Stevens School Runaways - Part 17 (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 inevitable finally happens -- a second chance at
freedom, or redemption, take your pick.


Stevens School Runaways - Part 17
"The Second Great Escape"

Soon the day came when Tom and Rich were declared recovered
enough by Doctor Thompson to attend classes – except for gym
– and to mingle with the general population. These physicals
– a careful check to see if the "punishment-induced"
injuries had sufficiently healed – were conducted on their
beds in the infirmary. Both boys were nude for the
perfunctory ritual – everyone knew what the outcome would be
– and lying on their stomachs. The physician checked Tom
first – palpating everywhere on his backside – neck,
shoulders, back, ribs, buttocks, legs, feet. "Wish you'd do
a nice massage," Tom quipped. But he wasn't providing
pleasure really – just checking for slower healing of any
abrasions, burns, cuts, welts – or whatever else happens to
skin when it gets punished.

"You know – you're not supposed to enjoy this," Thompson
said, "Now turn over."

Tom did, but he was getting a hard-on. He wasn't bashful
about it as he might have been a few weeks before. When he
was flat on his back, the boy's penis was rock-solid and
jutting upward almost vertically toward the infirmary's
ceiling.

"Looks like you were enjoying it."

Rich in the next bed couldn't quite suppress a few giggles.

But the doctor's calloused hands began palpating anew,
beginning at the 7th grader's throat and working
methodically down his bare front side. It didn't hurt much,
just a few twinges here and there. "That bother you a lot?"

"No, just a little. They're still sensitive, I guess." Tom
was talking about his nipples.

When Thompson ran his warm palms over the bare belly of
young Bridges, it was almost sensual, the boy imagined
himself an alligator, and pre-cum magically appeared in
Tom's piss-slit, like a drop of dew. Thompson observed this
phenomenon, and brushed it off the boy's exposed glans with
a finger. Tom felt a delicious shiver, and sighed.

"Have you been urinating okay?"

"Yes, better than a week ago. It doesn't hurt anymore." He
was also cumming again but he wasn't about to volunteer that
bit of information.

Tom's feet, particularly his soles, were still quite
sensitive, especially when the physician dug his fingernails
into each one to test for a Babinski reflex. "Owwh!" the boy
cried.

"Still a tenderfoot!" remarked Thompson, attempting a joke.

He told Tom to "Get up and let me see you walk around a
bit," and there was a limp, but it wasn't pronounced. "Fine,
you're making wonderful progress," the medical man said as
he nodded.

Tom was thinking angry thoughts – like why do I even HAVE to
be making progress? None of this shit should have happened
to us in the first place. He also thought about that shrink
woman – he'd written down the "low points" of what these
people – including the sadistic bastard who'd just been
pawing him -- had done to him. Rich seemed to be dozing off
– napping – all of a sudden. Thompson noticed it too. He
reached over and nudged Rich's shoulder. "Your turn," he
said gently. Fifteen minutes later, he was finished. The
runaways were told to dress into their school clothes and
come down to the cafeteria for supper. "I'm giving you both
a clean bill of health," Thompson said with a wide phoney
smile, "I'll bet you're hungry too."

"So, it's over – our punishments?" Rich asked warily. Both
boys had heard rumors of more "pain-threshold" tests and
procedures – were hoping against hope that such foreboding
hints mentioned by "Dr. Sally" the visiting psychiatrist and
Mueller and Mr. Graves and Mr. Cousins and other visitors to
the infirmary were uttered in jest just to scare them.

"Except for Fridays," Thompson replied, attempting to
reassure the runaways, "Don't worry, they're just two-hour
sessions for a minimum of six weeks – nothing like what
you've already been through."

"Do we have to go?" Tom said, his voice on the edge of
tears.

"I'm afraid so." The doctor's voice had a dutiful ring to
it, almost melancholy as if he actually regretted what would
have to be done.

*

Alfred Cousins had tried to get both boys' parents to
intervene, but Tom's Dad was clueless, in his opinion, and
Rich's parents had been stonewalled when they'd attempted to
discover meaningful details about what had been done to
their son in the name of "punishment." Yet the math teacher
knew what awaited their sons over the ensuing weeks – in
Tom's case, especially, and he'd been appalled. The visiting
psychiatrist had recommended castration, he'd learned
through the grapevine, and mused, they just might DO IT. His
memory wandered back to his own experience so long ago, how
it had changed his life both for good and bad. He'd been a
bit older than these kids, but still an adolescent, when
he'd had the involuntary surgery, and felt a twinge down
there, just remembering. In his math classes, when he saw
the boys and tried to get them to concentrate on their
algebra, he did his best to reassure them. If Tom lost his
testicles, one or both, was gelded like a calf – probably
without anesthesia, it would be a tragedy. The boy was
blonde and handsome, in the throes of puberty, and as it
was, he was sentenced for an indeterminate period to this
place, this Stevens reform school, and probably unjustly.
How much worse would it be if the kid lost a part of his
body that he'd come to cherish – and that might provide his
very essence as a young man? Wanting to lose one's testicles
was one thing, or losing them due to cancer or accident,
that was another. But being painfully gelded --forcefully
made gentle at the whim of a misguided psychiatrist? There
was something infinitely perverse and vile about such an act
deliberately committed by authorities.

