Shame Straws, Part II

by Will Faber <will_faber@wyrm.supernews.com>

Well, I guess you read the earlier part of my diary. So you know that my name is Billy Barrett, I'm eleven years old and in the sixth grade, and I like to get together with my four best friends and play a game called "Shame Straws." My four best friends are Simon, Eddie, Josh, and John-Matthew, and except for John-Matthew, who has straight brown hair. they're all blond and blue-eyed like me. It's easy to tell us apart, though. Eddie likes to wear his hair short, just a little longer than a crew cut. Josh's hair is curly, like lamb's wool. Simon and I both wear our hair long, just out of our eyes and above our collars--when we wear shirts with collars. I guess we look the most alike, only Simon's hair is a little lighter than mine, and I'm a littler taller.

Anyway, as I said, we're real good friends, spend a lot of time together, and our favorite thing to do is playing a game we made up, called "Shame Straws." We call it that because, to play it, you have to draw straws, and unless you're the winner, you have to do something that will shame you. So, if you draw the longest straw, you win; otherwise you get shamed with a penalty. We make up and decide the penalties before we draw: The shorter the straw you draw, the worse the penalty you get. Usually we play this when we're off on a camping trip with no adults around, but last month it rained a lot, so we decided to play it up in Eddie's attic on Saturday afternoon while Eddie's mom and dad were out shopping. They were supposed to be gone for at least three hours.

Oh, yeah, and this weekend John-Matthew was sick, so Eddie and Josh invited their friend Bobby. He's blond too, only his hair has a lot of red in it. Also, he's Josh's and Eddie's friend more than Simon's or mine. He's usually OK, I guess, but he has a mean streak. I mean he likes to rack kids in the balls or pinch their bottoms real hard, and when they yell out or cry, he just laughs and laughs, thinks it's the funniest thing in the world. He even laughs when someone does this to him, can you believe it? The kid is weird!

But like I said, he's Josh's and Eddie's friend, and we were meeting at Eddie's house. Still, if I had known that Bobby was going to be there instead of good old John-Matthew, I probably would not have gone there that day. Bobby has some BAD ideas, and Josh and Eddie usually go along with them. He sure did today, and, yes, Josh and Eddie went along with them--making a majority, so Simon and I did too, but, boy do I wish we hadn't. So do Simon, Josh, Eddie and Bonny--yes, especially Bobby. But you know what they say about hindsight.

"Here's how I think we should do it," Eddie said when we were up in the attic with the straws. "As usual, winner gets to leave all clothes on, runner up only has to take off his pants--he can leave on his shirt, socks, shoes and underpants, as long as he's wearing white briefs. (We think only fags wear boxer shorts or printed briefs, and swear we'll strip anyone in our club naked and beat him raw if we catch him wearing anything so stupid-looking!); third guy has to go around without pants and with undies down in back; fourth and fifth guys both have to get bare-bottomed and stay so till the end of the game, but the fifth guy also gets tied up and but-whipped by the first guy. OK?"

Then Bobby threw us all a curve, not just by what he said, but by what he had with him to show us. His grandfather had been a doctor. He had died a few years ago, but a lot of his medical stuff was up in Bobby's attic--and Bobby kept going through it, studying it, and USING it--and I'm not talkin' about stethoscopes and tongue depressors, either. I mean this stuff that was both kind of neat and more than a little scary.

While he agreed that at least one loser should get a butt-whipping, Bobby opened these two leather cases and showed us two things we had never heard of before, never even imagined. The first was a full set of different-sized, polished little wooden cylinders with rounded ends. These were called "dilators." Bobby explained that they were to be stuck up a person's butt to stretch the rectum so that the doctor could stick something else larger than usual--like his finger or a scope--up there later without injuring the patient. The second thing was even weirder: It was called a "catheter" and was a rubber tube that a doctor sticks up a guy's _d_i_c_k_ when he can't pee--a tube that they actually stick IN a person's _d_i_c_k_. Bobby said, for sure it hurts when it's stuck in, but not long and not a lot--if you relax. If you fight it, it could hurt real bad, but he had practiced on himself a lot, so he knew how to do it just right, and then it felt kind of neat, like when you jack off. He said if he lost he wouldn't mind taking it up his _d_i_c_k_, and if he won, he wouldn't mind sticking it up (or down) the loser's pee-hole.

