[Readers are advised to read parts one and two in the archives for story continuity.]
After getting a double dose on that fateful first day on the job at Blackberry Village Rob quickly settled into his new routines and began the task of learning the blacksmith trade. At the same time he made nightly trips to the village schoolroom where he read his way through the small library trying to immerse himself in the 1870s. He read through Harpers Weekly and Frank Leslies Illustrated to pick up the language and culture of the times. Then he immersed himself in the boys literature of the period: Oliver Optics Magazine, Boys Own, Beadles Dime Library, and Horatio Algers novels. He enjoyed entertaining the summer visitors and regaling them with his own take on life as an apprentice in a blacksmith shop in a small town one hundred and thirty years ago.
Life was not all work and study, however, and Rob found some time each day to visit other shops in the village. He made friends with a number of the other summer interns and year round apprentices. Like all teenagers they found plenty in common and enjoyed the time they could spend together. A quick dip in the pond at dusk, riding the horses out to the pasture, eating meals in common in the big back kitchen of the restaurant were all opportunities to compare notes and plan pranks. Rob became fast friends with several other boys his own age. Moosong worked in the carpentry shop and Nicholas was learning to be a cooper that summer. Moosong Park, Korean by birth, soon became Robs confidante and Nicholas the object of his pranks. After he had gained the confidence of both boys each had shared with him their own occasional punishments at the hands of their master craftsman. Nothing more than variations on a theme he discovered.
"One of the first pieces I did myself in the shop," Moosong confided to Rob, "was a thin maple paddle which he has used on my rear end more than a few times."
"And one of the first pieces I spoiled," Nicholas added, "got shortened down for a paddle. But the barrel oak is not thin and it has a nice curve to it so it really packs a wallop all the way across your ass!"
"Yeah, I always wondered. How do you get that nice curve in the staves?" Rob asked.
"Start with a piece of flat oak and use an adze to chop it thinner in the middle, use a draw shave to smooth it down, then soak it in water and warp it. Pounding the bands down keeps the shape. The wet contents swells the wood and keeps the barrel from leaking."
"Well, it IS the perfect shape for a nasty paddle," Moosong said. "Fits the human backside like a glove. And now I know where the phrase over a barrel came from."
"How about you, Rob?" Moosong asked. "Couple of times I heard what sounded like a pretty good licking coming from the shed behind the smithys barn."
"You heard right, thats for sure. Nothing I cant handle but youve seen the forearms on McCann, right? Guy could knock you into next week if he wanted to and when he lays the strap on I guarantee you will be sleeping on your belly that night." Rob said nothing about the rest of the activity that sometimes followed a tanning with the strap as McCann gave his apprentice something enjoyable after the pain of a strapping. So far it had just been a finger till he shot a load or having him jack while the old man watched with a smile.
Rob snuck a look at the laps of his two buddies and saw an unmistakable lump in Moosongs britches. Hed wait till Nicholas left and find a way to get Moosong alone to explore that a little further. Soon enough Nicholas decided he was going to sneak a quick dip in the pond before hitting the sack for the night. With Nicholas still in view Rob raised the subject.
"Hey, Moos, whats with the hard on there?"
Moosong blushed deeply and his eyes locked on Rob. He said nothing. Moosong Park had been brought up with the traditional Asian American sense of keeping certain things very, very private.
"Well? Whats with the woodie? You get hard thinking about McCanns laying the strap to me? Or you just horny generally?"
"Um, I suppose."
"You suppose?" Rob laughed. "Hey, its just us, dude. Lighten up. Lets see what you got there. If youre shy Ill join you."
"You sure no one comes in here?" Moosong whispered as he stood up, the tent in his pants now fully stretched.
"Yeah, Im sure. Hardly anybody even knows this old root cellar is down here." Rob opened his own trousers and let his erection pop out. He watched as Moosong dropped his pants completely and was impressed at the size of this boys hard on. Hung like a mule was the phrase from the 1870s. Rob also noted the purplish splotches on Moosongs ass from a paddling earlier that day.
"Dont mind telling you sometimes I get so randy from a lickin that I cum on the floor, Moosong. You ever feel that way?"
"Only after. The paddle hurts too much to feel good during. But after is when I can jack and then I cum in no time."
"We will be brothers of the woodie, my man!" Rob laughed. "How about we seal our little brotherhood with a small initiation right?"
"What did you have in mind?" Moosong asked, his right hand slowly stroking his thick _c_o_c_k_.
"I jack you and you jack me. First one to cum is president of our little group." Again Rob laughed. And he reached out to take Moosongs erection in hand. Moosong reciprocated and they began to jack each other. It took less than sixty seconds before Rob shot his load out and Moosong was just a few seconds behind him. It was a first for both. But it would not be the last.
