Stevens School Runaways - Part 8 (hist, tort, CBT, psych)
By Platypus (formerly Dark Man)
plupy@surfbest.net

copyright 2005 by Platypus, all rights reserved

(First published on Eunuch Archive)

* * * * *
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.
 * * * * *

The boys have an opportunity to pass a "little test" in order to escape their punishments. They decide to "go for it!"

Stevens School Runaways - Part 8
"Exams"

The black Friday evening continued for both boys. In fact, the worst parts were just beginning. "Do you absconders have any questions about the video?" Mr. Taylor said softly. Taylor's bushy eyebrows wiggled as he spoke, for some strange reason, this mannerism – the absurd nature of it -- struck Rich funny.

"The nerve of that kid," hissed the despotic Mueller.

"Is something funny? I wouldn't be too jovial if I were you," Taylor warned. But even in these circumstances, his voice failed to carry a menacing edge. It was almost a lilt.

Rich bit his lip to keep from laughing. Tom caught the contagion – and smiled.

"They don't seem very worried," remarked the repulsive Mrs. O'Neill.

"Do you have any questions about the video?" repeated headmaster Taylor.

Tom surmised that questions about the video, and lots of them, could serve as a delaying tactic. He'd watched a television episode of Hogan's Heroes once. "The program mentioned kids being punished were also helping the government – some kind of experiment maybe? CIA?"

Everyone in the room nodded in a reverent, deferential sort of way. Tom might as well have uttered the secret name of God. The silence was weird. "CIA?" the 7th grader repeated.

"Yes, but it's top secret – ultra-classified. Project MISHNA has been going on since the early 1970s," Mr. Mason, volunteered. He liked to talk about classified stuff – it titillated him, made him feel important.

"Do you think we should tell them everything?" Mueller said. It sounded almost like a rebuke. He was clearly irritated. Loose lips sink ships, he thought. But it wasn't his call.

"Pain-threshold experiments? Involving just kids being punished at Stevens?" Rich asked. He tried to sound eager, but not too eager. He was catching the drift – maybe if they could keep it up asking questions all weekend, maybe they wouldn't get punished at all.

Taylor felt obliged to respond. "I think they deserve to know – considering what they'll be enduring. The Russians started it. During the peak of the Cold War. They used thousands of kids – boys 11 to 15 – orphans mostly – some kidnapped from poor families. It wasn't long before they realized that this age group and gender had the most sensitive – and therefore useful – pain thresholds. When Bush the elder became interim CIA Director, our country was put in the position where we had to obtain the same kind of data just to keep up. "

"What exactly is a pain threshold?" Rich asked.

"What was the data needed for?" Tom cajoled.

"Where did they get the kids?" Rich kept the ball rolling.

"Please, please boys! So many questions!" Taylor had never faced this tactic. Blindsided, he felt compelled to satisfy their curiosity. Maybe he could instill some much-needed patriotism in these kids. Some red, white, and true-blue.

Mueller glared. He knew what these two were up to. Impatience settled into the spacious but slightly overheated room like a pall. The adults, and even the security guards, were anxious to get going with what they secretly referred to as "the festivities."

"The data, let's just say, consists of baseline bio-medical markers for human pain. In case the enemy captured an agent, or a military special operative, knowing the precise level of pain that can be tolerated – could save an American life. Such data is still useful, extremely so, and we keep improvising, coming up with ingenious new techniques. You're going to be helping our country. Now that's a silver lining, isn't it? Isn't that swell?"

"Yeah swell. But where did the first American experiments get the kids?" Rich repeated.

"Were those pioneer kids all from Stevens? And how 'bout now?" Tom was really in the spirit now. To every adult in the room, except for the gullible Taylor, it was plenty irritating. Tension was brewing.

Mueller and Mason especially, and Graves too, felt like giving both absconders a good smack in the face, closed fist.

But Taylor bit again. Good grief. "Not just kids from Stevens. We're part of a national program. Thirteen nations are participating – all under the radar of those damned human rights groups. In the old days, up until about 1985, boys on the streets, homeless kids without families, missing kids, kids supposedly kidnapped by strangers – all could end up being impressed into the program. Tens of thousands. The methods were still being perfected in those days. Some boys even gave their lives for their country. Willingly. Gladly."

