Classroom of Pain

Classroom of Pain
by Platypus
plupy@surfbest.net

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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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Maybe it should have been called Classroom of Payne, as it was located in the windowless basement of Pawcatuck's Lucas J. Payne Junior High. 8th graders Troy and Chris and 7th graders Ben and David were all too familiar with the room, as it was where shop classes were held, and because you could take tool shop starting in the 7th grade at Payne, all four miscreants had taken it, behaved badly both in and out of class for the shop teacher Mr. Aureole, and flunked it.

Local authorities wished to make examples of these particular boys. Bleeding hearts would say that worse kids existed in town with worse records. Their rap sheets did include crimes -- burglary, arson, shoplifting, and truancy the latter a criminal offense in Pawcatuck. Charges alleging an estimated $75,000 destruction of school property were pending. At least two of the boys were suspected of causing an additional $60,000 in damage at a local graveyard, Payne River Estates, as dozens of headstones had been toppled. In another instance, Troy was accused of flashing his middle finger and pushing Mrs. Nora Penta, a wealthy but mean-spirited elderly woman, off a public sidewalk while uttering the insensitive words "Your glasses are dirty." The bitchy woman had promptly pressed charges against him, including a sexual assault claim because Troy had allegedly mooned her during the commission of his "crimes." These boys, all considered latchkey and belonging to ill-regarded "white trash" families were considered expendable - even by their sorry-ass parents who'd signed off on the new extreme punishment regime for their sons in lieu of sending them to the nearby youth reformatory for an indefinite term, having to pay penalties and fines related to their behavior, and threatened "eminent domain" property seizures.

The parents of these four delinquents had earned a measure of their own ill repute. Troy's Dad was in prison upstate serving consecutive life sentences for a triple murder and until coerced to "not interfere" on this occasion, his mother so zealously defended her wayward son that she came to be considered a public nuisance. Chris's mother ran a massage parlor catering mostly to men and was considered a prostitute and an "unfit" parent by most "respectable" folks in town, while both Ben and David's parents, in David's case his Mom and step-Dad - had been suspected of beating their sons - both boys had often shown up at school with mysterious cuts and bruises until at least a year earlier - 6th grade - and David more recently as well -- but the state's social workers had never been contacted as the corporal punishment - if that's what it was - had been considered "justifiable brat correction" according to these same local authorities.

With short-cropped brown hair, stormy blue eyes and wearing a prominent earring dangling from each ear, Troy was a month shy of his fourteenth birthday. If you asked him about his earrings, he'd say store-bought, that they'd never belonged to his Mom, and in fact, he was a natural leader among his peers even though he wasn't through puberty and was quiet in a low-key way - except for theatrics directed at adult authority figures, like teachers. He was of average size and build for his age, although very well proportioned and sturdy. He prided himself on being able to instigate a classroom disturbance at any given moment. Like most of his peers and according to acceptable "macho kid" mores at Payne Jr. High - he seemed to never wear socks.

Handsome Chris was a couple of months younger than Troy, and wore his hair, a very dark shade of brown, down past his ears and slightly unkempt. He was hazel-eyed and taller, a bit awkward in the throes of adolescence, but not quite a "giraffe" as boys go. He conversed in an easy manner with adults, but was also a follower prone to risky behaviors. Another "sockless" lad, he was too conscious of male peers to even have a "prestige-symbol" girlfriend, as Troy had. All four kids were suspected of being sexually active by school authorities - compulsive masturbators at the very least. "Serial masturbation" was another criminal offense against the law in Pawcatuck for those under sixteen and convictions could arise from mere verbal admissions of the "despicable practice being thought of as a habit." Two members of the prudish Pawcatuck school board regarded such "self-abuse" as extremely dangerous behavior in that it placed a boy's immortal soul in danger.

Ben looked like a young male model; in fact, once while surfing the Internet he'd come across a site called "model- promotions.com" and discovered a boy named Marc who looked like his clone. Like Marc, Ben wore his dark brown hair in a crew cut highlighted by spike-shaped bangs, possessed hazel eyes and a perfectly proportioned 'bod' as he called it - with the single distinguishing features between Ben and the Internet boy being Ben's mildly elfin ears and a few not unsightly birthmarks in various places. A smallish mole on the front of his neck was most often visible. Extremely popular with peers of both sexes because of his looks and easy smile, he was just three months past his 13th birthday, and small wonder, liked to go nude in the privacy of his home. Adults and kids frequently harbored fantasies about Ben, but because some desired to curb his "wild" tendencies -- some fantasies could be decidedly dark. Ben occasionally wore socks to school.

The other 7th grader, David, kept his silky blonde hair longish. His piercing blue eyes complemented by rather bushy eyebrows gave this youngest miscreant - he was two months shy of his 13th birthday and therefore still 12 --- a gorgeous skater boy's presence. Shirtless, his sturdy torso already betrayed a hint of classic pectoral definition. Being the best athlete of the four, until he got into trouble he'd wanted more than anything to run for Payne's cross-country track team. Tryouts were in late August - and not knowing exactly what he faced punishment-wise, David still hadn't ruled it out. Girls adored him and wished he'd be more interested; little did they know that David was getting weekly sexual tutoring from a local pederast who happened to have a sadistic side. Although David's Mom and Step-Dad were aware of this less than consensual situation, they did nothing to stop it, and in fact, encouraged it. David never wore socks to school.

The windowless classroom in the basement of Payne Jr. High was primarily set up for holding tool shop classes. This inaugural punishment regime due to take place over the next three days - a long weekend - required a few accoutrements. First a lectern with a microphone along with ample seating now existed where none had been. A big digital clock with red numbers against a black background was visible off to the side high on the room's east wall. Seating consisted of twelve wooden chairs for witnesses and invited guests - and an additional four folding chairs at the very front facing the audience. The proceedings were to be "called to order" at 8 a.m. that Saturday, and of course there'd be standing and "leaning" room for additional Pawcatuck police officers and medical personnel if needed. An event similar to this punishment regime hadn't taken place anywhere in the state for nearly a century - and even the last one held in 1913 - when two 17-year-olds had received a sentence of five lashes on the bare back with a leather strap - wasn't exactly trumpeted by the Pawcatuck Historical Society - so virtually no one knew about it.

