Reforming School boys (mm, v, rp)
by 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
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.
"Gimme ten more laps!," Karn bellowed at Thomp-
son "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-eighth 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
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 fin
ished 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 feet 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 witless, 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-em," 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 fur-
ther enrage the man in control of the situation.
"You know the drill." Karn hissed, gave his
perfect grayish blond flat-top a quick backward brush,
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 paper-
weight. 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 mercilessly, pummelled
him, tripped him, stole his things, ate his desserts,
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'd 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.
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
stoped 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 for-
ward 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 sur-
face 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 glisten-
ing 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
Karn moved in, grabbing Thompson by the back of
the neck and effortlessly pinned the exhausted boy to
"Did I say you could get up?" he hissed men-
"No no noo..." Thompson whimpered patheticly,
petrified. He'd never had to withstand more than six
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
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 Thompson's abused but-
tocks and lowered his shorts. With strong muscular
hands he pulled Thompson's cheeks apart; Thompson
wailed and began crying afresh 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
Thompson shrieked, impaled, his gym teacher's
dick buried to the base in his ass, his tortured but-
tocks 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 indi-
cation 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, tor-
tured to the point where he couldn't decipher one
physical sensation from the next as the burning, tear-
ing 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 buf-
feted about by the cock grinding insistently into him;
terrified of what might happen if he varied from "the
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 himself
ready to explode. He began slamming wildly in and
out of the boy's 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
"Go shower down."
Thompson stood painfully, choking and sobbing,
his face swollen and tear-streaked, a colorful com-
plement to his purple, swollen, slightly bloodied
buttocks. He pulled his gym shorts up to cover his
humiliation and walked 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