Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 HOUSE CALLS



   "Mrs.  Jones.  I'm Brenda from House Calls here for Stevie's and Jason's
biweekly servicing."

   Mrs.  Charles Jones looks with surprise at the fortyish buxomly woman
standing at her front door wearing designer jeans.  "But where is Mister
Marks.  I was expecting him."

   "Oh, he didn't explain?  No, Mr.  Marks is, shall I say, our greeter
much like they have at Walmart.  Your maintenance service with us is
carried out by any number of members of the staff.  In that respect it is
somewhat similar to an HMO.  Now Mr.  Marks is certainly more than any
Walmart greeter for he does provide the initial evaluation, treatment, and
customer guidance in plan selection.  But don't worry; I've been with the
company for quite some time."

   "But the boys are expecting a man."

   "Mrs.  Jones; the boys are not in charge here.  You and I are."

   "I'm sorry.  Of course; please come in."

   A couple of minutes later Jason hears the dreaded knock on his bedroom
room.

   "Come in."

   In walks one hundred ninety pound Brenda with her satchel and cane case
in hand.  Jason shrinks back in surprise.

   "Jason; I'm Brenda from House Calls here to service you today.  I see
that you have removed those posters of disgusting, contorting men from your
walls."

   "Ugh; yes ma'am.  Where is Mr.  Marks?"

   "I doubt that you'll be seeing more of him.  In fact you may not even
see me again.  We rotate, you know.  But enough small talk.  You know the
routine: Strip down to your shoes and socks."

   "But you are a woman."

   "What keen insight you have.  STRIP!"

   One could say that Brenda was a no-nonsense woman.

   Jason turns his back and slowly takes off his clothes.  Once done he
turns to face her with his hands over his privates.  By now Brenda has
removed the red-handle cane and is putting on medical examination gloves.
She pulls a chair over from the boy's desk and sits.

   "Come her.  Put your hands on your head and spread your legs.  I am
going to examine you."

   Jason obeys and looks to his side.  Will she ask me to cough?

   Brenda gives his limp pecker a complete going over.  Next follows his
balls examination.  She squeezes them and starts slapping his dingdong from
side to side as Jason continues to stare off into space over a shoulder. 
Perhaps she is examining it like a doctor taps to check on reflexes.

   "Your records indicates that you probably are a homosexual.  Two weeks
ago you denied it.  Denial is the first stage once one has been so
informed. Are you still in denial?"

   "Of course I am for it's not true.  I'm no homo."

   "Jason, you need to move beyond stage one if you are to make any
progress.  You know there are five stages and you have four more yet to go
before you arrive at the last stage: Acceptance."

   "But it' not true.  I'm no fag; no way, ma'am."

   "All of the evidence says otherwise." With that she stops slapping his
cock back and forth.

   "What fucking evidence?"

   "It's as plain as day.  Look at your little undersized pecker.  Here it
has been caressed by a female and it's as limp as a dishrag.  But when Mr.
Marks was here the record says that it was hard as a rock in his presence.
What does that tell you?"

   "I don't know why it was hard then.  Nervousness, I guess.  But you
haven't been caressing it; you've been slapping it.  And you saw that those
posters of rock stars are now gone."

   "Gone where; into the closet only to return once I'm gone."

   She had guessed right about that part.  He doesn't deny it.

   "Do you want more testing?"

   "Sure.  I'll show you."

   "Very well."

   Out from her brief case comes a dildo.  At first glance Jason doesn't
recognize just what it is.  Then he does.  Oh God.

   The dildo is the color of flesh except for the raised veins which are a
purple and two bright red arteries.  These extend randomly along the six
inch, crescent-shaped shaft from the cock head.  The head is a bit wider
than the shaft but is made of squeezable rubber while the shaft is made of
hard rubber.  The base end is provided with a flange and a squeeze-handle
in the shape of two testicles.

   "You're not going to put that thing in me, are you?"