Several weeks later the boys were together for one of the few times they had off, Sunday morning. Not that Blackberry Village closed. It did not. In fact, the village church held Sunday services in a small white church with none other than the Director of Blackberry Village, Mr. Bryant, serving as parson for those who came to worship 1870s style. Bryant, as was his custom, dressed in his period black parsons suit, checked himself approvingly in his office mirror, and began the walk across the little village to the church.
Bryant decided he needed a few more minutes to go over the sermon he was about to preach. He took the long way round to get to the church and followed the path behind the buildings. The dusty footpath ran along the edge of a small wood where most of the outhouses stood. It was then that an opportunity to explore a little mutual lust brought Rob and Moosong directly on a path with the good Parson Bryant. The two boys, figuring that the rest of the village would either be sound asleep or on the way to church, had decided to meet at the outhouse behind the sheep barn. That particular outhouse was one of the few two holers in the village.
As he stopped to ponder the beauty of a meadow in full July bloom, Parson Bryant whispered out loud his morning text from the prophet Isaiah in chapter forty: "The Voice said Cry. And he said, What shall I cry? All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field. The grass withereth, the flower fadeth because the spirit of the Lord bloweth upon it: surely the people is grass." Suddenly some low, guttural giggles ripped through his heavenly thoughts. The giggles came from the two hole outhouse just ahead and off the path.
The Director of Blackberry Village and its resident parson moved closer to investigate this intrusion on his sermon preparation.
"Oh, yeah! Do it. Oh, do it!" Inside this privy sat the two young summer interns, pants at the ankles and hands on each others erections. "Gonna shoot, man, Im gonna shoooooooot!"
Moosongs rather breathless announcement was met with a rejoinder. "Me, too, Moos! Pump me!" And then, as both geysers were just one jerk from erupting, the dark of the privy was rent with the righteous light of day as Parson Bryant whipped that door open and caught the two with geysers shooting. Bryant stared in shock as Rob and Moosong shot up and over each others naked knees. But his shock was certainly half that or less of the boys. Neither said a word. Speechless they sat there as their proud _c_o_c_k_s began to wilt like wildflowers in the midday sun. How long this silent standoff continued is anyones guess but it seemed to last an eternity with none of the three even moving. Finally Bryant spoke.
"I had heard a few rumors. Innuendoes. And I refused to believe. But you have shown me the proof, boys. And I can see my naive good will has served me poorly. To say I am disappointed is putting it mildly." Once again silence descended between the three. Rob and Moosong sat there staring at the wood planks of the outhouse floor. "I should have called you in when Mr. McCann told me you had this deviant addiction."
"Here is what we are going to do," Bryant announced as he pulled himself to his full height. "The two of you have about fifteen minutes to get yourselves properly dressed and get your disgusting selves into the church for morning services." He paused.
"Yes, sir!" Rob and Moosong replied simultaneously as each scrambled to yank his pants up.
"And in that service when I call for confession you two are going to confess to gross immorality before the assembled congregation."
"Yes, sir," they answered again, this time with a lot less certainty.
"No need to get graphic, but you are going to confess before the congregation, gentlemen. I use that term loosely. You will, as the good book says, be forgiven your obscene behavior. And you will also be punished as the good book says in Proverbs chapter twenty-six verse three, A whip for the horse, a bridle for the ass, and a rod for the fools back. You two fools will meet me back here after services in the sheep barn right over there. Your back will indeed feel the rod."
"Yes, Mr. Bryant." The boys were less concerned about the trip back to the sheep barn than they were about the public shaming to come in the Sunday services. Never would that have entered their consciousness as part of a punishment.
"Better get moving, boys. Services start in ten minutes and you wouldnt want to be late."
Rob and Moosong lit out back to their sleeping rooms to slick their hair, give a quick douse of water to the face, and put a clean blouse on. Bryant once again moved down the path to the picturesque white church. He had plenty of fodder now for a good dose of fire and brimstone this morning. He thought back to Jonathan Edwards deservedly famous "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God" and saw himself carrying on a regal pastoral tradition. He would call the sinners to repent this morning. Oh, yes, he would.
A half hour later Parson Bryant mounted that raised pulpit in the church, looked out at his faithful band of forty, and saw the boys seated together on the last pew. Then he launched into his best imitation of the prophet Jeremiah as he called his wayward flock to the paths of righteousness. It was a hot Sunday morning and for more than the July sun pouring through the windows. As he wound up his preaching he paused dramatically, lowered his voice to a whisper, leaned forward toward his flock and asked, "Are there any among you who need to come forward to confess your iniquity today? Best to confess that you may receive the blessings of absolution than to carry that guilt and burn in eternal perdition."
For a short moment not a soul moved. Not one leg twitched. The standoff had begun. But it lasted just thirty seconds before Rob and Moosong rose together and made that dreadful walk up the center aisled to face the consequences.
"I see we do have some sinners who need to clear their souls here this morning. Indeed we do. Face the congregation, boys, and lighten that load you are carrying."
