Stevens School Runaways

Stevens School Runaways - Part 13 (hist, tort, CBT, psych)
By Platypus (formerly Dark Man)
plupy@surfbest.net

(First published on Eunuch Archive)

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This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It contains explicit depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
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Saturday is not a pleasant day for the runaways. But there are a few twists in the tale.

Stevens School Runaways - Part 13
"Saturday"

The boys woke up around 10 in the morning. Being allowed to sleep for so long was such a luxury that both boys had managed to do it on the hard floor. By hugging each other close and entwining limbs, the naked boys had managed to generate enough body heat for a modicum of comfort. It was even kind of pleasant lying that way with their eyes still shut; both boys had dreamt variations of the same theme: Of being home sung in their beds at home, far away from Stevens. But then the adults returned, and each felt the gentle touch of an electric cattle prod on the undersides of their big toes – once, twice, in Rich's case, three times!

"Yeowh! What the fuck!" Both boys had a similar reaction to the stimulus, Dr. Thompson noted.

"It's time to get you guys up. You have lots of procedures and punishments to undergo today," Reilly said. He'd been the one using the cattle prod on their toes. Nice touch.

Both boys' eyes were now open wide as owls. "Damn," Tom muttered.

Rich and Tom were led into yet another room they hadn't noticed before. Behind the dental chair, it was a small cubicle within the "dungeon" – a partitioned bathroom of sorts with a shower stall. "Wash up, including brush your teeth. Each of you takes a warm shower and gets completely dried off. Pronto!" said Mr. Graves, somewhat like a Marine sergeant. Although the cubicle's floor was made of gray painted wood like in a port-o-potty, inside was a sink and mirror besides the shower, and there were fresh clean fluffy towels, toothbrushes, toothpaste, even clean washcloths for them to use. "Both of you be out here and ready for inspection in ten minutes!" Graves bellowed.

While the boys couldn't help study their bodies in the mirror, a natural reaction after what they'd endured so far, they were surprised that they felt more achy sore all over than any sensation of really intense pain in any one place – although Rich had yet to receive the severe "penis spanking" that Tom had experienced the previous evening. This part of Tom's anatomy was still quite tender. "My cock's still real sore," he confided to his friend. "Maybe they'll forget to do me," Rich remarked. They also felt greasy. Somebody had rubbed Aloe Vera cream or something soothing all over their bodies as they slept. "We're all shiny!" said Tom, somewhat incredulous.

The hot showers, adjusted to a comfortable temperature, opened up their cuts and abrasions to some degree, stinging their sensitized skin. Surprisingly, the spray also conveyed a soothing effect. If anything, the standing baths were way too brief. "C'mon you boys! Two minutes each in the shower max!"

Afterwards, they weren't shiny anymore, but felt remarkably okay once they'd dried off.

"C'mon, hurry up! You'd better be dry everywhere – even between your toes!"

Too soon, they were dry and "presentable." Outside the little cubicle, more adults arrived for Saturday's punishment spectacle. "I guess it's time to make our entrance," Rich whispered.

Everybody was back – Mueller, headmaster Taylor, Reilly, Cousins (thank God – maybe his presence would at least spare them the worst of potential horrors), Mrs. O'Neill, Graves, Mason, three security people, the photographer Briggs, the government guy Mr. Elliott, and Doctor Thompson, the obligatory physician. It was a real party.

Thompson instructed them both to stand up straight and put their hands on their heads. He was checking them out everywhere – starting with the hair on their heads, to see if it was still wet, inside their ears, behind their ears, and so on. He'd scan Tom and then Rich, Tom's chest and stomach, Rich's chest and stomach, Tom's scrotum, Rich's scrotum – to see if any body part was still wet or dirty. Or not marked up enough. He held up Rich's penis, squeezed the organ's circumcised head between his thumb and forefinger so that the boy's piss-slit opened like a tiny mouth. The penis was about four-and-a-half inches long, with some nice curly brown pubic hairs just starting around its base. "First thing – we'll be giving this cute bald-headed mouse some attention with the little rod. It'll be exposed on the block – just like your friend's was. Thought you'd be missing out? Didn't you Richard?"

