Tommy's Attitude Adjustment Chapter 19
by Chadlad

copyright 2007 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 19:  Drawing out the Evil

S. F.'s blood ran cold.  He wasn't at all sure what Mrs.
Ardmore meant by drawing the evil out of him, but like any
good boy with evangelical parents, he knew about scourging. 
His parents had dragged him to see "The Passion of the
Christ" at a special showing for his church, and he'd
practically lost his lunch as he'd watched the depiction of
Christ writhing in agony as he was whipped.  He still
remembered the open cuts, and the blood, oh, so much blood! 
They wouldn't do that to him, would they?  He'd never heard
of that being done to anyone, since, well, since Christ!   
But then again, even if they didn't break his skin, a
whipping was a thing of agony – he'd known that ever since
he'd seen Jimmy Chen get whipped on his bare butt!  And even
if they did just a little of that, it would make his
paddling in school, and Mrs. Ardmore's slaps, seem like a
gentle massage session.

"Stand up!"  Mrs. Ardmore ordered.  S. F. complied, acutely
aware of his hard penis bobbing in front of him.  His mother
tossed a towel to Megan, who immediately began drying S. F.
as if he was a little boy, starting with his hair and
working her way down his body.  The towel caught on his
projecting penis, as she got to his midsection, sending
shivers of pleasure through him despite the peril of his
situation.  He stood there helplessly as she wormed her hand
into his butt, wiping his butt crack and butt hole down. 
Finishing at his feet, she stood up, draping the towel over
a handy towel rack.  He glanced down at his crotch, where
his penis refused to go down.  The bare skin above his
penis, where he was used to having so much hair, looked and
felt odd. Now what? S. F. wondered.  

Mrs. Ardmore didn't make him wait long.  "We may as well
draw the evil out of him here in the bathroom," she said. 
She appraised him up and down, finally stopping to stare at
his crotch.  S. F. fought the urge to flinch under her stony
gaze.  She frowned.  "He certainly looks much better without
all that awful hair on him," she said.  "That's why I insist
my husband keep himself shaved bare, even on his business
end."  He focused on S. F.'s hard penis.  It was bobbing
slightly with his heart beat, pointing straight out in front
of him.  The foreskin swelled out over the prominent head,
almost completely retracted from it and making a neat hood,
with the exposed pee slit slightly spread with his erection. 
She noted with approval, that it was perfectly straight, and
except for the wrinkles of the underside of the tip, was
smooth as well.  With his light skin, though, the veins in
it showed clearly.  She disliked penises with prominent
veins, but she disliked circumcised ones and the ones that
curved prominently to one side or the other even more.  You
could get used to the visible veins, she decided.  This boy
had the potential to one day be very pleasing to the right
Christian girl, a girl who could keep his lust channeled
toward providing her pleasure, as God meant it to be.  For a
moment she wished she was young again, in a position to
begin stalking this boy, becoming the one to take his
innocence and control his lust.  Or even that he was old
enough that she could take him on as one of her special
Bible students, so that he might receive her special lessons
in God's plan for the roles of men and women in preparation
to taking on his ordained role.  But first, he needed to be
taught that his pleasure was secondary, and to save it for
women alone.

She looked at S. F.'s mother.  "It is vital that we
completely remove his arousal before scourging him! 
Furthermore, we must teach him that the action of self abuse
is a disgusting, distasteful, ungodly, bestial act!  Those
of us in the Women's Prayer Group have found in the past
that forcing our young boys to draw all the evil out of them
suffices to teach this lesson.  It is essential, though,
that this process be public and humiliating," Mrs. Ardmore
said with certainty.

"What do we have to do?"  S. F.'s mother asked.

"He must milk the evil out of himself, until he is unable to
produce any arousal at all.  Then he must continue, until
his nasty bits are so sore that the thought of engaging in
self abuse is impossible.  Only then will he be pure enough
for the scourging," Mrs. Ardmore said.  

"Are you certain this is the right course?" S. F.'s mother
said, doubt creeping into her voice.

Mrs. Ardmore's daughter spoke up.  "Absolutely," she said. 
"My nephew Cameron is only nine, but he became caught in the
grip of evil just a year ago, when he was only eight.  He
could not seem to keep his hands away from his little staff
of Adam when he was in bed or in the bathroom.  So last
year, when the girls were at Christian Camp, we had an
intervention and made him follow his procedure, in front of
the rest of his family and some of the girls from the prayer
group.  It worked wonders on him.  Now he doesn't even touch
himself when making water!"  Megan met Lisa's glance – this
was the first they'd heard of this.  Regret for what they'd
missed flooded both of them.

"All right, if you're sure," S. F. was mother said.

"Then it's settled," Mrs. Ardmore said.  "Young man, move
over here, to this end of the bathroom.  That's good, right
there.  Girls, you move over here where have a good view." 
Megan and Lisa shifted until they were directly across from
him. "Excellent," Mrs. Ardmore said.  "Now, young man, you
must take your staff of Adam in your hand and let the devil
take control of you until you have committed the sin of
Onan.  You are not to stop until ordered to."

"What?"  S. F. said, aghast.  She wanted him to play with
himself?  Right here in front of   them?  In front of the
girls, too?  He remembered watching Chad play with himself
in front of their class a few weeks back when he was being
punished, his hand moving rapidly on his small penis as he
brought himself to orgasm   He'd been especially intrigued
by the peculiar grip the poorly hung boy had used.  At the
time he'd thought it was quite funny, watching the smaller
boy milk himself in public, going up on his toes as he
orgasmed.  Now they wanted him to do that, while they
watched?  He couldn't!  He stood there helplessly, looking
at his mother for rescue.  She merely regarded him stonily.

