Stevens School Runaways - Part 9 (hist, tort, CBT, psych)
By Platypus (formerly Dark Man)
[email protected]

copyright 2005 by Platypus, all rights reserved

(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 boys finally discover that absconding from this harsh reform school will exact a terrible price and is decidedly unpleasant.

Stevens School Runaways - Part 9
"Room Service"

They'd had to drag the boys into the examination rooms, kicking and screaming. The security personnel had helped accomplish this necessity, fastening Tom to the wide exam table in Room A, and Rich to the similar table in Room B -- just across the narrow hallway, only a few feet away. Both boys had somewhat noticed Exam Room C as well – a big sign clearly marked that cubicle -- but its door was closed since it wasn't currently in use. There was also that ominous door – a huge latched entrance at the end of the hall leading into the most dreaded part of the basement, a place known as "the dungeon." The boys would get to know the confines of that infamous chamber before too long, as part of an ordeal they would not soon forget.

For now, the subterranean rooms were strangely quiet. The adults had taken a break from "the festivities" for the moment, although Tom and Rich realized their captors might return at any moment. The silence extended to the large antechamber -- with the sofa and the VCR and the murals painted on the ceiling -- where lights had been turned off to save electricity. Only in the exam rooms were lights kept on.

"Hey Rich, you okay?" Tom said softly. It felt funny lying naked on the white covering, it was like a hospital matting, rubbery with a thin sheet on top, probably great for soaking up a kid's blood. He was spread-eagled, looking up at the white blank of a ceiling. His arms were outstretched flat above his head and secured to each opposing end by the wrists with the same thick strap-like fastenings that bound his ankles. The fastenings felt like Velcro, though a lot stronger – probably some kind of leather. The position itself – on his back like he was -- was comfortable for the time being, although it would allow those bastards to punish any part of his body -- from his blonde hair on his head to his chest and belly and "privates" down to his toes. He was stretched out pretty good but it wasn't like a medieval rack tearing his joints apart. He couldn't sit up but he could move his head about ten inches up from the table before his shoulders began hurting and the fastenings became restricting. He could turn his head from side-to-side. The light was "less" annoying. Another fluorescent panel made it bright, but it wasn't quite the glare experienced in the antechamber. Against an interior wall was a long shelf-like structure with various instruments and equipment neatly arranged. He could barely make out a short little whip – and a birch or bamboo cane -- and what looked like an assortment of needles and pliers and Q-tips and bottles – all of which he imagined might somehow be causing him pain soon. Part of him wanted to get this over with – part of him was scared shitless. Turning his head a little to the right, he could make out the light across the hall where his friend was, although he couldn't quite make out Rich.

"Shh! I'll bet they've got these rooms bugged too! They'll hear whatever we say even if they have to play it back. I'm sure of it." Rich was in precisely Tom's predicament. Room B, even the Velcro-like straps securing him on his back to the table, was identical in every particular.

"I don't care if they hear us. What the heck does it matter at this point? We're screwed!"

"Guess you're right," Rich said. Inexplicably, he started laughing.

"What the fuck is so funny?"

"I've – got – got a hard-on." He burst out laughing again.

"Now you get one!" Tom was getting ready to expound on that point, when the boys heard the adults returning.

"Shit! They're back."

Rich was lying on his back in Room B, quivering in anticipation of what would soon be happening to him. Doctor Thompson was smiling, dressed in his white physician's smock, putting on his plastic gloves. "Just relax, lie back, I'm going to check you out real good. Finish what we started in the other room." Mason was there in the room too, as was Graves and the repulsive Mrs. O'Neill and a security guard – 6'4" 220 pounds – heavy set – mid-30s, bald guy with a crew cut.

"Open your mouth." Rich complied. Doc felt around with his gloved fingers inside the 8th grader's mouth. "I think he's got a cavity – one of his left front teeth – we'll let Mueller drill that one later – he's got some dental experience. I'm sure he'll enjoy that." There was a murmur of agreement.

"No!" Rich thought, and almost said aloud, biting his lip to stop himself. He knew there'd be no Novocain. Someone else entered the room. "Oh, Mr. Briggs, the photographer."

"You guys going to take pictures of me – like this?" Rich said.

"It's required – before, during, and after the procedures," Doc said, "Birthday suit specials."

"I'll just stay long enough to get a series of this guy for Uncle Sam," Briggs said. Rich didn't see the man very well, but he sounded brusque, efficient, like he was very used to taking pictures of naked boys. Rich saw a flash, the whirring of a camera shutter. Once, twice, three times – shots taken from different angles. "Don't mind me," Briggs said.

Rich didn't, mostly because Doc's fingers were palpating the sides of his neck, his shoulders, his arms, then something cold, metal, pressed against the boy's left nipple. The blades of a pair of tweezers squeezed hard. "Yeowh!" he screamed. Several adults laughed. "He's sensitive on his nipples!" remarked Mrs. O'Neill.