   "Of course not; I just carry this ugly thing around with me for the fun
of it.  Of course I am.  I am charged with the duty of breaking your
homosexuality in the bud.  What better way than having you feel what it's
like to have a cock ramming your ass.  You see, the ramming I will give you
will not be a loving buggering one that some lover might give you but one
good and rough to train you never to want it from a real male."

   "But it's too big.  I mean, it's way too big."

   "It's the size of a normal young man, Jason.  Besides, I have some
petroleum jelly here.  Put some on your finger and lub up real good."

   Jason continued to stand there naked in front of the seated woman who
has taken the cap off a jar of the goo and is holding it out to him.  He
sticks his middle finger down into it, spreads his legs a bit, and applies
the goo.  While he is doing this Brenda sits there down in front of him
jerking the dildo up with rapid jabs.

   As Jason continues to lub he is captivated by the sight of the hideous
dildo with its bulging purple veins and red arteries.  Worse still is the
sight of the woman's grip as she jabs it up with snap-jerks with the veins
in her strong hand-grip protruding.  He face is expressionless.  Her eyes
are focused exclusively on his eyes.  Her aura is one of a cold-blooded,
determined matron.  When it's apparent that the boy has finished she
stands.

   "Bend over and take hold of the chair seat.  Spread your legs wide;
wider.  Now spread those cheeks wide apart and keep them there.  As he
complies she places a sizable photo of the handsome Mr.  Marks against the
chair back right in front of him.

   The matronly Brenda walks behind the boy.  Yes, all is properly
prepared. There he stands with his legs apart, bent well over facing the
photo of Mr.  Marks, and with his hands spreading his ass cheeks so far
apart that the glistening anus is in plain view.

   She takes the dildo and places its head to the fifteen year old boy's
asshole.

   "Please don't do it."

   "Don't run the test?  First you want it run and then you don't.  Being
wishy-washy is the way of the sub.  The report anticipated that you with
your little cock are likely the sub - that you liked getting it the ass. 
Son, we know more about this than you ever will.  Now keep those cheeks
well spread and your eyes on the man of your dreams there in the photo."
That said, she gives a thrust.  The cock heads compresses as it slithers
its way into the sphincter only to expand once fully through.  Brenda
pauses and then proceeds further.

   The feel of the creature worming its way into his guts awakes the boy's
cock.  Hello?  What's going on here?  Someone is knocking on my door.  Now
it is his cock that expands and starts to harden.

   At first Brenda gives the boy a professionally smooth ride as she
methodically butt fucks the youngster.  She looks around his side to see
that his little pecker is now rock-hard.  As she cocks her head to look at
his their eyes meet.

   "See; just as I said.  You're a fag; a sub-fag; you like being the
female and having a male service you.  Surely you can't possibly deny it
now."

   Just at that moment the door opens.

   "I was just checking to see . . . . ." and ever did mother see.

   "When I didn't hear sounds of the . . .  the cane, you know, I . . .  I"

   "Please come in, Mrs.  Jones.  I was just conducting a homosexual test
on Jason."

   She continues on with her rhythmic buggering as if the interruption
meant nothing.

   "As you can see as I simulate the homosexual act of a male buggering
your boy he reacts precisely as a homosexual, as a sub - as a female
submissive in particular, acts.  He is aroused as you can plainly see. 
He's enjoying it as he looks at the picture of Mr.  Marks there fantasizing
that it is he who is buggering him rather than me."

   "It's not true.  Make her stop, mom."

   She looks at her 15 year old bent over with his legs spread and with
Brenda's dildo methodically pumping his rectum.

   "Mom, it's not true.  I don't like this.  I hate this and I hate this
woman."

   Brenda continues methodically pumping with smooth, caring strokes.

   "Jason, actions do speak louder than words.  Clearly you are aroused by
the lady's action here.  I'm so sorry but you do seem to be gay."

   "Mom: I'm neither.  I like girls; not boys."

   "Then why are you so aroused?"

   "I don't know.  Please get her to stop.  I hate this."

   Now horror upon horror the boy feels it coming.  NO; NO; GOOD GOD, NO!

   Ah, but yes.