"Well, what are you waiting for, you nasty, perverted,
little boy!"  Mrs. Ardmore said.  "We all know that you've
done it before, many, many times!  I'm sure you've done it
just this morning."  S. F. gave a start.  How did she know? 
His guilty look was all Mrs. Ardmore needed to confirm her
superiority.  "See, I told you ladies this boy was already
far gone down the path of perdition!  It is a good thing we
are here in time to save him!"  She turned to her daughter. 
"The bag, please, Madeline," she said.  Mrs. Ardmore's
daughter, handed her the bag and she fished in it briefly,
coming out with an ordinary looking paint stirrer.  She
advanced on S. F., who flinched at her approach.  "Now,
young man," she said, "you will take your staff of Adam it
in your hand, and begin to abuse yourself immediately, or I
will take this paddle and thoroughly paddle the objects
hanging in that bag of skin immediately under it.  Do I make
myself clear?" 

S. F. found her perfectly, distressingly clear, and his
options few.  Flushing completely to his chest with
embarrassment, he reluctantly raised his right hand to his
erect penis and seized it behind the head.  He scanned the
room again hoping for a reprieve at this point, but saw
nothing but sober looks from the adults and eager smirks
from the two girls.  He forced himself to draw his closed
fist over his penis head and then back again, shivers of
pleasure running through him despite the embarrassment of
the situation.  He slowly stroked himself several more
times, trying to think of some way to get out of this.  Mrs.
Ardmore patted her hand with the paddle.  "I know that's not
how you do it when you're alone," she said.  "You're not
fooling me, so do it right or I'll proceed with the paddling
of your other parts."

With a sigh, S. F. opened his hand and circled his penis
head with just his index finger and thumb, leaving the rest
of his fingers extended.  He looked down himself, avoiding
the eager eyes of the girls, and picked up the pace of his
stroking to his normal tempo.  "That's better," Mrs. Ardmore
said approvingly.  "I presume you're old enough to produce
the blessed fluid of God that gives life," she said.

S. F. had to think about that one for a minute before he
realized she was asking if he could wet cum.  He forced
himself to answer. "Yes," he croaked.

"That, of course, makes your sin even worse," Mrs. Ardmore
said.  "It is an abomination to spill the blessed fluid of
God, except in giving pleasure to your lawfully wedded
female partner!"  She looked around the prayer group for
approval, and got smiling nods.  She turned back to S. F. 
"When you feel you are about to spill the blessed fluid of
God, cup your other hand under your staff of Adam to catch
it.  And don't you dare spill a drop, young man, or I will
have to use my paddle on you!"  She glared at S. F.

Staring at his penis, watching his hand to move up and down
it, S. F. could feel the liquid pressure inside that
signaled impending orgasm.  Indeed, he'd never felt the
pressure like this before -- it felt like he was going to
have the mother of all orgasms.  Moments later, he was just
able to get his left hand cupped under his penis tip before
it erupted, spurting out in two thick squirts followed by a
several more dribbles as he clenched his butt and grunted
with each contraction, thrusting his hips towards the
females in the room.  Despite his current position, waves of
pleasure flowed through him.

"Ooooooh," Lisa said, just as Megan said "gross!" with great
feeling.  "It looks like snot," Lisa added.

"Disgusting!"  Megan said.

"That's because boys and men are disgusting," Mrs. Ardmore
said.  "And they have to understand that the blessed fluid
of God is to be produced only in the service of women, not
just to satisfy their base pleasures!"  She turned to S. F.,
whose penis was now drooping slightly, the head swollen in
post orgasmic fashion.  He continued to hold his cupped left
hand under the dripping tip, while his index finger and
thumb of his right hand, smeared with semen, gripped his
penis behind the head.  He'd cum so much!  He'd never
produced that much before, in one orgasm.  It made a little
pool in his left hand.  He stood there, lamely, wondering
what to do next.

"Well, young man?"  Mrs. Ardmore said.  "Don't just stand
there, you must clean yourself up, so we can begin again." 
S. F. looked at her.  She pointed at his crotch.  "Clean it
off your staff of Adam with your right hand," she said.  S.
F. obediently drew his thumb and forefinger down the shaft
of his penis, sluicing the slimy fluid off himself and
leaving his penis relatively clean.  He stood holding his
right hand over top of his cupped left hand and looked at
her again.  "Clean yourself up, I said!"  Mrs. Ardmore said. 
S. F. started to walk to the sink.  She blocked him.  "Not
that way, you perverted little swine!  The blessed fluid of
God is not to be wasted by washing it away!  You must redeem
yourself by taking it inside you!"

"What?"  S. F. said, not believing his ears.

"Eat it," Mrs. Ardmore's daughter said.  "Lick it off your
hands, and don't miss a drop."  S. F. looked at his mother
pleadingly.  She glared at him.

"Don't test my patience," his mother said.  "I will not
tolerate disobedience from you any more, Samuel!  If Mrs.
Ardmore says it must go inside you, it must!"