The boy shivered involuntarily. Dreading this particular punishment, he was also determined to show courage. To take it more like a man than Tom had. If it had to be, he'd grit it out. "No sir. I wasn't thinking that. Really I wasn't." The inspection continued. He was feeling the kids up everywhere – even inside their cracks. Rich's asshole was a little extra sore from the thicker spike that had penetrated him in the horrid chair. Maybe that's why he'd been cursory and hadn't dried it completely. "Hand me a dry towel!" – Thompson hissed. But the rest of their bodies were dry, even between their toes and the sturdy soles of their feet.

Tom had to remain at attention with his hands on his head and not move a muscle while Rich's prized anatomical possession was properly chastised.

Since Rich was slightly taller than his friend, five feet five exactly, the block that was used measured about seventeen inches high. "I don't need anybody to hold my feet in place," Rich blurted, "and I'll keep it steady on the block the whole time – I promise -- so I don't think you'll need to pin it down either." Rich actually desired to test himself, if only to see if he possessed the will to keep his cock there – even if it hurt like crazy. Once he'd read about Australian aboriginal boys of his age being initiated, and undergoing radical, in the sense of extreme circumcisions – just to be accepted into their clans – to be regarded as men instead of as boys. It was a game sort of, his first tentative step toward giving a masochistic permission. Plus, the more stoic he was, he somehow figured, the less fun it might be for these weirdoes. Maybe he could even control his screams and reactions to a certain extent – thus ruining the stupid government experiment.

Everyone was expectant, even Tom. Most of the adults present were more than a little taken aback by the boy's tactics. Elliott was, it seemed to Rich, was a bit more pleased about this novel attitude that the boy had suddenly assumed. "Yes!" He said, "Now that's the spirit! A real little patriot, this one. Okay, just make yourself hard, boy, then kneel, and put your entire erection nicely up on the block."

"Uh, I think I need a bit of help, sir." He couldn't just will himself to get a stiffy.

Mr. Reilly reached over and masturbated Rich's penis for a few seconds. The boy's hard-on magically appeared. Soon he was over five inches long and slightly thicker, and a string of pre-cum oozed out of his slit. The purplish veins along Rich's pubertal organ became nice and prominent. It was sticking straight out – like an antenna – from his body. Under different circumstances, he might proud to have an audience for his erection. He was a little stud. Decent blood flow, several adults realized simultaneously. That way, the nerve endings would be more sensitive and it should hurt the boy more than it would have had he remained flaccid with the pins. Ironically, if he started out hard, they all knew how stimulation – even painful stimulation – would prevent the boy's erection from easily subsiding as long as the beating continued.

"Okay. Stop dawdling boy. Kneel down, and put your cock up on the block," Mr. Graves said.

Rich knelt. Bravely he leaned his belly and chest forward so that his bare hard-on extended across the solid surface. Quite vulnerable, he was at Mr. Mason's mercy. It felt funny, his cock being there, on display for everybody to see. Mason swished the cruel little stick in the air. The boy heard little whooshing sounds. Tom thought back to his own ordeal – fifty-five strokes – just twelve hours before. But this would be worse somehow. Tom just KNEW it.

"Okay, fifty strokes. Since he's hard and wants to see how brave he is, I recommend the majority of them right where he's most sensitive – on his glans meatus – and particularly near his pee-hole – his urethral opening. If he moves backwards even a smidge, he gets seventy-five."

"Your recommendation is accepted, Doc," said Mason.

There was a murmur of approval from everybody except Tom. He gasped.

"Shut up you!" Someone said. "No comments from the peanut gallery."

"No! That's not fair!" Rich thought, his eyes bug-eyed with terror as he watched Mason swish the sharp-pointed stick through the air. But he didn't dare say it. Instead he braced himself for what he knew would be terrible pain.

The stick flashed down right on his piss-slit – a perfect strike. Somehow, he bit his lip, but stopped himself from screaming that first time. But a few seconds later, again anticipation made his whole body tighten up, every muscle tense from his neck to his toes, and the sharp tip struck his cock in almost the same place, drawing a tiny bead of blood. "Yeowh!"