This cruel affair would masquerade as a judicial proceeding. Usually such juvenile court dates involved only minor sanctions for errant boys such as mandatory community service or at worst -- suspension from school for an indefinite period. Juvenile court was usually held in Payne's faculty boardroom, however - not in Mr. Aureole's shop classroom. Of course the four unfortunate boys - not being students of town history or history PERIOD - wouldn't have known that special provisions allowing for much sterner measures were still on the books.

Someone had carefully prepared the room. Near its front were two orange hard-metal painting tables with holes for cables or handcuffs. On a separate shelf along the entire rear wall lay all the equipment that might conceivably be used. Red or tan safety earmuff hats rated to 20 decibels would be used by some of the adult "initiators" present during some of the rougher ordeals so they could block out any inevitable screaming; these were lightweight and comfortable and came with adjustable headbands. One not-so-pleasant tool that might be used - a 3 sheet finishing sander, was placed neatly next to the earmuff hats. The sander sat next to a small stack of medium 100 grit sand papers. Whether the participating 'initiator' preferred an electric sander or the simpler sponge kit with an easy grip plastic handle for hand sanding - either could be accommodated.

What such affair would be complete without a Milwaukee heat gun with its 750-degree Fahrenheit limit? In the "heat" or cauterizing department, there was also a handy micro-torch, a thin-bore soldering iron, and a butane gas-powered soldering tool.

Tile nippers able to cut round and irregular shapes were made of tungsten carbide and were guaranteed to stay sharp. Their offset design made "nipping" safer - although it was uncertain if they'd be used. Several six-inch rod-like saw blades were available too - intended this weekend for a most diabolical use. Extremely thin, they could be inserted places where other blades wouldn't fit - and when one end would be snipped off, producing interesting results. Long- nose pliers were on the shelf, as was a staple gun.

There was a carpet seam roller with a comfortable plastic handle grip. Solid cast, it came with an aluminum frame and 15 rows of dull metal spikes used for rolling. Someone had thought of a wallboard saw. Antiques such as a hand-powered drill typically for use on wood surfaces were there on the shelf along with steel drill bits in the standard sizes - 1/16", 5/64", 3/32", 7/64", 1/8", and 9/64". Concrete nails were on the shelf too, relatively dull-pointed things, along with very thin bore roofing nails (1/16") that were sharp- pointed and exactly 1.5" long, and rough-edged spiral timber nails that were 6" long. Hammers anyone? How about a 16- ounce claws hammer with a wooden handle - or a lighter 8- ounce version - the kind you'd find in Uncle Frank's home tool kit? For tougher jobs, how about a four pound blacksmith's hammer? But some considered this last pounding implement to be overkill. Wood screws were there too, of various sorts, and screwdrivers, flat head and Phillips, and ready to clamp on a bench (a bench was against the room's east wall) was a heavy-duty vise with three-inch wide jaws. But the last items on the shelf might have attracted the most attention if persons present realized that they'd surely be chosen - a steel wire brush with a wooden handle and a copper cleaning tool used typically in plumbing jobs that possessed an ominous array of "long-lasting" steel bristles. Used normally on copper pipe while being twisted in a clockwise motion, this might end up being one hideous hand tool.

Troy, Chris, Ben, and David arrived promptly at 7:45 a.m. escorted by the portly Mr. Aureole and two burly police officers armed with both service revolvers and Billy clubs. Mr. Aureole soon left for a cup of coffee being served in an adjacent room, but the officers stayed poised near the room's only exit - like silent sentinels. Troy, speaking softly, thought the impending proceedings would be nothing exceptional. "What can they do to us? Give us more detention or maybe a suspension? School's just about out for the summer. I'd already figured on summer school. They're just trying to scare us by having it in this room instead of the faculty room." Chris nodded, but wasn't convinced. "I don't know," he whispered back, "maybe you're right." Ben was just looking straight ahead and trying to act cool. David, like the rest of the miscreants, had come to the shop classroom dressed in his usual school attire - a casual six-button sport shirt with the top button left unbuttoned and a pair of dark casual slacks to show minimal respect and decorum, a different colored sneaker - one black and one white or in the case of Ben, one white and one red - on each foot - along with no socks. Underneath, each boy wore some kind of underwear - briefs or Jockey shorts, and sat in a metal folding chair staring dispassionately and facing the still empty wooden seats.

A moment later, the seats began filling. Mr. Aureole returned with his steaming coffee mug and parked his chubby ass right up front. He'd volunteered to be an "initiator" and it wouldn't just be because of a desire to demonstrate his tools. Weasel-faced Mrs. Gurr was there as the school district superintendent - even in this Podunk place she made a six-figure income. Payne's principal Mr. Marshall was there, looking like the bureaucrat he was but not real pleased with the necessity for this proceeding, but because it was permissible he just wanted to get it over with and was willing to trust whatever methods - er, punishments - that might be involved. The vice-principal in charge of discipline was there, Mr. Alvin Lice, and because the unfortunate administrator had a chronic dandruff condition, you can imagine what the four miscreants mumbled when he scurried in. Officer Jeff was there to take his seat; every school in the district had their own assigned cop these days. There was the school nurse, Mrs. Oliphant, who was fat like an elephant, but until today very nice. A stranger represented the local hospital; later he was introduced from the lectern as "Dr. Jones" - brought in to monitor the punishments, his presence condoned and paid for through a National Homeland Security grant - but when he initially took his seat, the miscreants had no clue who he was. There was also two seats allotted for those ultra-prudish members of the local school board, one seat for a PTA-active parent not related to any of the boys being punished (strangely even Troy's mother wasn't there yet, a fact serving to reassure Troy that nothing too serious would be happening to him), and one seat for a junior high student officer, Jill Clayburg, a prissy 8th grader who hated Troy and Chris because they'd often referred to her as a "skinny wart hog" in front of her friends but who was popular enough among the girls and nerds and gothics and rockers to get elected as 8th grade class president. She was there to see that these four boys "got whatever was coming to them" - although she had no idea exactly what punishments would be meted out. But all the adults present had a pretty good idea - including the bald-headed middle-aged man just taking his seat, in fact, especially him.