"Lick those hands clean right now, young man, or my paddle
will be doing a dance between your legs!"  Mrs. Ardmore
said, taking a step towards S. F.  S. F. looked at his
hands, examining the slimy half teaspoon or so of liquid
coating them with revulsion.  Mrs. Ardmore suddenly reached
out and gripped his penis hard, lifting it and pulling back
the paddle, aiming at his balls.  So frightened he would've
pooped himself if he hadn't been emptied already, S.  F. 
lifted his hand to his mouth and tentatively licked his
right index finger, where a small amount of his output
glistened.  To his surprise, it didn't taste like much of
anything, just kind of slimy and a little salty.  He licked
that finger and his thumb clean, then cleaned the space
between them as well.  He paused and looked dubiously at the
bigger pool in his left hand.  Mrs. Ardmore gave his penis a
threatening tug.  Flinching, S. F. lifted his left hand to
his mouth and drew the small pool into him, his body
recoiling at the musty smell as it neared his nose, but Mrs.
Ardmore's firm grip on his penis urging him on.  It was
harder to lap this up, because it with thicker, and slimier
and considerably more copious, but he managed somehow.  It
really wasn't any worse then eating his own snot, which
something he'd done off and on through the age of seven or
so, until his mother had spanked him soundly one day when
she'd caught him doing it.  He finished cleaning his hands
off and looked at Mrs. Ardmore, who released his penis.  The
two girls were shaking with laughter.

"That's better," Mrs. Ardmore said with satisfaction.
"You're well on your way to becoming a better boy.  Now get
back to work."

"You want me to do it again?"  S. F. said.

"Are you hard of hearing, boy?"  Mrs. Ardmore's daughter
asked.  "When a female, especially an older female, tells
you to do something, you do it.  Remember, you are merely a
male."  S. F. still hesitated, until Mrs. Ardmore waved her
paddle meaningfully towards his genitals again.  Then, with
an audible sigh, he seized his penis once more and went to
work.  The two girls watched him with glittering eyes,
unable to control the smirks on their faces.

Despite the fact that he had masturbated that morning, and
he had just cum a few minutes before, it took S. F. only a
couple of minutes to make himself hard again and only a few
minutes more to cum in his left hand, this time his output
only dribbling out, considerably thinner and more watery. 
It only took one prompt from Mrs. Ardmore for him to clean
himself up this time, licking the salty fluid from both his
hands.  He still didn't like the smell, but it didn't taste
all that bad.  Making himself hard the third time took a bit
longer, and his penis was becoming sore from all the
abrasion.  Furthermore, once he became hard, he became aware
of soreness inside him, where it was clear his boy parts
were having quite enough of this.  Still, after a good five
minutes pounding away, he was able to make himself cum, this
time only a couple of drops that did not clear his penis and
spread out on his right hand.  He dutifully licked it clean,
his penis shriveling to a shadow of its former self and
becoming quite red along the shaft and behind the tip.  

Nonetheless, Mrs. Ardmore insisted he immediately begin
jacking himself, waving her paddle to emphasize her point. 
His penis was becoming quite tender, and stuff inside him
was also burning in complaint.  It took him almost 10
minutes to make himself hard, the whole process a
combination of mild twinges pain and fleeting pleasure, and
then he had to pound away at himself for almost that long
before.  He was able to make himself cum, this time, a dry
cum that physically hurt inside.  There was nothing to clean
up, so he stood there panting looking pleadingly at Mrs.
Ardmore.

"Again, young man," she ordered.

"I can't!"  S.  F.  said.  "It hurts!  And it won't get
hard!"

Mrs. Ardmore stepped to him, gripping his penis again.  In
its current sore state, this was very uncomfortable.  She
raised the paddle.  "I have had enough of you and your
disobedience," she said.  Before S. F. could react, his
crotch exploded in white hot, agonizing pain.  Distantly, he
heard the smack of the paddle on his balls, as he collapsed
to the ground clutching himself in a fetal position.  He
wanted to scream, but he couldn't get a sound out of his
throat.  He lay on his side with both hands on his crotch,
gasping and wheezing trying to catch his breath.  The ache
in his balls went on and on and on.  For a while he was
aware of nothing that was going on in the room.  When his
senses finally returned, he was aware that Mrs. Ardmore was
talking.

"... so as you can see, all males are very, very vulnerable
in that particular spot," she was saying.  "Even with adult
males, you can always keep them in line by threatening the
source of the Blessed fluid of God.  And with boys your own
age, nothing will stop an unwanted advance faster than a
knee to the groin.  But you must be careful not to overuse
this punishment, because the sources of the Blessed fluid of
God are easily damaged."  She turned to look at S. F., who
had uncoiled a bit from the floor.  "It looks like our young
miscreant has learned his lesson," she said, nudging him
with her foot.  "Get up, you disobedient little pig!  And
remember the next time I give you an order, I expect you to
obey it!"

Groaning, S.  F.  stood up, his balls still throbbing.  He
tentatively grasped his soft penis and began manipulating
it.  His throbbing balls made any arousal impossible, and
his penis was so sore that touching it was almost agony. 
Mrs. Ardmore made him continue to try to arouse himself for
a solid 10 minutes of increasingly greater agony before
allowing him to stop.  "Excellent," she said addressing the
other ladies.  "He has now been thoroughly cleaned of the
evil inside him.  The lesson of the scourging, will be much
more effective because of it.  We must leave here now, and
go to the back yard.  I have everything prepared for the
scourging back there."

S. F., his balls throbbing, his penis burning, and acutely
aware he was still stark naked, walked obediently on shaking
legs behind the females out the back of the house.  It was
slightly cool outside, and he immediately felt cold.  Mrs.
Ardmore motioned to what looked like a large vinyl cushion,
almost as big as him that she had set up on the patio. 
"Stretch out face down on that, young man," she ordered. 
She guided S. F. into position over the pear shaped cushion,
so that his butt was high in the air and his chest angle
downward, so his face was almost on the ground.  The cushion
was cold and had straps build into it, which she quickly
secured around his torso under his arms and around the small
of his back.  She moved each of his arms lower on the
cushion where straps were waiting for them as well, then
defrauded his legs apart and put straps around each of his
knees.  S. F. could feel the cool air on his open butt
crack, and was acutely aware of the vulnerability of his
aching balls, hanging between his widely spread legs.  He
tentatively tried to move, only to discover he could only
twitch and was thoroughly tied down.  He looked over his
shoulder at the gathered females in growing apprehension.  

