This story is a continuation of the Last Trip to the Woodshed and contains the same characters.
Father Abelard OShaughnessy was not pleased. He was taking the train cross-country from San Francisco to his new assignment in New York. Due to mechanical difficulties, he found himself stranded in a one-horse town in the middle of nowhere. The conductor promised to repair the engine failure as quickly as possible, but warned that it might take several days. Despite his vow of poverty, Father Abelard was accustomed to the best things in life. He groaned at the prospect of spending several days in the wilderness, with no one but country bumpkins to talk to, or look at. There was no Catholic church in the area, so he couldnt turn for assistance to a brother priest. The dust and the heat were terrible. His room in the towns one small hotel was cramped and uncomfortable. It contained a small bed with a battered mattress, an old, broken down dresser and a chamber pot. (He hadnt used a chamber pot since he was a seminarian, and living in that miserable orphanage.) Oh, and a Bible. King James Version of course, the priest noted. It was going to be a long few days.
He couldnt stand to remain in his room. Sometimes country bumpkins were pleasant to look at, so he decided to go for a stroll. His appearance in the street attracted attention. Most of the people in the town had never seen a Catholic priest before. His black cassock and Roman collar were as alien to the townspeople as a Buddhist monks yellow habit and begging bowl. But it wasnt just his cassock that attracted attention. Father Abelard was in his mid thirties, and breathtakingly handsome. Were it not for the fact that in 1890 Los Angeles was still mostly cow pasture, one might have said he had movie star good looks. (Imagine a somewhat older Colin Farrell in a cassock, and you get the general idea.) Abelard was accustomed to attracting attention, from men as well as women. He understood that his looks, intelligence, ambition, and cunning were the pillars on which his success rested. His antecedents were humble, but he had impeccable manners to match his physical beauty, and the two together gave him the air of an Irish aristocrat. No one seeing him now could imagine that as a boy his bare backside was often on the receiving end of his saloonkeepers fathers well-oiled razor strap, or that in the orphanage he was often heard howling while the Father Superiors belt peppered his naked posterior. Those days were behind him, and his behind was grateful for it.
Abelard paid no attention to the stares of the townspeople. He only noticed he was being noticed when the noticer had power, and then he could turn on a smile to light up St. Peters. (Abelard worshipped power.) These farmers merited no such attention. The bumpkins were not at all picturesque. Just hard working people with gray, weathered features. Even the barefoot children looked old. Their most conspicuous feature to Abelard was their smell. Water was scarce and so baths were not common in these parts. He reached for his bottle of smelling salts.
He noticed a horse drawn cart pulling up in front of the feed store. There were two men in it, one younger, in his mid to late twenties, and one older, possibly in his fifties. Even at a distance, the younger man captured Abelards attention, and he began walking nonchalantly in that direction. The priest was a good judge of masculine beauty, and the younger man was one of the loveliest things he had ever seen. Tanned, dark haired and muscular, no stranger to hard work, he nevertheless had a sensitive face and sad, blue eyes. When he got out of the cart, Abelard saw that his feet were bare. He had long, tapering, elegant toes. Abelard could not resist a beautiful foot, and started to salivate. He would have sold his soul (or what was left of it) to lick the dirt from between the toes of the beautiful young man. But the older man scared Abelard. He looked like an Old Testament prophet, with the strength of Samson. There were traces of iron gray in his hair and beard, but his muscles could have been those of a man half his age.
Despite Abelards efforts to appear nonchalant, he couldnt keep from staring and almost collided with the young man as he entered the store. The young man started sputtering apologies, but when he looked up and saw the face of the priest, a look of shock, like the sudden resurrection of an old hurt, disturbed his handsome features. The priest presumed he had never seen a Catholic priest before, that having heard dark stories about orgies in convents, the poor boob believed he had collided with a demon straight from hell. (Abelard well knew that most priests were homo_s_e_x_ual and most nuns lesbian Orgies in convents there might well be, but no priests were involved. The fathers had diversions of their own, and ambitious Abelard had the tender butthole to prove it.)
