Platypus

The Boy Punisher

It was a new position for Malcolm McGee. He'd been hired at the Racine Reformatory for Boys as the new dean of discipline, to replace Paul 'Buck' Peterson, who'd served in the position for eleven years.

"Buck, please show Mr. McGee around, and let him see what you do in a typical day," said the obese Mrs. Clovis, administrator of this private prison for male inmates aged 12 to 14 years.

"Gladly," agreed Buck. "Come with me to my office," he directed the 'new' man. McGee followed, wanting to make a good impression on his first day at his new job. McGee was about forty, with a Marine-type crewcut and his own intimidating presence; well-muscled and handsome and a solid two hundred and twenty pounds [54 kg]. Buck was a small man, no more than five foot five [1.65 m], and weighed about one hundred and twenty-five pounds [57 kg] dripping wet straight out of a shower. Some of the young miscreants weighed more than he did. But his eye contact and stare, riveted by single laser shots of his attention, must have unnerved and cowed even the most vicious boys sent to Racine. He'd also lasted so long because of his artistry, McGee was to find out.

McGee had been fired from his last job, as a prison guard in a private maximum security facility in Montana. He'd beaten an inmate nearly to death, and for a reason deemed trivial by his superiors, "perceived insubordination." But he'd interviewed well, said he'd "like working with kids" and "teaching them good old-fashioned Christian values." Instead of the end of his twenty-year career in corrections, this was a second chance, and a most improbable one.

He passed inmates in classrooms on the way down the winding corridors to Peterson's office and its adjacent punishment room and holding cells. Buck walked with a purposeful stride, full of confidence in this reformatory environment. A man's size has little to do with his demeanor, McGee mused.

Buck was a man of few words, but he spoke again, glancing back at his soon-to-be replacement. "The kids call me 'the boy punisher,' and they dread coming to see me," he explained to McGee. McGee was intrigued. He loved inspiring fear in people, and he assumed he was good at it. But he had a lot to learn.

Racine possessed an Evangelical Christian veneer, although unaffiliated with a particular denomination. A show of religion subjected their staff to less scrutiny as the boys were deliberately molded into 'God-fearing young men.' By the time most were released, usually six months to a year after being first sentenced, they feared man more than God. The man they feared most was the boy punisher.

'Buck' Peterson kept the punishments relatively simple, in keeping with Racine tradition. McGee listened attentively as the two men entered the punishment room. 'Buck' dutifully showed McGee the 'implements' used in the administration of punishments, all neatly displayed atop a long cedar table.

"We only use whips and needles," he explained, "Those suffice wonderfully."

Three small whips were arrayed next to each other. "Our preferred whips are right here – #1, #2, and #3 always on display. The boys are quite familiar with each number, and what their consequences might imply for bare skin."

Buck described each whip while holding it in his sinister hand, the left. "One has just plain rawhide strands with six knots or 'poppers' at the business end," he explained, "although it hurts and welts a lad's skin easily enough."

"Our two is a little more interesting and creative. It's also made of rawhide from handle to tip, but its poppers are varied; two rawhide knots, two bits of sharp-edged glass, and two hard plastic poppers."

"I'll bet the boys look forward to getting whacked with that," McGee commented facetiously.

"But three is the worst, the most dreaded of the whips," Buck explained. "It's reserved for the most serious transgressions."

"It looks positively nasty," McGee said with obvious admiration for the implement. He was already eager to get a chance to use it.

"This rawhide little whip has six poppers as well, but two are sharp-edged metal, two are broken shards of glass, and two are the hard plastic I spoke of earlier, which is no reprieve from pain. A few strokes with this implement are always sufficient. Never more than ten lashes should ever be administered with this particular implement – anywhere on a boy's body."

"Could an exception be made on a fourteen-year-old's buttocks?"

"Not on my watch," Buck warned, "I've never needed use more than ten with this – in eleven years!"

McGee was not yet convinced. But he kept this thought to himself.

A footlocker or chest with drawers contained the needles. Placed on the cedar table, its lid had been closed. Buck opened it to show McGee the variety of needles that might be employed for prescribed punishments. McGee gasped with astonishment upon seeing the spectrum of piercing implements arrayed before him. Buck Peterson showed McGee the smaller steel needles first. "All sharp-pointed on one end, these are for vertical or horizontal insertions, and are small-bore and four inches [10 cm] long."