"Don't you think all this history is just boring them, Mr. Taylor? All these details." Mueller was using another tact to end this charade and get down to business.

Rich seized another pregnant pause – exploited it while thinking 'those poor kids must've been brainwashed.'

"I don't mind being a patriot and all. I'm proud to be from this country, but I don't know if I'm a hero or anything like that," he said. He regretted it the moment he said it. Tom winced, knowing that now the jig was up!

"No, you kids are absconders! That's a far cry from a hero." Mason was really pissed.

"Little punks. Let's get on with this, shall we?" Mr. Graves was going to have to be away from his own kids the entire freaking weekend. He'd be damned if these middle school shit-asses were going to talk their way out of getting their just desserts.

Oops! Rich mused. Better think up something else quick. "I saw something else in the video. Something about a test we can take?"

All adult eyes in the room brightened under the harsh fluorescents. Tom and Rich were still sitting jauntily on the black suede sofa dressed in their school clothes and holding court, like Christ the juvenile in the temple. Only there were two of them and the tide was swiftly turning.

Mueller was getting into his element. He lived for moments like this – even if he was a family man, and considered himself a red-blooded American male. His eyes seemed to twinkle as HE began interrogating. A trained interrogator interrogating is an awesome thing. "Richard Hansen. Can you ejaculate yet? In other words, can you cum?" Mueller's stare penetrated straight into Rich's marrow. It was sickening; suddenly beads of nervous sweat broke out on the 8th grader's brow. Several adults including a burly security guard listening couldn't resist amused titters.

"Yes!" The boy was embarrassed and a bit annoyed. After all, he was several months into puberty.

"How many times in succession? Twice? Three times? Can you shoot your sperm three times?"

"I don't know. Maybe twice," he said, but definitely without bravado. Would he have to fucking jerk off in front of all these perverts? Could be worse he thought; if it will cancel the pain stuff, the humiliation might be worth it. He didn't want to suffer through some of the possibilities he saw in that freaking video.

Suddenly Mueller switched to Tom. He didn't go easy. The adults were sensing the momentum -- familiar, measured. Like a macabre performance playing out – this was pure Stevens ritual. "What about you, little man? Can you shoot your spunk yet?"

Tom was sure he could, but he'd just started masturbating only two months before. At home -- before his mother had gotten into his diary. It seemed like an eternity ago, and he'd only done it on two or three different days. One time he'd tried to jerk off twice in one night, but his cock had gotten sore. "Yes," the slightly younger boy answered in a coy fashion, demurely, like a tame boy rabbit. "I can." He would too, he mused, maybe put on a show if asked. Naked. It was their only chance.

"Unbutton your shirts," said Mr. Reilly. Tom and Rich began to undo their buttons one at a time. "Take them off." Soon both white dress shirts were discarded and handed to one of the security people – the woman. She had a mousy face with a twisted mouth permanently etched into a sneer.

"Shoes next," said Mr. Taylor. The boys began slowly untying their plastic laces. Once off their feet, the mousy person took their brown shoes. The boys looked down at their own stocking feet.

"Now your socks," said Mrs. O'Neill. Each sock was stripped off to bare their feet, left, right. It felt funny to be barefoot on the thick shag. Comfortable. Even pleasurable. But funny. Tom dug his toes into the fleecy surface out of nervousness. Rich couldn't help flexing his big toes, curling, extending. His toes were slightly longer than Tom's; the feet of both boys appeared healthy despite Reilly's little barefoot games in the snow and ice.

"Unzip your flies, please. Now remove your trousers." That was freaking Mason. Tom and Rich slipped their corduroys off their legs, then sat bolt upright and still as songbirds on the sofa dressed in just their white underwear.

"Stand up, both of you," Thompson said, "It's time to examine you."

The boys stood, obediently. Tom began to get red in the face; Rich was just getting anxious because he was getting a hard-on to end all boners. Both boys had undergone a physical examination on their arrival day, but only down to underwear and not in front of all these people. 'Doc' had squeezed their balls through their briefs, making them cough. Tom and Rich were thinking the exact same thing. In their minds, they again felt the gentle squeeze.