"Guess so," said Doc, "I'm going to squeeze your right one now, Richard. Get ready."

"Please d-don't. Nooo!"

"Sorry. Have to." The cruel tweezers closed on the boy's sensitive right nipple. "Owwwh! That hurt so bad."

"Didn't get a good read that time. I'll have to do that one again." Titters broke out in the room.

"No! Yeowh!"

A few minutes later, Rich felt a sharp needle scratching along his ribs on his right side. "Owwh! That hurts too." But Doc ignored him. Soon the needle was scratching the skin along Rich's left rib area, then in several diagonal lines on his bare belly. "Scratch samples are going well on this guy," Doc remarked to the adults present. Doc pinched the boy's skin in several places with a pair of pliers. Chest, belly, sides, pelvic area. "Owwh," Rich screamed for the first time, really screamed, when that attention got to be too much. The door was closed, so Tom heard his friend's screams slightly muffled. "What are they freaking doing to you in there?" Tom yelled. But he got no answer, and was already starting to sweat. Soon it would be his turn.

It was already Rich's turn, and the initial examination for "sensitivity to pain" was progressing down his body. Rich felt the touch of the needle again, this time on his scrotum. The bastard just stabbed him in the left nut! "Yeowh!" Then squeezed him hard there with the gloved fingers! "You bastard!" Rich yelled.

"Shut up little punk! You show respect for the doctor, boy!" Graves said, "I think you should do a second squeeze on his testicle just to teach the little punk a lesson."

"Have to stick him again with the needle first," Thompson replied. This time Rich just whimpered, although tears were running down his face. The squeeze came again, and soon the boy's right testicle got the same treatment. Suddenly it got much worse as Mrs. O'Neill edged in closer to watch the action. Rich felt the cruel needle scratch the underside of his penis, then two scratches, fairly deep, on his sensitive circumcised glans. "Ewwh!" The boy was sobbing, his breath coming in gasping heaves. "I can't believe that the boy is still maintaining an erection," Mrs. O'Neill remarked rather clinically. It quickly got worse. After some alcohol was dabbed on all the scratches, which stung quite a bit, the first Q-tip was soaked generously with alcohol. Like a biting insect finding a home, the cotton swab began circling around the piss-slit on the head of the 8th grader's penis, and then it entered, finally, after several passes. "Oh no! That kills! That kills! Take it out Doc, please!" The alcohol was burning the inside of Rich's urethra, and Thompson twirled the Q-tip around slowly just past the entrance, coating the inside of the cock a little at a time, pushing in deeper, taking it out, but slowly, so that the burning sensation was excruciating, and finally when the Q- tip was embedded to the hilt, more than two inches, he picked up a second Q-tip, soaked it liberally with alcohol. "I have to stretch out his urethra a bit," he said to those present. "How many do you think he'll be able to take?" Mrs. O'Neill asked, fascinated by the physician's technique. "Oh, I think at least three, maybe four," Thompson said. "It burns, it burns!" Rich screamed out. When there were four alcohol-soaked Q-tips lodged entirely inside the 13-year- old's penis, they were just left there for a while as the "sensitivity examination" continued unabated. The needle kept scratching, searching for sensitive places – after the inside of his thighs were scratched appropriately, the pliers were used to pinch the soft fleshy spots on his legs. The tweezers came into play again to pluck out several pubic hairs and surprisingly, sudden actions with the tweezers hurt even worse when Thompson efficiently plucked out several hairs growing out of Rich's big toes. After that, Thompson used the needle on the sensitive soles of Rich's feet, making superficial but painful scratches along his ball and instep and the underside of each toe, remarking "lots of nerve endings on a boy's feet" as everyone quietly assented except Rich, and then he went back up to the boy's penis to finish up the young inmate's front side. Rich grimaced and grunted as Thompson yanked the Q-tips out, one by one, and when they were gone he began inserting something else into the boy's piss-slit, a small-bore sharp-edged flat plastic stirring straw, about two inches long, to get additional urethra scrapings. "Just need a few more samples, son," Thompson kept saying as Rich was in excruciating pain, shaking his head from side to side, sobbing, as the awful man held his penis up with one hand while he used the sharp little straw to scratch and probe with the other. The motions were mostly vertical along the walls of Rich's urethra and very thorough, and these seemed to take forever.

Finally, when that part was over, Mr. Briggs took a few more pictures, and then several pairs of hands came to turn Rich over on his stomach so that the requisite procedures could begin on his back side. Thankfully, before those could commence, the dreadful entourage departed. They were on their way back to Examination Room 'A' where more tender ministrations awaited Tom.

End of Part 9