   His facial expression becomes angelic.  His utterances of no no no
become ones whose real meanings are yes yes yes.  His ejaculation is so
strong that it spurts onto Mr.  Mark's face in the photo and starts to
drain down his business suit.

   Brenda tapers off her pumping to leave the dildo bull imbedded.

   "Put your hands on the chair," she instructs.  As he complies his ass
cheeks close upon the embedded dildo leaving just the end flange and balls
in sight.

   "Jason, you didn't have to do that right in the Mister Marks's face. 
I'm ashamed of you.  At least you could have had the decency of . . .  of .
. .  Oh Jason; poor Jason.  What a pity."

   "Mom; I'm not gay.  I like GIRLS."

   The sorrowful mother comes closer and begins caressing the boy's hair
while he remains bent over holding the sides of the chair with his teary
eyes staring at the picture of Mr.  Marks there right in front of him with
his own youthful cum streaming down from the man's eyes onto his suit.

   "Yes, Jason.  It's alright.  There is nothing wrong in being a queer. 
The Lord works in mysterious ways.  He loves us all.  Miss; Miss Brenda: I
have a douchebag.  Shall I get it?"

   "Not yet.  As you can see I have yet to administer the boy's spanking.
Following that I will again bugger him but not as a test but roughly as
therapeutic warning as to what would lie ahead for him in the real world
should he not change his ways.  Then we can clean up, both him and the
photograph that he has so rudely soiled."

   "Whatever you say."

   You see, Mrs.  Jones was a weakling.  She was the type that always
wanted to please and never take issue.  She would agree to almost anything
any other would say to her.  That was why the boys had run over her and had
gone undisciplined.  She was the sort that wouldn't even return merchandize
in the belief that it would displease the store.  If an auto mechanic
double charged her she would make the double payment without saying a word.

   After Brenda unplugged Jason she points out that she will change his
record from probable homosexual to confirmed homosexual with the submissive
female sub-genre.  She lays the dildo aside.  There is no need to clean it
as it will be returning from whence it came, shortly.







   "Mrs.  Jones, I think that you now may wish to witness Jason's obedience
therapy today.  The boy has double infirmities.  He is both disobedient and
homosexual who soon will find himself searching out boys and men in
restroom and bus stations and the like.  I am recommending that as for
Jason that House Calls service him weekly.

   "Yes, I suppose so."

   "MOM!"

   "It's alright son; I can afford it for a while."

   "Fine.  Why don't you take a seat there on the bed."

   "But won't I be going there," asks the boy.

   "No; you are good just as you are.  Now I want you to keep your eyes on
the photograph there before you.  Today's treatment calls on you to
associate pain with a male dom like you see in Mister Marks, although you
might not have understand that.  Next week we will concentrate on
correcting your home behavior.  And remember that the cum there on his face
and suit is still you own; your own doing.  It was your offering to him
today."

   These House Calls people sure know their business, thinks Mrs.  Jones.

   "Now I know with your being gay that you will be wanting to thank Mr. 
Marks for each stroke of the cane, but you must belay that and thank me
instead; Miss Brenda.  That's part of the therapy you see - to drive you
away from male love towards normal heterosexual female love."

   Yes, House Calls is as good if not better than any doctor.  And what
doctor today actually makes house call, thought the timid mom.

   "How many," asks the boy.

   "With your being 15 I say 15; that is if you be a good boy and behave."

   Makes sense; mother thinks.  She gives him a motherly kiss to one cheek
and walks over to the bed.

   THWICK!

   "One.  Thank you Miss Brenda."

   Mrs.  Jones jolts.  Good Lord.  The cane stroke has been delivered with
a force far beyond her imagination.  And the boy took it in such a matter
of fact manner.  On top of that he obediently counted and thanked her for
it.  Unbelievable.  This sudden obedience was mindboggling.  Of course she
did not appreciate the fact that the pain from that first one would grow
and be added to by the others which themselves would grow.  It would take a
half minute for each one to reach their fullness in firry pain.

   Jason manages reasonably well for the next few.  His mom sitting there
on the bed can't believe her eyes.  Brenda takes her own sweet time.  She
rains down the cane seemingly with all her might without let-up.  And her
15 year old is taking it and thanking her.  It is not until the eighth
stroke that he breaks.