Mrs. Ardmore was all business.  She was busily donning a
pair of gloves.  She turned and smiled at S. F. "You, young
man, are fortunate in that you will now experience a
spiritual cleansing, that will leave you bereft of your
devilish impulses and born-again!"  She turned to her
daughter.  "Do you have them ready?"  she said.  Mrs.
Ardmore's daughter walked to the patio table, out of sight
for a moment, then returned carrying a handful of long, dark
green, leafy plants with long stalks.  S. F. noticed that
she was carrying them wrapped in a towel.  She handed them
carefully to her mother, who gripped them and actually
smiled at S. F. "These," she said, with glee, "are fresh,
newly harvested nettles.  She waved them in front of S. F.'s
horrified face.  "They not only are sturdy enough to use as
whips on a boy's business end, but they also have small
spines on them that penetrate bare skin and release a
chemical that causes a severe stinging, itching sensation. 
They are particularly effective on soft, protected skin,
such as that found on a boy's fundament."  She shook the
nettles in front of S. F.'s face.

S. F. struggled to find his voice.  "Pleeeeeeease," he
begged.  "Please don't whip me with those!  I've learned my
lesson!  I won't touch myself again!"

"Oh, no," Mrs. Ardmore said.  "I'm afraid not.  You won't
have learned your lesson until you've been thoroughly
striped with these, on your fundament and on your exposed
boy parts as well.  You will note to the child discipline
cushion you are tied to allows paddle and whip access to all
of your male parts, as well as your bottom.  You may
struggle all you want, but you are still going to be whipped
in all of those places until you have been cleansed!"

"Nooooo!"  S. F. wailed, twisting his head wildly.  Mrs.
Ardmore's daughter stepped forward, grasping his head and
stuffing a large, soft rubber ball in his mouth.

"That's enough from you, young man," she said.  "Time for
the healing process to began."

S. F. found himself unable to do anything but moan and
squeak around the large ball, which was jammed in hard
enough he also could not spit it out.  He tried to beg
through it, acutely aware of how exposed his butt and
genitals were.  Mrs. Ardmore stationed herself to his left,
and he saw out of the corner of his eyes her raise the
handful of long, thin, threatening stalks and then bring
them sharply down.  His butt tingled in a dozen places as
they landed, then came a sharper burn as she pulled the
nettles toward her slightly before releasing them to begin
her next blow.  Before she had even started the next blow,
he felt a powerful stinging beginning in lines across his
butt crossing both buttocks and making him gasp into his
gag.  The stinging was still intensifying when the next blow
landed, adding new fire to the first.  S. F. squealed into
his gag, tensing muscles and trying to tear loose, but only
kicking his legs below the knees comically against the
ground.  He could hear the two girls laughing with glee at
his antics by the time the third blow had landed, and his
entire butt was on fire, burning and itching sensations
everywhere.  Tears were rolling out of his eyes and down his
cheeks as he thrashed his head around, aware of nothing but
his desire to escape the stinging sensation enveloping his
butt.

Mrs. Ardmore ignored his distress, simply methodically
whipping his butt with the nettles, carefully overlapping
the entire surface and noting with satisfaction the lovely
angry red stripes the nettles made on the boy's fundament. 
The cleansing must be thorough, she told herself!  She had
to save this boy from the torments of hell.  But how wise of
the Lord to have created nettles so that they might be used
for this purpose!  Satisfied after the 15th stroke that the
boy's buttocks were sufficiently striped, she stopped to
obtain a new group of nettles and then move so she was
standing almost over the boy's back.  She now aimed the
nettles straight down the boy's butt crack, noting with
satisfaction how the flexible nettles bent to follow the
boy's curves, the tips striking the back of his scrotum. 
The boy's thrashing increased, his wailing loud despite the
gag, and his feet drumming the ground ineffectively behind
him.  She aimed several more blows down the boy's vulnerable
crack, noting the appearance of red stripes on the formerly
white skin and his pink elimination orifice.  It was a good
thing that she had cleaned his bowel out thoroughly
beforehand, she thought to herself.  She was fully aware of
the importance of allowing this area to heal before the
boy's next elimination, but having cleaned him out with
Castor oil he would have at least a good two days before his
next movement.

Satisfied with her work on the boy's butt, butt crack, and
the backside of his balls, she prepared for the final part
of his scourging.  She set the nettles down.  "Give me a
hand, here, Madeline," she said.  Her daughter, knowing just
what she was doing, grasped both of S. F.'s legs, pinning
them to the ground.  Mrs. Ardmore unbuckled the straps
around his knees.  Twisting the lower half of S. F.'s body,
Mrs. Ardmore's daughter forced his left leg where his right
had been and vice versa, leading S. F. twisted on the
cushion, his legs x-ing around each other.  She then grabbed
S. F. by the arms, as Mrs. Ardmore released the rest of the
straps, and rotated him so he was lying face up on the
cushion.  Mrs. Ardmore quickly replaced the strap around his
stomach and under his arms, and her daughter pinned his arms
back to the side of the cushion, where they could be
strapped down once again.  S. F. found himself now a
mobilized and looking at the sky, with his genitals the
highest part of the cushion projecting into space and
feeling incredibly vulnerable.  He was sobbing
uncontrollably, his face a mass of tears and snot, both of
which were now coursing backward toward his hair.  Mrs.
Ardmore took up the nettles again and spoke to him loudly,
over his crying.