Medium-bore needles were exactly one quarter inch [6½ mm] in diameter, and six inches [15 cm] long.

Large-bore needles were exactly one half inch [13 mm] in diameter, and eight inches [20 cm] long.

Another type of four-inch [10 cm] long needle had a place on one end that could be pressed with a finger; when this was done a 'flange' of sharp-pointed steel would expand on the opposite end, creating a half-inch [13 mm] wide segment. To McGee, such a device seemed to be without obvious implications. "What's the purpose of it?" he had to ask.

"I'm half hoping for the sake of the boys that we won't need to use this device during your orientation," Buck replied.

Other needles were more easily explained. Some were curved instead of straight. One was bent into a bow-shape. Another kind of needle was nearly a complete loop, and again, McGee was unable to immediately deduce its purpose. Another single needle was X-shaped, having four distinct extremely sharp points.

After about an additional twenty minutes, the demonstration of the whips and needles had concluded. "I'm astounded by the ingenuity of this institution," McGee remarked with a kind of sincerity.

The remainder of McGee's initial orientation involved procedures.

Buck was careful to be quite explicit. "The boys sent to be punished will come accompanied by two staff members. An envelope describing the miscreant's assigned punishment will be delivered in an envelope."

"That's pretty straightforward," McGee commented.

"It gets a little complicated. The dean of discipline – that's me, and you, once your training is over, opens the envelope in the presence of the boy. I try to create a little suspense somehow before opening it. Inside, you'll find all the instructions you need – first, second, or third degree – third degree for the most severe infractions – describes the punishment to be administered, the type of implement, the applicable dress code, and the harshness of application. Usually I take the age of the boy into consideration, whether he's a habitual offender, his attitude and demeanor at time of punishment, and if the boy asks for an artistry component – so that he can show off the marks to the other boys."

"An artistry component – I don't understand."

"I sometimes add in an artistry component at my own discretion, if I believe it will help the boy establish better relationships with his peers."

"What difference does it make?"

"We've discovered through hard-won experience that boys who are getting along better at Racine get in less trouble. I've always done my best to minimize chronic repeat offenders. Eventually these boys need to get out of here and re-adjust in society."

"Oh."

"The artistry component is painful for the boy, but not more painful than the punishment would otherwise be, and at least he can show it off to his peers later. It can be accomplished with either the whip or various needles. You will see some examples. I have thirteen boys written up for punishment today, starting in about ten minutes."

"You don't know the punishments you'll be administering in advance?"

"No Mr. McGee, not until I open their envelopes."

"The boys will be coming through that door."

McGee took one last scanning glance around the punishment room. Besides the cedar table with the whips and needles, there were chairs on either side of the table where the boys would be greeted and briefly interviewed upon arrival, and also a sort of human stock-like structure, buttressed with metal but made of cedar like the table, with openings on each end of the stocks. The stocks were arranged like bed-frames, but without a mattress or anything else in between them, and were bolted to the cedar floor very securely. "A kid is really vulnerable in that thing," McGee remarked.

"It prevents undue squirming on the part of the boy," Buck admitted.

McGee was very anxious to see some real-life demonstrations.

The first boy to arrive with his two adult escorts, brutal-looking guards, was David, a smallish 12-year-old. David came into the door of the punishment room with head down and tears still coursing down his angelic features; brown-haired with a compulsory crewcut, long eyelashes and just the wisp of brows above his lustrous brown eyes. Under different circumstances, he might have been a mischievous lad. One of the men handed Buck the kid's envelope as McGee looked on with eager anticipation. McGee observed that the kid had a pert little button nose, and a smallish, rather petulant mouth. He was close to sobbing as Buck began to access the envelope's contents. The soft sound of paper ripping was close to the rest of the silence bred by anticipation and anxiety. David was close to sobbing, expecting the worst. "Sit down on the chair near the table, David," Buck finally said.

The boy was dressed in orange prison garb, as they all would be, and with black-and-white sneakers with white socks for footwear. Underneath, the boy wore a white cotton undershirt and matching briefs. David was the picture of abject dejection while kept in suspense. He had no idea how serious his transgression had been deemed to be.