David uttered an audible gasp as he saw who it was. "Oh God!" David said, "Not him!" It was the sadistic pederast who'd been having weekly sessions with the 7th grader, Mr. Morton, Payne's school psychologist. But the sessions took place after school hours in various clandestine settings - although Morton provided David's parents with progress reports and even videos of what "activities" he was conducting with their son. Little did the miscreants know that it was this individual who'd engineered the entire program that they'd be experiencing - with the tacit encouragement or outright permission of every adult seated in the room! "I'm not surprised he's here," Troy offered in a hoarse whisper, "He's the school shrink." But Troy didn't know the half of it because the abused 7th grader didn't confide in him about Morton; some of the things David had been made to do in private before the perverted Morton were way too humiliating. Morton grinned at David with a lecherous "evil" grin that the boy knew all too well. It was a look shared between man and "his" boy that nobody else really caught. At that moment David opened his mouth to try and warn the others, "Guys, this isn't going to be what you think. It's going to be..."

Just then it began. It was eight o'clock sharp. Mrs. Gurr started things off with introductions and some choice words about why they were all "Here we are in Mr. Aureole's tool shop classroom on a beautiful Saturday morning in June when we all could be out hustling and bustling doing a hundred other activities." She paused for effect, "We're here for our community - for the betterment of our community." She droned on and on. Troy and Ben fell asleep in the warm room, and had to be nudged awake when Troy opened his mouth as if to start snoring and Chris caught the act just in the nick of time, giving his friend a swift poke in the ribs. "Huh what are you doing?" Troy whispered, alarmed. "You were sleeping." Chris said in a careful low voice hoping that nobody else would hear or was actually paying attention to the boys yet. By now, the time on the big digital clock read 8:24. Mrs. Gurr was continuing without missing a beat, it seemed. "We have to thank Mr. Morton for designing the plan for the punishments to be inflicted on our four selected miscreants over this long weekend."

"I knew it," David muttered to himself.

"Dr. Jones is able to be with us the entire weekend to monitor the boys as they experience their punishments. His time with us is completely paid for under a special Homeland Security grant - isn't that so, Dr. Jones?"

He stood up and acknowledged her in a furtive sort of way, then spoke rather boldly. He had a strange squeaky voice. "Why, yes, you could say that. My presence here this weekend is sort of my little contribution to preventing domestic terrorism - sort of like a pre-emptive strike, using these young miscreants as examples. Glad to do my part!" This brought on a round of applause among the small group.

"He sounds like some kind of faggot. I'm just not sure yet which kind," Chris murmured to Troy.

"What did she mean by us 'experiencing our punishments'? Ben suddenly asked David, again, as quietly as he could. But the question was still covered up by the seated people, as well as Mrs. Gurr at the lectern, clapping.

"Maybe they're going to have us make things with the tools, or something like that," Troy offered, "And our hands will get sore or something. It is fucking weird, I'll say that much."

David was silent then, as Mr. Morton flashed him a stern look. He didn't know exactly what punishments they'd be given but knew they'd be painful. Morton had already punished David on several occasions. Making him take his clothes off, and securing his hands above his head with leather wrist restraints and whipping him all over his back and front with a long whippy cane and another time a thick strap. A flogging he'd called it. He'd flogged the boy. The flogging with both instruments had left painful welts worse than when his parents ever had when they'd beaten him when he was younger. It had stung like crazy, especially the fucking cane. He remembered screaming in that dungeon-like place where Morton had taken him. Screaming for what seemed like forever. This is going to be awful, David considered, and public. Very public. He didn't want to end up bawling like a baby in front of all these people. That would really suck. It would suck donkey dicks.

Mrs. Gurr brought up the 1913 event. "We're not completely without precedent today. A public whipping occurred in Pawcatuck involving two 17-year-old delinquents who'd been responsible for causing havoc in our town - much like these four." She gestured toward the newest miscreants with a wave of her left hand, a sinister hand.

Morton was musing how these particular four boys had been selected for their extreme punishments. True, they were delinquents, but he'd been given a free hand in selecting which delinquents to make examples of. He had the records and rap sheets of at least eight other boys whom he might have picked. But those kids were rejected for different reasons - always something. Two potential candidates had been past puberty and already of high school age. One set of parents had a good-looking son who went to Payne, but they couldn't be coerced into signing off on the extreme punishment regime. Another boy was African-American, and Morton wasn't attracted to black boys. The rest - the other four - were, let's face it, less attractive period. They were either just average looking or downright ugly. Yes, he'd picked four beautiful kids, little punks, and one of them was David, HIS boy as he saw it. He'd already had a lot of fun tormenting David. It would be interesting to observe the reactions of the others - who probably had barely more than an inkling of what they'd be experiencing. Perhaps he'd be able to follow up in similar private sessions with Ben after he'd healed a bit - by the time summer vacation was over and school started up again. He'd had his eye on Ben for a while.

"These punishments might seem extreme to most of you," Mrs. Gurr continued, "but we've given them countless chances. Also, all their parents have signed waivers - here they are any of you may examine the documents if you wish - The parents of Ben, Chris, David, and Troy have given their permission, if not also their blessing, to punish their sons in any form we deem agreeable." She flashed copies of the actual waiver forms through the air with an almost gleeful abandon.

The boys in their metal folding chairs were beginning to show more concern, except for David, who was already mortified and had a pretty good idea about what to expect. "It'll hurt, it'll hurt," he mumbled. "Stop being such a wimp," was all Troy could think of to say, glancing over at David.
"I still just think they're trying to scare us," Troy added, attempting to reassure himself as much as anyone.