If only he could have read Alvins mind. The terrified kid would have rather run into a devil than ever seen again the face in front of him. It was the mean seminarian, who had spanked and paddled and leathered his tender bare bottom, for year after excruciating year, until finally he ran away from the orphanage where he grew up and found refuge with Jedidiah, with whom he lived and whom he loved more than life itself. For a moment, Alvin was frantic with fear. Had the mean seminarian tracked him down? Was he going to drag him back to the orphanage, so that he could go back to beating his bare bottom? Even though Alvin was 25 now, the sight of his old tormentor turned him into a small, helpless child again. He took a step back, and almost ran into Jedidiah. As soon as he felt Jedidiahs strong body next to his, he felt safe again. No one could hurt him as long as Jedidiah was there to protect him.
But instead of grabbing him by the ear and dragging him over his lap for a long session with the strap or the hairbrush, which Alvin fully expected, the priest ignored his shocked expression and extended his pale, manicured hand, flashing a brilliant smile. "Good morning. Father Abelard OShaughnessy." Alvin was flabbergasted for a moment and didnt return the greeting. Then it hit him. He doesnt remember me! He helped steal my childhood and he doesnt remember me! Alvin had spent many sleepless nights, remembering the pain he had suffered in the orphanage, and pondering how it had shaped his whole life, including his life with Jedidiah. He remembered every single one of his countless bare bottomed encounters with the God of Love in the orphanage, and every one of the whippings he received from Jedidiah for indulging in the sin he had learned in the orphanage. "Thanks to him and his kind, I live every day of my life with the memories of what was done to me, and the BASTARD doesnt even remember that he did it! Thanks to the catechism I learned in the care of this grinning priest, I still spend hours every month screaming and writhing across a sawhorse, a razor strap biting over and over again into the flesh of my naked backside, until the blood runs down my thighs and I think I am going to die from the pain and the shame.... And the GOD_d_a_m_n_ED MONSTER doesnt even know who I am!!"
And it was true. Abelard had spanked so many boys during his distinguished career as an educator. It was one of the few aspects of his job at the orphanage that he really enjoyed. It was so satisfying to have a bare, unwilling, pre-pubescent (or even better, adolescent) bottom perched over his knee, watching it go from pale pasty white to a deep dark red, as his hand, hairbrush, or strap connected with the soft, defenseless surface of the globes time and time again. And there was something so rewarding about the helpless howls of the bottoms misbehaving owner. It was for the childs own good after all. If he werent pleading for forgiveness between gut wrenching sobs, bathing Abelards toes in tears and kicking his sweet little bare feet in a futile effort to end his suffering, how could he know the punishment was having its desired effect? Of course Abelard couldnt remember the faces of the boys he had spanked. It was their bottoms he was spanking, not their faces. The faces of little boys all looked alike to him. Now, if Alvin had dropped his pants, right there in front of the feed store, one of Mr. Edisons new inventions might have gone off in Abelards head. He was fascinated with male bottoms (and not just childish ones). He had wide, intimate experience of bums, of all shapes and sizes, and considered every rear end as individual as a fingerprint. He was a connoisseur of rumps. But as far as Alvins face was concerned, he had never seen it before in his life.
Jedidiah, who always noticed everything about Alvin, saw his boys distress. He also saw that for some reason the Romish priest did not see it, and took an immediate dislike to the handsome but insensitive man. First, he was a servant of the whore of Babylon, a preacher of false and immoral doctrine. Secondly, he sensed that Alvin knew this man, and he could guess from where. He knew that Alvin grew up in a popish orphanage, where he had learned evil habits like self-abuse. Time and time again he had been forced to take Alvin out to the shed for a long strapping because he had caught him in the fields or in the outhouse, pleasuring himself. No matter how hard or how long he strapped him, he couldnt break Alvin of the habit. And it still shocked him to the depths of his soul to see that angelic face, all twisted with lust, while he feverishly stroked his throbbing and engorged member. It pained him even more, even though it was his duty, to see the same face contorted in terrible suffering, covered with snot and tears, his mouth an open cavern, howling and screaming for forgiveness, as his razor strap branded the entire surface of the beautiful, blistering red rump. Branded it and branded it again, until he was able to convince himself that the devil was driven out of Alvins soul. But before long the devil returned, and so did the strap, the snot, the screaming, and the tears.