Buck scanned the precious envelope's contents, without revealing a thing.

Finally, Buck Peterson acted. His words were enunciated very clearly so there'd be no confusion on the part of the boy. "Six on the palms of the hands with the #1," he announced.

The boy seemed to know the drill. Had he received this punishment previously, McGee mused?

David turned the chair he was sitting in around to the side, moving it away from the table. He looked with bewilderment for the first time at McGee.

"This is Mr. McGee, David. He'll be assuming my duties as Dean of Discipline and will be observing punishments all this week."

Without being asked, David extended both hands out, palms up. The boy's hands looked fragile somehow, with slender fingers that perhaps indicated those of a future pianist.

Without further adieu, Buck Peterson grabbed the least dangerous whip, as McGee began reading the envelope's contents that the 'Boy Punisher' had just handed to him for perusal. McGee kept quiet, but his eyes bulged with incredulity.

The small whip firmly grasped by its handle, it began flailing through the room's fetid air. The compact whip was about fourteen inches [35 cm] long. A second later its knotted leather thongs struck David's outstretched palms. A red-lined welt appeared on the boy's pale skin, and he winced and gritted his teeth that obviously needed more brushing. But he was brave and didn't cry out. "One" the boy counted.

A few seconds later, the small whip lashed again. "Two," the boy counted despite the stinging pain he must have been feeling, and again, he winced but did not cry out. A second red welt appeared on the delicate palm.

The third stroke with the whip produced an identical result, as did the fourth and fifth.

The final stroke with the rawhide whip came with the implement coming down on the boy's palms with additional force, and finally the boy cried out in pain. "Six" David managed to count.

The boy was allowed to leave the punishment area of his own volition. "Okay, David, you may return to your cellblock, or else study hall," Buck instructed. The boy's palms were well-welted, even criss-crossed with welts, but not seriously damaged.

"Thank you for my punishment, sir," David said upon leaving. McGee thought he saw the trace of a smile in the kid's mouth as if he knew he'd gotten off easily.

Once the first miscreant had gone, McGee couldn't help commenting, "You let that kid off easy. You had the discretion to whip the soles of his feet too, and even use the #2 whip or perhaps a needle combination. Why didn't you?"

"You said it. It was my discretion. I try to be just, and fair. The boys dread seeing me, but they know that I'll be fair and not given to gratuitous sadism. That's why I've lasted eleven years."

McGee wanted to argue with him, but knew instinctively that it wasn't his place too. Besides, the next miscreant was being led in the door.

The second miscreant to arrive on McGee's first training day was Paul, a 14-year-old redhead with hundreds of tiny freckles on his face. Tall and gangly, his palms received eight strokes with the #1 whip, and again McGee was unimpressed.

"He didn't even change expression during his entire punishment!" McGee remarked in amazement.

Buck laughed. "I'm sure it was painful," he explained to McGee.

It went on in this rather uneventful manner for six more boys. Billy, a 13-year-old blonde with blue eyes and an exceptionally handsome face, stood motionless with his two adult stewards flanking him until told to sit in the chair by the table. He was the 9th miscreant of the day, but McGee was becoming quite bored. As he sat in the chair expectantly, and watched Mr. Peterson read and re-read the contents of his envelope as if in mock amazement, Billy knew he was in serious trouble. He was a tough kid though, to McGee's mind, a little punk who would definitely need to be taught a lesson. Unfortunately, it wasn't his responsibility yet and he felt that 'Buck' Peterson was going to let this little snot-nosed miscreant get off easily too. This time he was proven somewhat wrong.

"Strip," Buck told the boy, who promptly lost whatever swagger he'd possessed.

"Everything?" Billy asked, hoping for a reprieve.

"Yes, everything."

Billy was immediately nervous, seeing McGee there. He'd heard through the grapevine of the boy's prison about the new man, and already didn't like him. But Mr. Peterson was still doling out the punishments, and when he made a boy get naked, it was certainly going to be more serious, and definitely more painful. The punishment range could still be rather extensive, but Mr. Peterson had discretion and would be fair. It was humiliating stripping in front of this new man, this stranger, but Billy realized that now was not the time or place to be modest. He had earned a punishment, and depending what it was exactly, he might even get to request an 'artistic' version, which usually impressed the other boys.

