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From: nialos@yahoo.com
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Subject: {ASSM} Pain Factor Part 3 by Platypus (mmmm/mmmm, mast, oral)
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Date: Mon,  9 May 2005 21:10:04 -0400
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I'm posting this story at the request of and with the permission of the
author, Platypus.  It is an entry in the Spartan Boys Story Festival
and is archived at my site at
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/nialos/www/spartan_boys.html

* * *

Pain Factor Part 3 by Platypus (mmmm/mmmm, mast, oral)
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.
* * * * *

John Lanroche, as the oldest and the lankiest of the four
13-year-old contestants, was also the most pain-ridden.
During the first evening following his initial ordeal, he
remarked about one anatomical part in particular. "It feels
like I shouldn't even think about jerking off," he told
Peter Koch. John and Peter shared one of two King-sized beds
in a hotel-like setting located in a part of the underground
bunker perhaps a quarter-mile from the wooden planked stage.
Peter was naked under the covers while John was wearing
boxer shorts, although the shorts were relatively clean, if
baggy, and therefore white.

"I didn't get that dental pick as bad as you did, nobody
did," Peter commiserated.

"Oh, Andrew got it pretty bad too."

"Not like you."

In their large room, very much like 4-star accommodations,
standard conveniences were present. Besides the beds, there
was a small table, regular phone and reading light console
in-between the beds. It was all part of a semi-suite that
included bathroom and kitchenette, and inside the bathroom
mounted on a door was a very expensive full-length mirror.
Everything was in soft blue tones, nothing harsh to the eye,
with a geographic motif the only eccentricity. World maps
and cartographic charts decorated the walls of both the sky-
blue bedroom and a short hallway leading to the kitchen. The
two boys already in bed had woken from a recuperative nap,
and the other two, Andrew Moriarty and Steven Pimento, were
elsewhere. Their shared King-sized bed was unoccupied for
the moment. "These beds sure are comfortable," John
remarked. "Where'd the other guys go?"

"Downstairs in the computer room," Peter said. "They're
probably still playing."

Just then Andrew and Steven returned laughing and jostling,
in pretty fine mettle considering their ordeal so far.
"Hey," announced Andrew, "We got videos. It's party time!"

Steven just laughed as he read the titles aloud while
offering a bit of commentary. "We got Daisy Does Dallas and
The Adventures of Heather. Actually, they sound quite
educational." That drew giggles from the others, even John,
who wasn't in pain except when he palpated his own organ.

All four teens were up for watching "sexy" videos. Steven
turned on the TV before plopping a vid into the combination
VCR and CD player, and with Andrew following suit, soon
stripped to his white cotton briefs to join his bed-mate
under one of the blue bedspreads and in-between the sheets.
Daisy commenced in soft-core fashion, including a
predictable soundtrack. The boys didn't care much about
nuances. To them, such films remained a novelty.

Within minutes - except for John who had reason not to -
they were fingering their prized possessions, trying to
judge if any soreness remained. The prognosis was
reassuring. Those with active fingers were on their way to a
measurable excitement when the dang phone rang. Andrew
answered. "Hello."

It was Peter's parents. "It's for you!" said Andrew, his
tone slightly desultory, as he handed off to Peter.

Initially Peter was glad to hear from his parents. "How are
you doing Peter?" His mother spoke in languid tones, and
seemed genuinely concerned until Peter started telling her
the straight dope.

"Mom, I didn't think it'd be this bad. I know it's a lot of
money but..."

"It's fifty million dollars, Peter, and you know, we'll
never have a shot at this kind of moo-lah. Your father and I
work our asses off supporting you kids, the three of you,
but as attorneys, doing mostly civil litigation and probate
cases, we can barely afford our house, let alone sending you
all off to private schools. Things are expensive. Most of
our neighbors in Old Rochelle make more money than we do.
You have a great opportunity to change all that   to help
make a wonderful future for all of us!"