Furthermore, Jedidiah knew the reputation of the Roman priesthood where little boys were concerned and his suspicions were immediately aroused. Jedidiahs imagination ran wild. Perhaps this was the very priest who first corrupted his beautiful innocent lamb. Perhaps this very hellhound had taught him how to abuse his delicate member. Perhaps he had taught him other, even more evil habits. Perhaps he had dared to violate his boys sweet, tender hindquarters. A horrible image of Alvin in terrible pain while this priest stood behind him grunting and sweating presented itself to Jedidiahs appalled imagination and he felt the fury building up inside him. He wanted to kill the priest.
Meanwhile, Abelard was falling in love, or into what passed in his dead soul for love. He apologized for running into Alvin in his most obsequious clerical manner. (Priests learn all varieties of ass kissing in the seminary). Alvin mumbled and nodded, and then shyly introduced first himself and then Jedidiah. Certain that he could dazzle these rubes, and hoping to dazzle at least one of them into removing all his clothing for a morning of mortal sin, Abelard used his gift of the gab to charm his new "friends." He had a plan. He explained his situation, the fact that he was stranded for several days in the town. He described his miserable hotel room. He mentioned that he was willing to pay a considerable sum for a larger, airier room. Would his two new friends know of anyone in town who might be willing to take in a travelling stranger for a few days? He batted his beautiful lashes. He glanced heavenward. He could have shamed Sarah Bernhardt with his performance. He took it for granted he was charming these rustics.
He would have been shocked to realize the effect his performance was having on Alvin, who remembered every false calculating gesture of the man who had beaten and tortured him and stolen his innocence. Alvins sweet, docile appearance concealed enough rage to wipe out the nation of China in a matter of minutes. He was struggling now to keep that rage under wraps. It was vital that he conceal his rage. Because he was also making plans. Abelard was within hours of finding out that the lambs are not always silent.
Jedidiah saw where the priests talk was leading and was on the point of refusing him pointblank and throwing in a devout wish that he and all his ilk would burn in hell forever, when he felt Alvin tugging on his sleeve. His heart melted whenever Alvin did that. It reminded him how dependent the boy was, and how much he loved him. His expression softened. Alvin reminded him that they had added a new room to the farmhouse, that it was large and airy and that the priest would be quite comfortable there. And besides, they could use the money. Alvin could bat his eyelashes too when he needed to, and no one, not even a soul as corrupt as Abelards, could ever image he had ulterior motives. Jedidiah thought about it for a moment. He did not like the idea of letting this servant of Satan onto his land, but Alvin was right. They did have the room and they could use the money. And besides, it would be an act of Christian charity. He hadnt forgotten the expression on Alvins face when he first saw the priest, and he still didnt trust him. He intended to keep an eye on him. If he so much as thought about laying a finger on his beautiful boy, he would kill him, but not until after he had tied him to the sawhorse and beaten his blackguard backside bloody. Jesus would like that. (So would Alvin, but that thought never occurred to Jedidiah as he looked down into that sweet, angelic face.)
It didnt take Abelard long to retrieve his belongings from the hotel. Soon, he was seated next to Alvin in the cart, when Jedidiah cracked the whip and the three of them started the trip back to the farmhouse. There wasnt much room in the cart, and Abelard was "forced" to sit close to Alvin, their legs rubbing against each other. Was it his imagination, or was the boy deliberately trying to sit as close to him as possible? It certainly seemed like it. Yes, there was no doubt about it. He could feel the boys muscular thighs pressed against his own. Their buttocks were touching. Abelard tried to imagine the cleft between Alvins buttocks and started to get dizzy. He reached for his smelling salts. He imagined his tongue exploring the cleft between Alvins cheeks, lingering over the tart flavor and breathing in the masculine scents of the boys magnificent arsehole. Alvin managed to place his bare right foot on top of Abelards left shoe. He could almost feel the soft flesh of Alvins sole against his own foot, even through the leather. The priest had a painful erection, which fortunately his cassock was loose enough to conceal.