"Now, boy, you will be privileged to experience the final,
ultimate cleansing.  I shall scourge your staff of Adam and
the sources of the blessed fluid of God!  Only when you have
felt the pain of the nettles on those holy places will you
understand!"  S. F. really wasn't aware of what she was
saying, or of anything else except the incredible fire
radiating from his butt, his butt crack, and the backside of
his balls.  But she got his attention once she brought the
nettles down sharply across S. F.'s crotch for the first
time.  The underside of S. F.'s penis, which had been
flipped up to point at his face, suddenly came alive with
the same burning stinging that he was experiencing on his
butt.  S. F. squealed and began striking more vigorously as
Mrs. Ardmore landed four more blows on his bare genitals. 
Satisfied with their red, irritated appearance, she srt the
nettles down and peeled off her gloves.  "Leave him there,"
she said to S. F.'s mother.  "He needs to cry himself out.
We'll go inside and have our prayer meeting, and come out
when he's done."  All of the females departed at that point,
the two younger girls smirking at S. F. as they left, secure
in the knowledge that they were not bestial, vulnerable,
inferior little boys with projecting body parts that were so
easily punished.

Time passed in a haze for S. F.  He was aware of nothing
except the itching burning pain all over his butt, all down
his butt crack, across his butt hole, all around his balls,
and along the underside of his penis.  He struggled and
wiggled and moaned, wishing he had his hands free to scratch
the stinging, irritated skin.  After a while, the burning
diminished somewhat and the itching sensation started to die
down, although the painful stripes continued to hurt.  His
crying diminished to whimpering, and finally he was able to
stop entirely.  It was getting colder out, and he was
humiliatingly aware that he was stark naked outside, where
anyone could look over the wall and see him.  And hadn't the
women said they were coming back?  In some ways he hoped so,
because he was getting cold, and he needed to pee.  But in
other ways, he dreaded coming under Lisa and Megan's gaze
again, looking at him with their superior smirks.

As he was thinking S. the patio door open and female troop
came out again, gathering around him.  His mother and Mrs.
Ardmore released his bonds and pulled him to his feet.  S.
F. wobbled a bit before standing, slightly crouched, wanting
to soothe his genitals and butt, but entirely too aware of
what would happen to him if he touched himself.  Mrs.
Ardmore removed his ball gag.  S. F. licked his dry lips. 
"Can I go to the bathroom, please?"  He asked plaintively.

"You couldn't possibly need to do your business," Mrs.
Ardmore said.  "You've been cleaned out thoroughly."  

"I need to pee," S. F. said in a whisper, flushing as the
girls giggled.

"You must first apologize," Mrs. Ardmore said.  "You must go
on your knees and apologize to each of us individually for
demeaning women in the way that you did.  You must also
thank each of us for cleansing you."

The pee urge burning inside him, S. F. dutifully gone on his
knees in front of them, his long but flaccid penis swaying
slightly as he did.  "I'm sorry I demeaned women," he said
to each of them in turn.  "Thank you for cleansing me," he
added to Mrs. Ardmore's approval.  When he got to Megan, she
smirked as he said this and patted his head like he was a
little boy.  

"Any time," she said.  "Just say the word and I'd be glad to
blister your little bottom any time, anywhere you need it."

Apologizing to Lisa was even more humiliating.  After all,
she was younger than him.  She looked down at him during his
apology, then said, condescendingly, "That's okay, you young
boys simply can't control your urges the way we girls can. 
It must be horrible to have those nasty things bouncing
around in your pants all the time, always in the way!  But
you're not a bad boy, Samuel.  All you need is a little
discipline!  You boys simply need to learn that we girls are
boss."

"Now comes the acid test," Mrs. Ardmore said.  "This is
where we see if his reform is sincere."  She looked directly
at S. F., who was still on his knees, feeling ridiculous
naked with all these girls around him.  "Young man, please
go to Lisa and ask her to give you a sound spanking on your
bare fundament, and then stay in place over her lap while
she doe it.  Lisa, you may sit on that ledge to administer
it."  She indicated a short wall just about sitting height
at the side of the patio.

S. F. cringed in horror.  His butt still burned like fire! 
They expected him to go to this younger girl and meekly bend
over her lap to be spanked!  He already hurt so much he
couldn't stand it!  And he needed to pee worse than ever! He
was about to protest when it dawned on him what Mrs. Ardmore
had meant by acid test, a test he'd come very near to
flunking.  Getting slowly to his feet, he walked over to
where Lisa had gleefully seated herself on the ledge, his
entire underpants area burning.  He awkwardly draped himself
over Lisa's small lap, trying to ignore her triumphant look. 
"Please give me a hard spanking," he forced himself to say.

Lisa gleefully went to work, rapidly raining spanks all over
his bare posterior, quickly bringing tears to his eyes due
to the already sore nature of his bottom rather than the
strength of her blows.  Mrs. Ardmore let her continue to
spank him until he was crying freely before stopping her. 
"Okay, young man," she said.  "You appear to have learned
your lesson.  Get up.  Megan, take him to the potty, and
make sure he doesn't touch himself along the way or while
he's in there.  Watch him like a hawk!"

Gleefully, Megan took S. F. by the hand and led him towards
the house, guiding him into the hall bathroom and
positioning him in front of the toilet.  "I get to see you
pee," she said nastily.  "And you have to let me watch. 
Because you're a disgusting, dirty boy!  I get to see all
your parts!" She sneered at him condescendingly.  "I bet
you'd like to see me pee, wouldn't you?" she added in lower
tones.  "I bet you'd like to see my holy place!    Well, you
never will!  Because you're nothing but a dirty, disgusting
little boy!"  S. F. wished he had the ability to tell her he
didn't need to pee at all, and try to salvage some dignity. 
But his body had a mind of its own, and the sight of the
toilet in front of him, ignaled his bladder to let go.  It
burned to pee, the tip of his penis especially complaining,
but his need was so strong that he did so, anyway.  His
penis was in a dreadful state to look at, raw and sore-
looking.  His foreskin completely covered the head and hung
loosely off the tip, making it come almost to a point the
whole tip red and bumpy from the nettles.  He couldn't see
the underside as he peed, but he could feel the residual
burn of being whipped with the nettles. 

