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o  The Bookshelf Directories offer a very wide variety of stories.  o
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Reform School Boys (bb, v, gay)
Mark E. Dassad.    (C) 1992  

**********

Squeaking rubber on polished hardwood floors, panting in circles about
the perimeter of the gym, he didn't notice the two boys keeping pace
on either side of him; he wasn't aware of their subtle movements, a
foot snaking in front of his ankle, a shoulder brushing his.  Thompson
was only aware of a painful oxygen debt, his lungs were burning, his
feet were sore, he'd lost count of the number of laps they'd been
forced to run, his teeth ached at the base and he knew he'd puke soon
if he wasn't allowed to stop.  He was aware of the floor rushing up at
his face; his knees and wrists and chin were sliding across the smooth
varnish, peeled raw, before he even knew he was going down.

A shrill whistle brought the circling band of boys to an abrupt,
squeaky halt.

"Thompson you goddamn spastic fuck-up, what the HELL are you doing??"
Mr Karn bellowed at the boy lying on his back in the middle of the
floor, clutching at his oozing knees and elbows, his face contorted in
agony, his body rolling as he savagely bit his lip to keep from crying
out.

"I tripped, SIR" Thompson continued rolling, his eyes squeezed tightly
shut with the effort not to cry out.

Karn walked slowly to where the boy lay prone, stood above him.
"Get up you miserable candy-ass."

When Thompson didn't move except to continue writhing, Karn reached
down to grab him by the hair, pulling him roughly to his feet,
clutching at the hand locked in his scalp.

"Oww leggoame!" 

"Gimme ten more laps!," Karn bellowed at Thompson "The rest of you hit
the showers."  Sneakers pounded the floor as the rest of the class
hustled to obey. They ranged in age from 15 to 17, the oldest group of
delinquents housed in Middlefield School for Boys. It sounded like a
posh boarding school.  It was a high security prison for youths not
quite violent enough to merit being tried as adults.

Thompson limped to obey.  He'd been alone with the gym teacher often
enough to be eager to comply.  Karn kept a heavy wooden paddle in his
office; well-oiled, well-worn, a double row of neat holes cut at
regular intervals to lessen air resistance, do more damage, and
Thompson had already twice felt it's length slamming into his naked
backside in the week and a half since he'd been transferred to
Middlefield.  That only happened for the worst offenses, otherwise
Karn only slapped him around a bit. Thompson staggered around the
perimeter of the gym, trying not to pay attention to his raw, bruised
knees and elbows, his aching lungs, his tired swollen feet.  For the
nine-hundred and forty-eight time he replayed the heist in his head.

Car-jacking was supposed to be easy.  You ran up to a car stopped at a
light, pointed a gun at the driver's head and when they got out of the
car with piss all over their lap you and your partner hopped in and
drove off.

Except that goddamn rich bitch screamed and he panicked and shot her
in the head.  He didn't mean to, he tried to tell that to his lawyer,
to the shrinks, but he was just a dumb-ass no good piece of worthless
white trash whose family was so pathetic they didn't manage to crawl
out of the ghetto when the blacks and Puerto Ricans took over and
everyone knew the lawyers worked for the rich slobs, how the hell did
he expect any fucking justice??  He hated that rich bitch, for fucking
up his life.  It was SUPPOSED to be easy, and anyway he didn't MEAN to
kill her.  The lawyer said well what the fuck were you carrying the
gun for if you didn't intend to shoot anything?  The stupid jerk
didn't KNOW what it was like, rich college asshole.

Thompson felt lunch rising in his stomach; he wasn't in all that great
shape, he knew that goddamn good and well; otherwise he might've
outrun the lunatic good samaritan that chased him down right in the
middle of the fucking worst neighborhood in the city christ you
couldn't even count on people to mind their own fucking business
anymore, to "not get involved".  He lurched toward the wastebasket in
the corner of the gym and heaved creamed tuna and string beans into
the bin.

Karn was right behind him.  Six foot two, beefy, an ex-marine who
really enjoyed his work.  He clamped a beefy hand around the back of
Thompson's neck and squeezed, pulling Thompson to his feet when he'd
finished spitting the remnants of lunch into the pail.

"Twenty more laps!" Karn barked in Thompson's ear as he squeezed his
neck harder.  Thompson was 16, nearly six foot tall, sporting a few
scraggly hairs that he liked to think constituted a moustache, but he
was flabby and out of shape and no match for the gym teacher.  Too
much smoke and booze.  He knew he'd never finish another lap.  Screw it.

"Fuck you."  He whispered it.  A horrible paralyzing fear washed over
his body, he couldn't have moved if he'd tried.  Just like when the
rich bitch's skull had exploded.  Slow motion, like a Peckinpah movie.
Thompson was scared wit-less, he wanted to run, to strike at the meaty
hand squeezing his neck muscles, but he was frozen.  His dick was
making a tent out of the front of his baggy gym shorts.  It had done
the same thing when he pulled the trigger.  Terror.  It made him hard.