   "GOD!  OH GOD!  MAMA!  MAMA!  MAKE HER STOP!"

   He jumps up and runs to his mother sitting there spellbound on the bed
with his arms surprisingly extended to her instead of to his flaming ass.
He throws his arms around her.  She feels his tears overflowing onto her
own cheeks.

   "There there.  You be a good . . ."

   THWICK!  THWICK!

   Brenda has followed him and smashed two vicious cuts while he is
clutching his mother and pleading.  His mother looks her in the eye only to
find ice cold nothingness.

   ". . .  boy."

   "Mama.  Please help me!"

   THWICK!  THWICK!

   "There there, Jason.  You must obey Ms.  Brenda.  This is for your own
good.  Ms.  Brenda knows what's best for you.  It's just a spanking that
will soon be over.  You must trust Ms.  Brenda."

   "Mrs.  Jones; I think you should leave.  Just as some hospital operating
rooms can become too vivid and overwhelming for the uninitiated, the same
applies here."

   "As you wish.  Should I fetch an enema or my douchebag?"

   "That is thoughtful of you, but no.  No; not for me but I think it would
do nicely were you to do that yourself once I'm finished.  House Calls
won't always be here.  Sooner or later the responsibility for Jason's
behavior must be returned to you."

   With that mom rises, casting off her distraught son and excuses herself.

   Now Jason adds the feeling of abandonment to that of his flaming ass,
his reamed rectum and humiliation.  Now he is all alone with their beast of
a woman.

   "Back in position.  We'll resume with number nine."

   "But . . .  "

   "No buts; from number nine."

   This time he rubs as he trudges his way back over to the chair and bends
down.

   "Give Mr.  Marks a welcome back kiss."

   Jason looks back over his shoulder at his disciplinarian and then at the
cum-splattered photograph.  He takes it and gives it a kiss.  A little cum
sticks to his lips.

   "Say thank you."

   "Thank you Mister Marks."

   "WHAT!  Thank you Mister MARKS!  That just cost you two extra.  Just as
I thought we were making progress."

   THWICK!  THWICK!

   "Now where were we?"

   "Aren't we done.  I mean I must have had 15 by now."

   "You foolish boy.  None of those others counted.  The only ones that
count are those you take correctly while in position over the chair.  We're
only halfway there."

   And so Jason has to endure yet seven more.

   After the final one he jerks up, grabs his inferno buns and starts
running in circles with his back arched back.  Brenda watches in amusement.
He ends his run-out by going to a wall and bending over while still holding
his flaming ass.  Then he pounds the wall with his head over and over. 
Anything to take his mind off his tortured ass.

   "Jason."

   He turns to see the muscular matron sitting on the chair with the dildo
in her hand.  He had forgotten about that!  She wiggles her finger to come
over.

   In exasperation he slinks over still yet holding his ass.  She points
down for him to get across her lap.  When he does so she pulls his hands
free and has him slide further forward until his hands are now on the floor
and his welted ass raised.  Now her hands have replaced his on the still
rising and maturing welts.  Just when he expected her to call for him to
spread she begins to spank.

   With her meaty rough hands she smacks each cheek in turn.  On and on she
spanks.  At first he is jolted as the smacks strike the welts.  But then
it's as if the spanks begin to add little.  His ass pain seems to be maxed
out.  Further smacks will now serve principally to prolong the agony after
the session is only.

   "Spread."

   His head almost reaches the floor as he lifts his hands off the floor
and tried to find spots on his bun flanks that are not aflame.  Once he
does so and spreads, Brenda sees that there is enough of the goo left for
the dildo.

   Again Jason feels the dildo cock head compress as it stretches the
sphincter and then pop back out once inside.  He relaxes a bit.  He's been
here before.  But then he is totally shocked as the matron plunges it all
the way in with a vicious thrust.

   "Aaaaaahhhhhh."

   Slowly she recoils.  Then with her fingers strongly gripping the dildo
balls and her thumb pressed against the flange she thrusts home again.

