PZA: For Your Own Good 1-3

Picture it – you're a boy. You're a criminal. Everyone is DONE with you. The IO Rehab Facility owns you now. Your cell mates are various types of eunuchs. You're not. Yet. The guards are former inmates. There's no way out, you're lost inside the complex. All you have to do is be a good boy 3;until you turn 18 and they MIGHT let you out.

Michael sat in his seat on the bus with his head pressed up against the glass, watching the shoulder of the highway and the brown, dead grass flying by in a blur. For him, it was not an uncommon passtime. In all his years of riding the school bus, he had done the same thing. Whenever the bus hit a bump, his head would bang on the glass and his teeth would rattle. No one talked to him then, just as no one was talking to him now. In fact, no one on the bus was talking at all. It was not a happy group; of course, they were not on a happy trip. Michael sighed. The boring shoulder scenery blurred by.

He wasn't looking forward to the end of the journey, though. As uncomfortable as the seat was, or as cold as the bus was, he was in no hurry to disembark once they arrived. He also imagined that no one else was either. Again, he sighed. This was no dumb field trip for school. It wasn't even the same dull ride to his own school. Michael and the others on the bus were all going to a new school, and wouldn't be going home for quite some time. His heart skipped a beat as he felt the driver let off the gas, but they still had some way to go – it was merely a busy intersection and red light. As the bus came to a stop, two men in uniform with weapons stood up, as did two at the back. The stoplight turned green, and Michael bent over to scratch at the manacle that was chaffing his ankle.

He then turned back to his own melancholy thoughts, staring out once more through the tight patterned chicken wire embedded in the glass of the window.

He closed his eyes after the blurring view began to make him nauseous. Thoughts of the fact that it might all be a bad dream kept coming to mind, but he knew better. He had been caught once too often – screwed up one too many times. He had run out of warnings, and his parents had had it with him. At the seasoned old age of 13, Michael was a convicted criminal. "It's not like I murdered anybody," he muttered under his breath, hoping that no one else heard him. He had stolen a few glances around the bus from time to time during the interminable ride, but had been met with only frightening, leering stares in return. Michael couldn't help but wonder – was the heavyset boy in the seat in front of him a rapist? Was the dark Latino boy behind him a murdering gang-banger? The looks inherent in those return stares spoke to him. He was the smallest boy on the bus, sitting alone.

Michael had been brought up in a poor family, and his upbringing had been a bit short on morals and ethics. He also realized that a small built, blond haired, gray eyed boy that hadn't even sprouted that first hair yet was a prime target – especially at an all boys' school. The stares from the other riders confirmed it. While not overburdened with morals, he was very well educated in street life. Those stares were telling him that he was in for a very rough time of it. And they had told him in court that it was all going to be for his own good 3;

It started out as petty thefts, candy from the convenience stores, then moved up to larger items like shoes, clothes, CD's and the like. For a while, Michael had had a pretty good run at it. The first time he had gotten caught, he had been let off with a warning. The second time he had been given probation and a fine as well. The fine had sent his father into a rage, and earned him an extraordinary beating. His mother, as usual, didn't seem to care. Over time, however, Michael's targets went from things he could use, such as shoes and clothes and food, over the line into things that he could sell. His friends, if one could call them that, turned into something little more than the gang of street thieves from a Dickensian novel. There were arrests and a few short stays in juvenile hall, but none of it had amounted to much more than a slap on the wrist. He didn't have any real friends, his parents didn't seem to care, so Michael was pretty much left to his own diversions and survival. Eventually, due to lack of interest on his parents' part, he had been taken into foster care. It was the truck caper that had landed him where he was now – sitting on a cold bus, in chains, on his way to his new school/home: The IO Long-term Rehab Center for Boys. Michael thought back to his probation officer, all of his warnings, and realized just a bit late that Mr. Donovan had been right.

Again, he sighed as the bus took an off-ramp. What the hell did 'IO' mean anyway?

He could still hear Donovan's soft voice, whispering at the table in court, "You've run out of options, Mikey." He HATED to be called Mikey, "You're in for it this time, little man. I've done all I can for you, and I'll be damned if I am going to stick my ass out for your sake again. Heisting that truck damn near cost ME my career, with you being out on MY word and all. You're out of appeals, you're out of time. Don't be surprised if that bitch on the bench up there sends you to 'IO' for this one. Your record stretches back seven years, boy! This is it. I can't help you anymore."

And indeed, he didn't. The Honorable Judge Ketty Garner had read over Michael's record, sighed, and stared at him over the rims of her glasses. "Do you think I'm stupid?" she had asked the boy. He hadn't answered. She had told him that that was a wise choice. Michael could still see her, hear her damning words. "It is the decision of this court that Michael Thomas Baines be taken from his foster home, the third one he's been in, and placed in the custody of the State. He will be taken to the 'IO' center to be schooled and boarded there until the age of 18, when at such time his progress and therapies will be reviewed to see if he is fit to return to society as peaceful, law respecting citizen. At such time, if he is found NOT to be, then he will remain in the 'IO' graduate ward and trained in a suitable career for the State – to make up for his crimes and until his salary pays off what he owes for his rehabilitation. His future beyond that point will be left up to his counselors at 'IO'." And then she had glared at him. He still shivered when remembered that harsh face. "It'll be for your own, good Michael."

Michael had heard rumors about IO. He had talked with his "friends" about it more than once, but what they had all heard was the stuff that urban legends were made of. Rumors of physical torture, mind control, and coming out like a zombie were only the finer points of the discussions. He could feel the bus slowing, and he raised his scruffy looking blonde head to see the fences rolling by. He watched in stunned amazement for a long time. The fences were silver and shiny, and stretched for miles. Behind the first tall fence was a strip of broken glass, glittering in the cold winter sunlight like some small river from a crazy nightmare – as if daring someone to imitate Jesus and to just try and walk across it. Beyond the glass was another fence, topped in curls of razor wire. There was a neatly mowed bit of lawn behind that fence, and behind the lawn was another fence. It had heavy looking insulators at each wooden post and a sign here and there that read "DANGER – HIGH VOLTAGE – DON'T ASK HOW HIGH."

"Punishment that fits the crime, huh?" he thought to himself, "Looks like a federal pen to me. God, all I did was steal a truck."

And then the sign came into view – tall and imposing, its letter painted dark red. Michael noted that there was run in the paint of the "I", and it looked as if the "I" were bleeding. A chill passed through his slight frame as the bus stopped at the front gate. A rather burly looking black man in a gray uniform stepped out from the guard shack to meet the bus. He was carrying a large gun and wore polished black leather boots that shone. His step was confident, almost military. He also wore a headset of some type, and a knit cap of the same shade of gray on his head. He touched the earpiece and nodded, speaking into the mic. Then he approached the bus. The driver handed him a clipboard, and one of the guards at the front of the bus got off. They spoke for a bit, then the bus pulled on in. More of the huge men came out from a building behind a high watchtower. All of them were dressed alike, in perfect uniform and armed to the teeth.

Michael began to get the feeling that this was no prison for little kids. He had visited an uncle in federal lockup once, and this place reminded him of that very well. He realized that he was sweating. He stole a quick glance around him, and the return leer fom the heavyset youth across the aisle made him quickly turn his head back to the line-up of guards. One of them was boarding the bus.

"OK kiddies, listen up," the muscular man shouted, "Welcome to your new home at IO. You will quietly, and in an ORDERLY fashion get off this limo and line up next to it. No talking. No leaning. No rubber-necking. You will face me at all times as I call out your names. When you recognize your own name, you will follow the guard who comes to you into the building just over there." He pointed across the parking lot. "You will listen, but not talk. You will conduct yourselves as gentlemen. Your escort will have you checked in, and then a Staff member will take you from there. Any deviation from this practice will result in swift kicks, hard slaps, and overall beatings. Any questions?"

"And as a side light there, Mr. Goldylocks," the large black guard smiled, "You will all be given haircuts. I am sure you'll all grow to adore them." At that point, the guard touched his headset again and said, "New prisoners disembarking."

The guard moved faster than anyone he had ever seen before, especially for someone so big. He literally flew down the aisle of the bus. He stopped a few seats back from Michael and with one massive arm, lifted the boy who had laughed out of his seat. The boy's chained legs dangled underneath of him as the guard shook him. "What IS so funny, son?" he demanded.

The boy, obviously thinking that this was just another judicial system joke, sneered at the guard. "What? I laughed. So what? It was funny. Whatcha gonna do, kill me for it?" he asked defiantly.

The black man stared at the boy for a moment, then calmly replied, "No, white boy, I am not gonna kill you. You be wishin' I did when I get done, but I won't." And with that remark and one fluid and graceful movement of his shoulder, he brought the butt of his gun straight up into the boy's crotch. There was a terrible thudding sound and a muffled pop, and the guard unceremoniously dropped the gasping and choking boy to the floor of the bus. He promptly curled up into a ball and continued to gasp and sob.

"Now THAT be funny," the guard announced, "And all sighs and groans of compassion are hereby excused." His grammar seemed to swing from perfect English to street talk at the drop of a hat. Michael watched him, watched his bulk move smoothly, and thought of his own scrawny frame.