S. F. finished peeing and reached unconsciously to shake
himself, then snatched his hand away when he realized he had
almost touched himself.  Megan reached over, grabbed his
sore penis, and shook it herself, making him wince.  She
laughed at his discomfort.  "You better get used to not
touching it – your mom said she'd make sure that you saved
yourself from now on!  Too, bad, too, because you looked so
funny playing with yourself like that!  I bet you were
really embarrassed!"  She let go of his penis.  "It's kind
of cute, the way it gets all hard, though," she said in a
softer voice. "I wonder what it would feel like inside." 

He stood there, his mind still not keeping up with events. 
Did she just say she wondered what his wiener would feel
like inside of her?  He'd seen several pictures of men
sticking their wieners inside of women on the web sites he'd
visited that had caused his mom to beat his butt back when
he was 11, and had found them to be mildly repulsive and yet
deliciously naughty.  She was picturing him doing that?  He
wasn't sure if he found the prospect intriguing or
frightening.  He stood there at a loss, waiting to be told
what to do.  "We all saw your butt hole, too," she said,
smirking.  "You know, where the poop comes out!  I saw it,
and Lisa saw it too!  It's all pink and wrinkly!  Although
now it's all red and wrinkly," she paused in memory. 
"Because you got whipped on it.  You know, it's a good thing
it's all hidden – your butt hole, I mean.  It's so gross
looking!  All butt holes are gross looking!  Imagine what it
would be like if boys went around without pants, with their
butt holes sticking out every time they bent over to get
something, and their things flopping everywhere.  My
neighbor has a Husky and its tail goes straight up in back,
so you have to look at its disgusting butt hole all the
time!  Sometimes it even has poop on it!"

She stared at him awkwardly for another few seconds,
examining his genitals openly.  Finally she looked at him
with an evil glint in her eye.  "I wish they'd had me spank
you.  I'd like to."  She paused again.  "So how did it feel
to have Lisa spank you?  It couldn't have hurt much – she's
not very strong.  I can't believe you cried!"

"It hurt!"  S. F. protested.

"Good," Megan said.  "Spankings are supposed to hurt!  I'm
sure she meant it to!  But I bet I wouldn't have cried.  You
boys are such babies!"  The gleam in her eye intensified. 
Turning, she put down the toilet seat lid.  "Let's see how
obedient you really are,"  she said.  She sat down on the
lid of the toilet.  "Get your butt over my knee, right now,"
she ordered.  "I'm going to give you another spanking!  A
good hard one on your bare butt!"

"No, pleeeeeeease!"  S. F. said.

"But I want to.  It's not fair that Lisa got to have all the
fun.  And you have to let me.  Because I can tell your mom
you touched yourself," she said.  "Then she'll probably have
my grandma scourge you again.  So you've got two choices. 
You can come get over my knee and let me spank you, and then
I'll just tell her you were being sassy and I had to do it. 
Or I'll go tell them right now that you started playing with
yourself in front of me, and then you'll probably have to do
the whole cleansing again!"  She smiled nastily at S. F.

Trapped between a rock and a hard place, S. F. clumsily
draped himself across her lap.  She began spanking him slow
and hard immediately, steadying him by pressing her hand on
the middle of his back.  On his painfully sore butt, her
enthusiastic slaps stung terribly, quickly bringing new
tears to S. F.'s eyes.  After the fourth spank, Mrs. Ardmore
stuck her head in the door, her daughter immediately behind
her.  "Something the matter in here?" she inquired.  "He
didn't touch himself, did he?"

Megan stopped spanking S. F. for a moment.  "No, ma'am" she
said earnestly to her grandmother.  "He just sassed me, so I
decided he needed another lesson in respect for females,"
she replied.

"Oh," her mother said.  "In that case use this," she said,
passing something across the Megan.  S. F. looked over his
shoulder, his eyes blurred with tears,  horrified to see
Megan was now holding the "Board of Education" paddle.  "You
need to blister him good this time," she said, to S. F.'s
horror.  "Obviously the message isn't getting through."

And blister him she did.  On his already sore and welted
butt, S. F. discovered the "Board of Education was a very
nasty spanking implement indeed, quickly reducing him to
full-fledged bawling.  Megan did not let up until his butt
was dark red all over and throbbing unbearably, while he
kicked his legs like a small boy and clutched at the air to
keep from reaching back to grip his sore butt.  Then he was
yanked to his feet by his own mother, who guided him,
sobbing, into his meditation corner of the living room,
where he stood for the next hour with his sore, red butt on
display, while the ladies finished their meeting and said
their goodbyes.  Megan and Lisa each came over to say to
goodbye to him individually, Megan rubbing her hand gently
upon his sore butt as she bid him farewell.  "It's been a
pleasure!"  she said lightly, giving each of his buns a pat
as she parted. Lisa, not to be outdone, patted both of his
buns as well before leaving and then trailed her fingers all
the way down his crack, sending shivers down his spine.  

S. F. heard his mother see the Women's Prayer Group to the
door, and then the house was finally quiet.  His mother
reappeared in the living room.  "You've disappointed me
horribly, Samuel," she stated.  "I never dreamed when I had
you that one day I'd have to turn to the Women's Prayer
Group to deal with you wanton, sinful urges!  I've never
been so humiliated by your behavior in all my life!"

