Mark E. Dassad

Reform School Boys

or Thompson's Lesson

& Trade

#1

Reform School Boys

or Thompson's Lesson

Squeaking rubber on polished hardwood floors, panting in circles about the perimeter of the gym, he didn't notice the two boys keeping pace on either side of him; he wasn't aware of their subtle movements, a foot snaking in front of his ankle, a shoulder brushing his. Thompson was only aware of a painful oxygen debt, his lungs were burning, his feet were sore, he'd lost count of the number of laps they'd been forced to run, his teeth ached at the base and he knew he'd puke soon if he wasn't allowed to stop. He was aware of the floor rushing up at his face; his knees and wrists and chin were sliding across the smooth varnish, peeled raw, before he even knew he was going down.

A shrill whistle brought the circling band of boys to an abrupt, squeaky halt.

"Thompson you goddamn spastic fuck-up, what the HELL are you doing??" Mr. Karn bellowed at the boy lying on his back in the middle of the floor, clutching at his oozing knees and elbows, his face contorted in agony, his body rolling as he savagely bit his lip to keep from crying out.

"I tripped, SIR." Thompson continued rolling, his eyes squeezed tightly shut with the effort not to cry out.

Karn walked slowly to where the boy lay prone, stood above him. "Get up you miserable candy-ass."

When Thompson didn't move except to continue writhing, Karn reached down to grab him by the hair, pulling him roughly to his feet, clutching at the hand locked in his scalp.

"Oww leggoame!"

"Gimme ten more laps!," Karn bellowed at Thompson "The rest of you hit the showers." Sneakers pounded the floor as the rest of the class hustled to obey. They ranged in age from 15 to 17, the oldest group of delinquents housed in Middlefield School for Boys. It sounded like a posh boarding school. It was a high security prison for youths not quite violent enough to merit being tried as adults.

Thompson limped to obey. He'd been alone with the gym teacher often enough to be eager to comply. Karn kept a heavy wooden paddle in his office; well-oiled, well-worn, a double row of neat holes cut at regular intervals to lessen air resistance, do more damage, and Thompson had already twice felt it's length slamming into his naked backside in the week and a half since he'd been transferred to Middlefield. That only happened for the worst offenses, otherwise Karn only slapped him around a bit. Thompson staggered around the perimeter of the gym, trying not to pay attention to his raw, bruised knees and elbows, his aching lungs, his tired swollen feet. For the nine-hundred and forty-eighth time he replayed the heist in his head.

Car-jacking was supposed to be easy. You ran up to a car stopped at a light, pointed a gun at the driver's head and when they got out of the car with piss all over their lap you and your partner hopped in and drove off.

Except that goddamn rich bitch screamed and he panicked and shot her in the head. He didn't mean to, he tried to tell that to his lawyer, to the shrinks, but he was just a dumb-ass no good piece of worthless white trash whose family was so pathetic they didn't manage to crawl out of the ghetto when the blacks and Puerto Ricans took over and everyone knew the lawyers worked for the rich slobs, how the hell did he expect any fucking justice?? He hated that rich bitch, for fucking up his life. It was SUPPOSED to be easy, and anyway he didn't MEAN to kill her. The lawyer said well what the fuck were you carrying the gun for if you didn't intend to shoot anything? The stupid jerk didn't KNOW what it was like, rich college asshole.

Thompson felt lunch rising in his stomach; he wasn't in all that great shape, he knew that goddamn good and well; otherwise he might've outrun the lunatic good samaritan that chased him down right in the middle of the fucking worst neighborhood in the city christ you couldn't even count on people to mind their own fucking business anymore, to "not get involved". He lurched toward the wastebasket in the corner of the gym and heaved creamed tuna and string beans into the bin.

Karn was right behind him. Six foot two, beefy, an ex-marine who really enjoyed his work. He clamped a beefy hand around the back of Thompson's neck and squeezed, pulling Thompson to his feet when he'd finished spitting the remnants of lunch into the pail.

"Twenty more laps!" Karn barked in Thompson's ear as he squeezed his neck harder. Thompson was 16, nearly six foot tall, sporting a few scraggly hairs that he liked to think constituted a moustache, but he was flabby and out of shape and no match for the gym teacher. Too much smoke and booze. He knew he'd never finish another lap. Screw it.