   "NNNOOOOOOO!"

   "Keep quiet.  Think of your Mr.  Marks.  Think of your poster love boys
in their leather.  Think of them doing what I'm doing.

   Now she assumes a steady rain of terror.  She pumps and thrusts like one
hand pumping up a bicycle tire.  Thrust hard down and retract.  Thrust hard
down and slowing retract.

   Jason hands release their grip and frail all about.  This of course
causes his ass cheeks to close together.  Now he feels the dildo rubbing
both the inside and outside of his rear.  The matron ignores this and
maintains her pumping with abandon.  What more can possibly happen?

   The boys cock provides that answer.  The pumping has caused it to rub
back and forth on the matron's designer jeans.

   "Ma'am; I'm about to cum again.  On you!"

   Abruptly she stands and lowers the boy to the floor with the dildo
sticking out of his ass.  He lands on all fours with his face facing the
photograph of Mr.  Marks that Brenda had put there when she had taken her
seat.  At this point the dildo is halfway out of the boy's welted ass.

   Brenda grabs the dildo cock balls again and added by her thumb on it
flange resumes the ramming.  All of this repositioning has taken place in
mere seconds.

   Jason fails to add insult to injury.  His cum-stream hits the floor this
time instead of the handsome Mr.  Marks there in his previously cum
drenched photograph.







   - - - - - - -

   "Come in."

   Brenda enters Stevie's room.  The 13 year old is sitting on his bed,
butt naked save for his socks and shoes.  His trembling from having heard
what had gone on in the room on the other side of the wall has now ceased.
His most vivid recollection of those most recent events was the plaintive
plea "MAMA; MAMA" and "DON"T TELL."

   "I see that you are in a hurry to get on with this little session."

   "Yes ma'am; I'm ready."

   "Is that a fact?  Well you are entitled to, and indeed earned, a full
and complete therapy session.  There is plenty of time."

   "It's Stevie, I see, and you are 13."

   "Yes ma'am.  So you are taking over from Mr.  Marks?"

   "Yes, today it will be me who canes your fannie.  What did you think of
Mr.  Marks's caning?  Did he do a good job?  Did he leave you with a good
impression?"

   "Oh yes ma'am.  He sure did a job on me.  I sure would appreciate it if
you would ease up a bit.  I've been good; just ask mom."

   "That's nice to hear, but we must keep it that way so that you don't go
back to your old ways.  That's why your mother has you and your brother on
our maintenance plan.  Every two weeks you can expect to have someone from
our company make a special house call and give you two a sound caning. 
It's like getting a booster shot, you see."

   "Yes ma'am."

   "But we can't ease up a bit, as you ask.  No; quite the contrary.  We
need to incrementally strengthen the therapy rather than ease it."

   "Ma'am?"

   "You see, the first session is always a shocker just because it is the
first and new to you.  But we need for you to dread the next and the next
and the next to keep you on your toes.  So today I shall be using the
red-handle cane which you will find a bit more effective.  Then in two
weeks you can expect a . . .  surprise.  Just to keep you on your toes. 
And you should have advance notice that Jason has now been placed on our
once a week maintenance plan."

   "Please miss; that green handle one was terrible.  I don't think I could
take anything harder than it."

   "Oh don't be silly.  Of course you can.  There's not that much
difference really between the two canes.  They both give a little sting."

   "A little sting?  No; it was big; big."

   When Brenda fails to respond, with resignation he asks how many.

   "Since you are 13 I would recommend 13 today.  What do you say?"

   "Please miss."

   "I take that as a please miss give me 13."

   "No; no; I didn't mean . . ."

   "Good; then there we are.  13 with the red handle rattan cane.  Now get
in position.  By the way, call me Miss Brenda when you call out the count
today."

   With the boy almost in the correct position Brenda taps his butt.

   "Aren't we forgetting something here, Stevie?"

   The boy rises up onto his tiptoes.

   Brenda savors the moment.  Oh how she loved her work.  There is this
meek 13 year old boy bent over the edge of his bed with his head erect
waiting for her.  Never could she get enough of this sight.  And they pay
her?

