Classroom of Pain
by Platypus
plupy@surfbest.net

copyright 2005 by Platypus, all rights reserved 

* * * * *
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.
* * * * *

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!"


  
CP_Classroom_of_Pain