They all disembarked slowly and lined up as told. No one wanted a repeat performance of the lead guard's neat nut cracking trick. Two of the other guards carried the boy, who had passed out, off of the bus and into a side building. The ankle chains made it a bit hard for them all to walk, and Michael had to take very small steps. The guards didn't seem to mind. When his name was called, Michael stepped forward, with his head down, and followed the guard who gestured to him. The man was also black, as most of the perimeter guards seem to be. He was also built, Michael thought, like a brick wall. His slow pace didn't seem to bother the guard, who followed along beside him patiently. "What'd YOU do, Golden boy?" the guard asked, tousseling Michaels unruly hair. Michael didn't answer.

"You have my permission, little boy," the mountain of a man replied in a rumbling baritone that spoke volumes.

"Stole a truck with my friends. Wrecked it. Hit a car. Hurt some lady real bad." Michael was amazed at how fast it came out. He also found himself thinking that since the lady had NOT been killed, that he didn't deserve this kind of treatment. The guard laughed.

The guard nodded and laid a large, calloused hand on the boy's shoulder. Michael flinched, but kept walking.

Michael kept his head down and shrugged. His escort opened the door when they came to it, and pushed the boy through it. "Welcome to IO, Golden boy. Enjoy your stay. I'm sure somebody is gonna enjoy it!" And with that, he slammed the door. Michael heard the lock tumblers roll over, and the lights went dim.

"MICHAEL BAINES?" a voice called out in the dim light, "Proceed down the hall and turn left at the first open door. Do not look around, just go in and sit and wait." He did just that. The room was the only one open and lit. There was a small chair in the center of the room, and another closed door. The first door had an automated closer, and it closed behind the frightened boy and locked. "REMOVE YOUR CLOTHES AND SIT IN THE CHAIR," the disembodied voice ordered. Michael popped the snaps of his breakaway pants up the legs and removed them. He pulled his T-shirt off and kicked off his shoes. He then pulled his socks off and sat. The room was chilly. "EVERYTHING," the voice ordered.

Michael looked around, and hesitated. Slowly, he pulled off his briefs and sat, naked and humiliated, in the chair. He waited, staring at the short-chained manacles that bound his legs. And he waited.

The room was only about nine feet by nine feet [2.7 x 2.7 m] , and the walls were plain and gray. The floor and ceiling matched, with only the lines of the doorframes and the flat ceiling light for differences. There were no sounds, no drafts, but the room seemed to be getting colder. Michael put his hands over his small, undeveloped genitals and pulled his legs up under him. He flinched as the cold metal of the chain touched his skin, and he could feel his balls pulling up, seeking warmth. He waited. At some point, frightened and shivering, he fell asleep.

When he awoke, it was to a real voice that came from right behind him. Startled, he fell out his chair and landed in a heap on the plain, hard floor. The voice belonged to a man of average size, white, with a flattop haircut and wearing a set of green medical scrubs. He looked at his watch, then at his clipboard, and then at Michael. The boy, embarrassed at being frightened and at being seen naked, blushed to this hairline. The stranger paused and looked down at him. "Well, aren't you a scrawny one?" he asked.

Michael stared back, then remembering the insolent boy on the bus, looked away. The stranger laughed, and bent down to offer his hand. Michael got up slowly and clasped his hands behind his back, refusing to meet the stranger's gaze. "Come now, Michael – it says here – I'm not going to hurt you. Well, at least not yet until we examine you and the shots are going to hurt, but, in the meantime, if you'll follow me, please."

And with that, the stranger in the scrubs turned and opened the opposite door. He waited. Michael, still embarrassed, made his way slowly to the door and stepped through into a room that was much warmer and well lit. It looked like an ordinary doctor's office, complete with toilet facilities and a shower, all out in plain sight. Michael wondered at the lack of guard, after the ordeal on the bus. This man wasn't half as big as the guards had all been. He wondered if the other boys were in similar circumstances, and how the boy with the busted balls was doing. He was too afraid to ask, however.

"All right, my reticent young friend, let me inform you of some things before we start. My name is Ned. I am a physician's assistant, very nearly a real doctor, and I'll be examining and prepping you for your stay here. As you know by now, you are a ward of the State. For all practical purposes, IO owns you. I don't know what you've heard on the outside, but it's probably all true – maybe even worse. But for now, we're going to take off those manacles and you are going to take a shower."

Michael didn't move. Ned sighed and unlocked the chains, tossed them aside, and pushed the boy into the shower area. "Wash thoroughly, please. My, you ARE puny, aren't you?" he observed, making a few notes.

Michael continued to scrub himself, soaking up the hot water and steam. He slowly began to relax. He had his eyes closed washing his hair when he felt a sting in his butt.

He heard Ned laugh as the soap stung his eyes. The PA, as his scrubs indicated, was standing just out of the reach of the water spray and holding a spent needle. "You were overdue for a tetanus booster, it says here," he said urbanely.

Michael grunted and continued to wash his hair. He also realized that he was under threat of a haircut and that he also had to pee very badly. As if sensing this fact, or perhaps it was from experience, Ned threw him a towel and a cup. "Pee in the cup, you know the drill, finish your business in the drain hole. Dry off and hop up on the table. Oh, please," Ned continued in a lilting and pained voice, "I'm a doctor, or will be, and it's a routine exam, for Christs's sake. The horrific tortures don't start until much later and then only IF you're a bad boy. I HAVE to examine you and this is no time for modesty."

The boy sighed and did as he was told. Ned took his vitals, made notes, poked and felt here and there, checked for hernias, etc. Just as he had said, it was a routine exam. Michael began to relax a bit as Ned scribbled notes. He murmured to himself, "Boy seems to be a mute as well."

"I am not," Michael blurted without thinking, immediately looking around and tensing up in fear of reprisal.

"My God, it speaks," Ned observed. "Mikey, you can talk to me. You're going to be seeing a lot of me, and you have to talk in your classes and to your counselors. The front gate thing is different, chance of escape and all. The guards love to scare the new boys and rough them up a bit, but they haven't killed anyone yet, nor cut his tongue out, you know."

Ned nodded. "Yep. Had to castrate the poor kid a few hours ago. That's why I was late getting to you, sorry. Busted both of them, bloody mess. I hate castrations," he stated with a strange look on his face. He glanced at Michael, who had begun to get hard at the word 'castration.' Ned grinned. Michael blushed again. He then realized that he had been totally naked in front of this fellow, and Doctor or not, it bothered him.

Ned nodded. "Not the first, won't be the last. There wasn't much choice though, and really in the end it will be for his own good. Simple, routine procedure actually."

"No, Mikey, we're not. In fact, we're just getting started. This is the part you aren't going to like, I'm afraid," Ned replied in that same soft, flowing voice. He also scribbled some more notes. He then rolled his chair over to the desk area, and pulled out a small wristband of some type with coded data all over it. There was even a large UPC-type code on it, for scanning Michael assumed. "Hold out your arm," he said. Michael did that. The ID bracelet snapped onto his wrist, and fit snuggly. He couldn't make sense of what it said, all except for the letters 'MICHAELB_E-t-13pp'. The rest looked like gibberish. The bracelet felt heavy, and it was cold. It was obviously made out of metal inside and sealed over in some sort of clear shell.

"I'll explain it later, Mikey. Right now, we have to tend to the more unpleasant parts of your exam. Have you even had a rectal temp or exam, or an enema?"

Ned nodded back. "Yes, Mikey, we do. IO procedure. Everything checked. For what it's worth, I'm sorry. But, it's nothing we all haven't had done before. Now, roll over on your stomach," Ned ordered, putting on a pair of rubber gloves.

The thermometer, Michael thought, wasn't too bad. It felt cold and strange going in, but it didn't hurt. He was advised that his temperature was 97.3 degrees [36.3°C]. He agreed that it was cold. Ned turned the heat up. When he came back, he picked up a tube of lubricant and spread it over two of the fingers of his gloved left hand. Michael watched him, unsure of what to expect. Ned seemed to notice it.

"What I am going to do next is, well, to be blunt, I am going to stick a finger up your ass and check out what's in there. It won't feel too good, but it won't hurt, so to speak, but it WILL be uncomfortable. If it does hurt HURT, like really sharp pain, then let me know. That's a sign something's wrong. All right?"

Michael tried, and failed. He gasped as Ned inserted a finger, and began to move it around. As he had said, it didn't hurt like a cut or a hit would, but it definitely didn't feel good. Michael groaned. "Just a bit more," Ned offered, almost there. Everything feels normal, nothing missing, no blood, that's good 3;" and then his finger hit the boy's prostate. He paused. He moved it around a bit and pressed.

The boy closed his eyes tightly, not understanding thesudden surge of pleasure he felt. He felt his penis getting hard, and didn't understand why. Of course he knew what an ass-fuck was, but he'd never had it done before. He'd also never understood why anyone would want one. Until then. Whatever Ned was touching felt good, in a strange way. And whatever it was, Ned seemed to be paying a great deal of attention to it.

"No," Michael whined softly, afraid to answer truthfully, and still not understanding.