Mueller interrupted their reverie. "Lose those briefs!" he barked, "Now!"

Once past their fleshy thighs, the briefs slid swiftly down their legs, down to their bare feet.

"Step out of them! Hands on your heads!" Mason again. He seemed to be enjoying this a little too much, Rich thought.

"Feet together! Stand at attention. Perfectly still." Mueller hissed.

Rich worried about his hard-on. It poked straight out from the bottom of his undershirt. If he'd been lying on his back, it'd be a freaking periscope! So embarrassing. He didn't think it could get any harder, but that's when Doc Thompson started feeling him up Hands making gentle little circles beneath his undershirt, the only thing he was wearing! Little circles with warm fingers traced all over his bare belly, his little nipples, his armpits, along his ribs, and then he lifted the undershirt to play with his cock and balls with everybody watching, he pulled his cock out, holding it by the cockhead, pulling it away from his body until the little tugs began to hurt. Rich uttered a little grunt. But the attention was starting to feel good, real good. Then the good doctor stopped, started in on Tom, "Oh my gosh!" the nearly naked boy thought. Soon he had a boner too.

"We can continue this in the examination rooms, start in with the first little punishments too," he said, "I think they'll both do fine. Let's get started."

Every adult began to move toward the examination rooms; both boys were being pushed along.

But they'd only taken a step or two when Rich glanced in the direction of Examination Room A – the one with the door ajar that was closest to the antechamber. Now he saw the extra- wide table with the straps perfectly. Length and width-wise, it was ideal to contain and secure a naked spread-eagled boy. Room B was still hidden, just out of sight. "What about the tests?' Rich said with a bit of a frantic edge. "If we can pass 'em, then maybe we won't be punished after all, or at least maybe not so much."

"But if you fail them – or decide not to attempt them – it'll go even worse for you!" Mason taunted.

He was a bad man, Tom thought, a very bad man. He didn't like Mason even a little bit. But it was time for a smile even if it was a desperate one. "Yeah, what about those tests? You're supposed to at least let us know what they are. Do you want us to jerk off for everybody? I'd be willing to do that," Tom said, a little too loudly.

Everybody in the room laughed. Both boys wondered why. They didn't have to wonder long. The fluorescents flickered as if the lights were laughing too.

Mueller broke the titters with a dose of reality. "Okay, so you want to try the tests? You – come over here!" He motioned to Tom to kneel on the sofa, but with his bare feet hanging over the arm of it. Two pairs of hands held Tom's feet steady by the ankles so he didn't immediately topple over. Rich was told to stand right up on the sofa's leather cushions facing his friend. Next, Tom was told to lift up his friend's undershirt with one hand. Rich's circumcised cock was only inches from Tom's face. It was rock hard and dripping a single glistening drop of pre-cum from the peehole at the tip. There were quite a few darkish pubes around the base of his friend's penis, and the thing was about 5 inches long, not too thick. He could see the bluish veins running like tributaries all along it. "C'mon!" It sounded like a general chorus. "What? Tom cried.

Rich didn't believe this was happening. Are they going to make him suck me off? That'd be so queer! "I don't think I like this," he blurted.

"Shut up!" Another chorus. "You will soon enough!"

"It didn't seem to bother you boys much in your bedroom at night after lights out --

all those foot massages – we've never had boys do foot massages on each other before you two," Mueller taunted, "and even biting each other's toenails! We know all about your bedtime antics – you bet we do!"

Both boys wondered how anybody could know that – their most private things. How could they – unless their room was bugged or something. "Did you bug our room Mr. Mueller?" Rich asked innocently. He was past being mortified at this stage.

"All of the inmates' rooms are under surveillance," Graves blurted, "This isn't a resort, you know."