Billy removed each black-and-white sneaker, and sock to be barefoot on the cedar floor, and then his orange shirt and his pants were discarded, and finally his undershirt and white cotton briefs. He was naked; thank God he'd showered just a few minutes earlier and didn't stink.

McGee noticed that the crewcutted boy had a lovely body just entering puberty, with the wisps of blonde pubic hair, a few of them, barely visible on the young teen's scrotum.

"This one goes up into the stocks," Buck instructed the two guards who'd delivered the boy, "face down."

Being secured in the stocks was a routine that Billy knew already, probably from prior experience, McGee surmised. He allowed the men to help him as he stooped down to put his head through the larger opening, with openings for his hands on either side of his head, and the thirteen-year-old felt those portions of the wooden enclosure tighten around his neck and wrists, not enough to be uncomfortable but enough to restrict undue movement. Billy then felt his legs being lifted one by one and his feet pushed through openings customized for boys pedal appendages; soon both of his feet were secured in their holes, and each protruded from the adjustable openings so that Billy's soles were conveniently exposed. He was slightly uncomfortable now, as the stocks contained no additional supports underneath his naked body. The boy was positioned so that the tip of his penis lay only slightly bent as it touched the cedar floor between each stock – the one for his head and the one for his feet. He felt entirely vulnerable; at least his entire backside was and so were his bare soles. It also hurt with his neck and wrists and ankles pressed as they were against the hard cedar in the stocks.

Buck pronounced sentence on the boy once he was secured. Again, upon reading the chit, McGee felt that this so-called 'Boy Punisher' had been too lenient in his discretion. He could have been much crueler.

"Ten strokes with the #1 whip on your back and eight lashes with the #2 to your bare soles," he had decided.

"Thank you sir," Billy said, actually relieved compared to what his punishment might have been. "Can I have it artistic?"

"Yes," said the more experienced boy punisher with tenderness in his eyes, "your request is granted."

"Thank you sir," Billy repeated again. He realized that at least it would be kewl afterwards to show off the markings about to be made on his bare back and naked soles. It seemed almost worth it, although he still wasn't looking forward to the pain, especially the punishment with the #2 to be inflicted on his soles.

Buck picked up the #1 whip of knotted rawhide leather. He was an expert, and had already decided on the configuration of welts he'd be making on Billy's back. A semi-circular pattern starting just below the thirteen-year-old's shoulders, and proceeding through mid-back almost to the kid's lower back. It would be markings that the boy, if he had to endure this beating, at least would be proud to show off to his peers. He'd go five welts on each side, and do it so precisely due to his own skill acquired through the years. He began concentrating. Buck raised the compact simple whip, and flashed his hand down in a fluid motion.

The whip struck Billy's back just below his left shoulder. It was like a current of electricity had pulsed through that whip and the thirteen-year-old screamed. "Yeowwh!" The boy knew he had to count. He couldn't forget. "One!" Billy yelled. The next stroke smacked Billy's back in the center, at mid-back. Again, it hurt like an electric shock. "Yeowwh!" He screamed, but the boy knew better than to forget to count. "Two!" He yelled. The final six cuts all welted Billy's tender skin, but an artistic pattern, as the boy had requested began emerging.

Buck was proud of his whip artistry, glad to grant this one small indulgence to the inmates of Racine's boy prison. It was an oval with a crown of two stripes above, formed by lovely welts.

But it was time for Billy's eight lashes with the crueler #2 whip on each of the 13-year-old's soft and soon to be very tender bare soles. McGee watched with rapt attention, eager to finally see some damage inflicted on a boy, really marking him.

Buck raised the compact #2 whip, its poppers being two each of rawhide, bits of jagged glass, and a type of hard plastic that really stung when it landed. The #2 came down in a blur, its poppers landing on Billy's right sole just below the toes on the first strike. "Yeowwh!" Billy shrieked, more than screamed, as the pain radiated up his entire leg and was excruciating. But he remembered to count. "One!" His eyes were clouded by tears. The second one began a staccato pattern on the 13-year-old's left naked sole, in the identical spot where the earlier strike had marked his right foot. "Yeowwh!" Again McGee grinned with some satisfaction at the boy's screech, this one sounding a bit more like a yelp, as the radiating pain was excruciating. "One!" Billy yelled, as the lash was actually only the first on that foot, although his second overall.