What of Rich? While he wasn't yet being considered for
castration, as far as Cousins knew, he would continue to be
subjected to tortuous procedures for weeks on end – every
Friday. While his attitude seemed to be one of quiet
acceptance, or resignation, maybe he perceived himself as
enduring some sort of tribal initiation – and coming through
it as a man instead of mere boy – and that was a way of
coping, at least psychologically, with adverse circumstances
beyond his control, Cousins suddenly made the decision – No!
It doesn't have to be! Not if he, Alfred Drew Cousins, had
anything to do with it.

*

Until that first fateful "new" Friday, the boys were content
to re-adjust and to comply willingly, even gladly, with
renewed school routines. In the privacy of room '14-C,' a
banal normalcy was fast returning to the resilient runaways
and the manner in which they regarded their confining world.

Lying back snug in their beds after lights out, they
discussed many things as they once had before, even if
nothing was quite the same.

"I guess it isn't so bad now. At least all the kids talk to
us."

"Even that traitor – Carter. I could do without him talking
to me," Rich said.

"Still, we've been back more than a week now. And
everything's been fine, sort of."

"But tomorrow we got those freaking sessions – two hours of
bullshit."

"At least we get to do them together." Tom had a bad feeling
about those sessions. He kept thinking about that shrink –
Dr. Sally. Why hadn't she done something about what he'd
written down? This freaking reform school should be closed
down now. Those bastards who'd hurt Rich and him – they
should all be arrested by now.

Rich dropped a bombshell just then. "No we don't. I'm
scheduled at four o'clock. They get you at 6:30. They're
doing us separate."

Tom looked in his friend's direction. It was dark in their
room, or else Rich would have seen the expression on the 7th
grader's face – a look of abject terror.

*

Two security guards, a man and a woman, came to fetch Rich
at 3:58 sharp. He was in his room, waiting, after having
showered and redressed into his cleanest school clothes. Tom
was getting some "extra-credit" algebra help from Mr.
Cousins.

"Let's go," the woman said. She was kind of pretty, with a
dove's face, albeit sandwiched between a hawk's eyes and
beak. I'd like to have sex with her, Rich thought. He was
beginning to fantasize more about women – grown women were
the only kind he got to see these days – and about having
sex with one – like another kind of initiation. He was
daydreaming about a heterosexual romp that somehow became an
orgy – all of a sudden five women wanting his dick bad
appeared in his dream – a quintet of scantily clad sexy
things. God, I'm so horny, he said to himself, almost out
loud. Careful or I'll cream in my pants. Then, it was over,
in seconds. Rich saw that door again – that damned portal
leading into the subterranean chambers. "Oh no! Shit!"

Inside he was led into Examination Room 'C.' Nothing was the
mystery it once was. Rich was no longer curious. What would
happen to him over the next two hours would happen, was
inevitable, and was something to be endured. Doctor Thompson
was there in his white physician's smock, and Mr. Mueller,
and somebody else. Somebody new. Thompson observed the brief
look of bewilderment on the once-punished runaway's visage.
"Oh, this is Mr. Greene," Thompson said, being unnecessarily
polite, "He's here to observe. Now strip – and put all your
clothes on that chair over there."

Rich started unbuttoning his white dress shirt, one button
at a time. "Hurry up – we've only got two hours to perform
many procedures," Mueller said. Soon Rich had removed his
shirt, his leather shoes, his socks, undid his fly, slipped
off his pants, lastly his white briefs came off, were
slipped off his bare feet. "Okay, hop onto the table,"
Thompson ordered.

"You want me on my stomach?" Rich asked meekly.

"No, he has to be on his back!" Greene was barking, this
interloper into the sadistic circle that the boy had not yet
met. Who the hell is this guy? Rich was thinking. Another
pervert!