This was the grossest thing we'd ever heard of, but we were fascinated. Bobby, Josh and Eddie agreed then that the guys who came in third, fourth and fifth should all be tied up bare bottomed, have their bare bottoms spanked with a belt, and get dilators stuck up their butts. The third-place guy would be tied to a cast iron vent pipe, so as bad as the whipping might hurt, at least with his bottom exposed to the air it would hurt less and stop hurting faster than the other two, who would be tied down sitting on hard, wooden "spanking stools." But at least that would be all for the fourth-place guy: the fifth-place guy would also get the catheter stuck up his _d_i_c_k_ until all the pee ran out of him into a baby potty that we found in the attic.

So we agreed, and so we drew. At first I thought I'd won, 'cause I pulled a pretty long straw, but then, _d_a_m_n_, Bobby pulled a longer one. Simon got the one just shorter than mine; he was in third place. Eddie's was short, but Josh got the shortest--just like last time, and boy was he mad, scared too, I think--heck, I KNOW. I sure would be scared if I were in his place.

"OK, fellas," Bobby said with a gloating smile on his face, "C'mon: Strip, losers!"

We were all in tee shirts or pullovers, lucky Bobby was wearing bluejeans, the rest of us had on white gym shorts. which we wore to soccer practice. I pulled down my trunks and stepped out of them, glad I could keep on my white jockey briefs. Eddie and Simon took of their underpants as well as their shorts, without complaining. Josh did nothing but fold his arms and stare sullenly.

"C'mon, Josh, get 'em OFF!" Bobby ordered.

"No! I won't! It's no fair!" Josh complained. "I came in fifth last time. It shouldn't happen to me two times in a row! Somebody cheated."

"Oh, stuff it, Josh!" Eddie told him. "Nobody cheated. It's just your bad luck. So shut up and strip off your pants and underpants like us--before we do it for you."

Josh tried to bolt for the stairs. He didn't make it. Eddie caught him by an arm and knocked him off balance. Josh went sprawling over the arm of an old sofa, which took the wind out of him for a minute while he lay there bottom up, legs dangling in the air. That minute was all we needed to grab the waistband of both his shorts and his briefs, yank them down and pull them to his ankles then over his tennis shoes and off.

Screaming, "Quit, you fags!" he struggled to lever his body backwards and get his feet on to the floor. Just as soon as he did, we bent him over the couch, held him down, and gave him the spanking of his life.

Now understand that Josh and Simon have just about the two roundest bubble-butts imaginable, firm but soft, with no fat on them. It felt so neat to feel those round. clean mounds and slap them again and again till they turned from creamy white to a bright coral pink.

Then we held Josh down while Bobby laid into him with his belt: WHAP!-- OWW! WHAP! -- OWWW! WHAP! --OWIE! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! (Three very quick ones!) WWWAAAHHH!

Finally Josh just bawled like a baby. Then he lay over the couch, as limp as a rag doll. His head jerked up. though, when Bobby's left spread Josh's reddened bottomcheeks apart.

"Bobby, what are you doing?" he asked pitifully.

"I'm playing 'submarine,'" Bobby replied.

"Huh? What does that mean?" Josh asked, genuinely puzzled.

"It means, my torpedo has found its target!" Bobby explained, and with that he deftly pushed the #3 dilator--well greased with vaseline--through Josh's hole and into his rectum.

"Nooo!" Josh moaned in despair as he felt the uncomfortably large but actually not painful wooden object slide into his poop-chute.

"Now listen. Josh," Bobby warned him in this scarily calm, almost cheerful voice, "whatever you do, don't grunt out that dilator until I say you can. You do, and I'll put a LOT bigger one up there. Ol' #3 might be a little uncomfortable, but believe me, #5 will HURT. Now, you don't want that, do you, Josh?"

"No. Bobby, I don't," Josh answered. He sounded really scared and beaten down now. I felt kind of sorry for him, except that he was the one who had brought Bobby into this in the first place.

"Good!" Bobby said. "We're gonna tie you sitting on this stool. Now you just sit tight here till we get back to you.:

By the time he was finished, Josh's ankles were tied to the front legs of the stool, his hands tied behind his back and the knot also tied around a piece of rope tied to the rear legs. The result was that Josh could hardly move anything besides his head, neck, and shoulders, He couldn't even bring his legs together to protect or hide his _d_i_c_k_ and balls.