At around 8:40, Mr. Lice, the assistant principal in charge of discipline, came to stand at the lectern. Normally, he could just keep kids out of school or report them to the police. In a way, these boys were being done a favor, he mused. None would be headed for reform school. Sure, their summers would be spent recuperating, but mostly in bed, at home, a lot like if they'd suffered some kind of accident or illness and been laid up for the summer. In September, they'd be good as new - and properly chastised too. The punitive actions they'd all agreed on would serve as a warning to other bad boys - and probably turn Pawcatuck into a model community! Right now, it was time to get the proceedings off on the right foot. Lice looked over at the miscreants, and began eyeing their different colored sneakers - a black one and a white one, and in one case a black and red one, on different feet. Worse, in a show of disrespect that he was about to draw attention to - none of the boys wore socks! "Boys, I see that none of you have two of the same sneakers on your feet. Do you think that you're being funny dressing like that? Huh? Troy?"

"Umm, no sir. It's just that a lot of kids dress this way."

"I see. What kind of socks are you wearing?"

"I'm - I'm not wearing socks."

"How about you Chris? What socks are you wearing?"

Chris just sat there not sure what to say.

"I take it then that NONE of you are wearing socks?"

Ben, David, Chris, and Troy all sat silently. Mr. Lice knew this of course; it was just a way to introduce the first little ordeal, this one more humiliating than painful.

"Take 'em off! All of you, I want the four of you barefoot!" He screamed. He didn't usually assert his authority in quite this manner, so the boys complied. Because feet tend to sweat a bit more without socks while confined in sneakers, a distinct new odor soon permeated the room. "Your feet are dirty and stinky, aren't they boys?"

Troy had the audacity to reply. "They're not too bad," he said, trying to cover up his embarrassment at being barefoot unexpectedly and in an incongruous setting.

But the crowd chanted, "Stinky feet, stinky feet." It would have been funny and driven the boys to hysterical laughter or at least giggling in just about any other situation. In fact, the red-faced Troy couldn't suppress an embarrassed grin. "Wipe that stupid grin off your face!" Lice screamed at Troy.

"Stand up and walk over here," Lice pointed. Each boy walked a step or two. Morton had already confiscated their sneakers. Now sit on these metal paint tables facing each other - Ben facing Troy and David facing Chris." Everybody could see them, what was this all about?" the boys wondered. All wore puzzled looks on their faces. The two burly police officers, no longer just sentinels, surrounded the tables preventing even a hint of escape.

Their feet were a bit stinky. None of the four had really scrubbed their feet in the shower on Friday night or Saturday morning, whenever they'd each taken their most recent shower baths. "Your feet are smelly and dirty. So how are you going to remedy that?"

"I d-don't know!" Ben managed.

"I'll tell you how - Troy, give Ben your left foot, put it in his lap. Ben, you do the same."

"You can't make me," Troy whispered, but then he reluctantly moved his left foot into Ben's lap, right onto his casual slacks near his groin. He promptly stabbed Ben in the groin with his big toe, making him wince. Ben hesitated, and then did the same except for the aggressive big toe part. He didn't yet grasp why he was being asked to do this - or realize what he'd be next made to do.

"You guys too!" Lice yelled at David and Chris, who soon complied with a bit more speed.

"So how are you going to clean each other's feet, to make the odor acceptable for the people here?"

The boys produced four identical blank looks simultaneously. The audience was finding this all rather amusing. More than a few awkward chuckles were heard. Mr. Morton loved it - Mr. Lice his colleague at Payne playing the master.

"With a washrag?" Ben finally asked. David knew better, especially when he saw Mr. Morton grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"No, fish-brain, with your tongue! Now start licking each other's feet clean!"

"The heck I am," Troy said defiantly, "I won't." One of the burly police officers suddenly grabbed Troy's right arm, and violently twisted it behind his back.

"Yeowhh! You'll fucking break it! All right, let go."

"Pick up each other's left foot and bring it to your mouth and start licking!"

Soon each boy had a portion of a bare foot in his mouth. "This is disgusting," Troy said between slurps of his slobbering, "My Mom is going to learn about this."

"Shut up, and keep licking! Do every square inch of Ben's foot - all over his sole, between his toes, lick it clean like a cat!"

Wearing disgusted looks, each boy licked, except David was a bit more used to this sort of thing as Mr. Morton had made him lick all over that man's body once, giving the sadist a thorough tongue-bath. Soon David just licked dutifully along the sole of Chris's bare foot, not smiling, but very efficiently. Morton smiled at this.

When the left feet of all four boys had each been licked, their left feet were dripping with each other's spit, but surprisingly clean, and quite odorless except for the faint scent of saliva.

"Don't just sit there! Do the right ones now!" Mr. Lice barked.

Stripping made the four miscreants even more vulnerable. The school nurse, Mrs. Oliphant, took over the next several phases. She had such a scratchy voice, it sounded like fingernails scraping against a chalkboard. "Being barefoot in public isn't enough," she explained. "I want each of you boys to gradually unbutton your shirts, one button at a time, slowly. Stand up facing everybody as you do it."

The four boys stood alongside each other and started unbuttoning their shirts, a button at a time.

"Untuck them also," she added. So Ben was thinking about that Marc boy, who'd done this very pose once, barefoot and with an open, unbuttoned shirt. I must look almost exactly like him right now, Ben mused.

But then their humiliation suddenly got much worse. "Now I want each of you boys to unbutton your pants."

They all hesitated. "Do it!" Mr. Lice yelled again. "You better do it," Officer Jeff added, gesturing at the two other Pawcatuck police officers closing in on Ben, David, Troy, and Chris again.
"This sucks," Troy muttered in a low voice. So each boy unbuttoned the snap or button on his slacks. "Unzip your zippers for us!" This command was even more reluctantly complied with.
"C'mon, we haven't got all day," Mr. Marshall, the Payne Jr. High principal snapped. A moment later each boy felt more embarrassed. All four were already blushing. Troy was used to teasing other boys about their unzipped flies, saying things like "You're flying low," or something worse, drawing attention to the forgetful boy's plight. He mused about that, feeling something like remorse for that single callous act as it came to bear on his thought process.

"Okay, lower your pants to your knees." The boys complied. What choice did they have? They felt ridiculous standing in front of a small audience, mostly adults, but also that prissy Jill Clayburg, with their shirts unbuttoned and their pants at half-mast, and barefoot.