He was beginning to enjoy his sojourn in the wilderness. The big boob seated next to Alvin was going to be a problem, but the boy was obviously not as innocent as he appeared. Perhaps he could find a way of getting rid of his friend for an hour (or six). Every few minutes, the boob cracked the whip and Abelard was startled out of his reverie. The sound of the whip frightened him and reminded him how important it was not to get the boob riled up. Abelard was all too familiar with the feel of leather across his big, beautiful backside and didnt want to live through that again. His bottom was uncomfortable enough as it was, after a bumpy two hour long ride through this wilderness. He had such a tender bottom, even though it was accustomed to rough treatment of all sorts. Soon after taking his seat, Abelard realized he was being sodomized by a large, rusty screw in the seat of the cart. At first he tried to shift his position, but when that proved difficult, decided the sensation was not all that unpleasant, and even started to enjoy it. He had felt worse things than an old, rusty screw up his butt often enough before. The screw was quite large, but after harboring half of the American hierarchy, so was Abelards asshole.
The trip to the farmhouse took a couple of hours. Thanks to Alvins provocative thigh, buttock and bare foot (not to mention the screw), Abelard was almost at the point of orgasm by the time they reached the farmhouse. He almost tripped and fell flat on his arse getting out of the cart. The farm was in the middle of nowhere. There were no other people for miles around. The troubling thought occurred to Abelard that if the two men tried to murder him, no one would be able to hear him scream. The boob looked capable of murder, but the boy was such an innocent. It was foolish to entertain such thoughts. But still he started to wonder if he were not better off back at the hotel. Alvin smiled at him and carried his bags into the farmhouse. The smile made all Abelards worries vanish (as it was meant to do) and he followed the boy, walking a step behind so that he could get a good long look at the scrumptious behind he hoped to get to know so much better over the next few days. His glance also lingered over the prints that Alvins slender, mouthwatering toes made in the dirt.
The new room was indeed big, bright and airy. The whole farmhouse was immaculate. It was obvious that Alvin and Jedidiah lived together in serene domesticity. From the way the two men spoke and looked at each other, it was obvious how much in love they were. For a moment, Abelard envied them. Despite his professional success, he had no real friends, no one he loved or who loved him. And he had worked hard for his success. It WAS hard work, lifting his cassock and exposing his magnificent ass cheeks for all those fat, bald, drooling bishops and monsignors. Most of them had _c_o_c_k_s as thin as pencils, and he had to pretend he could even feel them inside him. "Oh, Your Eminence, its SO big, stick it in me deeper. Make me feel it, monsignor!" It was such a bore. True, from time to time he was able to bugger a sweet young seminarian, but there was no love involved. He was using them and vice versa. It was a shame, now that he thought of it, to come between two men who were so much in love, who had something he was never going to have. But that wasnt going to stop him. Abelard had no conscience. Besides, deep down, he resented their happiness. It wasnt fair. Part of him was going to enjoy exposing the sham of such exclusive and mutual devotion. But first he had to find a way of disposing of the boob for a few hours.
Standing at a large window in his room, Jedidiah pointed out the outhouse to the priest. Abelard blushed and Jedidiah struggled to suppress a guffaw at the thought of the priest lifting his "skirt" and settling his white, pampered behind on the outhouses rough, wooden seat. He hoped he got splinters in his asshole. Wouldnt that make him sing a tune? Abelard noticed another building several yards from the outhouse and asked what it was. "That is the woodshed," Jedidiah informed him in an ominous tone. Abelard remembered from his own childhood that woodsheds were sometimes used for purposes other than storing wood. He wondered if the boob had not noticed how close he was sitting to Alvin in the cart, and were now hinting at what might happen if he got that close to his boy again. He glanced down at the heavy leather belt around the boobs waist, and awful memories from his childhood (and his not so distant past) returned, arousing an unpleasant sensation in the seat of his cassock. It dawned on him how much hurt this boob could inflict on his sensitive bottom if he wanted to. He had vivid memories of his fathers thick leather strap landing at full force across both his delicate cheeks at once, making him sing in a register fit for one of the popes castrati. He never wanted to sing like that again. He would have to be careful. The danger added a certain thrill to the whole scenario, and besides, Abelard was certain the country bumpkin was no match for his superior intellect. His posterior was depending on his superior intellect for its smooth, silken wellbeing.