"Fuck you." He whispered it. A horrible paralyzing fear washed over his body, he couldn't have moved if he'd tried. Just like when the rich bitch's skull had exploded. Slow motion, like a Peckinpah movie. Thompson was scared wit-less, he wanted to run, to strike at the meaty hand squeezing his neck muscles, but he was frozen. His dick was making a tent out of the front of his baggy gym shorts. It had done the same thing when he pulled the trigger. Terror. It made him hard.

Without speaking, Karn grabbed Thompson's left arm, twisted it up his back, pushing him relentlessly towards his office, meeting virtually no resistance from the dazed boy. Not that he would have been able to resist the older stronger heavier man.

The door slammed shut.

"Drop them," Karn whispered menacingly at Thompson as he stood facing the mute, frozen boy, arms folded, ice blue eyes boring into his skull.

Thompson shifted his gaze from the terrifying image of the enraged man. Too calm. Dead calm. Eye of the hurricane calm. His dick was poking at the front of his gym shorts, terror making him hard. He didn't want his hard-on to be exposed, ridiculed. When he didn't move, Karn lurched forward, yanked Thompson's shorts around his knees, yanked his jock down, and stepped back, arms again folded, drilling his unblinking gaze at Thompson's meager bush, at his erect cock and swollen balls. Karn stood for nearly a full minute, stone cold, staring at the boy standing before him with his shorts around his knees, quaking and flapping his arms, cold sweat staining his t-shirt, wanting to cover his shame, but knowing it would further enrage the man in control of the situation.

"You know the drill." Karn hissed, gave his perfect grayish blond flat-top a quick backward bush, the only indication of his intense excitement. "Over the desk, legs spread."

"MOVEIT!" he bellowed, when Thompson stood, frozen to the spot.

Jolted from his paralysis Thompson turned, lay the upper half of his torso on the spotless surface of the teacher's desk, careful not to bump the pen set, disturb the carefully placed pencil cup and paperweight. He clasped his hands behind his neck, bent at the waist, legs spread, pale bony buttocks exposed for punishment, his balls dangling down between his legs, his cock refusing to wilt as much as Thompson tried to will it.

Karn pulled his cherished paddle down from it's place on his wall, caressing it's length. He allowed himself a small anticipatory smile as he hefted the weapon in his right hand, stepping up behind the boy. He knew the kid was mortified at his erection; over the years though, he'd watched plenty of cum spatter the front of his desk, pounded out of countless boys' balls from the sensations aroused by his beatings.

"Count," he ordered Thompson. The Thompson kid irked him. He was a whiner, a weasel. The other boys despised him, hounded him mercilessly, pummelled him, tripped him, stole his things, ate his desserts, smoked his cigarettes, because he let them. He didn't fight back. Instead he complained to the staff. He was weak. Karn still found it impossible to picture the kid cacking anybody.

Thompson paused a breath. This was almost the worst part, it made him feel like he asked for it, that he wanted it. But he knew the longer he waited the harder the paddle would fall.

"One." he whispered, flinching, tensing, waiting for the first blow to fall.

"ONE," he blurted, much louder. He barely had time to register the whistling sound of the paddle travelling through the air when a hard, white hot pain exploded over his ass-cheeks, the loud crack of wood slamming into his flesh ringing in his ears. He gasped as his body slid forward on the desk from the force of the blow, unable to stop his forward motion with his hands clasped behind his neck. He managed to keep his knees from buckling, and asked for the second blow.

"Two."

Another loud crack and Thompson cried out, unable to stop a moan from escaping his tightly closed lips. He slid forward again; his erection still blossoming, his hands clasped behind his neck.

"Three." He croaked out. It was necessary to keep the blows coming as fast as possible, it hurt less that way, perhaps only because Karn had less time to aim, less time to gather his strength. The paddle slammed into his reddened, bruised buttocks,and Thompson loosed a high-pitched scream, his knees buckling from the force of the blow.

"Four!" he wailed, recovering his balance just as the paddle made contact, sending him to his knees, as he slid backward off the desk. Thompson shrieked, unable to stop the flow of tears unleashed by the pain coursing through his ass.