"Take off your pants completely," Mrs. Oliphant commanded. Mr. Aureole came over to take each boy's pants from him. They now stood with shirts unbuttoned and wearing just briefs, which in Ben and Troy's case were "tighty-whiteys" or Hanes briefs, while Chris and David wore Jockey-brand boxer shorts.

"Okay, remove your underwear completely - whether they be boxers or briefs!" None of the miscreants moved.

"You want us to get naked?" Troy asked, incredulous.

"Now!" Officer Jeff barked.

"My mother is going to hear about this!" Troy yelled.

"She's signed off on everything that will happen to you this weekend, young man," explained Mrs. Gurr.

"Now give them to Mr. Aureole for safekeeping," Mrs. Oliphant added. He grabbed them and left for a moment with all the boys' clothes.

"Look, he's leaving!" Ben said pretty loudly and indignantly. "Hey come back with our clothes! Please?" It was beginning to sink in that he'd be dressed just in his unbuttoned shirt for at least a good part of these proceedings.

Everyone waited a moment for Mr. Aureole to return. He did, empty-handed.

"All right, now they're dressed appropriately. I'd like the boys to mingle with our invited guests and everyone present. Boys, please walk right up to everybody here, and show off your bodies to them."

Ben, David, Chris, and Troy reluctantly walked toward those seated. "Now, say to each person you encounter, "Please examine me. You can touch me anywhere you want." Mrs. Gurr was speaking almost shrilly.

The boys were soon standing next to the first person chosen at random who would have permission to touch them anywhere on their bodies. Nearly naked, each boy was mortified with embarrassment. There was a long pause before David was the first to say what he was being ordered to. "Please examine me. You can touch me anywhere you want." He said this to his nemesis, Mr. Morton. That started the ball rolling, so to speak, as Morton promptly reached for David's ball-sack and harshly squeezed his testicles, first one, then the other, as David winced from the pain. "You're growing a little lately, David," he said to His boy. Within a moment, Ben and Troy and Chris had each given their "permissions" to be fondled freely, and 8th grader Jill Clayburg was thrilled to be holding Troy's penis and ball-sack while examining it minutely - this was her revenge for all the name-calling. "Bet you're not liking this, hey Troy?" she said, smiling sweetly. "I don't care," he answered her, "Feels kind of good, in fact," trying to put a brave face on the humiliation. So Jill opened up Troy's peehole and promptly scratched across it with a sharp fingernail. Troy made a face, but refused to cry out. "How's that feel?" she asked even more sweetly. Meanwhile, Chris and Ben were being similarly inspected and treated by those invited. Mrs. Gurr was having Ben hold up one of his feet for inspection, his right one, to see if it had been tongue-cleaned sufficiently. He awkwardly placed his bare foot in her lap as she spread out Ben's toes, inspecting n-between each toe, and then lightly scratching his still saliva-moist sole while asking an unusual and ominous question. "Are the soles of your feet really sensitive to pain, young man?" she asked. Ben didn't really know what to say, but finally said, "I guess." She just nodded in a strange way, which scared him. Officer Jeff who did it with the eraser end of a pencil was meanwhile prodding Chris up the anus. "Spread those cheeks, young man," he said while lifting his unbuttoned shirt with his other hand. These humiliating "Hallmark" moments gave way to what became known as the "actual trials" a term once used during the Spanish Inquisition. It was now 10:45 a.m. on Saturday morning and the precise moment when Mrs. Nora Penta strolled into the room. Soon Mr. Aureole's classroom would be transformed into a true "classroom of pain." Somebody scurried out of the room and obtained for Mrs. Penta a 13th wooden chair and squeezed it in among the rest. "I wouldn't miss this for the world," she cackled, as Troy later described her laugh. "I swear that old bitty rides a broomstick," he added, expressing more than a trace of bitterness. *

Mr. Aureole as initiator set up the first trial for the young miscreants to endure. "I've chosen the heavy duty vise for their first painful test," he said. Using the vise available in the room, Aureole promptly clamped it to the sturdy wooden workbench. "Okay, first, we'll demonstrate this vise on Troy, then Chris, then the 7th graders Ben and David. C'mon over here, Troy." The other boys watched him expectedly knowing they were next. Troy had an idea what it would be used for, but as it turned out, only an idea. "Do you want me to put my hand in that vise?" Mr. Aureole studied the boy for a moment. "You wish it were that easy, " he said. "No, I'd like you to nuzzle up to the workbench and place your entire cock and balls inside the vise! I'll help you if you'd like."
"No please, " Mr. Aureole, "don't make me do that. Please!" Troy begged. He was already starting to get teary-eyed. With the burly officers coming over to prevent any resistance, Troy approached the dreaded bench and newly attached vise. "Go ahead, your entire penis and ball sack needs to be between the blades!" Seconds later, the boy's vulnerable privates were enclosed in the hand cranked little machine. "So Troy, this is how a vise works. You never did pay much attention while you were in my tool shop class, I guess you will now, won't you?"

"They fit nicely, don't they?" Mrs. Penta said.

"That's it. Snuggle up to the vise. When the jaws are open to three inches, it doesn't hurt at all. But when we do just two little cranks here, just like this - now it's compressed to 2 and a quarter inches - gee, that must hurt a little! Not much room for your little cock and your jewels together, is there Troy?"

"No, don't tighten it any more you bastard! It hurts! You'll crush my cock, and especially my balls!"

"It's an excellent vise - let's go for two more turns - an inch and a half! Like this!"

"No! Please stop it! I can't stand it! Please!"

"He feels quite a bit of pressure - some pain - but there's no real danger of crushing his balls, unless we crank it some more!"

"No! Please! Stop!" Troy was sobbing in fear and pain.

Mr. Aureole then loosened the crank. "I think that's enough for your lesson about vises today! Next! Your turn Chris! Come right over here! Step right up!"

After about twenty more minutes, all four junior high boys had experienced their turn with the bench vise. Although they each had an unpleasant feeling on their cocks, and achy balls, they were really none the worse for wear. But other punishments were to be more exacting in their suffering.

The next "tool time" ritual would be much more painful. This time the initiator was Officer Jeff. "First, I'd like to select one of the boys at random to experience this 'cool' punishment. Maybe Mr. Aureole and Dr. Jones can assist me, in case any of the boys squirm too much. Ben? Would you please come up here?"