"Brother Alvin is a good boy, but sometimes he falls into evil habits," Jedidiah informed him in an ominous whisper, "Then I have to take him out to the woodshed." Abelard was shocked and excited at this revelation. He could not imagine what evil habits Alvin could fall into out here in the middle of nowhere, but the thought of Jedidiah taking him out to the woodshed (and the obvious implication of what went on in the woodshed) caused a distinct tent to form in the waistline of his cassock. "I see, "Abelard responded, finding it hard in his aroused state to get the words out. "But Alvin seems like such a decent young man. What sort of evil habits could such an angel fall into?"
"SELF-ABUSE! He falls into the sin of SELF-ABUSE, and then I have to take him out to that shed," Jedidiah hissed, pointing an accusing finger towards the shed. He was speaking now in a low but terrible whisper, not wanting Alvin (who was still getting Abelards bags out of the cart) to hear what was being said. "He begs me not to take him out to the shed, the tears streaming down his angel face, but I have to do it. God wants me to do it, for Alvins own good. And once I get him inside the shed, I make him take off his trousers, even though he would sooner die than do it; I tie him down across a sawhorse; strong leather straps biting into his wrists and ankles, and then, even though it tears me up, I take an old, trusty razor strap thats been in my family for three generations now (and been USED for three generations, across the bare backsides of every male member of my kin, me included) and I try to STRAP the fear of God into him, through the skin of his naked rear end, until his butt is all tore up, and he is almost passed out from the pain! And do you know why I have to do that?" Abelard, frightened, confused and almost at the point of creating a nasty, hard to explain stain on the front of his cassock, shook his head. He stared in terrified fascination at the strong right arm, stretched out in front of him and pointing to t! he shed. He could clearly see the thick hairs like sharpened wire ends bristling across its entire surface. He imagined it with a weathered but formidable old razor strap in its iron grip. He visualized Jedidiah lifting his arm and bringing the strap down across Jedidiahs bared bottom. He could almost hear the deafening sound the strap made as it landed across Alvins captive, well-presented mounds. And he could hear Alvins scream. Jedidiahs fierce whisper awakened him from his reverie. "SOMEBODY taught my sweet innocent lamb the evil habit of self-abuse, and if I ever find out who did it, I am going to drag HIM out to that woodshed, RIP the trousers (OR the PETTICOAT) off him, tie HIS bare, miserable butt to that sawhorse, and before I am finished whipping his corrupted arse with the same strap my papa used to teach me right from wrong, LONG before I am done removing each last bit of skin from his hindquarters, he is going to wish he never laid a finger on that spotless angel out there, even if he does think of himself as a MAN OF GOD!"
Abelard had no idea what this threat signified. He was scared now, and wishing he had remained at the hotel. This bumpkin was an obvious lunatic. He tried to calm him down, assuring him he shared his aversion for the sin that seemed to upset him so much. "I understand and I agree. Self-abuse is a terrible sin. (He tried not to engage in it more than three times a day at the most.) I couldnt begin to count the number of boys I had to spank for pleasuring themselves when I was a seminarian at a Catholic orphanage. I spanked them all long and hard on their bare bottoms, with hairbrushes or leather belts, until even the older lads were crying like five year olds, and promising never to fall into that awful habit again. When I was finished with them their rear ends were as red as ripe tomatoes, and covered with bruises and welts, not fit to sit down on for at least a week. Alvin is fortunate to have found a friend like you. It is better for him to enter the kingdom of heaven with a few layers of skin missing from his nether regions, than to be cast into the outer darkness." Abelard tried to sound sanctimonious, but it wasnt his forte. And besides, the memory of all the spankings he had administered at the orphanage was causing his erection to increase. All those tender teenage bottoms at his mercy, twenty-four hours a day! Ah, youth! Jedidiah didnt respond to the priests weird form of self-defense, but just continued glaring at him.
