Stevens School Runaways - Part 13 (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.
* * * * *

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