The Marc-clone brown-haired boy with the spiky haircut slowly came up to stare at Officer Jeff and the metal paint table where he was about to be trussed. Dressed as he was, wearing just his unbuttoned shirt and nothing else, he was apprehensive. "Okay, I want you to extend your arms above your head while you lie down for now on this orange paint table on your belly. That's it, extend your body, boy. Okay, we're going to do a little sanding together. Somebody hold his feet steady. Okay, he's all set up, cuffed nicely at the wrists. I'm rolling up his shirt a bit so that I can get at his bare back when the time comes. The rest of his backside is already exposed. He's not a happy camper right now, are you Ben?"
" Please sir! Have mercy on me! I'm not a bad kid!" He was already starting to whimper and half-sob in fear of what might happen.

"Now Chris, you go on the other orange paint table. C'mon, come up here and see Officer Jeff! I'm not going to bite!" as the lankier Chris padded up on his bare feet, everybody laughed as the ice was broken - except for the nervous boys undergoing their punishments. "Okay Chris, lie down on this table here on your back - extend your arms the same way so that I can cuff your wrists."

The boy complied, but wasn't happy either. "Now I'll just roll his unbuttoned shirt up a bit - like this - exposing his belly and most of his chest. Somebody hold his feet steady too - he may buck a bit." Chris began whimpering too, while David and Troy looked on in horror, as they knew they'd be next. "Please, don't hurt me too bad, guy. Go easy!" Chris pleaded.

"Alright, we'll begin with Ben here." Officer Jeff began lightly stroking Ben's naked back just below his shoulder blades. "Dr. Jones, will you rub a little prep alcohol on his back, right here?" Jones was only too eager to comply. Officer Jeff donned the earmuffs so that he could "work" without having to be distracted by Ben's inevitable screams or Chris's in a moment. "They're rated to 20 decibels," the cop reminded those present. "Okay, I'm holding a 3 sheet electric finishing sander to get him started. We're using a nice piece of 100 grit sand paper - perfect for abrading the skin." The sander was already conveniently plugged in. Officer Jeff switched it on, and the machine began whirring. The school cop held the electric sander in his left hand, and was gently massaging Ben's back with his right one. Ben whimpered. "Oh don't be such a baby - I haven't even started yet." A slight pause ensued. "Okay, Here goes!" The diligent initiator suddenly touched the whirring sandpaper to the naked skin of Ben's back below the shoulder blades. It hurt like hell, but only for about five seconds. "Owwhh!" Ben screamed. The same thing happened when he applied the electric sander to Ben's left buttock, and then to the rear of the boy's exposed right thigh meat, and finally to the rear of Ben's left calf. The boy screamed his lungs out every time. Where the sander had been used on him, the skin was reddened and sore, like severe sunburn. "That went very well," he shouted above the din. But now it was Chris's turn, lying on his back. "Okay Chris. I didn't forget about you buddy. It's your turn." Chris was terrified.

Dr. Jones was ready with the rubbing alcohol. "Apply it right here on Chris's chest, Doctor Jones. Officer Jeff pointed to Chris's tender left pectoral area and right over his slightly raised nub, and then across the 8th grader's naked chest to his right pectoral area and nipple. "Here - prep his belly too - all along his abdomen - we'll give him a nice pink belly with the sander - okay, time for my ear muffs again." Chris whimpered and cried, "No you bastard, please for Christ's sake!"

"Did you just here Chris take the name of Our Lord in vain? Did everybody here that?"

There were assents, nods, and even a few reluctant "yesses." But no assents of any kind were heard from Troy or David, waiting their turn, sitting in their front row seats so to speak. "I can't believe they're doing this stuff to us!" Troy exclaimed to David, who knew better. "Oh, I can believe it," he said.

Soon Officer Jeff had turned on the electric sander again, and as it whirred and came closer, Chris couldn't suppress an anguished sob. The brief contact of the abrasive rough- edged sandpaper with his bare skin created the sunburn-like effect Officer Jeff wanted all over the boy's chest and stomach. "How's that feel on your tummy?" the cop said afterwards while scratching across that sensitized area of the boy's body with a single index finger nail.

Soon Troy and David, in their turn, were similarly secured to the paint tables for their sander treatments, and in about a half hour from the point that it began the "sander ordeal" was mercifully over.

Mrs. Gurr, who once might have been a pretty woman but whose face had hardened into a kind of scowling officious mask, had also volunteered to be an initiator. She suddenly made a big deal of how these "juvenile miscreants" had never missed a chance to "scamper away from their crimes." She was matter-of-fact about this. "None of them can drive a car yet, so how do they get away - they run." At that moment it seemed that she was touched by some kind of inspiration. "Ben, come up here."

Ben, although sore in parts of his well-proportioned frame, could still walk well enough. Soon he'd timidly come up to be by Mrs. Gurr's side near the ominous paint tables. He felt like he'd been sunburned in places and was dreading whatever might come next. The hardened-looking district administrator began asking the 7th grader more of those strangely disturbing questions. They were all feet-related. "Ben, when you've been up to mischief, have you ever run away from the police or other authority figures - so you wouldn't get caught? Now be honest, or it'll go worse for you."
"I - I guess. So what. I can't drive yet. I'm only 13."

"What part of your body do you depend on most when you run?"

"I don't know. My legs?"

"Yes. But besides your legs?"

"My lungs? When I run, sometimes I can get out of breath."

"Could you run if you didn't have any feet - or if your feet got damaged somehow?"

"Maybe not as fast. Depends on what happened to them."

"Good answers, Ben. Have you ever stepped on a nail and had it go through the flesh of your foot?" Mrs. Gurr had a good chance of getting a positive response here, as most kids, especially boys, will have stepped on something sharp at one time during their childhood - often while barefoot.

Bingo. "Once I stepped on a piece of glass when I went swimming. I needed five stitches!"

"How about a nail - ever step barefoot on a nail?"

Ben struggled to recall. "Once I stepped on a thumbtack - but it only went in a little way. It hurt though."

"Do you remember how much the glass and the thumbtack hurt?"