S. F. tried to shrink into the plaster, but his body
stubbornly remained in the living room. His mother
continued.  "I can't stand the sight of you!  You go
straight to your bedroom, and get right into your bed!  And
no pajamas!  You may not wear any clothing for the rest of
the weekend!  If you're going to act like an animal, you
might as well look like an animal!  You go straight to your
bed, and you stay there until I come for you in the
morning!"

S. F. turned and started for his room.  He stopped at the
door.  "Can I go to the bathroom first?" he asked.

"No!" his mother stormed.  "You just went, not half an hour
ago!  You can wait until morning!  And you may not get up in
the night, either!  If you wet your bed tonight, so help me,
I'll make you wish you'd never been born!"

S. F. fled to his bedroom, where he'd lay face down on the
bed sobbing into his pillow about the unfairness of it all. 
It was all because of that stupid magazine!  And it wasn't
even his!  Someone else had planted it on him.  For a
moment, he felt a powerful rage, a feeling so unlike his
normal temperament that he wondered at it for a moment. 
Someone was going to pay for this.  If he ever found out
who, he'd—he'd—he'd make sure the person wished they'd never
been born, that's what he'd do!

Somehow he did manage to cry himself to sleep, because when
he was next awake, the sun was shining in the window andthe
clock said it was almost nine o'clock.  His butt was an
aching mass of bruises welts, and stripes, and his penis and
balls still ached and stung.  Yet despite its condition, his
penis was stretched out to its full hardness, the foreskin
mostly retracted, exposing the head he'd made sore from
masturbating.  He was so stiff he had to gently stretch his
butt muscles before they would move at all, and he needed to
pee so bad he couldn't stand it.  He sat up in bed,
concentrating on not wetting himself and his bed until his
mother finally appeared in the doorway about 10 minutes
later.  "Your father's coming home again from his mission
this afternoon," she said.  "He will be very, very
disappointed in your sinful behavior, I am sure.  He'll
probably want to physically chastise you himself!  Until
then, you will not get dressed, you will not leave your
room, you will do nothing but sit in the middle of your bed
and study your Bible until he returns.  You may go to your
bathroom now, then you will not be allowed another bathroom
break until noon."

S. F. scampered off to the bathroom, his penis, erect with
the need to pee, bobbing in front of him comically as he
ran.  His mother had placed a Bible, a water bottle, and a
box of crackers on his bed by the time he'd returned, and he
didn't see her at all the entire morning, which he spent
alternately reading Bible passages and staring out his
window at the back yard, wishing he was somewhere else and
wondering if his father would blister his butt when he got
home.

"And that was pretty much it," S. F. said to the listening
boys, having hit the high points of the story but leaving
out the most embarrassing stuff.  He sipped on his half-
finished shake, preferring it as a cold compress more than
as a drink.  "When my dad got home, he came to my room and I
thought he was going to whip me with his belt, but he just
examined me all over and looked mad, then he left."

In fact, S. F.'s father had stared at him in shock, taking
in his shaved pubes and his swollen, sore penis, then had
asked him to turn over and lie face down on the bed.  S. F.
had almost wet himself in fright at the time, thinking he
was going to get the belt, but his father merely spent a
long time examining his welted and sore butt, and then
gently guided S. F.'s legs up under him so that his butt was
spread and he could examine the boy's butt crack, all the
time shaking his head and sighing.  "This time she's gone
too far," he'd muttered.  "I can't let this go on.  I should
have ended it long ago."  He'd suddenly arisen and stalked
out of the room, shutting the door behind him.  S. F. had
crept out of bed to listen at the door.  

"And that's when the fight began," S. F. concluded.  "I
couldn't hear most of it, but you could tell by their tones
they were fighting.  Well, I couldn't hear until the end."

At the end, his mother and father were screaming at each
other.  "The human body is not a shameful thing!"  his
father had shouted.  "It is the most holy of things!  It was
made by God himself!  Solomon, the most holy of man, said
himself that woman was a thing of beauty, a gift of God to
be admired."

"You are as mired in sin as your heathen son is," she'd
retorted.  "Your mind is clouded with lust, like all men!  I
should have abandoned you to sin when I found that filth of
yours that has now contaminated your son!"

"There is nothing wrong with our son!" Mr. Farlow had
shouted.  "He's a fine, normal boy, with normal feelings! 
It isn't wrong to find women attractive, or to want to share
in the great gift of physical enjoyment that God has granted
us!"

"So now you're condoning whoring!  I should have known when
I saw your filthy magazines years ago!  So how many women
have you fornicated with since then?  Is that what you're
doing on your missions?" she'd countered.

"I have always been faithful to you!" Mr. Farlow had
thundered back.  "I made a commitment in the eyes of the
Lord, and I consider it sacred!  I don't go whoring!  And
our son isn't whoring, either – he's just dealing with the
feelings of a normal pubescent boy."

"By abusing himself!  By engaging in unspeakable acts with
his own body!" his mother had snapped back.  "Of course you
take his part, though – you were just such a hopeless, lust-
filled sinner yourself!  It was only by the grace of God
that I was able to turn you to the path of righteousness!"

"Masturbation is not a sin," he snapped back.  "It's a
normal human response when sexual intercourse isn't
available.  If anything, masturbation would keep your son
from sinning by allowing him to deal with his sex drive in a
safe and acceptable way!"

"Acceptable?  How could such a disgusting, animal behavior
be acceptable!  God slew Onan for the act of spilling his
seed on the ground, clearly stating that males must control
their unnatural urges!" she snapped back.