But miraculously, although he screamed and shrieked or moaned on almost every one of the remaining forty-eight blows, Rich heroically kept his erect penis where it was supposed to be during the entire punishment. The effort was impressive to everyone in the room, and brought a tear to Mr. Cousins. He is an incredible youngster, the math teacher mused in sheer admiration.

"Okay, you can remove it now," headmaster Taylor said. The boy's organ was red and puffy, bleeding a little in places, Rich winced as he stood up again, he was sobbing from the pain, but he had survived this mini-ordeal – and on his own terms. In his own mind, he was now a man.

The next "procedure" was to establish the dynamics for several punishments to follow. It was indeed fiendish, but based upon an ancient initiation rite intended for Plains Indian youths. Both Tom and Rich were told to lean backwards with hands and feet firmly planted, eyes staring upwards toward the dungeon's ceiling. Jutting from the ceiling beams, the kids noticed something ominous they'd failed to observe. Secured to the beams were large, sharp-pointed hooks attached to what resembled a thick gauge fishing line. When it dawned on blonde-haired Tom, an ardent recreational trout and bass fisherman when he'd lived with his family, just what those cruel hooks might be for – he started sobbing, and almost immediately began begging. As the hooks and their lines began descending toward the boys' nude bodies, Mueller and Graves went to work quickly and efficiently.

As Graves guided the first sharp point to a place immediately adjacent to Rich's left nipple, and deftly pierced the boy, embedding the hook and working it through the skin of his pectoral muscle on his bare chest, he screamed and wailed. Mueller inserted an identical hook into Tom's right pectoral muscle with the same result.

"That's it, work them in there fairly deep," said Mr. Elliott, "they're going to have to support their body weight."

"Don't spare the hooks!" warned Thompson, "make sure you get good spacing all over their ventral sides."

This soon necessitated twenty large-bore hooks per boy, amid horrific wails and sobs – in a symmetrical fashion, the hooks pierced the skin and were securely hooked down into the muscle tissue on the boys' shoulders, left and right, their chest muscles (pectorals), into their rib-meat on each side, their tender bellies, their pelvic areas, their fleshy thighs, just above each knee, their calves, their Achilles tendons, and finally, the a big sharp hook was firmly inserted through the tissue near the instep and ball of each boy's bare foot. It was like gutting a fish, Tom thought.

Then it got worse. They were hoisted up. "No! Please don't!" Tom screamed. Rich was loudly sobbing and wailing as he too hung suspended in mid-air about three feet away from his friend and maybe five feet above the floor. Besides a new incredible kind of pain that neither boy had experienced before, it was terrifying to be suspended like that – by your skin! Once the boys were suspended in this fashion, the pain could even be increased by giving Tom or Rich a little push – Mrs. O'Neill imagined a mother pushing her child on a swing -- soon they were swaying and screaming – each boy afraid that one of the hooks would tear a huge chunk of flesh off as the their own weight and gravity worked against them.

Finally, after maybe an hour, it seemed an eternity; the runaways were slowly and gradually lowered down to the floor. The hooks were carefully and gently removed, Tom and Rich then experienced deep massage with ointments and hydrogen peroxide, were told to sit up and given fruit juice with an antibiotic to prevent infection, and given a three- hour rest break – so that their bodies might rejuvenate somewhat in advance of their next punishment. Almost as if they'd undergone some manner of ancient if magical acupuncture, the "really bad" pain from where the hooks had been placed -- began subsiding after about an hour. The adults even left for a while as the runaways rested. "I can't believe this, it's incredible," Rich said.

"What?" Tom replied.

"It's not so bad all of a sudden."

"Yeah, I noticed that too."

"These people are awful good at what they do – it's like a lab for pure pain."

"Yeah, so at least we won't die," Tom said, trying his best to be sarcastic.

"I'm glad they're not torturing us," Rich opined.

"No, they can't," Tom said in his best Mr. Taylor imitation, "It's not the Stevens way."

They both managed to laugh, albeit weakly.

The rest of Saturday's schedule of punishments – the searing of their tongues with a red-hot iron, and the extended beatings with a bamboo cane on the palms of their hands – seemed almost anti-climactic by comparison.

End of Part 13