Karn waited patiently, unblinking, as Thompson slowly staggered to his feet. He re-arranged the desk blotter and shakily lay back down over the desk and clasped his hands behind his neck.

Karn expertly eyed his handiwork. The purple blotches rising on Thompson's ass were a testament to Karn's years of practice; the holes in the paddle added an extra dimension to the art-form, made drawing blood more likely. Two more blows and he was certain he would be rewarded with the red liquid. Karn always stopped after he drew the first bit of blood; he knew the goddamn social workers would be all over the place if some punk rapist got a little too banged up when he was disciplining them.

"Five." Thompson choked out, trying to control his shaking voice. A loud crack reverberated in the small space of the office, as the paddle fell again, compressing his buttocks and sending him lurching forward on the desk. He wailed, loosing another high-pitched scream. The conscious part of his pain-clouded brain barely registered the pleasure it experienced as the engorged head of his cock brushed the smooth surface of the desk.

"SIX," he shrieked. He nearly collapsed from the force of the paddle landing yet again on his tortured cheeks, the sound of wood meeting flesh echoing around the room.

"Done." Karn eyed the large boy sobbing wetly on his desk blotter, small splotches of blood glistening on the purple mass of weals coloring his buttocks.

Thompson moved to rise, suddenly painfully aware of his stiff tool bobbing beneath his bent form, his swollen balls aching for release. He was desperate to find a private place to jerk some pleasure out of the awful, agonizing, humiliating paddling he'd just endured.

Karn moved in, grabbing Thompson by the back of the neck and effortlessly pinned the exhausted boy to his desk.

"Did I say you could get up?" he hissed menacingly.

"No no noo..." Thompson whimpered patheticly, petrified. He'd never had to withstand more than six before...

Karn snorted impatiently at the quivering boy he held to his desk. The kid was scared shitless, his head turned sideways, ear to the desk, his face pointed away from his menacing presence. He'd seen other boys, smaller and weaker, endure worse and still come up fighting. This particular kid disgusted him, rankled him more than any he could remember.

"What did you say to me out there?" He leaned in dangerously close to Thompson's exposed left ear, he could feel Thompson's whole body shaking. The pimply overgrownlittle puke.

Thompson didn't want to say it again, but he knew he had to, he had no choice.

"Fuck you." he squeaked miserably, tears leaking from his eyes.

"Fuck you?" Karn's voice leaked venom.

"Yes sir," Thompson was glad he was able to remember the 'sir' part.

"You're not MAN enough to 'fuck me'..." Karn would really teach this kid a lesson. He'd taught countless other boys the same lesson, the one's foolish enough to spit those words at him in their impotent rage. Paddling these boys always got him hard, he usually sent them away afterward and then whacked off in private. But he'd been wanting to teach Thompson this lesson ever since he'd showed up at Middlefield.

Karn stepped up behind behind Thompson's abused buttocks and lowered his shorts. With strong muscular hands he pulled Thompson's cheeks apart; Thompson wailed and began crying fresh as Karn's fingers drove into his tortured flesh. Positioning the head of his cock against Thompson's tight young hole, Karn cleanly thrust his hard cock into Thompson's anus, bulldozing his way through the stunned wall of muscle that clutched at his stick in an attempt to expel the alien invasion.

Thompson shrieked, impaled, his gym teacher's dick buried to the base in his ass, his tortured buttocks being further abused by the hairy groin scraping his cheeks, his already pain-crazed brain overloading at the burning pain now spreading *inside* his ass as well as on the surface. Karn leaned over the boy he had pinned to his desk with his dick.

"No Thompson, It's 'fuck YOU'."

Karn began balling in earnest, slamming his cock in and out of the tight virgin ass he held helplessly in his control, grunting as the boy beneath him shrieked and twisted, unable to withstand the torturous sensation of his virginal chute being so violently violated. Karn humped furiously, reaching below Thompson's twisting bucking hips, and clutched the hard cock he found there. He stroked furiously, pulling at Thompson's shaft painfully hard, in time with his thrusting motions in his ass. Karn let go when he felt the kid's dick jerk in the first indication of orgasm, and humped furiously, enjoying the bastard's screams of helpless agony.

