Stevens School Runaways

Stevens School Runaways - Part 17 (hist, tort, CBT, psych)
By Platypus (formerly Dark Man)
[email protected]

(First published on Eunuch Archive)

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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.
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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