   In silence the boy waits.  Finally she begins to swish the cane.  Slowly
she swishes it harder and harder.  To poor Stevie the sound is more serious
and menacing that the sound of the other cane - a sound indelibly etched
into his memory.  The fact that the sound is progressively becoming more
menacing is horribly frightening.

   At first her swishing had been from the other side of the bedroom.  Then
it was from center-room.  Now it is so close that Stevie thinks he feels a
whiff of the airstream the swishes make as the cane zips pass his butt.  He
is now grasping the bed covering so hard that his knuckles are turning
white.

   Brenda walks around the bed and looks at Stevie.  Knowing she can't hit
him from there he eases up on his grip.

   "Stevie; look at me.  Tell me what's on your mind."

   "I'm scared."

   "Well I can understand that.  But what exactly are you scared on?"

   "That thing; the red handle cane."

   "Oh this.  I should have guessed.  Yes, you are right to be scared of
it. But by itself it is nothing.  It takes someone to operate it, you know.
And today it's me."

   Brenda bends it nearly in half.  Stevie is mesmerized by it.

   Brenda bends down and puts her face right in front of his.  Their noses
are no more than a couple of inches apart.

   "Stevie; look at me in the eye.  Look deeply into my eyes."

   "Stevie; what do you see."

   "Please ma'am."

   "I told you that there is no hurry.  I want to make an even better
impression on you than Mr.  Marks did."

   "Stevie."

   The 13 year old starts to tremble and sob.  Tears fill his eyes.

   "Stevie; are you ready?"

   The boy nods.

   "Good, because so I am.  I'm ready to slam this cane onto your butt over
and over and over.  Yes, I'm now ready.  Stevie; this is going to hurt.  Be
brave."

   With the boy's head still up and tears running down his cheeks Brenda
walks back behind him and repeats the swishing of the cane first from afar,
then closer, then so close as he does feel the airstream of the whistling
rattan.  And with the boy's arms, neck and head now trembling she slashing
the first stroke across the center of his ass.  He reacts by twisting his
hips to one side and going down off his tiptoes.  With a tap to his leg
Stevie goes back up on his tiptoes.

   In the next room Jason jumps like he'd just heard a car outside smash
into something.  He's really on edge.  Actually he's on pins and needles.

   "One.  Thank you Miss . . .  Miss Brenda.  Oh God."

   Actually the stroke had been of average, moderate strength.  It was the
tension that Brenda was so good at building that had made the boy assume it
was the worse.  But no, it was merely the first of thirteen that she would
slowly apply before she applied the torturous disinfectant.

   Brenda waited a full minute in silence before delivering the second cut.
Having expected her to do some swishing before, the 13 year old was
surprised.

   Brenda again waited a full minute in silence before delivering the
third. The boy's reaction to that was to pound the quilted bedcovering with
his fist as he sounded the count.

   Now Stevie's leg muscles became sore from the prolonged standing up on
his tiptoes.

   "Miss?"

   "Yes; what is it?"

   "It's my legs.  Can I go down now?"

   "Very well."

   Once he did Brenda rubbed her hands over the back of the 13 year-old's
legs.  She even gave them a brief massage before ordering him back up.

   The fourth and fifth were delivered in rapid succession; a forehander
followed by a backhander.

   Though the boy managed to sound the two counts correctly his hands
gripped the quilted bedcovering so strongly that it gathered.  Always
something new thought Brenda.  This was akin to watching the ever-changing
sea.

   As Brenda continued on the youth would mourn out the count as he
gathered more and more of the quilt.  Then he started flapping it as he
tried to cope.  Oh but did the woman enjoy this.  As the tramlines
developed in color and texture the quilt was being thrashed all about the
boy as he managed to continue to lay flush upon it.

   For the last four Brenda shorten the time to some twenty seconds.  Poor
Stevie was now coping in three ways.  He would scream the count; hop from
one foot to the other; and flap his arms like a wounded bird which caused
the quilt to flap too.