"Mom, do you know what we've already had done to us? What
those bastards have done? That crazy doctor, Talmadge the
pervert, he stuck a dental pick, he stuck it up..."

"I know. Your father and I and Beth and Sam watched the
whole show on closed circuit. We have a hookup now because
you're a contestant. You were very brave!"

"So you saw what they did, what that guy did   and even Beth
and Sam watched it. And you still want me to do this?" Peter
was starting to get upset, starting to raise his voice just
a little. "Is the money more important than what happens to
me?"

"I don't know. That's a lot of money. Besides, that other
boy, John, he looked like he got the worst of it. Doesn't
that give you   our family   a bit of an edge? You have to
look at it pragmatically. That's what I tell our clients
sometimes."

Peter's father grabbed the phone. He was getting perturbed
with his son, but also wanted to encourage him. "Listen. Are
you chickening out? I was very proud you were my son out
there on the stage. Maybe even more than your Mom."

"Even more than Mom?"

"Yes."

Peter's eyes were reddening. He never got to impress his
father and wanted to in the worst way. But he sniffled then
so that the sound was audible over the phone line. "Dad.
They can really hurt us. You've given those bastards
permission to hurt me."

"Your mother and I signed the release forms, if that's what
you mean. Yes, they'll hurt you, maybe a lot. But it's all
according to the Pain Factor guidelines. They won't do
anything beyond the guidelines, and until you've recuperated
completely, nothing more will be done to you. Nothing
permanent. Think of it   you'll have a healed up body when
the next round begins, like a clean slate."

"But it hurts Dad. Everything hurts. I still have bruises.
My feet are still a little sore."

"Good, the more intense it is, the better. You're tough and
can tolerate a lot of pain. Ask for more pain   that might
impress the judges. Think of it, you're like a trained
athlete   a pain endurance athlete. I'm really proud of you,
son. One of the other boys is bound to drop out in the next
session, and you have a 25% chance of winning everything.
Think what that will mean to us, to all of us!"

Peter's mother chimed in as the boy sniffled again.
"Remember when you were little and I used to clean out your
little piggies? You used to handle the pain from that pretty
well. Ask to have some kind of pain game performed under
your toenails   I think you'd have an edge in that
department, I really do."

Peter remembered that his mother was kind of sadistic. So
was his father, in a way. He'd never liked it when his Mom
had cleaned dirt from under his toenails. It was no use. He
wasn't getting a whole lot of sympathy. "Can I talk to Beth
and Sam please?"

"Sure, son. I'll give Sam the phone. He's really proud of
his big brother. Sam. Talk to Peter!"

"Hi Pete. What you're doing is really cool. Mom and Dad say
that if you stick it out and win all that money, then
they'll get me some new action games   maybe even Destroyer
or Scream Factory  'cuz we'd all get to celebrate. You also
look really cool naked. I wish I got to go naked." Peter
heard several nervous giggles, as nudity wasn't exactly part
of the Koch family plan. Sam had just turned ten and didn't
think about much else besides computer games during the
summer. He often played extremely violent games, so he might
already be getting a little jaded.

"Hi Peter. It's Beth!" She was eleven and a half, a sixth
grader. "I love the show! Do you think you'll win?" she
asked plaintively.

"I don't know."

"It was interesting when they whipped your feet."

"Interesting? Why did you find it interesting, creepy little
sister?"

Now her feelings were hurt so she showed her true colors.
Never took long. "Boy did you scream! You were bawling just
like a little baby!" If Beth could join a club for junior
sadists, she'd be thrilled. He hated Beth, except she was
his only sister. Now she teased him, trying to antagonize.
Seeing all four nude boys being put through their paces
probably made Beth tingle in her fishy-place. She'd probably
been tingling since yesterday, the little monster.

"For your information, it hurt. It hurt a lot. But I wasn't
bawling."

