Stevens School Runaways - Part 10 (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 preliminaries are almost over for young Tom in this
final section before the real punishments commence.


Stevens School Runaways - Part 10
"More Festivities"

Tom, the unfortunate 7th grader, lay in a vulnerable
position on the wide table in Examination Room 'A.' Naked,
spread-eagled, on his stomach, 'Doc' Thompson was finishing
up with the sensitivity tests. Many of these tests were
painful, some excruciatingly so. None were officially
considered punishments. "Wait until your punishments begin!"
Mueller remarked to the well-secured boy, alluding to this
fact.

"You're a crazy bastard!" Tom cried.

"Actually, I'm quite rational," Mueller said, "and I know
precisely who my parents are."

During the next half hour, the school physician, being quite
methodical and indifferent to what he was doing, continued
with the tests.

Pinching the boy's bare skin using pliers, for instance,
with careful comparisons noted between heated pliers and a
non-heated instrument. Tom could certainly tell the
difference. He was instructed to indicate 'hot' or 'cold'
based on what the good doctor was using to create results.

"Hot!" Tom screamed, when a microwave-warmed pair of pliers
grabbed a fold of skin along his left side, near his lower
back, and pinched hard. Another exercise involved something
that resembled a garden tool shoved up into his sensitive
anus – with his legs spread so wide and several pairs of
hands spreading his butt cheeks – that was extremely
unpleasant. "Owwh! What the heck is that?"

"Good! Excellent reaction, boy," Thompson said.

Scrapings with a sharp needle were used in many sensitive
places on Tom's bare skin also. But just after Thompson had
obtained several new samples by scratching the soles of
Tom's feet, Mr. Mason had a bright idea.

"Why not give Tom a preliminary bastinado now – just a taste
of it – to see how he reacts?" he said.

"What's a bastinado?" Tom asked, his voice more of a
whimper.

"It's like a spanking on the soles of your feet," said Mrs.
O'Neill.

Tom could see her standing next to the table; he was about
level with her bulging midriff from where he was lying, a
purple pantsuit from which emanated that hideous perfume she
always wore.

Thompson didn't want a bastinado – even a trial one –
performed on the boy's feet – out of sequence. "We usually
don't begin punishments until we get into the dungeon
routine," he told Mr. Mason.

Mr. Cousins agreed. "There's no good reason to start that
stuff now – you already have a pretty good idea about how
sensitive the soles of Tom's feet are," he pleaded.

"Are you getting soft on these kids?" Graves asked, "You
wouldn't want this one in bed with you – to feel him up or
something?" Graves came just short of calling Cousins a
faggot to his face, but thought better of it. He knew his
kind all too well, and he'd just had his say. Graves was
just waiting for Cousins to give him a proper challenge, so
he might haul off and pop the pervert one – right in the
chops.

In fact, a boy like Tom would be better off with a sexual
encounter, even with a pederast, than to have to endure what
he would be facing this weekend, Cousins mused. The man with
the Nazi-style wire-rim spectacles but blessed with a kindly
heart almost took up the gauntlet with Graves and the rest
of those sadistic heteros, if that's what they truly were,
right then and there – but at the last second he thought
better of it. "I won't even dignify that with a reply," he
said to Graves.

By now, Thompson was swayed anyhow. "Oh, all right!" he
said, "Just to stop this arguing – we'll give him a few
licks with the proper instrument."

Lying there on his stomach, Tom could only imagine what the
"proper instrument" was.

He was about to find out. He heard a draw opening, probably
just beneath that shelf he'd observed, and something being
removed.

Soon Doctor Thompson showed him what it was. "We call this
implement 'The Rod' – it won't tickle," he said. The boy
looked at the cruel ping-pong paddle – a round piece of flat
wood with little holes in it attached to a handle for easier
striking. The "business end" of the 2-foot long implement –
guaranteed to raise blisters after about 20 strokes on an
exposed boy's sole – was about ½ inch thick. A sturdy
plastic brace was brought up onto the table after Mueller
had unfastened the straps on Tom's ankles. This handy device
had indentations – two of them – for placing and securing a
boy's knees. Tom's legs, bent at the knees, were soon
secured into this harness – although it left his bare feet
about four inches apart and with soles exposed, raised into
the air -- perfect fleshy targets for striking. "Keep those
feet as still as possible," Thompson said, "I'm going to try
and apply the strokes evenly from the bottom of your heels
to the bottoms of your toes, 15 strokes on each foot, but if
you move, and I catch you on an ankle or if I don't get a
clean hit on the precise location I'm aiming for, you WILL
get the stroke over. Understood?"

Tom knew that this would hurt a lot – even if it didn't
"quite" count for a punishment. Although the examination on
his ventral side hadn't yet begun, Thompson had already made
several shallow scratches with the needle on Tom's soles,
especially along his insteps and on the fleshy ball of each
of his feet, some of the little cuts had bled slightly, and
the mere thought of a paddle working the bottoms of his feet
while they were in that condition terrified the boy. "Please
sir," he said, "Can't you listen to Mr. Cousins?"

Every adult in the small examination room flashed Cousins
another glare. "See what you started?" Mr. Taylor said to
Cousins.

Anyway, it was no use.

"Understood boy?" Thompson repeated.

Tom whimpered when he replied, "Yes!" Then he braced himself
not knowing exactly what to expect. Burying his head into a
small pillow that someone had just provided, it was soft,
that pillow, like the kind he remembered from trips he'd
taken with his family on commercial passenger jets. He kept
whimpering in a steady cadence while imagining his left foot
shaking slightly from fear. It dangled above the rest of his
naked body.