A few agonizing moments later, it was done, and the patterns created on Billy's poor soles resembled smiley faces, as Buck knew that the 'smiley face' was an easy one to create on feet and it was one of the most popular with young inmates at Racine.

Buck let Billy out of the stocks and helped him to sit in the chair so that he could examine the boy's wounds. "The glass poppers made a few nicks and cut you just a little, so it will be painful to walk for a few days, a little more than I'd hoped for. Try standing up!"

Billy had been sobbing softly, but was attempting to be brave. He listened to 'Buck,' the firm but just boy punisher, and stood, a little shakily on his whipped soles. He felt a second wave of pain. "Owwh!" the boy cried. He was more than a little wobbly.

"Don't just stand there McGee! Help the boy!" Buck barked at the new apprentice. The command was not taken kindly, but Buck failed to notice the returned glare, although the boy did.

Buck was kind and attentive to the boy he'd just punished, and McGee found such a show of consideration disgusting, although he dared not voice his objections then. Buck had Billy lift each foot. "Show me the pattern."

"Look Billy. It's a nice smiley face, and it came out perfect. You'll be able to show it off to your friends!"

Billy forced a smile through his pain that came out more like a grimace than his own smiley face. "Yeah, it's excellent, Mr. Peterson. Thank you!" The thirteen year old was then allowed to dress again in his orange prison suit and footwear. He winced when he donned his shirt and put on each shoe, from where the whips had marked his young body on his bare back and feet. He limped out of the punishment room but held his head high as he left, satisfied that he'd endured a stiff punishment and been treated fairly. He hated being punished, but like most of the boys at Racine, he respected Mr. Peterson, the 'boy punisher.' But what would the new punisher, Mr. McGee be like? Billy already had formed some less favorable initial impressions.

In fact, the rest of the week seemed to pass slowly for Mr. McGee as he observed the miscreants being punished. It seemed that Buck always showed discretion as the better part of valor, coming down leniently on each 12-14 year-old sent for correction. On Friday, a twelve-year-old named Ralph was made to strip and lie face up in the stocks, which seemed promising, and Buck lifted the boy's penis and inserted the special needle that expanded into the kid's piss-slit, evidently the boy had been caught masturbating, but the so-called 'boy punisher' only scratched young Ralph's urethra slightly, more of a warning than a punishment, and he didn't even press the tiny button that expanded the device, making it difficult and excruciatingly painful to remove, and he drew not a drop of blood! The twelve-year-old was still terrified though, never having experienced such an object up his piss-slit, and bawled like a much younger boy until soothed and calmed by – Buck – who was supposed to be punishing the inmate! McGee barely hid his own frustration at the scene he had just witnessed.

The rest of Friday seemed anti-climatic after the Ralph episode. McGee could barely stand the way the man was coddling these boys – mostly hand switchings, a few spankings on the bare buttocks when discretion left the door open for much more novelty and cruel invention considering the boy's infraction, if it were he administering these punishments, as he would be in just a few days.

Finally, it was over. Malcolm McGee's apprenticeship mercifully ended. He was polite bidding adieu to his predecessor Paul 'Buck' Peterson. Perhaps the man who'd held the position for eleven long years felt that he was leaving the post to a worthy successor.

The boys received permission from the morbidly obese Mrs. Clovis to line up and see Mr. Peterson off on that last Friday evening. Almost every boy at Racine wanted to. McGee was getting nauseated watching the boys, some of them with tears in their eyes, and 'Buck' like some celebrity waving goodbye, as if he were a great classroom teacher like the legendary Mr. Chips, and it dawned on Mr. McGee with a startling clarity at that final moment of the excessively drawn-out denouement – "Why, the boys don't even FEAR this man!" Malcolm McGee nearly blurted that perceptive observation out loud.