"On your back," Mueller parroted, "But if you can hold
fairly still during the procedures, we won't have to strap
you down." He was acting nicer today for some reason,
probably about to get his jollies. I will scream and cry
less than the last time, Rich made up his mind. I'll try to
get into the pain, if I can. This was a thought worthy of
any masochist – not something that an eighth grader should
have to be thinking. This time when he closed his eyes,
nobody stopped him. In fact, the men, all three of them,
smiled and nodded to each other. There was a silence, a
moment, then "He thinks he's the sleeping prince today,"
Mueller said in that same strangely kind, measured tone.
Greene laughed a little too loudly.

Rich began meditating. He saw himself on a nude beach,
sunning himself, imagined the fluorescent as a warm
embracing light. Girls were all around. Naked too. It was
great. He could get into this. One especially pretty girl, a
blonde who looked a little like Tom, only she was a girl,
yeah, she came up to him and whispered a sweet nothing into
his waiting ear.

Suddenly Rich felt someone grab his cock, ignored it. "Look,
the little stud's oozing fluid. He's hard as a rock,"
Thompson commented.

"Well, he won't be in a minute," Greene said. He was from
the company. Surprise, surprise.

Rich was jolted from his pleasant reverie when he felt the
big needle pierce his glans right below the piss-slit. He
opened his eyes – wished to God he hadn't. The needle was
being very gradually forced in deep – he was oozing blood
and jizz now – all the way down through his penis the needle
sank, powered as it was by determined if evil fingers. When
it was all the way in to the hilt – about two inches deep –
the men took turns squeezing his cock – somebody began
inserting those horrid Q-Tips into his urethral opening –
one soaked with alcohol, another with vinegar, another with
bleach once it was raw inside. It hurt like hell! Once his
cock was filled, another needle went through his ball-sack,
make it two needles, one left testicle, one right – Rich was
screaming his lungs out by then, and squirming like crazy.
"Hold him down! Hold him down!" Mueller yelled, as if a dam
was breaking. "Do you want us to strap you down?" Mr. Greene
asked again. "No! No! I won't move so much. I promise –
swear to God!" Rich mustered the self-control to say. He
didn't want to be secured, that was for damn sure.

During the rest of Rich's first "session" – he managed to
prevent being bound. But it wasn't easy. Although the
procedures were less "heavy-duty" in some ways he later told
Mr. Cousins, they worked his nipples slowly with a small
piece of sandpaper, and then used pliers to squeeze the
sensitized boy teats; they used the sandpaper on his sides
along the ribs more to abrade the skin; they never stopped
doing the same painful things to his genitals, working the
cotton swabs and the needles slowly in and out; they
hammered about a dozen tiny stainless steel nails – each an
inch long -- into first the sole of his right foot in
different places – then his left. After all these painful
things, they yanked every object out – disinfected the skin
where they'd done these things and applied some sort of
soothing salve -- and it was mercifully over. "All set until
next week, young man," said Thompson, "in a day or two,
you'll feel just fine."

Tom's session was every bit as horrific, probably worse. His
testicles were actually probed in a more active manner, in
preparation for their actual removal at a later "session."
Three days later, after classes had started again, his balls
were still very sore. "Even aspirin doesn't help," Tom told
Rich after lights out that night, "I can't take this any
more." He began sobbing and Rich came over and hugged him.
What else could he do?

*

The next dreadful Friday thankfully never came. Late
Thursday night, in the wee hours, Cousins came to their
room, '14C', disguised as a security guard. At first Tom
wanted to scream, because he didn't recognize their math
teacher, but Rich clamped a frantic hand over his friend's
mouth. "Shh! It's Mr. Cousins. He's come to save us!" Sure
enough, Alfred had made this decision. It was obvious later
that a peculiar man dressed as a security guard and two
runaways in tow had managed to fool a skeleton staff of six
genuine security people on duty that night. The secret was
how nonchalant they'd been – walking at a normal gait and
pace past the security cameras mounted near the ceiling in
every hallway. Cousins placed one boy just ahead of him and
the other just behind so that "They'll just think I'm taking
you to the bathroom." The simple ploy worked. Although the
boys were barefoot and in their pajamas when they emerged
into the wee hours of that chilly April night, it was worth
it. Miraculously, nobody saw them when they scampered into
Mr. Cousins's van. He had bedding in there for each boy, for
they'd be driving a long way – all the way to Canada!

Once safely in Canada, they'd be staying with a man that
Alfred Cousins both dreaded and loved. He was the man who'd
performed the remembered operation so many years ago. "We
are going to be international fugitives," Alfred whispered
to the boys, each sleeping soundly while snug in their
makeshift beds, "isn't that wonderful?" He began sobbing, a
gentle sound.

End of Part 17


  
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