"They don't know the rules," Mason opined. "Okay, it's like this. To complete the test satisfactorily, it's pretty straightforward. Like a little contest, really, except that you both have to tie. Tom, you give your friend Richard a nice bj, he cums in your mouth, you open your mouth to show everybody that he indeed came, then you swallow his jizz. Then you trade places, Rich kneeling, and you standing on the sofa, and he does you. Three times each, you each spurt and swallow three times, you both win. Three healthy ejaculations each. Simple. But if either of you fails to cum satisfactorily, or only pee comes out, or if either of you fails to come when it's your turn, game over, you both lose. Of course, if you don't want to do this, nobody's going to force you. But you know what that means."

"One more thing, you are allowed to do anything with your hands to keep your friend, let's just say – excited."

Tom was still staring at his friend's aroused penis. It was almost daring him to do this. But if Rich didn't want to, he understood. True, this was a real homo thing to do. Except these were special circumstances, and who among people he cared about would know? Who would care really? Except for Rich of course. It would sure feel good. He'd often joked about giving and getting blowjobs. It was their only chance. Extremely embarrassing and humiliating, yes. After a moment or so of indecision, Tom's only real concern was the pragmatic question. Could he cum in Rich's mouth three times in a row when it was HIS turn? What if Rich couldn't do it? Never in a million years did Tom think he'd ever be faced with a situation like this. Never! It was awful, but kind of exciting too. At least his cock wouldn't be too sore – unless Rich used his teeth too much. Maybe it was all a trick and this was really a punishment and they were going to make Rich bite his cock when it was his turn to be sucked – maybe.

"Okay, I guess the boys don't want to do this," Mrs. O'Neill said.

That made up their minds, especially Rich's. "Well, just don't look at it," he said, "Start sucking! C'mon just do it!"

Tom tentatively bent his head closer, licked the little drop of pre-cum out of Rich's pee-slit, started licking around the sensitive glans. That was all Tom did for awhile, it felt spongy, but it wasn't stinky, it smelled faintly of soap, but didn't taste like soap.

Rich was loving it, it felt great, super, but then he wanted more, started getting into it, partly because he realized the stakes. "C'mon, all the way in, all the way in, let me tickle your tonsils, boy. Suck harder will you! C'mon harder!" Rich was soon fucking Tom's mouth to beat the band. It took a few minutes, but soon Rich spurted like a geyser – once, twice, three times, four times, powerful spurts gradually getting weaker. "See, he just came!" Yelled Tom excitedly, "A lot!"

They changed places. Four pairs of hands grasped Rich's feet by the ankles, Tom stood on the sofa. Rich gently tickled Tom's stomach and sides with his fingers, then around his friend's cock and balls and the inside of his thighs to get him hard. Then Rich started in with his tongue action, flicking around the head, licking all around Tom's balls and even under his balls toward his prostate. Tom's circumcised penis was smaller than his, a perfect cylinder and about four inches hard; he had only a few sparse blond pubic hairs around the base if you looked hard enough to see them in the harsh light. "C'mon Rich! Suck me good!" Tom cried. Then a moment later, "Easy with the teeth!" But he needn't have worried. Rich was an expert at this, however dubious the profession. Within about two-and-half-minutes, Tom came a copious amount, his best production ever so early in his sexual life. Rich showed his semen-filled mouth, and as instructed by Doctor Thompson, swallowed every drop.

Ten minutes later, boys had managed to cum again, less copious amounts, but they COUNTED, and now it seemed easy. A cinch. Two ejaculations down and only one to go. Under slightly different circumstances, this would have pleased each boy enormously. In a way they were proving their manliness -- they were little studs. And under pressure too. So much pressure.

Unbelievable pressure, Rich mused. Tom licked and sucked, sucked hard, but suddenly the contest took a turn, became ominous. No pre-cum. Five minutes, seven minutes, nothing. Rich was barely even hard, Tom thought. Uh-oh. Uh-oh.

Rich was totally ashamed. Devastated. Why couldn't I do it? He screamed to himself. Tears began rolling down his cheeks. He began to cry.

"I can do it – again!" Tom offered. But it was no use.

"Get those tops off and let's get you set up in the examination rooms," Thompson said.

Tom was crying real tears now too. Bawling his head off. So was Rich. But five minutes later, they were all set for the next phase – Tom in 'A' – Rich in 'B.'

End of Part 8