Next, Simon and I bent Eddie over the couch while Bobby stuck the #1 dilator (the smallest one) up Eddie's hole..

"Darn! That;s a little-bitty thing! Not much bigger than a suppository!" Simon remarked.

"Yeah, well I guess Eddie's just got a little bitty butt-hole!" Bobby commented..

We all laughed, and Simon started patting Eddie's butt-cheeks as he chanted in time:

"Little bitty butt-hole! Little bitty butt-hole!"

Eddie just grinned and said nothing--until Bobby brought the belt down on his butt with a loud WHAPP!

"OWWW!" Eddie yelled, and tried with all his might to break free from Simon and me holding him down. We kept him right there till Bobby had given him nine more. Then we tied him to the other stool just like Josh.

"OK, Simon, your turn now!" Bobby declared.

Then Simon cracked us up. He didn't protest or struggle at all. Instead he grinned, turned his back (and backside) towards us, bent over and exclaimed:

"OK, here's my butt!"

Bobby got out a dilator and greased it. When I caught a good look at it, I realized that it was the #5. When he stuck it in and up Simon's hole, Simon didn't cry or get upset. At first he winced and made a face and said: "Ooh!" But then it slid in OK and didn't seem to bother him. No doubt about it--that boy either eats a LOT of cereal and takes big, solid poops, or he does fun things to his bottom when he beats off at night. One of these days I'm gonna find out.

Anyway, if he didn't have such a neat-looking bottom and nice smooth legs, it would not have been any fun whipping Simon, 'cause he didn't struggle or yell, and only cried a little at the end of the ten licks with the belt, when all his behiney was good and red and must have been hurting a LOT! But I think he kind of enjoyed it even then,'cause even then he had a real stiffy--only about two inches long, but rock-hard and sticking straight up!

Then Bobby patted my bottom through the seat of my underpants and said: "Come on, Billy, now we got real work to do."

One of the many things in that attic was a galvanized metal bucket. Bobby took it and set it in front of the stool, between Josh's legs.

"What am I supposed to do now?" I asked as we left Simon and Eddie to finish their crying and calm down.

As Bobby picked up the second leatherette case--the one with the catheter set--he explained: "Mainly I want you to hold Josh still with your hands on his shoulders,'cause he ain't gonna like what we're about to do, and we don't want anybody to get hurt."

Bobby was holding some funny rubber tubing in his hands. It was tan-colored and branched in two at one end. Each of the branches had a plastic plug in it. The other end was narrower, kind of tapered. I knew what it was for. So did Josh.

At the sight of it, he blushed and his eyes bugged.

"Bobby..." he began, "you're NOT gonna stick that thing in my... are you?"

"Sure I am."

"Bobby, please don't!"

"Come on. Josh, don't be such a baby!"

"NNNOOOOOOOO!" Josh screamed.

It didn't matter. He might have hated and been afraid of what Bobby was going to do, but he was also totally _s_e_x_ed off about it. I mean, his _d_i_c_k_ was even stiffer than Simon's.

"Shut up, Josh!" Bobby demanded. "The last thing you want to happen is for someone to hear you yelling. It might not feel good, but it won't really hurt bad unless you jerk around or try to fight me while I'm doing this. And then you could REALLY hurt yourself. You know what I mean?"

"Yes, Bobby," Josh said miserably.

Still, he bawled and squalled and shed big tears as Bobby--in a series of about four pushes--stuck the catheter into Josh's _d_i_c_k_ and inserted it all the way to Josh's bladder. At once a stream of pee squirted into the bucket. This surprised Josh so much that he shut up and just sat therewith his eyes wide and the tears rolling down his cheeks.

The quiet was suddenly broken by a voice--an adult voice:

"Jesus Christ! What in the hell are you kids DOING to one another!"

Bobby and I looked up. We saw Eddie's father standing right at the top of the attic stairs. Eddie's folks had come home an hour early. Bobby and I looked each other in the eye. We didn't say a word at that moment. We didn't need to. The look said it all: We were in more trouble now than we had ever been before in all our young lives!


More stories by Will Faber