"Yes you were. I saw you! Heard you too! You were bawling
just like a little baby!"

Peter's mother intervened. "That will be enough, Beth! Quite
enough! I said for you to encourage him." Peter was
realizing for the millionth time just how dysfunctional the
family he'd been born into really was. It wasn't a pleasant
thought.

"I gotta go, " he said, "The guys and me are watching a
movie."

"So, you're not quitting. You're going to be strong?"

"Yes Dad. I won't quit. I'll stick it out as long as I can."

"For your family? Whom you love and care about?"

"Yes Dad."

"My little Spartan. My brave boy. You won't disappoint us?"

"No, Mom. I'll do my best."

"That's all we ask." Those were last words Peter heard
before the line went dead. His father sounded different. He
must've picked up the extension in the Koch family's master
bedroom.

*  *  *

Each of the others   Andrew, Steven, and John   received
similar phone calls over the next few days. All the families
had viewed the first proceedings via closed circuit hookups.
Their reactions to the pain being inflicted on their
"Spartan boys"   the cursed term was coming into vogue not
only within the contestants' families but also within the
network of sadists worldwide   was generally supportive, but
also insistent that the boys continue. The four contestants
had been granted a bit of further reprieve. Craig L. Nelson
visited their quarters the next day to announce, "You can
take all the time you need to heal   up to 10 full days."
During that time it was like a vacation within their summer
vacation   never really boring either. The boys had access
to an Olympic-sized cashew-shaped swimming pool with a
built-in three-tiered diving board, they had a library of
books and also a video library to browse, all the amenities
in their suite, room-service meals culled from an
international menu at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, an
indoor gymnasium with cardio equipment and weights, plus a
basketball court and computer game room. It was like heaven
for boys, Michael Jackson's Neverland excepted. Of course
none of them really wanted it to end, which was
understandable.

*  *  *

The boys were healing, even John. He barely felt sore by the
fourth evening of what they came to euphemistically refer to
as "our playtime, not theirs"   not even in his urethra. He
could jiggle his penis without the slightest twinge of pain.
But as he inserted a Q-tip into his own peehole that
evening, after wetting it first with warm water to see if
any blood or pus came aboard that gentle probe and only a
tiny bit did, he had an idea, a diabolical idea that was
calculated enough for a relatively sweet-natured kid. "I
won't jerk off," he said aloud, "I won't have to." He was
sitting naked on the closed lid of the toilet bowl while a
thick cotton sky-blue bath towel covered it. He never really
dwelt on the homoerotic inclinations of what he was
suggesting to himself. "I'm not gay," he spoke again,
listening with his own ears, "I have a girlfriend. But this
is necessary. I have to know if it still works."

*  *  *

The "test" as John began to call the exercise in his own
mind, a shameless manipulation of his peers, began
innocently enough. Rummaging through the video library where
the porn tapes and CDs were kept, he found several titles he
thought might do the trick. None of them were soft-core.
"Wow," he exclaimed, "this might even be fun." But although
the worldliest of the four contestants, John was far from
corrupted when it came to sex. Heck, he hadn't even passed
through puberty! When all of them began viewing the CDs and
tapes, even he'd be in for a few surprises.

* * *

It was the fifth evening of the ten-day interlude. John
brought the tapes into their bedroom like a Pied Piper
playing his tempting flute. It started off like pure
seduction   man-woman intercourse, man fucks woman anally,
and then the blowjobs began. A blond woman's head bobbed a
lot after that, and Andrew, Steven, and Peter howled. Steven
became the victim of a mispronunciation. He though he'd
heard the male actor call the cocksucking woman "Bobbi"
although he'd probably meant 'Barbie,' short for Barbara.

"Bobbi   Bobbi   what else can he call her? Look at her
fucking head. It's bobbing up and down, up and down!" Steven
was delirious with laughter, in the midst of a giggling fit,
and the others were having fun too, flashing lascivious
grins.