   Following the thirteenth the room went silent as the boy slowly slid to
the floor pulling the quilt along with him.  Brenda watched as he withered
into a fetal position with the quilt gathered all about him.  She knelt
down and caressed his thoroughly caned little butt feeling the heat
radiating from it.  Not once had he moved to touch it.  No; his hands were
still locked in their grip of the quilt which served like it was his
security blanket.

   Brenda's compassion was short lived.  After a minute she had him lay
back on the bed and hold his legs straight up with his hands.  Now she
finished the session by spraying the youth's caned cheeks with the horrid
disinfectant.

   Always she could count on the disinfectant to give her a thrill.  She
couldn't imagine ending a session without it because she never knew exactly
what reaction it would bring.  Not to apply it would be like stop reading a
mystery novel with but a few pages yet to go.

   At first Stevie thought that the spray brought cooling relief for in
fact it was cool.  But then it began to soak into the tramline welts.  On
and on the stinging increased.  His reaction was to cry out that it was
burning; burning; BURNING!  He gripped his legs harder trying to cope. 
Then he starting rocking back and forth.

   It was a full three minutes before the fire simmered.  Stevie relaxed
his grip that had been holding his legs straight up.  Slowly his legs came
down.  He lay prone in his nakedness with his hands over his eyes as Brenda
prepared to leave.

   So that's how this mystery novel titled Stevie's Ordeal ended, she
thought as she put the cane back into its case with a self-satisfying
smile.









































   THWACK!

   The mechanical force that the boy initially felt is clearly more than
that of the green handle cane.  Surprisingly the sting is less - at least
initially.  But then the pain that now begins to rise is a little deeper
and more penetrating that surely will be lasting longer.

   "One.  Thank you Miss Brenda."

   "You are welcome, Stevie.  Tell me, how does it compare with that other
cane that Mr.  Marks used?"

   By now the line of fire is really making itself known.  The boy mourns.

   "I'm scared."

   "That's no answer.  Here, how about this one."

   She unloaded another just beneath the first.

   "Two.  Thank you Miss Brenda."

   "Well?  I'm waiting."

   Brenda had not waited out the 40 to 45 seconds that she normally did. 
So while the boy is trying to frame a response the effects of the two cuts
are both still increasing in intensity.

   "I . . .  I . . .  "

   "Yes; I'm waiting."

   "Bad."

   "Well of course it's bad.  But what about the difference?"

   "Worse.  Worse.  I'm scared?"

   "Scared?  Scared of what?"

   THWACK!

   "AAAAHHHHHHHHHH"

   "Three.  Thank you . . . .  thank you, Miss Brenda."

   "Scared of what?"

   "That I'll never be able to take 13.  Never - never - never."

   "Is that all?  Why that's nonsense.  Of course you will be able.  You
have no reason to be scared of that.  Besides, you have no choice in the
matter.  As I always tell myself it's a waste of time worrying over
something you have no control over."

   THWACK!  She really puts herself into this one.

   Brenda delights in watching the boy trying to cope.  What a joy it is to
behold.  Never mind that he had yet to call out the count.  The four
tramlines are crescendoing like music flowing over a jiggling young boy ass
meat.  Now his torso is twisting while his head bobbles.

   "Four.  Thank you Miss Brenda."

   "You are welcome, young master Stevie."

   Finally Stevie makes it to the finish line and Brenda applies the
disinfectant.

   As the boy lays there pounding the bed while the ointment worked it
horrid magic, Brenda attempted to calm his fears.

   "See how foolish you were Stevie is fretting that you might not be able
to make it to 13?  What a silly boy you are."

   "Bye now.  You be good and not like your brother who, as I told you,
your mother has now placed on our weekly maintenance plan.  You do like
your biweekly plan, right?"

   "Jason is on weekly?  He's going to get the cane every week?"

   "That's right.  That's what you mom wants.  You do like your biweekly
plan, right?

   "Ugh . . .  right."

   "Then say so."

   "I like my biweekly plan, Miss Brenda.  I . . .  I . . .  just love it.
No weekly, please!"