Abelard didnt know that Alvin was standing right outside the window, hearing every word he said. Alvin struggled to control his rage and humiliation at hearing Abelard boast about how often and how hard he liked to beat boys bottoms. But he managed to restrain himself. Soon, he came bouncing into the room where Jedidiah and Abelard were, his bright, cheerful voice breaking the uncomfortable silence. "Brother Jedidiah, we got so caught up helping Father Abelard here that we forgot all about the feed! And thats the reason we went into town in the first place!" Jedidiah looked down, releasing the priest from the iron grip of his gaze. He muttered a curse under his breath and then asked Gods forgiveness for taking his name in vain. But Alvin was right. _d_a_m_n_ed fool priest! He was proving to be even more of a nuisance than he feared. "We are just going to have to go back to town then. _d_a_m_n_ed nuisance!" He did not bother to apologize to the priest (the cost of whose room just went up, although he didnt know it). "Saddle up the horse and lets get going."
"We cant both go, Brother Jedidiah, and leave our guest here all by his lonesome. Ill go, and you stay here with the Father." Jedidiah was in an awful predicament. If Alvin went, he would be left alone for at least five hours with his popish hellhound. Besides, Alvin had no head for figures, and the owner of the feed store was a notorious cheat. More than once, he had taken Alvin out to the shed for a long painful lesson in remedial arithmetic when he let the storeowner cheat him. But if he went, and left Alvin with this devil ...... He shuddered at the possibilities. He pondered for a moment and finally decided there was no alternative. He would have to go, and trust God to protect his little (25 year old) boy. Besides, Alvin was a strong young man and the priest was a simpering sissy. His boy could take care of himself. (But he still intended to inspect Alvins hindquarters thoroughly that evening, to make sure they hadnt been tampered with.) "No, Bro! ther Alvin, I will have to go back. You stay here and keep our guest (he spat out the word) company."
Alvin knew full well that Jedidiah wouldnt let him go to the feed store alone, but wanted to avoid the chance that his dad might smell a set up. Abelard meanwhile was delighted at this turn of events, and certain that this angelic little degenerate was plotting to be alone with him. Soon, Alvin was helping Jedidiah into the cart. Before he cracked the whip and started the trip back to town, Abelard, standing on the porch of the farmhouse, saw Jedidiah lean down and whisper something to Alvin. His precise words were, "Brother Alvin, angel lamb, I know how pure and innocent you are. You dont know like I do what evil lurks in the hearts of men. I wont go into details for fear of scaring you and putting evil thoughts into your sweet head, but promise me that you wont let that pervert get too close to you, because if he does, I swear that I will beat his butt till it looks like two puddles of strawberry marmalade, and he is begging for me to put an end to his suffering, which I will do by blowing his _f_u_c_k_ing brains out (forgive me, precious angel) with a sawed off shotgun! Do you understand me, sweet pea?"
"No Brother Jedidiah, what harm could come to me from being alone with Father Abelard?" Looking down into Alvins face, Jedidiah saw nothing but blank and spotless innocence. It would have taken more effort than he could muster to remember he had ever seen the same face contorted in lust or pain. Jedidiah glanced heavenward and muttered a prayer under his breath. "God protect him. How can I shield such a spotless lamb from the evils of this corrupt world?" He then cracked his whip and started off. Alvin turned to Father Abelard and smiled. Abelard thought he looked like one of Titians cherubs. He didnt know it, but the cherub was looking forward to spending a long afternoon "going medieval" on Fathers scented medieval ass. The revenge of the lambs was about to begin.
To be continued