"Onan was slain for disobeying God's orders to impregnate
his brother's wife, not for masturbating," S. F.'s father
had replied.  "The Bible doesn't really say anything
specifically about children masturbating!"

"It shouldn't have to – it's a disgusting, selfish, animal
act," his mother replied.  "You should have seen him when
the Women's Prayer Group made him do that disgusting act in
front of them – it was enough to turn your stomach!  But it
got him started on the right path – I doubt he'll be able to
pollute himself again after the rightful shame we put him
through," she'd said with feeling.

"You made our son masturbate in front of your prayer group?"
his father had said with indignation clear in his voice.

"We made him do it until he couldn't any more!  It was the
only way!  Now he'll be free of the desire."  She paused,
taking a deep breath.  "And stop calling him our son!  No
son of mine would succumb to such sinful behavior!  He won't
be my son until his heathen ways are a thing of the past and
he's renounced his former behavior.  Now I insist that you
go right into this room and paddle his little behind until
he bleeds!  Let him know that you won't countenance his
lustful behavior, and the lesson will be complete!"

"Oh, I'm going to his room, all right," his father had
stormed.  "I'm going there with all the ice in the freezer,
and I'm going to let him soak his bottom and his genitals in
the tub to try to reduce the damage you've done!   And while
he's soaking, I'm packing his things and mine!"

"You're leaving me?" his mother had said, surprise clear in
her voice.  "Just the sort of thing I should have expected
from a spineless weakling like you.  Go ahead, then!  Run
away!  Take your pervert of a son with you!  I'm not staying
around another minute to listen to your blasphemies!"

"My mom slammed the front door and drove away, then," S. F.
told the spellbound boys.  "She even squealed the tires on
the car.  Dad brought the ice thing from the refrigerator
and put cold water and all the ice in the tub and made be
sit in it.  Have you ever sat in ice water?   I about froze! 
I mean, it felt good where I hurt, but it was so cold!  It
makes stuff shrink, too," he said with a quick, embarrassed
grin.  "You know, boy stuff.  Anyway, he packed up all my
clothes and my other junk and his things too, and loaded
them in the pickup.  It took him a long time.  I sat in the
water when I could stand it, and stepped out in between when
I got too cold.  Eventually he came and he dried me off and
put some kind of first aid lotion on my butt and my other
parts, and he helped me get dressed, and here we are."

"Wow," Alan said.

"Yeah," Jimmy replied.

"Anyway, my dad said that all of this was his fault for
marrying my mom, and that I hadn't done anything wrong by,
you know, doing – doing what I did."  He looked at the other
boys earnestly.  "Is he right, or is mom right?"  he asked
looking from boy to boy.  "I mean," he said ducking his head
and blushing, "I mean, it isn't bad to play with yourself is
it?  And to think about girls?  My dad says every boy does
it.  But was he just saying that?  I mean, do you guys do
it?"  He paused, looking more embarrassed.  "I mean, I know
Chad does it, because he had to do it in class, but do the
rest you guys do it?"

There was an uncomfortable silence as the boys all looked at
their feet, then Gabriel, younger and less threatened,
looked up and grinned.  "All the time!"  he said.  "That's
what peters are for!"  he added.  "Well, that and peeing."

"You guys too?"  S. F. said, looking at the others who were
still looking at the floor.  Chad was the first to give in
and look up.

"Sure," he said.  "It's like what Gabriel said, that's what
they're for.  All of us do it.  But we don't talk about it. 
So shut up."

"Yeah, shut up," Jimmy added, giving S. F. a grin to take
the sting out of his words.  

"Man, your mom is mean!"  Alan chimed in quickly changing
the subject. "I thought my mom was tough, but man!"

"I've had foster parents who were worse," Gabriel said.

"Ain't possible," Jimmy retorted.  "They'd have to cut it
off to be any worse!"

Gabriel and Chad exchanged glances.  "You have no idea,
"Chad said.  "You should hear his stories." At this point,
the group noticed Mr. Farlow approaching.  

"I see you found some friends," he said, smiling at his son. 
He was carrying a large number of bags.  "Can you guys help
me with this?"  He said.  "It's a lot to carry."

The evening had wound down after that.  After helping to
carry parcels out to the Farlow's pickup truck, the boys had
wandered back to the mall entrance, where Alan's mom had
picked them up on schedule.  Jesse and Alan had sat next to
each other in the van and held a murmured conversation, then
Jesse had borrowed Alan's cell phone and punched in a
number.  

"Hey mom," he'd said, as the other boys eavesdropped.  "Okay
if I spend the night at Alan's house?  Alan Delvecchio.  His
mom is the one who drove us to the mall.  He's Chad's
friend.  Yeah, it's okay with his mom!"  He listened, then
covered the phone and spoke with Mrs. Delvecchio.  "It is
okay, isn't it?" he asked.  Mrs. Delvecchio considered, then
nodded.  "Can we stop at my house for my stuff?" he added. 
She nodded again, and Jesse relayed the information to his
mother and rang off, smiling happily.  He saw Chad looking
at him and his expression became more guarded, possibly even
guilty-looking.  Chad looked away.  

I bet I know what they're planning, he thought to himself. 
He felt a twinge of embarrassment then, like he'd looked in
a window and seen something he shouldn't have seen.  He
turned to Jimmy quickly.  "So what did you think of S. F.'s
story," he asked, to change the subject.

"Sad," Jimmy said.  "But maybe he'll be all right now." 
Conversation about inconsequential things followed, through
the process of picking up Jesse's overnight bag and dropping
Jimmy, until Chad and Gabriel were finally dropped off at
home.


  
TAA19_Tommys_Attitude_Adjustment_Chapter_19