"Yes." He was very contrite and beginning to get a pretty good idea about where this discussion was leading.

"Ben, let's go to the item shelf at the back of Mr. Aureole's classroom. Come with me."

All eyes were on the both of them as the initiator, Mrs. Gurr, and the handsome 7th grader meekly followed. He was dreading what this punishment might be - sensed that it might involve stepping on purpose on a nail so that it slightly punctured his sole, or something in that vein. Scary.

Mrs. Gurr and Ben stopped on that part of the shelf where the nails and hammers were. "Alright," she said, while commanding the attention of everyone in the classroom. "We have several kinds of nails to use in this exercise. These concrete nails are rather dull-pointed things, but they can be driven in with a hammer especially into a surface that's more giving than concrete, like a human foot, and then we have these very thin bore roofing nails, about a 1/16 inch in diameter and very sharp - they'll go into Ben's feet very easily I'd think."
"Our Savior was nailed to a cross - with nails going through his wrists and ankles - so once again, how sensitive do you think your feet are, Ben?

Ben was pleading and starting to sob as the other three miscreants were starting to get the picture of what would be happening to them too - but Ben first. Troy, David, and Chris were staring at Mrs. Gurr in abject horror and involuntary whimpers were already beginning. "No, you can't do that - it'll hurt terribly! You can't drive a nail into my foot - either kind of nail! It's inhuman!"

"Actually," Mrs. Gurr spoke slowly and measured her phrases for dramatic effect, "It's not a question of what kind of nails - the answer to that is going to be both kinds - hammered into both feet. We just haven't decided how many nails - how many of each - you'll be on the receiving end of. We do know that Dr. Jones will help decide where to most safely drive them in, won't you Dr. Jones?"

"I'll certainly do my best. All the nails are sterile too - they'll be soaked in an antiseptic solution just prior to use and together with a little more witch hazel and alcohol solution spread over the intended skin surface - we'll be able to prevent any potential infection. Normally we'd also worry about tetanus with puncture wounds - but not with these nails under these conditions. So yes, to answer your question, it'll be safe - but it won't tickle these boys."

"But your behavior Ben will decide exactly how many of these nails are driven into each of your feet. If you don't struggle and don't have to be ankle-cuffed to the paint table - and just hand one of the officers - the two burly police officers helping Officer Jeff out today - just voluntarily hand your foot over to one of the officers with a hammer - well than we'll - how's this Ben - you'll get just three of the concrete nails - and ten of the very thin roofing nails - hammered into each foot. Is that satisfactory?"

Ben was already sobbing. "No, it's awful. You can't do that. You can't!"

"But if you struggle too much - even while held down by a couple of the strong men in this room - then it'll be much worse. You'll get eight of the concrete nails - and twenty of the roofing nails - hammered into both of your pretty feet!"

"No, you can't! You can't!" Ben screamed. He was truly terrified as were the other boys who'd be punished in their turn. "How can anyone stay still while nails are being hammered into their bare feet? I won't be able to walk afterwards. I'll be laid up all summer!"

"Precisely. That's why we're doing it. So head on up to near the paint table, Ben. Lie down on your back, and if you follow instructions, you'll receive the lesser punishment. Go on. The sooner it begins, the sooner it ends."

There was a period of impasse, maybe a full minute as everyone waited, but Ben finally slowly walked up to the paint table. He quietly sat on it, and laid back so that his bare feet were dangling over the edge. Officer Tom, the giant of a man, was going to do the hammering. He smiled, and asked Ben a simple question. "Do you want me to start with the little nails - ten of them - they're sharp and 1.5 inches long - or the concrete nails - B they're relatively dull but thicker bore - only three of them if you're good? Doctor Jones will help me by telling me the safest places on your feet to hammer - so we don't destroy any major nerves or blood vessels. Well - which ones first?"

"No, neither!" Ben sobbed.

"I'm afraid that's not an option, little man. Would you rather have me decide?"

Ben just sobbed. "This is going to hurt a lot."

"Yes, that goes without saying. But you put yourself in this situation. Your friends did too. We don't like doing this to you, but it's for your own good. To keep you out of trouble this summer. Hand Dr. Jones your left foot!"

Upon hearing those ominous words, the other boys cringed. "They're really going to do it - they're going to pound nails into our fucking feet!" Troy said, matter-of-factly, but he was incredulous. David wasn't surprised. "It's probably Morton's idea - that fucking sadistic bastard!" All Chris managed was a simple "Oh wow!"

But Ben was a lot closer to the moment of truth. "C'mon Ben. Place your left heel in Dr. Jones's palm - and let's get started. The sooner we begin - the sooner it'll be over!" Ben timidly placed his heel and entire bare left foot into the palm of the physician so that he could examine it correctly. He couldn't resist commenting. "This boy has a perfect 13-year-old male foot - great toes - perfect arch no athlete's fungus - no birthmarks or blemishes - nice fleshy adipose tissue comprising the ball below his large toe -- almost hate to do this to him. I would suggest a larger concrete nail first - right through the middle of the ball of his foot. It needs to be hammered all the way into the hilt - the full 1.5 inches - that's the recommended punishment. You need to do it slowly, so that I can tell if it's entering his foot correctly. Use the 16- ounce claw-hammer to get it started - then after three or four blows - switch to the 8-ounce version, Officer Tom."

"All righty, sounds like a plan, Dr. Jones."

"I think we need a few volunteers to hold the boy steady," said Dr. Jones.