The next morning Malcolm McGee waited in what was now 'his' office by the punishment room and the stocks as if he were a human spider. But the boys behaved themselves that Saturday, and not a single miscreant was sent to him for correction. Sunday was no better, as not a single twelve to fourteen-year-old was in need of chastisement. Somehow their behavior had been exemplary for an entire weekend, as word had gotten out that being punished by the new man, Mr. McGee, might not be anything like what they'd been used to. Billy was quite a loquacious and perceptive youngster, and others sent for punishment during the previous week had taken mental notes of their own. Little signs had given the inmates foreboding inklings. Still, by Monday afternoon, a trickle of boys were referred for punishment, and headed for Mr. McGee's clutches. In a boy's prison, exemplary behavior is impossible to maintain for long.

Seven boys were scheduled for correction on that first McGee Monday. The boys were Brian, Devon, and Peter, age 13; James and Eddie, age 12, and David, a 14-year-old; although their appointments were not scheduled according to age. In fact, James, a cute blonde surfer-type with winsome blue eyes, was first to suffer. He was very reluctant to experience the discretion meted out by this new 'boy punisher,' and the scuttlebutt was that the newly hired Dean of Discipline would be draconian and harsh in the extreme. James had to be dragged screaming by the two guards to the lair of Malcolm McGee. But finally he stood before his adversary, a stranger above all. Still, maybe the scuttlebutt about McGee was wrong. "Hand me his envelope," McGee said, as the small blonde boy glowered, attempting to be brave. He stood a bit untidily. "Hands at your sides. Straighten up. James, is it?"

"Yes sir," the boy said meekly. McGee hadn't even offered James the chair to sit down and discuss his punishment, which couldn't be a good sign. It wasn't.

"Normally, in this situation, my predecessor would give you about eight strokes with the #1 whip on the palms of your hands. McGee had just read the envelope's contents while making this pronouncement, so the 12-year-old suddenly brightened up.

"I'm sorry sir. What does 'pred sasser' mean?"

"It means Mr. Peterson, the man who held this position previously, boy. Did I give you permission to speak?"

"No sir."

"At any rate, I've decided to give you ten strokes on the soles of your feet. Remove your footwear – shoes and socks."

James complied, now feeling a whole lot worse than he had only seconds before.

"You may sit in the chair now."

He did. Imagining his punishment, the 12-year-old resolved to tough it out and not bawl like a baby. He could do it! Ten with the #1 whip on his soles would hurt a lot, more than the eight on his hands, but he could be strong.

"Let me see your left foot."

While seated, James offered his bare foot to the new boy punisher. Mr. McGee began to palpate and examine it; his attentions didn't hurt and almost tickled. James was very ticklish on his feet.

"I see you have some callous on your sole; especially around the ball and nearer your toes. Let's see your right one now."

James handed the man his bare right foot. Again, the man's fingers touched him gently, lightly scratching the boy's sole, and taking note by keen observation of the texture of the 12-year-old's skin. "Oh, this one has lots of callous too. That means I'd feel more comfortable using the #2 whip on your feet. You don't mind do you?"

"No sir, please sir. I can't take ten with the #2! I'm only twelve!" He was very close to sobbing.

The guards were still there, standing at the ready. "You can hoist James here into the stocks on his tummy. Let's get him positioned for his punishment!"

The boy knew better than to resist. A minute later, his head and arms protruded from their holes, and his feet, positioned to best advantage, protruded from their own openings in the dreaded stocks. James was sobbing now, and begged again. "Please sir, I can't take ten with that thing! Not on my feet!" He doubted he could have taken the #2 on his bare palms either, but that was a moot point.

"You can – and you will young man!" McGee bellowed.

James sought one last concession, meager as it was, that might at least be a tiny consolation. "Artistic sir?"

"No," replied McGee snidely, "I am refusing your impertinent request."

McGee picked up the compact #2 whip, the one with the rawhide, bits of jagged glass, and merciless hard plastic as poppers, a familiar six in all. He swung it over his head in the air, getting the feel of it for the first time. He was finally punishing one of these brats without supervision. James could already be heard quietly sobbing. The whip whisked through the air, smacking the boy's left sole flush just beneath his sensitive toes, in the middle. James let out a screech, overwhelmed by the sudden wave of sheer pain that radiated up his left leg like an electric current. "Yeowwh!" he screamed. The strands immediately drew blood and made at least two small wounds, probably from the jagged bits of glass. But the boy knew enough to count. "One!" he yelled.