Mr. Thompson nodded to the others in the room, but he didn't
smile, although a few in the room – such as Mr. Mason --
did. Placing the rod over Tom's left sole, he drew back and
thwack – Tom let out a howl when contact was made. The same
procedure, waiting, a measured blow, delivered about ten
seconds later to the bare right foot. "Yeowh!" Tom screamed,
"Please stop it! Please!" as the second stroke hit the flesh
pad first on the left, then the right. Tom's soles were
already stinging, and the entreaties continued, the pain was
sharp each time, like a pulse traveling all the way up his
leg, as if a red-hot poker had been applied. By the tenth
strokes, the boy was openly sobbing. By the fifteenth, his
soles were reddened and tiny blisters were beginning to
form, but a thwack on his right ankle and the side of his
left instep, and another on a moving big toe, all were
extremely painful but needed to be repeated; the 7th grader
was obliged to receive 18 strokes on each foot. Before he
was turned over for more ministrations, alcohol was
liberally rubbed into his soles, this stung in a few raw
spots – he cried again when Mr. Mason and Mrs. O'Neill
couldn't resist palpating his very sore feet – it seemed
they continued for several minutes as if to torment him even
after the blonde hazel-eyed 13-year-old had been spread-
eagled and secured flat on his back and the device to lift
his feet into the air had been mercifully removed from the
wide table. Once people stopped touching his feet, they
didn't hurt so much, and it was more tolerable. Tom even got
to keep the small pillow. But the same treatment that Rich
had received on his front now became Tom's trial.

More pinching with pliers on his chest and belly, the needle
prospecting for samples too, the sharp blades of tweezers
squeezed shut on his nipples and then his genitals getting
attention, Tom felt the sharp needle stabbing his left nut
and then the right after an agonizing pause, the cruel
needle scratching the underside of his penis, another stab
deep into the head of his penis causing a sudden louder than
usual scream, then alcohol was dabbed on all the places
where the needle had gone, and finally a meandering cotton-
swab prefacing the first invasion of Tom's piss-slit. "No!
Please! I hope you're not doing what I think you're doing!"
he yelled at the top of his lungs, and then Mueller came
over and slapped his face hard and told him to "Tone it
down! Stop being a baby!" When Tom did quiet and begin
softly sobbing out of pure fear, there was an audible sigh
of relief in the room as the danger to adult eardrums eased.

But only temporarily, as when Tom felt the first alcohol-
soaked Q-tip slowly snake into his pee-hole, around the
inner edges at first, but gradually penetrating deeper into
his urethra, making the inside of his cock develop an
excruciating burning sensation, worked slowly, expertly, if
such a thing can be said, "Yeowh! Doc – get that thing out
of my cock! Take it out – I beg you!" Tom was sobbing now,
but after the first Q-tip was embedded to the hilt, about
two inches, it was required that they stretch the kid's
urethra, and so a second was gradually worked in to the 7th
grader's cock, and finally a third.

"Will we try four? Four's the magic number," Mrs. O'Neill
quipped, "Richard was able to take four."

But no, not this time. "He's not quite so flexible in
there," Thompson said, "I think we'll stop at three." Tom
breathed a sigh of relief at that, even more so when after
they checked Tom's big toes for hairs and only found a few
very silky tiny ones and plucked those with the tweezers,
Thompson than yanked out the Q-tips all at once – all three
"Thank you, doc," the boy said. Alas, a few minutes later,
his penis was held up again and a straw was inserted into
Tom's pee-hole the same way it had occurred with Rich, a
similar small-bore (1/8th inch diameter) sharp-edged flat
hard plastic stirring straw – gradually this object was
inserted the full two inches in order to obtain additional
urethra scrapings. As with his friend, Tom soon learned that
these ministrations with the sharp little straw – such a
common object used to stir hot drinks like coffee or cocoa –
but also quite efficient when employed for this diabolical
purpose.

"Almost done, keep still, stop moving around so much, it
can't hurt that much," Thompson cooed, but Tom was sobbing
again as the awful man was gently holding his cock with his
index finger and thumb in one hand while continuing to dig
around with the straw, probing very slowly and thoroughly
inside his sensitive urethra with the other, like a dental
technician methodically cleaning the inside surfaces of
teeth. Tom couldn't believe that anything done to him could
hurt so much. "Please, when are you going to be done with
this torture?" Tom finally blurted.

"We don't use that word at Stevens, son!" Mr. Taylor gently
chided, "What you're experiencing is just a necessary
procedure."

"When are you going to be finished with this procedure?" Tom
choked out with a dry heave sob.

Finally, it was over, and Mr. Briggs took a few more
pictures, he'd been taking them all along "Don't mind me.
I'm just a fly on the wall!" he joked in his amiable manner.

After Rich experienced a bit more preliminary attention,
including the same bastinado that Tom had received with the
paddle, 15 strokes on each of his sensitive soles, there was
a another brief coffee break for the adults. Once again, the
lights were turned off, except for the Examination Rooms,
and the boys were left alone. This time, they weren't even
secured.

You're both free to walk around for a few minutes inside
this basement area," Mr. Mueller said, "Would you like us to
bring you back a nice soft drink?"

"In fact, I would encourage you both to walk around so that
your feet don't swell up," Mr. Taylor added, "When we come
back, we'll start them off with their punishments in the
dungeon," he said more softly to Mr. Mueller and Mr.
Thompson. Tom and Rich, sharp-eared lads, happened to
overhear that grim edict.

End of Part 10