Thompson howled, begging the man pistoning in his ass to stop, sure he was being killed by the cock drilling into him, even as gouts of his cum splashed from the head of his cock onto the front of the desk. He moaned in pleasure, crying from humiliation, tortured to the point where he couldn't decipher one physical sensation from the next as the burning, tearing pain spreading through the lower half of his body began to resemble ecstasy. And still Thompson kept his hands locked behind his neck as his body was buffeted about by the cock grinding insistently into him; terrified of what might happen if he varied from "the procedure".

Karn stood up from where he had been leaning over Thompson's back and grabbed Thompson's butt, his nuts swelling, his groin lurching as he felt him self ready to explode. He began slamming wildly in and out of his brutalized ass as Thompson moaned, the fresh pain from the hands clutching his ass-cheeks freshly inspiring his young cock. Karn came in long thick spurts, each gusher of jizz punctuated by an especially hard thrust that made Thompson howl even as his cock bobbed expectantly.

Karn pulled his dick out of Thompson's ass, pulled up his shorts and moved back to let Thompson rise.

"Go shower down."

Thompson stood painfully, choking and sobbing, his face swollen and tear-streaked, a colorful complement to his purple, swollen, slightly bloodied buttocks. He pulled his gym shorts up to cover his humiliation and walk stiffly out of the office, his back turned to the man who had just enjoyed the pleasures of his tight young rectum.

Karn stared impassively at the retreating back of the boy he had just taught his particularly special lesson. A job well done, in his estimation. He smiled almost imperceptibly.

The End

A quickie, in the back room at the arcade. Near the bathrooms, not too suspicious, the traffic of kids. When Rock-o was working, he let me hang out there, for a percentage, either in tail or coin. It was good for his business, better for mine. I kept the tail for myself that night, let him skim the cash profit, I had got my nut-juice bubbling in a major way over this skinny young skate-death kid from the Jr. High that had gotten into me for some cash, over a bad X habit.

He'd come around with a ten-spot swiped from his mother's purse. I guess it was rough, being too young to work at McD's for drug money, I dunno, I never worked a straight job. The kid had spent his allowance with me last Friday, and the Friday before, and the Friday before that 3; I'd been floating him the random blow-job for a hit here and there, he had a pretty mouth, big, wet, fuckable red lips like that "Home Alone" kid, his mouth looked just like really primo twat. I'd been giving him an extra hit when he swallowed, at the ripe old age of thirteen he was turning into a righteous junkie whore. Without the drug habit he could've been earning himself a serious income selling his body.

I guess that was probably what attracted him to the skate-death scene, being as pretty as he was. Cut-off t-shirts painted up with skulls and crosses and sinister looking symbols, giant black combat boots, baggy ripped up shorts. And the weird shave-job hairdo, super-long but hacked off unevenly on the sides and back.

I'm sure he thought he looked threatening.

To old ladies maybe.

Wiry rope-muscled pencil thin legs sticking out of Doc Martens, scrawny neck with no sign of an adam's apple, cheeks as soft as a baby's ass, I could've laughed out loud at most of the little upper-middle-class pukes that squirreled up to me during business hours pretending to be hardcore outlaws from the wrong side of the tracks.

Outlaws, in their dreams.

In reality, rich brats with $100 imitations of $30 work-boots, $150 boards with custom trucks, custom paint-jobs, gimme a break. Yeah, I wanted to laugh, or tell them to go home to their rich Daddies, but it was bad for business.

"Uh, I got a dime c'n you. uh. you know 3;"

The kid was half-wasted, as usual. Actually, I think he was just not very bright to start with and the junk he sent through his bloodstream kept him entertained. I reached out and palmed the paper, leaned back on the battered grey metal desk, scratching at what passed for a goatee at the High School I was enrolled at. The bill disappeared down inside my shorts, and the kid shifted a while before he realized I wasn't coughing anything up.

"Uh 3; that was a tenner, you know. You 3; uh. Any X?"

"You're into me for 50, that ten just brought you down to 40."

"Uh 3; uhh 3;" The kid stared at his shoes. He'd sucked me off for hits before, and I knew he was wanting one bad now, I hadn't seen him in a couple days. "well uh, i could 3; uh 3; trade?"

I smiled at him, and he started to kneel down in front of me, reach for my fly.

"Not this time," I stared into his uncomprehending eyes.