The first hit on James's right sole made contact precisely on the ball, also drawing blood, and tearing a tiny amount of skin off as it landed. "Yeowwh!" He was already bawling as he hoped he wouldn't, he wished he could be braver, but it hurt so much! Still, James didn't lose count. "One!" he managed to yell.

The punishment continued through the prescribed ten on each sole, leaving the boy's tenderized soles a bloody mess. Immediately afterwards, James could barely walk, and was being hurried out, "The next boy is already on his way," Mr. McGee said, as James was unfastened and his bloody feet were too cut up even to put his shoes and socks back on. He was being helped by each of the guards, half supported, as it hurt terribly to put all his weight on either battered sole.

"He'll have to be treated at the infirmary," one of the guards told McGee, but the man was not critical of the new disciplinarian, he was just remarking. James left the room with some assistance, his eyes still full of tears.

The other boys had similar or worse treatment meted out to them on that first day of McGee's administration. Brian and Devon, two recalcitrant 13-year-olds, were put in the stocks naked, one at a time, and subjected to needle torture on their chests, and bellies, as well as suffered additional large-bore needles skewering their bare feet. Devon could only wait in horror as Brian was cruelly tortured, screaming incessantly, knowing that it would soon be his turn. Eddie was lashed on the hands, but the twelve-year-old was subjected to fifty hard strokes on each palm with the #2 whip. "You're lucky I used my discretion and decided not to go with the #3, you little punk," Mr. McGee said, but the boy still wondered what had happened to the skin on his bare hands. In the infirmary, his screams were heard for a considerable distance as antiseptic was applied prior to bandaging. David, the fourteen-year-old, had been caught masturbating in his cell, and so Mr. McGee used his 'discretion' to jam the special expanding needle up the teen's piss-slit, and while the naked brown-haired David was secured in the stocks while lying on his back slightly suspended in air, a very handsome circumcised boy on puberty's cusp, the sadistic new 'boy punisher' must have inserted and removed the hideous device about fifty times! "I doubt you'll want to play with your pretty little member for awhile, that's for damned sure!" Mr. McGee announced. The 14-year-old had been initially 'sentenced' by McGee to just twenty insertions and removals, but in his terror and excruciating torment he kept forgetting to count accurately – and so was made to pay the extra penalties. "That boy has a real good pair of lungs on him," one of the attending guards couldn't help saying as the boy kept screaming with every plunge and withdrawal of the 'trick' needle.

"I can see why," the second attending guard said, as he witnessed little bits of urethral tissue coming up sometimes with the blood extracted from inside David's still pretty four-inch [10 cm] penis. As it happened, David recovered, but it took several days in the infirmary. Peter, the final thirteen-year-old on that first of many memorable days to be engrained in the inmates' memories, might have gotten off easily as Mr. McGee was beginning to tire; but forty of the cruelest strokes with the #3 whip really did a number on that boy's bare backside – shoulders to heels – and he was assigned to the Racine infirmary for a solid week.

But none of the boys suffered permanent physical injury on that day, or on any of the nearly 2000 succeeding days that followed during Dean of Discipline Malcolm McGee's brutal tenure. In fact, Mr. McGee outlasted the obese Mrs. Clovis administrative tenure when she succumbed to a massive heart attack after becoming morbidly obese from too many sweets – sometimes fed to her by the solicitous Mr. McGee. McGee was promoted to administrator after her demise, and the boys were glad to see him removed from his earlier post, as 'the boy punisher.' But by that time, the boys who'd been there when Mr. McGee started his brutal regime had necessarily graduated, in many cases to adult prisons. Despite the tenure of Mr. Malcolm McGee, the reputation of the Racine Reformatory for Boys never suffered, and this was perhaps a testament to his harsh methods.

Finally, when he retired, Malcolm McGee was given a special religious commendation for his many years of exemplary service. 'Buck' Peterson died of a broken heart, when he heard some of the sad and poignant stories of incarcerated boys years later. Perhaps there is justice in this imperfect world, a world diverse in all of its manifestations.

The End