Together Moosong and Rob turned toward the gathered faithful who sat waiting this revelation from what appeared to be two All American Boys. For a moment neither spoke. Then Rob took the lead and dove in headfirst.
"We, that is, I mean, I , well, both of us, I guess. What I mean to say is that we have been soiling our souls with evil desires. We have succumbed to the devil and his temptations and are truly sorry for giving in to such filthy self-gratification. But we have seen the light, we will repent and not give the devil his way again." By the time he completed this confession Rob looked like a Maine lobster two minutes after being dumped into the boil pot. And Moosong matched him for blush and embarrassment.
"What these boys mean to confess, brothers and sisters, is that they have been caught red handed in the sins of self abuse. I give thanks that they have indeed been caught and seen the error of their ways. We can all rejoice in souls saved today!"
"Amens!" resounded through the nave of the small church and now there were more than a few faces among the faithful which had reddened with the revelation of the boys sins.
"Repentance will be your new path, boys. You will turn from your old ways and enjoy the blessings of the saints. Of that you may be sure. You may return to your pew but you will remember we have an appointment after services." A few smiles in the congregation greeted that announcement with approval.
Silently the two boys returned to the back pew to fidget through the rest of the hymns, psalms, and prayers before finally, mercifully, the benediction gave them leave to flee before they had to face any of the other parishioners one on one.
For the next half hour the two sat in that sheep barn in the noonday heat waiting for their executioner. Then he arrived, his tall black form a silhouette in the door. They stood to greet him and remained silent. He closed and latched the barn door, then carefully put his coat and hat on hooks near the window.
"Now you will feel the rod for the fools back of which I spoke this morning," he announced. "You see that platform over there? Thats what we use to shear the sheep in the spring. Rob, you will be punished first. I want you on your knees on the platform right now."
Rob knelt on the wood planks of the raised platform with Mr. Bryant behind him and Moosong watching off to the side. Bryant took Rob by the head and bent him forward till his head was in the slot where the sheeps head was locked during shearing. Then he pulled the wood latch down and secured it to lock Rob in place, kneeling and bent full over. He stepped round behind Rob, opened up Robs trousers, and stripped them down to bare him from the waist. Like a ram ready for the ewe in heat, Robs erection stood out straight betraying his mixed feelings about what was coming next. He grabbed hold of the wood frame and waited. In the silence of the barn Rob heard the unmistakable sound of Bryant opening his belt and pulling it free through the belt loops.
Moosong watched as Bryant slowly rolled up his sleeves and then took his place well behind and to the side of the sheep-shearing platform. Director Parson Bryants belt hung limp like a dark snake from his right hand, the tip laying curled in the dust of the barn floor.
Without so much as a word Bryant drew the belt back and lashed it quickly and hard across Robs backside. Moosong winced at the crack of the strap and Robs eyes widened to circles as a searing pain sliced through his buttocks. Bryant lashed the belt home again. And still silence prevailed in the barn. Two dozen more good licks came but no lecture. Not a word was heard in that barn. Just the loud pistol shot cracks of the leather belt cracking home. But Rob took this strapping just like he had taken McCanns. In just a few minutes it was over and a taut silence again fell in the barn.
"When I was a young man about your age my father once taught me a valuable lesson," Bryant said to both the boys. "He said the best way to cure an appetite for the bad things in life was to see just what they could bring. He caught me with a chew of tobacco. So he took me down to the corner store where he gave me the money to buy a whole wad. They we went back home and he took me out back and had me break a piece off and chew it good. I did. And I turned green and puked. When I had puked everything out he gave me another wad. And I puked. And another. Well, that went on for the better part of the afternoon and I have never used tobacco since."
By this time the boys were wondering if the old man had lost his marbles. They were, however, in no position to say anything so they listened and said nothing.
"So you boys are going to get just what you think you want and a lot more maybe. Mr. McCann told me about how much you seem to like his finger in your crack, Rob. Is that true?"
Rob made no reply.
"Moosong, get over here," Bryant ordered.
Moosong did as he was told.
"Take your pants down boy. Right now!"
Moosong, still sporting a dripping woodie from watching Robs strapping was mortified but did as he was told.
"I see you find this exciting? Ok. Put a good bit of spit on that thing, boy, and see how much of it your buddy here wants to take between those striped cheeks of his."
"Please, sir! Not that. No. I cant."
"Oh, you can and you will, boy. You will be cured of this, so help me. You might want to remember that a few minutes from now you will be taking his place and he will be back here. So get to it and do it well, boy."
Bryant looked at Moosongs incongruously large erection and smiled inside. A fitting and effective punishment this would be indeed. Then he looked down to the stretched fabric in his own black pants and waited for the tableaux to play out. What a way to spend the summer. He would have to see these two young lads got a nice raise in pay for the next check.