious.

To his relief she motioned him to the chair she'd placed in
the corner opposite Randy's, reminding him, as he prepared
to settle in,  "You can sit for now, but I'll need to potty
train you later this afternoon," an announcement greeted
with general hilarity by Joey and Big Sam as well as many
girls.  By the time he'd settled himself gingerly on the
hard chair, his sore butt throbbing in protest, his erection
was bobbing in front of him.  Mrs. Rose saw it and frowned
as if contemplating spanking him until it went down, but
then turned back to class and began the math unit.  Potty
training, S. F. thought to himself.  What would that
involve?  It couldn't be good.  And how had his father's
magazine gotten into his notebook?