"Liar," Ned replied, pulling out his finger. The sensation stopped, fading off slowly. "Well, feels normal to me. Fortunately for you, you only have to endure that every six months." And with that, he pulled his gloves off and began assaulting his computer. After a few minutes, as Michael watched him enter this and that at amazing speed, the computer beeped and shot out a print. Ned read over it and smiled. "Congratulations, Mikey, other than being a bit undernourished – which I'm sure you blood test will confirm – you're in perfect health. A bit small, but healthy. Have to make sure you get some extra vitamins and some HGH I think."

"Human growth hormone, perfectly safe. You just need a kick in the butt, so to say, I think. Speaking of which, head on over to the shower again. I hate to do this, but exam procedure says you have to be clean inside AND out before we proceed."

Michael sighed and got up and did as he was told. Ned seemed nice enough, and very professional, but he still remembered the guards, the bus, and the leering looks he had gotten. After the exam, however, he wasn't quite as scared as he had been of what might happen. That in itself scared him more, though. He had somewhat enjoyed what Ned had done to him, and he didn't understand why. As far as he knew, taking something up the ass and liking it made you gay, and he didn't want to be gay. Or at least he didn't think he did.

When he reached the shower area again, Ned told him to pull on the two black handles that were sticking out of the wall below the towel rack. He did that, and a waist level padded bench slid out from a slot in the wall. The legs folded down and it looked sturdy enough. "Lie down on your back and relax," Ned told him, rummaging through a cabinet. He did that. The bench was padded and quite comfortable. The heat was also rising, and felt better than he had since he had boarded the cold bus. He watched as Ned rooted around in the cabinet. Eventually he produced a bottle of something white, a box of salt, and two bright red rubber bags. He also had a length of plastic tubing.

"Make yourself useful and pull UP on the knob at the foot of the bench," Ned asked.

Michael sat up and did as he was told. The knob extended, in segments, into a metal pole that rose up about three feet [90 cm] above the bench. There was a small notch in the pole as well near the top. "You know what we're going to do?" Ned asked. The boy nodded.

"You fill the bag full of hot soapy water and stick the tube up my butt. The water goes in me and makes me go," the boy replied.

"Right you are. As before, it isn't really painful. A few cramps maybe, but nothing too severe. You know this is going to take a while, right?"

The boy nodded and lay back down on the padded bench with a sigh. He wasn't looking forward to it, but he also remembered the prostate check. He didn't know what to expect. Ned had put on fresh gloves and had filled both bags with water. To one he added soap, to the other he added salt. He attached the tubing and hung the bag with the soap up on the pole. Then he carefully lubricated the nozzle, which Michael thought to be a bit large, and the boy's anus as well. He let a bit of water out of the tube, then clamped it shut again. "Roll over onto your left side," he said. Michael obeyed, and felt the nozzle being pushed against, and then into him. It didn't hurt as he'd expected. It felt slick and warm. Gently, Ned continued to insert it until it felt like it had fit into place. He then clicked the clamp open. "Here is comes," he said.

Michael was not ready for the sensation of being filled with warm water. At first it just felt like water, but then he felt like he had to go badly. He held it. "Good, hold it in," Ned said, pushing the tubing in a bit farther. Michael felt like he was blowing up like a balloon. He looked up and saw the bag flattening at the top. The warm, soapy water was filling him, and he found that it wasn't too unpleasant. He closed his eyes and tried his best to hold it. He didn't want it to last too long, though. "Almost halfway there," he hear Ned say. THAT got his attention.

Ned laughed. "Yes, Mikey, halfway. That's a two-quart [1.9 liter] bag. And when it's all inside of you, you have to hold it for as long as you can. Then you can go, IF you make it for at least five minutes." The bag continued to flatten out. "Then," Ned continued, "you get a salt water rinse. Then another, then another. Until you're clean. This could have to be done up to five or six times, since it's your first." The bag was almost empty, and the first cramp hit him. Michael cried out and began to double up, but Ned pushed him back down and began to massage his distended stomach. The cramp subsided. "Just a bit longer," he said, pulling out the nozzle.

Michael just made it to the commode before he lost it. The cramps had hit again. But the relief he felt was wonderful. Then he thought of going through it again, five or six times as Ned had said. He sighed, explosively.

As he had promised, Ned repeated the procedure over and over. Each time, it became easier. Michael also found that it wasn't totally unpleasant. The sensation of that nozzle against his prostate and the warm water actually felt good. Finally, after his sixth salt-water fill, Ned pronounced the procedure done. Michael was made to shower again while Ned spoke to someone on the phone. He couldn't hear what Ned was saying over the sound of the running water, though. When he was done and dried off, Ned looked him over. "Puny," he muttered, "All right, let's go. Follow me. No chains this time."

"Uh, where we goin'?" Michael asked nervously, looking down at his small naked form.

"Out where we came in and across the hall to get you some clothes. Don't worry, no one will see you. Everyone else is probably busy undergoing the same thing you are, more or less," Ned replied. Michael wondered where the laughing boy who had gotten his balls busted was, but he assumed the boy was in the infirmary out cold. He didn't mention it though. The thought of having his balls cut off as well was still fresh in his mind. Ned was still talking as they exited the exam room and the waiting area. They crossed the hall and entered another room, somewhat larger than the first.

This room was also gray all around, but it had cabinet doors in one wall and a small bench. It also had a counter and a comptuer terminal. Ned motioned the naked boy to have a seat, and began rummaging through a cabinet. He produced a white T-shirt, a pair of ankle length white socks, and a white sweatsuit. The sweatshirt was hooded, with no string, and had a red IO emblem on the back. It also said "Mikey" in red letters over the left breast. Michael cringed. Ned handed him the clothing, piece by piece, scanning a UPC code not unlike the one on his bracelet. Then Ned scanned the bracelet. Michael dressed and sat back down, feeling much better to be clothed again.

"Welcome to IO, MICHAELB_E-t-13pp'," a mechanical sounding voice said, once the bracelet was scanned. "Please proceed to the door in this room marked G1 and wait there."

Michael looked around and at the door. Then he looked at Ned and shook his head.

Ned led him through the door marked G-1, pushing just a bit. "What about shoes?" Michael asked, "and underwear?"

"You don't need either one, Mikey. Especially not shoes. You won't be going outside for a very long time."

Ned laughed. "You get a haircut, taken to your room, meet your roommates, AND, after what you've been through all day, you'll probably want to go to bed and sleep. Right?"

The boy nodded, still apprehensive as Ned sat him in the only chair in the room. It looked like a barber chair, but not quite.

"When do I see you again?" Michael asked quietly, trying to get comfortable in the strange chair.

Ned laughed, and somehow, that laugh made Michael feel better. "Every week, like clockwork, Mikey. It won't be as intense as it was today, but you get checked over and out every week. We record your stats and make observations, recommendations, etc. Every to keep you healthy and as happy as you can be in here. It's all for your own good you know." And with that, Ned exitted the room. Michael heard the lock tumblers click over.

Michael awoke with a start to find himself still in the chair. The room was warm enough, and wearing a sweatsuit helped. He looked around, saw no one else, and then suddenly realized that he couldn't get up. There was something holding him down to the chair. He glanced down to see padded restraints over his wrists and ankles, and a padded, thick strap at his waist. He could also feel a padded collar around his neck. He struggled a bit, but found that he was not going to get loose. "Idiot," he muttered to himself, feeling betrayed by Ned. He was also still grappling with the new feelings that Ned's exam had caused him. "This is nuts," he muttered, "It's not like I killed anyone."

"NO, but you've been a bad boy, haven't you Michael?" the automated voice said from everywhere. The boy flinched in his restraints. He also noted that he had a dull pain behind his eyes, like a headache coming on. "If you weren't a social misfit, and a danger to yourself and others, you wouldn't be here at IO, now, would you?"

Michael felt a sudden surge of defiance welling up within him. Since his arrival, he had been chained, terrorized, poked, prodded and violated in ways that he hadn't even imagined. He was alone, frightened, and helpless. The seeming injustice of it all made it suddenly explode. He began screaming and struggling, desperately trying to get out of the chair. He cursed and cried until his throat was hoarse. All the time, the pain behind his eyes grew worse. But the voice continued. "We'll cure you OR kill you, one or the other, Michael. You're going to be here for at least five years. You can't get out. You don't know where you are. You don't even know what time of day it is. It would be in your best interest to be a good boy and just do as you are told, follow the rules, and hope to graduate from IO as a fully rehabilitated member of society. Won't that be nice?"

He continued to struggle. There HAD to be a way out, there HAD to be. "LET ME UP!" he choked, tears streaming down his face. The pain in his head was growing worse. Finally, his vision began to blur. "Make it stop," he whimpered.

Michael breathed an explosive sigh of relief as the pain suddenly ceased to exist.

"Pain is only one of the many ways to make you submit, Michael. You don't want to see the rest, now do you?"

Despite his collar, Michael shook his head. The voice could obviously 'see' as well as hear him. "Good boy," it replied. Then the opposite door opened.

The man that entered was portly, to say the least. More likely, he was as round as he was tall. He was bald, and wore glasses. He smiled at Michael and opened a small drawer in the recessed cabinet that the boy had overlooked. "Are you quite finished now?" he asked. Obviously he had heard it all.