The music was like Ali Baba from the Arabian Nights, and
Andrew started mimicking the melody, "Da-da-da-da-da   Da-
da-da-da-da-da-da!"  It was snake charming music and the
boys' snakes began lengthening and rising like little
cobras.

Another tape went in, this one was a gay tape, man to man,
every sex act known to Man, at first there were protests,
Peter mentioned something about "Faggots!" under his breath,
but soon even his resistance gave way, and he started
stroking himself   his naked three-and-three-quarter-inch
hard-on under the covers.

"Hey, whatcha doing?" John whispered to him, into his ear,
so the others couldn't hear. Finally, a CD commenced
featuring boys of about thirteen or fourteen engaged in sex
play, first a strip tease and then corn holing and then the
blowjobs   although not necessarily in that order. "Fucking
hot!" someone muttered out loud, probably John, but no one
disagreed. In fact, sulky "Yeahs" swiftly joined the first
utterance as the voices of all four contestants became
inflamed with passions as yet unrequited. By now the lights
were out except for the TV's radiating glow and in the
dimness somebody suggested that they mute the sound and John
made his unexpected pronouncement.  "Why don't we suck each
other off like they're doing?"

Dead silence. Finally, after about fifteen seconds, Peter
said, "That's fag stuff. It's queer." More silence ensued.

"I think we'd better get some shut-eye." That was Steven.

Andrew kept quiet and temporarily removed his hand from his
blood-engorged cockhead under his briefs. Soon the TV and
other entertainment faded to black, and the boys' bedroom in
the underground bunker went dark. For a long time, there was
absolute quiet.  But something began happening in the other
bed. "What the heck," Andrew said, and in the dark he pulled
off the covers and pulled down the briefs of his bedmate
Steven. He couldn't see what he was after but felt it soon
enough, and then he went down on Steven's member, licking
around the glans, wetting the tip.

"Yeah," Steven whispered, but kind of loud, "Shit yeah," and
then a moment later holding the back of Andrew's head in a
half-nelson grip near the neck with two hands, "No teeth,
open wider, all the way in," and Steven was in the throes of
passion.

John was quietly tickling Peter's ribs and then went down
deep way down under the covers to suck Peter's toes, "Hey
whatcha doing?" Peter said, and a few minutes later the
lights were on and all four boys were kissing and licking
each other all over like cats licking their wounds except
nothing hurt and tongues felt great over chests and bellies
and cocks and balls and toes and soles of eight thirteen-
year-old feet now bathed in a healing saliva. John received
blowjobs from Steven and Andrew and Peter and gave as he
received, several times. The best part is that he came
twice, spurting with adolescent vigor a decent load of jism
both times, making sure that Andrew and Peter swallowed
every drop of his discharge as it happened with their turns,
and that his ejaculation was white, no blood, and that it
didn't hurt, not one bit.

"Was your little science test successful?" Peter asked a
little later, "Does it still work?" In fact it was early the
next morning, and Peter wanted to try a 69 again.

"I have to take a piss," John said.

"Okay, I don't mind. Do it in my mouth. I'll drink it."

"Okay," John said, "If you insist."

"Ewwh," Steven said, seeing what was going down and just
waking up. But in another moment Andrew was awake too.

* * *

So the boys found another past time over the last few days.
But then came the morning for the next episode of Pain
Factor to commence. Freshly scrubbed and showered, dressed
in their short-sleeved light blue cotton shirts and wearing
Navy blue clip-on ties, matching dark gray itchy dress
pants, and on this occasion dark blue socks and black
leather dress shoes, they headed to the sparkling white and
brightly lit examination rooms of Dr. Talmadge in that
dreaded quadrant of the complex directly beneath the wooden
planked stage. Besides Talmadge, Craig L. Nelson was there
too. Waiting for them.

"Hello boys," he said, a bit too sarcastically for John's
liking, "been having fun?"   

(Part 4 coming soon!)

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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