Without speaking, Karn grabbed Thompson's left arm, twisted it up his
back, pushing him relentlessly towards his office, meeting virtually
no resistance from the dazed boy.  Not that he would have been able to
resist the older stronger heavier man.

The door slammed shut.

"Drop them," Karn whispered menacingly at Thompson as he stood facing
the mute, frozen boy, arms folded, ice blue eyes boring into his
skull.

Thompson shifted his gaze from the terrifying image of the enraged
man.  Too calm.  Dead calm.  Eye of the hurricane calm.  His dick was
poking at the front of his gym shorts, terror making him hard.  He
didn't want his hard-on to be exposed, ridiculed.  When he didn't
move, Karn lurched forward, yanked Thompson's shorts around his knees,
yanked his jock down, and stepped back, arms again folded, drilling
his unblinking gaze at Thompson's meager bush, at his erect cock and
swollen balls.  Karn stood for nearly a full minute, stone cold,
staring at the boy standing before him with his shorts around his
knees, quaking and flapping his arms, cold sweat staining his t-shirt,
wanting to cover his shame, but knowing it would further enrage the
man in control of the situation.

"You know the drill."  Karn hissed, gave his perfect grayish blond
flat-top a quick backward bush, the only indication of his intense
excitement.  "Over the desk, legs spread."

"MOVEIT!" he bellowed, when Thompson stood, frozen to the spot.

Jolted from his paralysis Thompson turned, lay the upper half of his
torso on the spotless surface of the teacher's desk, careful not to
bump the pen set, disturb the carefully placed pencil cup and
paperweight.  He clasped his hands behind his neck, bent at the waist,
legs spread, pale bony buttocks exposed for punishment, his balls
dangling down between his legs, his cock refusing to wilt as much as
Thompson tried to will it.

Karn pulled his cherished paddle down from it's place on his wall,
caressing it's length.  He allowed himself a small anticipatory smile
as he hefted the weapon in his right hand, stepping up behind the boy.
He knew the kid was mortified at his erection; over the years though,
he'd watched plenty of cum spatter the front of his desk, pounded out
of countless boys' balls from the sensations aroused by his beatings.

"Count," he ordered Thompson.  The Thompson kid irked him.  He was a
whiner, a weasel.  The other boys despised him, hounded him merci-
lessly, pummelled him, tripped him, stole his things, ate his des-
serts, smoked his cigarettes, because he let them.  He didn't fight
back.  Instead he complained to the staff.  He was weak.  Karn still
found it impossible to picture the kid cacking anybody.

Thompson paused a breath.  This was almost the worst part, it made him
feel like he asked for it, that he wanted it.  But he knew the longer
he waited the harder the paddle would fall.

"one."  he whispered, flinching, tensing, waiting for the first blow
to fall.

"ONE," he blurted, much louder.  He barely had time to register the
whistling sound of the paddle travelling through the air when a hard,
white hot pain exploded over his ass-cheeks, the loud crack of wood
slamming into his flesh ringing in his ears.  He gasped as his body
slid forward on the desk from the force of the blow, unable to stop
his forward motion with his hands clasped behind his neck.  He managed
to keep his knees from buckling, and asked for the second blow.

"Two." 

Another loud crack and Thompson cried out, unable to stop a moan from
escaping his tightly closed lips.  He slid forward again; his erection
still blossoming, his hands clasped behind his neck.

"Three."  He croaked out.  It was necessary to keep the blows coming
as fast as possible, it hurt less that way, perhaps only because Karn
had less time to aim, less time to gather his strength.
The paddle slammed into his reddened, bruised buttocks,and Thompson
loosed a high-pitched scream, his knees buckling from the
force of the blow.

"Four!" he wailed, recovering his balance just as the paddle made
contact, sending him to his knees, as he slid backward off the desk.
Thompson shrieked, unable to stop the flow of tears unleashed by the
pain coursing through his ass.

Karn waited patiently, unblinking, as Thompson slowly staggered to his
feet.  He re-arranged the desk blotter and shakily lay back down over
the desk and clasped his hands behind his neck.

Karn expertly eyed his handiwork.  The purple blotches rising on
Thompson's ass were a testament to Karn's years of practice; the holes
in the paddle added an extra dimension to the art-form, made drawing
blood more likely.  Two more blows and he was certain he would be
rewarded with the red liquid.  Karn always stopped after he drew the
first bit of blood; he knew the goddamn social workers would be all
over the place if some punk rapist got a little too banged up when he
was disciplining them.

"five."  Thompson choked out, trying to control his shaking voice.  A
loud crack reverberated in the small space of the office, as the
paddle fell again, compressing his buttocks and sending him lurching
forward on the desk.  He wailed, loosing another high-pitched scream.
The conscious part of his pain-clouded brain barely registered the
pleasure it experienced as the engorged head of his cock brushed the
smooth surface of the desk.