"Yes sir," the boy whispered, half-afraid of what was going to be done to him next. He found that he couldn't take his mind off of the exam, and the boy whom he had told had been castrated. The boy who had laughed at him on the bus. He also realized that he had to urinate – badly.

"You're pale, Michael," the rotund gentleman said, "Relax." Everyone was telling him to relax. He couldn't do it.

"W-what are y-y-YOU gonna do to m-m-m-me?" the boy stammered, trying to sink back into the increasingly comfortable chair.

"My, ULF worked fast on you didn't it, son? Most boys are still struggling when it comes time for the initiative haircut." Michael then noticed that the man was holding only a set of rechargeable hair shears. He also noted that they didn't have a depth guide attached to them. "Haircuts don't hurt, boy," the man said.

He watched the man approach him with the clippers. "I'm sorry!" he blurted. The portly man smiled. "No offense taken," he replied, reaching back to get a cape from the drawer. He threw it over Michael's restrained body and smoothed it out.

And with that, he ran a thick-fingered hand through Michael's mass of dense, unruly blonde hair. "Wow, this is going to take a while, boy. How long's it been?" he asked, switching the clippers on. The buzzing sent a chill through Michael.

"Dunno," Michael replied as the clippers made their first pass. He could feel the bare metal blades on his scalp, and watched as clump after clump of his hair fell into his lap. He had never had a buzzcut before, but he had seen boys who had. He had felt the scalp of one boy he used to steal with, when he had had it shaved. The smooth and warm feel of the other boy's scalp he still remembered, and he was embarrassed and confused to feel himself getting erect again. That was becoming a problem. Still, the barber continued to mow his hair off, right down to the skin. "Please hurry," he suggested.

The barber paused, switching off the clippers. "Why?" he asked in a voice that was not unpleasant. His voice sounded a bit like Ned's had.

Flushing, Michael looked away. He still had long fringes at the sides of his head. "I have to GO, sir, BAD!" The barber laughed. He switched the clippers back on and quickly finished. He then put down the shears and hit a level at the base of the chair with his foot. The restraints all released, and Michael jumped up quickly, only to realize that he had no where to go. He held himself helplessly. The barber laughed.

"Sorry for the restraints, son, some boys flip out over the haircut. Nice 00000 job if I do say so myself. Follow me."

They exitted the opposited door through which the barber had come and started down another long hallway which seemed to slope down. When they reached the first door on Michael's right, he saw that it said BOYS. He rushed in. The barber laughed. "By the way you held it, you must still have one down there," he murmured to himself, his grin broad. Behind him, across the narrow hallway, was another door that Michael had not seen. It was labelled OTHERS.

He peed for what felt like forever. Then he turned and saw his reflection in the mirror. Michael stood with jaw hanging and ran a hand tentatively over his shaven scalp. The stubble, what he could feel of it, was very slight. He felt his eyes tear up again. "No," he said to himself, "no more crying. They like that. No more." He stared at his reflection for a long time. His head was, however, pleasantly round. He had the head for the bald look at least. He washed his hands, dried them with the electric blower, and returned to the hall. He certainly didn't want anyone looking for him. When he arrived, he saw the barber coming out of the door across the hallway. "Ready?" the fat man asked.

"Time for you to meet your floor attendant, or super, and your new roomies in dorms."

For some reason, that sent a chill through Michael, but he said nothing. He simply follwed the man who had shaved his head, and thoroughly humiliated him, down the sloping hallway until they reached the end. There were doors up and down both sides of this hallway, and an increasing number of pipes hanging from the ceiling. The light grew dimmer, and Michael was reminded of a scene from a low budget slasher flick. They stopped at the apparent of the hall in front of two sliding double doors. It was an elevator. The doors popped open with no customary 'ding', nor were there any buttons, inside or out. The rotund barber pushed Michael in, rather hard, and the slight boy fell to the floor as the doors slid shut.

He waited. After a few moments and a brief search that turned up not even an emergency hatch, Michael heard the auto-voice, as he had begun to call it. "DESTINATION, MICHAELB?" it asked. Somehow it knew him. He didn't know what to do or say. Then he felt the bracelet on his wrist. "VERIFY," the auto-voice said calmly. He jumped as a hidden panel opened to reveal a small laser-scanning device. Nervously, he let it look over his bracelet. "DESTINATION, MICHAELB_E-t-13pp?" it asked again. Michael looked at the device, his bracelet, and the sealed doors. At least the thing wasn't moving yet, but there was no apparent way out. He waited for a few moments, until the auto-voice responded with "3 SECONDS TO ULF THERAPY."

"The barber said I was going to my new dorm room," he cried, pressing himself into a corner and beginning to shiver. The last time he had word "ULF" he had been subjected to the intense headache. He didn't care to repeat it.

The elevator began to move, quickly. He felt his stomach lurch, and assumed that he was going down – rapidly. Then the descent slowed. He almost fell as the cab jerked sideways, several times and plunged again. Then it stopped. The doors popped open and the boy tentatively stuck his shaven head out to peer around the corner. He was seriously thinking of getting back in when a large black hand siezed him around the neck and pulled him the rest of the way out into the hallway. "The hell happened to yo' nice shaggy blonde doo, there Golden Boy?" a rough voice asked.

It was the same guard who had brought him in. His grin was broad, and he ran that large hand over Michael's shaven scalp with some gusto. "Now you just c'mon wit me here, son, and we'll get you fixed up at the desk and you can meet your new roomies. I wouldn't call 'em friends – yet – but you gotta be checked in. Don't want a headache do ya?" He then put his huge arm about the boy's narrow shoulders and half dragged, half threw him towards a desk where sat another scanning device. Fearing what might happen if he stalled, Michael immediately let the machine read his ID bracelet. "WELCOME TO DORM neg23," the auto-voice said, "REGISTERING MICHAELB_E-t-13pp." Then a green light came on next to the scanner.

Michael decided that he did NOT like this man. Not in the least. He led the boy down the hallway, which was very well lit and had several plain white doors marked by a single letter. At the end of the hallway was a door that said, simply, 'B'. The guard opened the door, which seemed to click and unlock at the touch of his hand, and invited Michael to enter first. Warily, he stepped in.

The first thing he noticed was soft carpetting under his socks, since they had not given him shoes. The room was done in white, and there were no windows. The walls and ceiling were solid white, as was the rug. There were four beds, twin sized, two on each side of the room. Three of them were occupied. Next to each bed was a small nightstand, and on the far end of the room was a doorway that led to the bathroom. It was also white, and had no door. It looked like a public bathroom, from what part of it Michael could see. The only break in the white décor was the mirrored globe in the ceiling, which he assumed contained a camera. In each occupied bed was a boy. All three of them looked up as Michael entered, their eyes widening as the large black guard followed him in. "Meet yo' new roomie, kiddies," he bellowed, "This is Mikey. Be nice. He just arrived too-day!"

The three boys looked up in unison, each one lowering the book he was reading to wave a brief to Michael. Then they all went back to what they were doing. The first boy, and closest to the door was black, although not as black as the guard. Michael guessed him to be fourteen or fifteen. His eyes were jet black as well. Having had somewhat of a racist upbringing, Michael's preset notions of others defined the boy as what the rap stars referred to in their albums, affectionately among themselves, as "Niggaz." The boy looked to be the oldest and largest. His all white attired accentuated his dark skin even more, and his hood was pulled up. Michael guessed that his head was smooth razor shaven. He later found he was right. The boy in the bed opposite was white. Very white.

He also wore the seeming white uniform, and seemed to be struggling with whatever he was reading, taking notes with a small tray over his lap for support of his pad. He looked like every hoodlum Michael had ever hung out with. His hair was dark, and buzzed closely, perhaps ¼" [6 mm], but not shaven. The bed next to him was empty. Michael assumed that that one was his.

Next to the black boy was a boy who appeared to be of slight Asian descent. His black hair was cut in a short flat top style, with the center strip shaved out. His eyes were slanted and very green. His face had a very pale yellow cast to it, and he read whatever he was studying intently. He was the only one to give Michael a second look, and he smiled. He then winced as he turned his gaze back to his book, a hand going to his temple and rubbing at it. That was it for the room.

Michael looked up at the guard, who in turn gestured towards the bed. "OK, kiddies, bedtime in 5. Strip off, laundry in the hall, then goodnight!" Michael, who had been sleeping off and on since his arrival, didn't feel at all tired. He nonetheless obeyed and went to his bed and sat. He watched as each of the three boys pulled his hooded shirt off and then stood up. Each in turn pulled his white sweatpants off, and none of them – just as Michael didn't – had underwear. Each then pulled his socks off and gathered it all up. In turn, they stepped to the door and tossed their garments, embroidered with their names, into the hall in a heap. "You too, Mr. Goldy-buzz," Michael heard the guard bellow, "Mr. Ames be in in just a few to tuck you in." He was afraid to find out who Ames was, by this time. Obviously modesty was NOT in high priority in his new home. Or perhaps it was to further humiliate them. Michael opted for this reason. Afraid of some punishment, however, he pulled his clothing off as well and walked, naked, to the door. The guard laughed and rubbed his head again. "You soooooo puny," he said, laughing. Michael felt his face flush. He was totally unprepared for what happened next, though.

