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Chapter3
Sister Joseph’s first sharp, loud crack of the barber’s strap crisply broke the quiet stillness of the shade-drawn room, immediately eliciting a boy’s ear-piercing wail. Just seconds later, his butt cheeks still drawn tight in spasm, the cruel leather strop snapped again. From my angle I could see his upward tilted bottom striped with two diagonal red marks, each one crossing both cheeks. Before she implied the third stroke Sister Joseph waited until the boy’s wailing transitioned into crying. Then, as the boy taught his breath and sobbed aloud, Sister Joseph laid a third hard, fierce stroke across Brian's white butt cheeks as his mother and I watched. After the third stroke, to my total shock and embarrassment, Brian released his bladder as a stream of yellow urine splattered the floor between his legs.
I flushed red with embarrassment, never having seen a boy pee before, but Sister Joseph and Sister Anne appeared unfazed at the event. Sister Joseph waited until the last drip of urine fell before continuing, giving Brian a chance to catch his breath.
"Don't you have something to say, young man?" Sister Joseph commanded. Through his crying Brian finally struggled to say "Three. Thank you Sister. I'm sorry mom."
"No young man, there's no catch up here. We begin again at one. And this time, count each one” The nun replied with unbelievable cruelty.
"No, no, no please ma'am, please momma, no" Brian pleaded as the mature nun applied fourth stroke. With the stroke trickle of urine splattered about. After this fourth stroke Brian gave up the words "four, thang, ah, aaahh” but the remainder of his words quivered, then crumble unintelligibly under the harshness of the elderly nun’s determined stroke, which left a fourth wide red stripe across his sculpted white buttocks.
With the fifth harsh stroke of the strap the boy once again could not find the words to thank the nun, only crying “No please ma’am no, no.”
"Snap” cracked the sixth stroke of the strap, but instead of a count, young Brian reflexively jolted against his restrains, inhaled deeply, then began to howl like a girl who had been just stung by a dozen wasps, giving out a high pitch scream and shaking violently against his restraints. I remember being embarrassed at the thought that everyone in the building could hear his hopelessly desperate pleas.
Finally, after the seventh stroke, Brian struggled to find the words “thank you” through his tears, which were now running down his cheeks. It seems so absurd to me to hear the child thank Sister Joseph for her cruel administration of justice. After the eighth stroke Brian once again attempted to thank her, but this time only managed a panicky, terror filled scream of “no ma’am, please, no ma’am.”
At this point Sister Joseph laid the strap down on her desk and walked to the front of the bench, facing the naked boy, who was strapped chest-down to the bench and staring at the floor. She grabbed Brian's his head by the hair and jerked it up and back as tears streamed down his cheeks. Looking Brian in the eye as she bent forward, the nun said "Don't you have something to say to me young man?"
Somehow the crying, naked boy found the difficult words required of him. "Thank you, Sister" he choked through his streaming tears.
Sister Joseph released his hair and looked up at his mother, who was now also crying. Seeing how shaken Mrs. Larsen was, she announced “We’ll take a break.”
Sister Joe walked back toward her desk and picked up the phone. Speaking over the boy’s sobbing she told one of the nuns downstairs to call a cab for Mrs. Larsen. Sister Anne immediately unlocked the inner office door and quickly escorted Brian's mom downstairs. There was no good bye to Brian, but as she left Sister Joseph did say to her "We will notify you when visitation day is, and you can bring his sisters to visit then too." Crying Brian was left strapped down as Sister Joseph reassured the shaken Mrs. Larsen that her son would be returned a new man.
In about 10 minutes Sister Anne returned from downstairs and re-locked the door. Brian was still crying softly when Sister Joseph returned to the desk and opened it, this time producing a different, narrower, wooden-handled leather strap.
Turning his head to see her approach with the new strap the boy pleaded "No, no more Sister, no please, please no!"
Patting the strap against the palm of her hand, Sister Joseph took a moment to walk around and address the boy face-to-face. Grabbing his hair once again and lifting his head the nun said "No more? Why young man, those eight strokes were just a warm up. After another 20 or so, well, then you'll know what the strap is all about here at Saint Michael’s.”
As Sister Joseph spoke, Sister Anne fastened two more leather restraint harnesses to each of Brian’s upper thighs, near his crotch, buckling them tight apart to each of the bench’s rear legs so as to effectively spread the boy’s crotch open even wider, further exposing his young, hanging maleness. Finished strapping him open, Sister Anne reached for a wide-capped jar of white ointment from inside Sister Joseph’s desk and, opening it, to my shock and embarrassment bent down and began spreading the medicament over the boy’s balls and across his peritoneum with her fingertips. Using both hands she reached up between his crotch and lightly stroked the shaft of his penis, briefly appointing the head.
Seeing the shock on my face, Sister Joseph turned to me and said "now that the mother is gone, we must do our real work, and this is the only way to take the evil from him. God willing, with the ointment there will be no lasting marks."
Before Brian could scream another exclamatory "No!," Sister Joseph laid the ninth strap stroke between the boy’s bottom with a harsh, pronounced upward stroke. From now on the older nun disregarded prior demand for a count or reply, but repeatedly strapped Brian between the legs with determined strokes. With each stroke, from my vantage point I could see Brian's balls and penis dance, not just from the stroke of the strap, but with his desperate attempt to free himself from the restraints. His struggle was in vain.
Having strapped his boy sex thoroughly as he wailed and screeched, Sister Joseph moved in search of any remaining white, untouched skin, first working his thighs, then determinedly moving back to his now swollen young ball-sack. The boy had lost his voice after the first few strokes as he gasped for breath.
After 15 minutes young Brian was marked with red stripes from his waist to his knees, the fiercest strokes having been laid across his sex. By the time the punishment was over I was shaking. The strapping over, Sister Anne returned with the jar of ointment and began to carefully apply it to the boy's bottom liberally, carefully covering his strapped scrotum and penis with the cream.
I thought I would faint at what I had witnessed that day, and I must admit that my labia were thoroughly lubricated beneath my gray nuns’ habit. To that point in my young life it had been the most sexual ritual I had ever witnessed or been party to. From the moment he was unstrapped and stood up before us I could tell that the naked boy’s will had been broken. He obeyed and Sister Anne’s command to stand with his arms overhead as the two nuns leaned over to inspected his whip marks. As he stood there crying, his buttocks cheeks covered with red strap marks, his balls swollen, my crotch dripped as I watched Sister Anne reach for the jar once again and gently anoint his genitals with the cream.
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