"SIX," he shrieked.  He nearly collapsed from the force of the paddle
landing yet again on his tortured cheeks, the sound of wood meeting
flesh echoing around the room.

"Done."  Karn eyed the large boy sobbing wetly on his desk blotter,
small splotches of blood glistening on the purple mass of weals
coloring his buttocks.

Thompson moved to rise, suddenly painfully aware of his stiff tool
bobbing beneath his bent form, his swollen balls aching for release.
He was desperate to find a private place to jerk some pleasure out of
the awful, agonizing, humiliating paddling he'd just endured.

Karn moved in, grabbing Thompson by the back of the neck and
effortlessly pinned the exhausted boy to his desk.

"Did I say you could get up?"  he hissed menacingly.

"No no noo..." Thompson whimpered patheticly, petrified.  He'd never
had to withstand more than six before...

Karn snorted impatiently at the quivering boy he held to his desk.
The kid was scared shitless, his head turned sideways, ear to the
desk, his face pointed away from his menacing presence.  He'd seen
other boys, smaller and weaker, endure worse and still come up
fighting.  This particular kid disgusted him, rankled him more than
any he could remember.

"What did you say to me out there?"  He leaned in dangerously close to
Thompson's exposed left ear, he could feel Thompson's whole body
shaking.  The pimply overgrownlittle puke.

Thompson didn't want to say it again, but he knew he had to, he had no
choice.

"fuck you." he squeaked miserably, tears leaking from his eyes.

"Fuck you?"  Karn's voice leaked venom.

"yes sir," Thompson was glad he was able to remember the 'sir' part.

"You're not MAN enough to 'fuck me'..."  Karn would really teach this
kid a lesson.  He'd taught countless other boys the same lesson, the
one's foolish enough to spit those words at him in their impotent
rage.  Paddling these boys always got him hard, he usually sent them
away afterward and then whacked off in private.  But he'd been wanting
to teach Thompson this lesson ever since he'd showed up at
Middlefield.

Karn stepped up behind behind Thompson's abused buttocks and lowered
his shorts.  With strong muscular hands he pulled Thompson's cheeks
apart; Thompson wailed and began crying fresh as Karn's fingers drove
into his tortured flesh.  Positioning the head of his cock against
Thompson's tight young hole, Karn cleanly thrust his hard cock into
Thompson's anus, bulldozing his way through the stunned wall of muscle
that clutched at his stick in an attempt to expel the alien invasion.

Thompson shrieked, impaled, his gym teacher's dick buried to the base
in his ass, his tortured buttocks being further abused by the hairy
groin scraping his cheeks, his already pain-crazed brain overloading
at the burning pain now spreading *inside* his ass as well as on the
surface.  Karn leaned over the boy he had pinned to his desk with his
dick.

"No Thompson, It's 'fuck YOU'"

Karn began balling in earnest, slamming his cock in and out of the tight
virgin ass he held helplessly in his control, grunting as the boy
beneath him shrieked and twisted, unable to withstand the torturous
sensation of his virginal chute being so violently violated.  Karn
humped furiously, reaching below Thompson's twisting bucking hips, and
clutched the hard cock he found there. He stroked furiously, pulling
at Thompson's shaft painfully hard, in time with his thrusting motions
in his ass.  Karn let go when he felt the kid's dick jerk in the first
indication of orgasm, and humped furiously, enjoying the bastard's
screams of helpless agony.

Thompson howled, begging the man pistoning in his ass to stop, sure he
was being killed by the cock drilling into him, even as gouts of his
cum splashed from the head of his cock onto the front of the desk.  He
moaned in pleasure, crying from humiliation, tortured to the point
where he couldn't decipher one physical sensation from the next as the
burning, tearing pain spreading through the lower half of his body
began to resemble ecstasy.  And still Thompson kept his hands locked
behind his neck as his body was buffeted about by the cock grinding
insistently into him; terrified of what might happen if he varied from
"the procedure".

Karn stood up from where he had been leaning over Thompson's back and
grabbed Thompson's butt, his nuts swelling, his groin lurching as he
felt him self ready to explode.  He began slamming wildly in and out
of his brutalized ass as Thompson moaned, the fresh pain from the
hands clutching his ass-cheeks freshly inspiring his young cock.  Karn
came in long thick spurts, each gusher of jizz punctuated by an
especially hard thrust that made Thompson howl even as his cock bobbed
expectantly.

Karn pulled his dick out of Thompson's ass, pulled up his shorts and
moved back to let Thompson rise.

"Go shower down."

Thompson stood painfully, choking and sobbing, his face swollen and
tear-streaked, a colorful complement to his purple, swollen, slightly
bloodied buttocks.  He pulled his gym shorts up to cover his
humiliation and walk stiffly out of the office, his back turned to the
man who had just enjoyed the pleasures of his tight young rectum.

Karn stared impassively at the retreating back of the boy he had just
taught his particularly special lesson.  A job well done, in his
estimation.  He smiled almost imperceptibly.