Each of the other boys, all naked by this time, had turned to go back into the room. As they walked by him, out of instinct, Michael's eyes went to the crotch of each one of them. He gasped. The first to turn was the pale white boy, and Michael thought that he was missing his balls, but he glanced away only to find his gaze on the Asian boy. His heart began to pound.

There was no doubt of it – between the Asian boy's legs, there was nothing. No dick, no balls, nothing! Michael shook his head. He looked again, and the Asian eunuch looked away from him. The black boy was still in the hall, talking with the guard in a fast chat that Michael recognized from the streets. He started back for his own bed, but before he was halfway there, he heard, "Hey, full-boy!" Michael froze. "Yea, buzz boy, you wit' all yo' parts down there still THERE! You dint give ME no look yet!" It was the black boy, and his voice was deep, fully changed. It was commanding, and carried a threat. Michael slowly turned. His white and Asian roomies had already gotten into bed and were watching him. He felt suddenly very self-conscious, standing there with his nudity in full view. His gaze met the black boy's, but instead of finding the look that told him to fight or run, as he was used to, he saw general humor. He blinked. Standing before him was a very well-muscled boy with dark skin. His shoulders were well defined, and he held his head shiny bald head high. His eyes and teeth literally glowed, and his smiled was even warm, not malicious. Michael let his eyes wander down the boy's sparsely hairy chest, past his flat and hard-looking stomach to his groin. There was hair there, tight, black and curly. His balls were large and hung down a ways, his scrotum warm and loose. He looked every inch a well-made young man, except for one thing: he had no penis.

Michael stared. His momentary flicker of jealously over the boy's nice body went out. All he could do was stare. The other two boys said nothing, but the black boy broke the awkward silence. "You getting' hard, newbie," he laughed. Michael looked down at his own embarrassingly small penis and saw that he was right. He then looked back at the black boy. "Name's Sam," he began, "pale one 'der is Joey and the Jap's Cheng."

Joey snorted, a suppressed laugh. Sam was grinning broadly. "Samuel L. Prescott III, pistol whipper and former gang-banger and future IO staff member Guard, at your service," he stated with that same smile, holding out his hand for Michael to shake. Michael did that, and Sam's grip felt crushing. He couldn't pull his eyes away from the black boy's groin area, however. He also desperately wished that Sam would release his hand.

"Let him go 'fo he creams on the rug," the guard advised, laughing from the doorway.

"You gonn' do dat?" Sam asked. Michael vigorously shook his head, his eyes wide and his heart pounding. His throat was dry. "N-no," he squeaked.

They all laughed. "Voice ain't broke," the pale boy murmured, in a voice that was also unbroken. "Bald as a baby," Cheng piped up. Sam released Michael's hand, and rubbed it with his other. "Nice grip," he choked.

Sam's eyes sparkled with delight. "Just remember who run da room, BOY," he stressed, "While you STILL a boy, dat is."

Then Michael remembered what Ned had said during his exam. "'I hate castrations.'"

He couldn't help but look again. Sams' dark skin was paler where his penis should have been, and there was a thin pale line running down his scrotum. There was no hole either, only smoothed over skin. His hair looked trim, and his large balls looked very out of place with no dick above them. Sam was still smiling as Michael looked up. "I also be in h'yeer for rape, too, and boy, if I had still had a dick, it'd be up yo' ass right NOW!"

Michael shuddered and took a step back, unsure of what to do. He sat down heavily on his bed, all eyes on him. Then they all laughed again. "It WAS fo' yo' own good, you know, Sam," the guard said.

A momentary look of regret passed over Sam's face as he leered at Michael. "Yea, I know. I'm glad I had 'em cut it off. Got me in trouble a lot," he admitted.

Then something clicked over his mind. 'Future IO staff member', he thought to himself, 'that's what he said. He's black. He's built. He seems friends with the guard 3;' and with that Michael came to a conclusion that all of the black guards he had seen and met were former IO inmates, now employees, and he was certain that none of them had a penis. Balls, yes, and lots of hormones running through them from their unused and unrelieved balls, but no penis. The reality of it hit him hard. His own small penis stiffened, and felt their gazes upon him. No jacking off. No sex. No peeing while standing; in fact, how did Sam pee? Michael found that he wanted to know. He was deep in this thought, his brow creased, when a new voice spoke.

Michael jerked his eyes up to see for the first time, the man who was going to be running his life for the next five long years.

Chapter 2

Mr. Ames was a very tall, very muscular looking man. His auburn hair was cut in a short brush style, and his hazel eyes were penetrating. He looked to Michael like someone who had at one time played professional football. He also wore a look on his chiselled face that appeared as if it would tolerate no foolishness. He carried a small briefcase in one hand and rested the other on his hip. He looked the room over, top to bottom. He looked the boys up and down, nodding. His gaze settled on Michael. The boy shiverred. Ames cleared his throat, loudly. They all stared down at their bare feet.

"Good. Next time sound off like you've got a pair, while you still DO have a pair, that is. And step forward."

Michael did that. He took one small, nervous step forward. His gaze didn't leave his bare feet on the bright white rug. It felt so soft. Suddenly he saw Ames' polished black loafers right at the end of his toes. He jerked his head up and gasped. "I'm sorry," he croaked, suddenly frightened to the point of trembling. He also had no idea why. He really didn't think he'd behaved badly since his arrival. He also still thought that he didn't deserve to be there. Yet he was afraid. Very afraid.

He watched, as Ames looked him over. He took the small boy's chin in his huge hand and lifted Michael's head to stare into his eyes. Then he impulsively rubbed his shaven scalp. "Nice haircut, Mikey," he commented, "My aren't WE a puny one? Is Ned going to fix that?"

"He said he could, sir," Michael replied, wishing everyone would stop reminding him of how small and fragile he was. He also couldn't take his eyes off of that hard face. There was something about it that held his gaze. He felt his eyes drifting, and Ames went out of focus. He was suddenly very tired. He felt his knees twitch and weaken.

"Yea, y-yes, sirrr," Michael's voice slurred, sounding like someone else was saying it.

What a great idea! He felt as if he had been up for days, although he wasn't sure. He knew he had fallen asleep twice while waiting, but he was unsure in the artificially lit dorm of what time it was. There were no clocks.

Michael's eyes were heavy as Ames gently pushed him backwards. He felt his bare butt come into contact with the bed, which was warm. "I guess sleeping for 12 hours so close together, two times, wore you out," he commented. Through the fog that was filling his mind, the boy listened to this man who was literally in control of his life now. "I-I-I thought I j-jus-s-t got here?" he asked, mumbling, his lips feeling numb. He realized that Ames' hands were on his bare skin, moving him. He was pulling back the blanket and tucking him in. He positioned the boy's shaven head on the pillow. It was so soft. Michael heard a soft beep sound, and eyes fell shut.

"You slept for 12 hours in the waiting room and for 12 hours in the barber chair, boy," he heard Ames say. You've been here a whole day. It's bedtime again."

"Rest, Mikey. You'll grow to like it here. Trust me, I'm your friend. We won't hurt you unless YOU make us hurt you."

Michael sighed and drifted off. Somewhere in IO's mainframe, a data stream loaded up and began to course through the transmitter in Michael's pillow.

Ames pulled his hand from the back of Michael's stubbly scalp. He turned to the three eunuchs who stood, watching him. "Bedtime, kids," he stated softly, as if afraid he would wake Michael. "Goodnight, sir," they all said in unison, and climbed into bed. Ames walked to each one and laid a large hand on their foreheads. Cheng whimpered as Ames touched him. "Headache?" he asked the Asian eunuch.

"Yes, sir," Cheng replied, tears filling his eyes, "I was. Really. Please make it stop!" he begged.

"Guard!" Ames said, trying not to shout. It was obvious that shouting was in his nature. "Bring Cheng some Nalfon-D. He sounds stuffy and has a headache. Cheng," he said, turning back to the eunuch, "did it occur to you that if you WERE good all day that you might have a REAL headache?"

By the time the guard returned, Sam and Joey were asleep, their breathing even and slow. Ames held Cheng's head up, and got the little eunuch to swallow the pills. He laid his briefcase on a nightstand, and opened it. It contained a slim laptop computer. He then pulled a key out of his pocket and opened a panel on the stand near the floor. There was a soft beep sound as Cheng lay his head back onto the pillow. His eyes closed, but the tears continued. Ames shook his head. He quickly powered up the computer and plugged it into one of several exposed jacks in the secret panel. "Mainframe," he spoke into the condenser mic. "MAINFRAME," the auto-voice replied from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Recognize Ames, authorization 'Pi-101-R'. Report on inmate Cheng, this outlet." Then he waited.

Cheng sighed and choked, then coughed. Ames gave him a drink of water, then eased his head back down onto the pillow. He hit a few keys on his computer and called up a menu with Cheng's picture on it. There was another soft beep as Ames ordered up a few commands on the keyboard. The beep sounded again. Somewhere deep in the mainframe, another data stream came to life and flooded into the transceiver in Cheng's pillow. Ames stepped back. "Sleep, son," he said softly. Cheng's facial features relaxed and he sighed heavily. In seconds he was sound asleep. "Mainframe," Ames spoke to the computer again, "keep his wave cycle up so he stays in deep sleep for the next 12 hours. Make sure he feels happy when he awakens."