Officer Tom held the boy's left foot steady with one strong hand, and also the rather blunt tip of the nail in that same left hand; the larger claw hammer was poised in his right. Ben was whimpering, anticipating the certain pain. Officer Tom was eyeing the ball of Ben's foot, the striking point. He didn't want to miss. All eyes in the classroom were concentrated on Ben's poor foot, and you could have cut the tension with a knife. The hammer's head flashed downwards, striking the flat metal head of the nail designed to penetrate concrete in a single fluid motion. Before he'd been a cop, Officer Tom had worked as a carpenter. For a second, the brown-haired Ben was stunned by the impact, and then the waves of sheer pain began. He screamed what sounded like a puma's cry. The second strike came, and then the third, the nail penetrating the boy's tender adipose tissue a bit more each time. The screaming became incessant, and so both Officer Tom and Dr. Jones donned the soundproofing earmuffs so as not to be distracted. It took until the sixth blow for Officer Tom to switch to the lighter 8-ounce hammer, as Mrs. Gurr nodded for the blows to continue; the mask that was her face assumed the crinkles of a smile - even if it was a fake smile. Mrs. Gurr didn't seem bothered by Ben's constant sobbing and screaming. "That's to be expected," she yelled, over the boy-produced din. Dr. Jones cleaned off a seeping of blood from around the wound several times, and finally after a total of seventeen blows with both hammers the nail was imbedded to the hilt in the ball of Ben's foot, entering through his sole, and the very edge of the tip now protruded a smidgen out the top of the his foot - just below where Ben's large toe and second toe intersected. More alcohol was dabbed, "a little dab will do ya" Dr. Jones quipped, and always the alcohol was the preamble to more nails being driven into the flesh of Ben's bare left foot. A second larger concrete nail was smashed through his instep - entering below the small toe into the flesh along the side of his appendage, again, it was hammered all the way in - and the third was sent halfway through the middle of his left heel. The ten smaller roofing nails were all driven with the 8-ounce hammer, one each through all five of his toes below the toenails and five others hammered through in other "safe" locations elsewhere on his foot - two more in the ball, two penetrating the sole near Ben's instep, and the last just below the instep on the sensitive spot on Ben's sole where the heel begins.

"Okay, time to do his right foot," Mrs. Gurr purred.

So Officer Tom began again, each of thirteen nails being hammered into the tender unprotected flesh of Ben's bare right foot - more screams - as if he'd ever been able to stop it didn't seem too apparent to the engrossed spectators; and miraculously - he'd gotten through it without adding more nail entry wounds to his punishment. They did Troy next, and Chris, and finally David who kept screaming, "You can't do this! I'm going to go out for cross-country! Really I am! Please!" - but he was more or less ignored as the unforgiving nails were driven into the soles of his bare feet.

Sterilized screws were inserted into each and every wound on the boys' feet after all the nails had been agonizingly plucked out with various hammer claws - and these screws were first coated with a caustic disinfectant solution - so that any infection might be prevented - but the solution on the screws might also serve to further intensify the pain.

Ah, the Payne Jr. High agony of the feet.

Mr. Morton served as perhaps the most sadistic initiator. He did each boy in his turn. Troy went first. "You've been a chronic masturbator, I just know it," he said to the whimpering nearly 14-year-old while holding up his nearly five-inch circumcised penis. He began stroking the boy's member gently, making the blood engorge the head. He gently teased Troy's sensitive glans, and squeezed the middle to open his urethra nicely. "Ever put anything into your peehole, boy?" he asked. "How about something like this?" He showed Troy what he held in his fingers - an extremely thin rod-like saw blade with serrated edges. The thing was six inches long - longer than Troy's entire penis! Troy's eyes almost popped out with horror, but he managed a bit of defiance. "You sicko bastard! I dare you to stick that thing into my cock!" To Morton, who was a sick bastard and worse, even if he was a psychologist, this was like a red flag waved before a bull.

"Alright, I will," he said.

"No, no! I didn't mean it! No!" Troy was already sobbing.

Troy felt the tiny saw blade begin to touch his piss-slit, and then, in a few seconds, with pressure from Morton's fingers, it entered. The insertion was painful, and very uncomfortable, but Morton seemed almost gentle on the way in. But then the boy needed to be taught a lesson for his defiance. Once the extremely thin serrated saw blade was fully inserted into Troy's penis, Morton became brutal about it. He began twisting and twirling it between his fingers, pulling it out slowly and re-inserting it, trying to extract tiny bits of urethral tissue and blood while further irritating the teen's urethral canal. Troy tried not to scream, he mostly sobbed from the excruciating torment, while Mrs. Penta yelled. "That boy needs to be taught a good lesson - torture the little bastard!"

Mr. Morton gave Chris and Ben the same "saw blade" treatment but seemed particularly vicious with his "pet" boy David. Lying spread-eagled on the orange paint table, dressed only in his unbuttoned and spread open dress shirt, the blonde skater boy had to endure Morton's intrusive hands pawing his bare chest and belly, tickling him and groping him even in the very tender "sanded" parts, finally masturbating him fully right there in Mr. Aureole's classroom. Morton was possessed to go beyond the hard-on stage, in fact, fondling the still 12-year-old 7th grader until the pubescent boy began leaking a bit of pre-cum. Finally, David had endured enough - even if the rest was bound to be pure pain - he wanted to get it over with! "C'mon, Mr. Morton, can you just finish me with the saw blade up my peehole - I can't stand the other stuff no more!" But he took his time on this boy - a good half-hour. The extremely thin serrated steel blade made its entrance into David's piss-slit, teasing the boy first, circling, going round and round the opening, scratching the head of his penis, along the glans, in other places, but finally it found its portal and began slowly entering David's urethra. David's penis was a healthy diameter for a boy his age, but only about four inches long, and he was extremely sensitive in there. Still Morton played and played, working the blade in and out, in and out, fucking the boy with the thing, tearing and scraping along the sides of David's urethral canal until the 7th grader was screaming his lungs out.

Everything that happened to Troy, Ben, David, and Chris after that was rather anti-climactic. While none of the boys had to be hospitalized, all four were confined to their beds for at least a week. Dr. Jones came to visit, he made house calls, but for the most part, he was much gentler as their punishments were over. It was August before the kids who'd experienced Pawcatuck's first extreme pain regime even felt well enough to go outside for short walks - and they walked gingerly - all still noticeably limping. "Soon it will be time to start school again!" Troy moaned. But they all caught up with their schoolwork. In fact, all four seemed like different boys - as that next year - each became an 'A' student. This latter twist gave Mrs. Gurr a rather diabolical idea. "Why don't we offer this extreme punishment regime as an alternative to failing a grade?" she suggested to Mr. Morton.

"If their parents approve it, we could do it," he said, "And we've already seen how well it works!"