Ames looked at the guard, who had come up behind him. "Bad?" the large black man asked, his voice sounding worried.

Ames sighed. "You know what headaches mean, bad ones, when there's no ULF hitting them?"

The guard nodded and sighed. "He WAS good all day long, sir. He even turned in his math assignment early and read aloud in history, they said. Can you believe that?"

Ames looked back at the sleeping eunuch and reached over to wipe the tears from his face. "Tenderness," he said softly, "is the last thing anyone expects. Hell, for the longest time, I didn't think he COULD talk. He always has been good. I feel for him, I tell you, and I know I shouldn't. If anyone shouldn't, Cheng shouldn't be here. And he certainly shouldn't die here."

"I know." Ames typed some data into the laptop and sent it off to the mainframe. It, in turn, emailed Ned to let him know something was wrong with Cheng. Schedules were rewritten instantly, and an MRI was scheduled for Cheng in the morning. Printouts shot out of printers for everyone on staff concerned. The headers on all of those memos read "Possible ULF Disaster" and carried Cheng's ID number. In moments, an entire day at IO was rewritten. Ames sighed and packed up his computer. "I've got other wards to check on, carry on."

He left the dorm guard standing there, watching his four young charges sleep. None of them stirred, not even an eye movement. The guard knew that none of them would so much as twitch all night long, not with the frequencies running through the transceivers hidden in their pillows. He pulled up a chair beside Cheng's bed, then closed the door. He fell asleep later, in the chair, his gaze shifting between Sam and Cheng. He wondered, as he felt himself drifting off, how much longer Cheng had. He remembered his own time in IO as an inmate, and the boy who died of ULF treatment. It hadn't been pretty. He also wondered how Sam's future would unfold – if the penectomized boy would in fact get his early graduation as planned. He drifted off remembering his own positioning as an IO staffer, thinking of how Sam reminded him so much of himself at that age. In a way, he was proud of his oldest charge; it was for his own good, after all.

Michael awoke to the sound of a steady, pulsing beep. He opened his eyes, and stared up at the white ceiling. It took him a moment, but then he realized where he was. He sighed and rolled over, wanting to go back to sleep. He didn't recall any dreams. His action got him a rather sharp stab of pain through the head after a minute, and he bolted out of bed. The pain stopped immediately. Sam was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, laughing at him. "What the fuck was that?" he demanded, not at all bothered by the fact that he was naked. Sam laughed again. "One hellacious alarm clock, buddy!" he replied, "C'mon, you got fifteen minutes to shower and get dressed," he advised, gesturing towards the bathroom. Joey was already showering, and Michael joined them. The fact that he was an intact boy and they were different forms of eunuchs made him start to get hard again when he looked at them. He turned his back to them and washed. He muttered a rather rancid curse when he did his head. Sam laughed again, shaking his head. "You got a cute butt, white boy," he said. Michael didn't reply. Joey turned off his water and grabbed a towel from the rack. He said nothing. Cheng was still asleep.

"Sick," Joey replied, walking bad to his bed after hanging up his towel. Joey, Michael noticed, didn't say much. He also didn't make eye contact. Michael glanced around the corner at the sleeping Asian eunuch. He was lying on his back, his chest rising and falling very slowly. "Ned can fix it," Sam said, "Whatever it is." They finished showering, Michael stealing an occassional glance at Sam. The fact that the boy was missing his penis was startling. He was also confused as to why it was making him hard to think about it. Looking back at Sam's comments, however, Michael was very glad that Sam didn't have a penis.

He found his white sweatsuit and socks on the end of his bed. Someone had brought them in during the night. They were clean and smelled fresh. Michael looked around. "What time is it?" he asked. Sam shrugged.

"No way to know. No clocks, no windows. I dunno what time it is or what day it is. If it wasn't for my ID bracelet, I wouldn't even know how old I am. They don't want you to know anything in here. Nothin' on the outside world, Mikey. Hell, you lost a whole day already. I dunno how long we even sleep. The lights never go out."

"We go to breakfast, we go to four classes, we eat lunch, we go to three classes, we get a rec break, we eat supper and then we come back here. We sleep, we shower, we do it all again the next time," Sam summarized.

"Every day, in and out," Joey added, not looking up the floor. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed, with a somber look on his face. Cheng was still asleep.

"When you lay down in that bed, Mikey, a wave of some kind starts running through your head. It knocks you out. You don't dream, you can't move, and you don't wake up. It makes it easier to control the inmates. It makes you feel good 'n rested when you DO wake up, but you CAN'T wake up until the machine wants you to." It was Joey who said this, still not looking up. He sat cross-legged on his bed, now staring at the door. It opened, and Mr.

Ames walked in. He looked a bit groggy, but still imposing. In one hand was the briefcase, and in the other was a rather strong-smelling cup of coffee.

"Sam," he began, "I want you to take Mikey in hand and show him around. Classes and such. Get him into the routine, keep him in line. I won't be available for most of the day, I'll be with Ned and Cheng." His gaze spoke volumes. Michael looked away.

Michael obediently followed Sam and Joey out of the room and into the hall. Sam led them to a door labelled "M" and allowed it to scan his ID. Joey did the same, as did Michael. The door slid open and they passed into a large room that was obviously a dining hall. The door slid shut behind them. It was crowded.

Michael looked around, feeling Sam's hand on his shoulder. Don't be getting' lost, Mikey. You a little shit and you might get in trouble. You're new, stay close. I been here a while, so watch me." Michael nodded. Joey said nothing. The dining hall was a sea of white sweats, with several guards in gray here and there, milling about. A line was forming, and Sam led them to it. It was just like the school cafeteria that Michael was used to, except that the food was an unattractive oatmeal-like substance that had little odor and even less taste. He ate two bites and put down his fork. "What IS this?" he asked.

"I think it wanted to be oatmeal at one time," Joey mumbled, eating his food and not looking up.

"Food here ain't got much goin' for it, Mikey," Sam added. "No jollies in eatin', but you gotta eat it."

Michael did that, not commenting. He was suddenly amazed at how hungry he was, and even the bland oatmeal tasted good. When they were finished, they simply left their bowls on the table. Sam explained that someone would clean them up as a bell sounded. The crowd made its way to a set of large double doors marked "S". Michael followed Sam and Joey. Each inmate had to stop to allow the scanner to read his ID bracelet. The first class was English. Next came Math. Then Science. Then History. Michael rather liked history. There were guards in every room, but the teachers looked to be outside employees instead of IO staffers. They all wore dress clothes, and didn't act like the IO staffers that Michael had so far seen. After history came lunch.

Lunch was no better than breakfast. It consisted of something that had tried to be a pork fritter and failed. There was an apple, some kind of boiled vegetable, and a thick drink that might or might not have been some sort of energy drink. They ate in silence, until Michael felt a smack across the back of his head. It wasn't a hard smack, but it startled him. He jumped and choked, spitting mystery drink all over Joey.

Michael turned to see a somewhat fat and overall large boy with closely buzzed red hair standing behind him. He was grinning. He was also large enough to break Michael in half without popping a sweat. His shirt said "Harvey."

"So how'd'ja get stuck with this little shit?" he asked Sam, staring at Michael's small form with a look that said 'I'd love to hurt you.'

Michael nodded, afraid to say anything. He looked at Sam with mute appeal in his eyes. The look that Sam returned to Harvey was cold. "Don't make me," he warned.

Michael had never seen a black person flush before. It was very interesting. Sam's face paled a bit, then became dark. Then it became a redder tint of brown. "Stupid, fat, white eunuchs all being brain dead, is that it? You just wantin' yo fat head blowed off, Harvey? At least I got the balls to do something wit you." Sam replied, his eyes flashing.

"Mikey," Sam replied, "You be makin' a mental note here. This is what happens when they cut your balls off and all you do is sit and eat and be stupid."

Joey cleared his throat and looked up at Harvey. "Back off, man. You know what happens in fights in here. Don't blow your behavior rating."

By then, Michael noticed that several guards had taken notice, but were not moving to head anything off. Sam turned to look at one of them, and some kind of recognition passed between them. The large black man (as most of the guards were) nodded. He calmly walked over to a panel on the wall, inserted a key, and pulled it down to reveal a control panel of some kind. He punched a few keys, and Michael noticed Harvey put a hand to his temple. His other hand moved quickly to Michael's upper arm, though, and the boy pulled him up out of his seat. "You're gonna pay for that, shrimp."

"One more time, Harvey. Leave him alone. I'll do it. I swear I will. I've had it with you. You got this attitude, man. You no better than anyone else in here. You closer to graduation than anyone, and you act like an asshole. You think you gonna get away with it? Go ahead, hit him. Do what you gonna do, and see what I do. I know what I'm gonna do, and I don't wanna be here past 18. I don't wanna be dead, either."

Harvey released his grip on Michael's arm. "See ya at rec break, shrimp," he threatened, walking away. Michael noticed he was rubbing at his left temple.

But Sam was grinning. "Harvey not be likin' me all that much. He's an idiot, Mikey. So close to getting' out and he does this shit. Me and him were both up for early grad consideration, and I won. They like big black guys as guards, case you didn't notice that yet. I could have had him killed, you know."

Joey spoke up then, noting Michael's confusion. "Sam's gonna be a guard, early graduation program. He's sorta like a monitor. That's why they put us with him. He's been here a while and most guys know not to fuck with him. That and he's been known to kick ass from time to time."

One of the guards came over to the table where they sat. "You handled that well, Sam," he said. "Thanks," Sam replied.

Sam looked at Michael and then back at the guard. "If he'd hurt Mikey, I'd 'a had you blow his fat fuckin' head all da way off!"

"I think Harvey's going to have a headache for the rest of the day," the guard mused.

After lunch came the remaining three classes, one of which was recreation or PE and the other was a sort of counselling session. The next class was, ironically, called Current Events. There was no hint given of day or time, just carefully editted bits of news and discussion. The PE class, which came last in the day, provided the day's excitement. It was almost more than Michael could take, and it struck a chill in his heart. He had never seen anyone die before, and the reality of death was far worse than anything he had ever seen in a movie. Of course, it was Harvey that died, in a most spectacular way.

PE took place in a rather common looking gymnasium. There were the usual guards here and there as they filed into the gym. Sam led his new charge to the locker room, where they changed into snug fitting white T-shirts and white gym shorts. There were no shoes, but rather thicker socks with a sort of traction gripping rubberized sole. Michael followed Joey and Sam's examples, and undressed to change. Before he could get his shorts up, Harvey had seen him. He heard the word "bullshit" before he felt a hard blow to his balls which sent him to the floor, curling up into a ball and crying and gasping. Michael had taken hits to the balls before, but Harvey had nailed him hard enough to pop the knuckle joints of his own hand. Sam's reaction was swift. The guard in the locker room had only watched, a broad grin on his face.

Through his tears, Michael looked up to see Sam slamming Harvey up against the lockers. His eyes were wild and Harvey's teeth were clenched. "Yo ass is MINE, white trash!" he heard Sam scream, "I told you to leave Mikey alone!"

"Fuck you," Harvey replied, taking a swing at Sam's head. But Sam was too fast for the sluggish, overweight boy. He ducked his shaven head and brought his fist up into Harvey's belly. Michael heard the wind whoosh out of the white boy's lungs as he doubled over. Joey was suddenly on Michael then, pulling him to his feet and dragging him aside as the two fighters shoved each other apart. There was murder flashing in each of their eyes. "Why's HE still got his balls?" Harvey demanded.

"Do I look like the administration to you?" Sam retorted, aiming a swing at Harvey's face. Distracted just a bit, Harvey didn't dodge the blow in time. Although meant for his mouth, it caught him in the jawline. His head snapped back and slammed into the lockers. He shot a foot out towards Sam, and connected with his knee. Sam went down, and Harvey fell on him. The guard called in a fight in progress, but oddly enough, ended his message with "Sam calls it, authorization 'GRAD-e.'"

Sam got his feet under Harvey's vast bulk, and with a grunt, kicked him off. Harvey landed in a heap a few feet away, his head striking the floor hard. He got up, shook himself, and charged at Sam. His eyes, however, were locked on Michael. Oddly enough, Joey stepped in front of him, pushing him back into the corner. "Pull your pants up, Mikey," was all he said. Michael did that as Sam sidestepped the charging boy and smoothly tripped him. Once again, Harvey went down. The rest of the class had melted back out of the way to give the fighters room. There was an occassional comment, but none of the wild playground cheering to which Michael was accustomed.

Harvey regained his feet again and glared at Sam. "Have you told him yet, Mr. Bigshot? Does he know?"

"Shut up, Harvey. I'm getting tired of dancin' around your fat ass," Sam replied.

"Does he know what they're gonna do to him? Or what you're gonna tell him they outta do to him? You gonna do him like you did Cheng?"

"No, it's never gonna be enough, Sam. Just because you had your dick cut off doesn't mean it's right!" Harvey screamed at him.

The blow was so fast that, even years later, Michael would look back and not recall seeing it coming. Sam's arm lashed out smoothly and connected squarely with Harvey's nose. Then the other hand came up and firmly met with the fat boy's mouth. Blood and teeth spewed from Harvey's hands, cupped over his already swelling face. He bent down, moaning and crying. "Damn you, you dickless nig 3;" he started to say, but he never got the word out. There was no doubt that Sam, so very well muscled and stronger than Harvey was, would take him. Instead, Sam looked towards the guard. The guard nodded and smiled. Sam looked up at the mirrored globe in the ceiling and spoke three words – "ULF detonate Harvey." There was a loud buzz, and then a silence. And with that, Harvey's head exploded. Literally. He had time for one shrill howl of pain and one last look at the powerful black boy who had killed him. Michael heard the gasps run through the crowd, and then lockers, floor, walls, guard, and all boys present were sprayed with blood and worse.

Chapter 3

The implications of his death were spinning through Michael's head as he finished his shower and put his bloody gym clothes into a laundry chute. He wasn't even aware of the fact that he was the only intact boy in the dividerless gym showers, nor did he care. He didn't even sneak any glances around at his classmates to see who had balls, or lack thereof, or who had a penis and who didn't. He put his white sweatsuit back on, and feeling very self-conscious about his closely buzzed head, pulled the hood up. There were no strings to tighten it, so pulled it as close as could and kept looking down at the floor. There were specks of red here and there, and his stomach was turning.

Michael came up off of the bench between the rows of lockers and screamed. He made for the door, not bothering to try and dodge the puddles of water on the floor. When one of the burly black guards who were helping to clean up the mess caught him, his socks were very wet. "Put him down, man," he heard someone say. It was Sam.

Sam, the very strong, well built black kid who thought he was a cute, if not puny, white boy.

Michael stared at the slightly hairy and dark legs in front of his downward gaze. A bit of water dripped now and then, and his socks were uncomfortably wet. He felt the strong hands holding him up off of the floor begin to release him, and felt another hand on the back of his neck. "Mikey," he heard Sam say softly, "you OK, man?"

The next thing he knew, Michael was in Sam's arms which held him tightly against the muscular youth's wet body. He drew in a sharp breath, and then his slight body was wracked by painful sobs. Suddenly he felt himself spun around as Sam pushed his head towards a trashcan, pulling his hood back at the same time. Somehow Sam had sensed that Michael's mystery lunch was about to make an encore appearance.

"C'mon, get up," he heard Sam say when he was finally done vomitting, "Lemme get dressed and we'll go."

Michael felt Sam's arm tighten around his slight shoulders. He obediently followed Sam back to the bench, keeping his eyes closed. After what felt like forever, he heard Sam say, "C'mon" again and felt the pull of his strong arm. He kept his eyes shut as they walked, his wet socks leaving small footprints on the polished hardwood floor. He let Sam lead him, not trusting himself. It was too much to believe.

"Why'd they put me in here?" Michael sobbed. Then he pulled away from Sam's grip. "I stole stuff. I didn't rape anyone, I didn't really hurt anyone, all I did was steal 'cause no one would take care of me. And I sure as HELL didn't KILL anybody!" And with that, Michael broke and ran. He had no idea where he was going, he simply ran. His mind raced from image to thought to idea. There probably was no way over the fences. If a door were locked, it would have to scan his ID. But he didn't know where anything was. He wasn't even sure he could find his room. Suddenly he wanted to be in his bed, where it was warm and safe and behind a locked door and he wouldn't have to know anything. Then he heard him again.

Then he was there. Right in front of him. There was a familiar guard behind him as well, the guard who had duty in their dorm. They were both looking at him. Sam's face was pained. They stared at each other. Sam reached out a hand, but Michael took a step back. A stab of pain shot through his forehead, driving the slight boy to his knees. His hands were on him then, pulling him up and into a tight embrace. "N-n-no," Michael choked, as Sam pulled him close again, "Don't hurt me. P-p-lease don't b-blow my head off too!"

"It's alright, man, I got 'im now," Sam said to the guard. The guard nodded and said something unintelligible to his handheld radio. The pain stopped. Michael's knees buckled, and Sam swept him up in his arms. "Let's get you somethin' and put you to bed, Mikey." Michael didn't answer. "Where's he gonn' go anyway?"

When they arrived back at the dorm room, Ned was there waiting. Michael opened his eyes as Sam placed him on his feet. He stumbled over to his bed, and Ned began to undress him. "I hear you had a bit of excitement," the physician's assistant bantered, "a run in with Harvey. Asshole. I won't miss HIM. Now then 3;" But Michael pulled back as Ned absently folded the white sweatshirt and handed it to Sam. "What give, Mikey?" he asked.

Did they not know? How could Ned not know, if they'd summoned him here? Then Michael heard a small sound. He turned and saw Cheng, sitting up in his bed. His eyes were bright, and looked happy. His short, black flat-topped hair was a bit smashed down, but there was a definite sparkle to his strangely colored eyes. "Didja really SEE it?!" the Asian eunuch suddenly piped up. Michael began to tremble. He looked back and saw Ned filling a hypodermic with something from a small bottle. He took a step back, and yelped as Sam's strong hands closed on his bare shoulders. "Did Sam really do him in?" Cheng demanded, with a broad grin on his face.

He felt as if he were dreaming. Sam pushed him gently back towards Ned, who caught his wrist and pulled him back to the bed where he sat. He could hear Cheng chattering about Harvey, but he couldn't make it out. He felt dizzy and his stomach was churning again. Fast as it came on, Ned was faster. The needle fell to the bed and in an instant, Michael's head was in a small bucket. He retched for quite some time.

"Always be prepared," Ned muttered, pulling the badly shaking boy back up into a sitting position. But he then pushed Michael back over onto his back and rolled him. He pulled Michael's white sweats down and stuck the needle into his left butt cheek. A strange feeling of warmth and relaxation spread quickly through the boy, and he felt himself going limp. Ned continued to strip him, then tucked him into bed. He found that he couldn't move, but that his head seemed to be clearing a bit.

"You can talk about it tomorrow, Mikey," Ned said, absently rubbing a hand over his stubbly scalp.

"Mikey," Sam offered, "You don't know the WHY on why I did it. Harvey had it comin'. Been comin' a long time." There was anguish on the black youth's face, and his eyes were sincere. "Before you judge me, hear it out."

Michael nodded, feeling his bed warm under his skin. He was relaxed. The trembling had stopped, and Ned offered him a drink of water. "Why, then?" he asked.

Sam sighed and sat down on his bed. He glanced at Cheng. "It all started when me and Harvey got here," he began, "We came at the same time. You know what I did, well, Harvey did more. See, he didn't use to be like he was. He got put in here for rape. He liked boys – a LOT. After a while, we got to be buddies. The problems started when they told us about our cuttin' options." Sam paused and wrung his hands. He was beginning to sweat. "Anyway, I was better built. Harvey was solid, but he wasn't as strong as me. We had a while, we did some tests, took some exams. I qualified for guard training and early graduation, Harvey didn't. That pissed him off, but, when he found out that he was gonna get castrated, he freaked out. Guess he didn't believe the stories. He wanted the early graduation thing bad, but then when I told him what they were gonna do to me, he really lost it. See, Mikey, that's why I don't have a penis. To stay strong and grow up into a big man like they wanted, and the docs said I would, I had to keep my balls. Harvey kept his cock, for all the good it did him. I got a penectomy, Harvey got castrated." Sam paused again. He glanced from Michael to Cheng then back down at the floor. Michael noticed that the guard had left the room and closed the door.

"It took me and Harvey a while to heal up. I mean, once you get your cock cut off, it's pretty much over. No sex, no matter how bad you want it. Like I said, it used to get me in a lot of trouble. But Harvey had just lost his balls, and the effects of that weren't right off, you know. He healed up fast, but he could still get it up and all. You know, he liked boys. For a while he could still whack off. He got caught fuckin' other guys a few times, got punished, but it didn't seem to phase him. Then, 'bout two months or so later, he started havin' hot flashes. He couldn't get it up good very often, and he got mean."

Michael felt himself beginning to drift, but he forced his eyes open. He wanted to hear it all. A terrible suspiscion was beginning to dawn on him.

Sam continued. "He couldn't understand why I'd wanna get out early, since my sex life was over. He was jealous of that, but pissed 'cause no one warned HIM. He could have been in the same way, and that really got to him. But when his cock started to fail him, he got even harder to get along with. The flashes got worse, and he started gaining weight. You loose your balls at our age, and things start to go backwards, man. He lost a lot of his body hair. He started to get fat after a few more months. He was always lookin' for a fight, it seemed. He was always reminding me that I didn't have a penis, I think, 'cause he was jealous of my body." Sam flexed his biceps, and Cheng laughed.

"I gotta pee," he added, climbing out of bed. To Michael, he looked a bit unsteady as he made his way to the bathroom. His eyes sought out the Asian eunuch's smooth and empty groin, and looked back at Sam. He also caught the haunted look in his eyes, as Sam watched Cheng as well. Ned placed a hand on the blanket over Michael's chest. They waited until Cheng had come back and settled in, then Sam continued.

"Over time, he got fatter and weaker. And frustrated. I got frustrated, bad, but I had other things to vent on. Harvey just got fat and stupid. It was, I dunno – a few more months – hell, you can't keep track 'o time in here. I'm just goin' on what Ned told me. I was thinkin' about going into medicine, and spendin' time with him. That's when Cheng showed up. After he'd been here a while, his time came up." Sam paused. It was almost as if he couldn't go on.

"Ned checked me over after I'd been here a while and told me I had to be castrated," Cheng supplied, "And Sam was studying with him. He helped Ned castrate me."

THAT got Michael's attention. Sam was now looking down at the floor. He felt his head growing fuzzy again, but he had to hear more. What all was Sam into?

"So, we castrated Cheng. He didn't say anything, but it turned out that on Harvey's good days, he was – uh – FOND of Cheng. He went wild when he found out what I'd talked Cheng into later, after he healed up." Again, Sam paused, and rested his head in his hands.

"Sam was my roommate," Cheng supplied, "and he wanted me to get 'finished.' You know, cut it all off. He said I wouldn't ever be able to use it, so why keep it? So I let him."

Michael's mouth dropped open. He stared at Sam. Ned placed a firm hand on his chest, but Michael found that even though he wanted to, he couldn't sit up. He was too limp, and the bed was so warm and soft. He thought of how Cheng looked down there, with only very light and small scars. The Asian eunuch had nothing. "You let him? And you didn't have to?"

"He was young, he didn't know. Hell, 'I' didn't know. I did most of the job after he healed up from his castration. Ned let me do most of the cutting. I took care of Cheng while he healed up. I worked out, studied, but Harvey just got more and more mean. We got in one hell of a fight when he saw Cheng after I cut his cock off. Harvey got demerits, punished, and I got higher marks and more credit. He couldn't take it. I guess he saw the same thing comin' wit you, white boy, and he just went over the edge."

"But you killed him," Michael choked, shocked to the core that Cheng had surrendered his genitals so calmly, AND even now he didn't seem to mind.

"YES!" Cheng said fervently, "and none too soon. I HATED Harvey. I wish I'd seen it!"

"I don't get it," Michael admitted, fearing what they were going to tell him, "Sam, you got your penis cut off, not your balls, so you could go into early release as a guard?"

"But Cheng, you got castrated. They didn't MAKE you get your penis cut off, but you LET Sam do it anyway?"

"Because I talked him into it," Sam admitted. "I told him he wouldn't even hit puberty, he'd never have a sex drive, and no one was ever going to let him have HRT after they found out he was an x-IO boy. He was marked for life by his record. What I didn't know was why he was here." Sam sighed, and paused. Perhaps subconsciously, a hand went to his own crotch.

It was Ned who concluded the story. "Cheng was placed here because he was an orphan. No one wanted him, but he was up for adoption. Oh, he had some petty theft and curfew violations, but nothing too severe. Somehow, an error in records put him in this ward and we couldn't straighten it out fast enough. We knew he was in danger from some of the other boys, so Sam was supposed to protect him. Cheng got into some trouble here, but nothing too serious. His castration order came via regular channels, since he had spent so much time here already. BUT, unlike Harvey and most of the boys here, Cheng would have been eligible for release and specialized adoption anytime. Even though he had to be castrated, he would have been allowed HRT qualification in later life. He could have been released and had a relatively normal sex life, just no children of his own. He wasn't really dangerous or anything, you understand, just a victim of circumstance. If we'd gotten it straightened out in time, it's also possible that he wouldn't have had to be castrated. Then he and Sam got close 3;"

"Then Harvey found out and he said the same thing," Ned finished, "and he flipped. He spent a lot of time asleep and undergoing some – uh – shall we call it 'therapy.' He just couldn't stand the fact that someone other than him would have been allowed to develop normally, be adopted, and leave. Cheng's choice on a full nullification made him crazy, especially since Harvey was impotent then and couldn't do him any more. He made it a point to remind Sam what he had done every chance he got. I guess he figured Sam would try the same with you, Mikey."

Michael was stunned. Cheng had had it ALL cut off. Sam had not only talked him into it, but he had helped to do it as well. And Cheng didn't HAVE to. That was what confused Michael. Sam had befriended him in much the same way. It was because Michael was still intact that had set Harvey off. In a way, as the fog in his head grew thicker, Michael realized that he was somewhat responsible for Harvey's death as well.

"I won't hurt YOU, Mikey," Sam said, "I promise. Man, Cheng, I didn't know. I really didn't. I thought you were like everyone else."

"You know I think about it every time I see you," Sam retorted, his voice full of shame, "I guess since I didn't have a penis anymore, I thought you shouldn't either. I 3; I dunno, maybe I figured if you were a total eunuch and not a 3; a real boy no one would want to adopt you, ever. I 3; I di'n't want you to leave."

"It's alright, Sam," Michael heard Cheng say, "It doesn't matter. You don't miss what you never had. I'm OK with it, really."

"Ned," Michael whispered, his eyes falling shut, "am I gonna be castrated too?" It was a struggle to stay awake, but he had to know.

"Yes, Mikey, you are," he heard Ned reply from far away, "Very soon, in fact. It'll be for your own good, you know. Now go to sleep like a good boy. You've had a rough day."

^Paolox3_

For Your Own Good

Summary

Characters

Category & Story codes

Disclaimer

Author's note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3