"You're into me for a lot of cash. You owe me more than a lousy blow-job."

The kid blinked. It took a while for him to figure out what I meant. I'm not sure he really did.

"You wanna do 3; something else?"

Christ, thirteen, I woulda thought he'd of known about buggery by then. I couldn't help snorting derisively.

"I wanna fuck you in the ass, or I want my 40 bucks." Chill, stone cold, I stared right into his dim little soul.

I was getting a wooder being that close to such a pretty little skate punk and I was pretty sure he was gonna let me. I'd never had the balls to trade tail for dope with any of these little pukes before, but the very sight of this particular kid was giving my dick mastery over my business sense. He blinked a few times as his brain slowly processed what I was proposing.

"I don't have 40 dollars 3;"

"Yeah, well 3;" I stared him down, openly rubbing my hand along the outline of the bone growing in my jockeys. His face turned a splotchy shade of pink, and he dropped his gaze.

" 3;yeah, ok I guess" he mumbled.

"So suck me good and hard, you wanna lube my dick with plenty of spit so it doesn't hurt so bad when I stick it in there," I advised him.

The kid did like I suggested, he knelt down in front of me and unzipping my fly he pulled out my half-hard bone and went to work on it. He'd sucked me off maybe half-a-dozen times, he was getting pretty good at it.

I stopped it when I caught myself humping at the kid's face, hunching my hips up off the battered old desk I was leaning against in the dank little office, almost out of control. I pulled his head away from my crotch, him drooling spit off his lower lip, my cock pointing stiffly out from my groin dripping saliva and pre-cum. I made motions for him to get up.

The kid stood, started self-consciously working at the buttons on his hacked-off camo fatigues as I got him turned around and facing the desk as I moved behind him, lowering my own grubby shorts the rest of the way to let my cock and balls swing free.

The kid was a regular little grunge-meister, filthy shorts around his ankles, ripped and paint-spattered t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, three sizes too big, hanging loosely down past his butt, he had the look down cold. I almost burst out laughing as he awkwardly pulled down his pristine little white Fruit-Of-The-Looms, his mommy musta been bleaching and ironing them, they were so snowy white, just like his little butt-cheeks.

I moved up behind the kid, my cock spearing into the small of his back. I grabbed the baby-soft nape of his neck, pushed him forward so he was bent him over the edge of the desk, pulled his t-shirt up under his armpits, exposing his scrawny back, his ribs jutting from beneath pale white skin. He was really scrawny, small for his age, and short. His balls were still undeveloped, his dick was short and thin. He had only peach-fuzz on his nuts, and oh. god! He really did have perfect little round buns. I'd never fucked ass before, just been sucked off, but I knew I'd picked me some grade-A prime.

I crouched down, grabbed each of the kid's cheeks really tightly, pulling them lewdly apart to expose his little brown button to my drooling dick. I barely noticed how he tensed up when my hands first touched his naked ass, I barely noticed how he seemed to shrink even smaller, folding in on himself, bent over the edge of the desk in that grimy office, when the head of my cock tapped against his bung-hole.

I pressed the eye of my cock hard against his little pucker, pushed as hard as I could. The kid's opening was incredibly tight, and I slipped off the mark. I felt the kid tense up again, his body stiffened beneath me, twitching like he was having some kind of spaz attack, like my dick was an electric cattle prod or something, I was sure he was gonna lose it, holler maybe, so I leaned over his back, licked the side of his neck like he was my damn girlfriend, bit his ear, feeling him just shudder all over every time I touched him. I whispered, all hot and sleezy, my mouth right next to his ear, the words fell across the side of his face as he lay stiff and tense, shaking like a leaf, his eyes squeezed shut, trying not to cry.

"They might hear us out there," I whispered. Doubtful, really, unless the kid lost it and started shrieking bloody murder, he'd have to bellow awful damn loud to be heard over the computerized roar of the arcade. But the kid shook again all up and down his body and I knew I'd made my point, he didn't want anyone to know he was selling his cherry for forty lousy bucks.

I leaned back up, grabbed my cock with one hand and stroked the soft smooth skin of the kid's back with the other; I loved the way the kid squirmed at the least little touch. I pressed the head of my dick even harder against his asshole. It seemed like it took forever, my cock was thumping, pulsing, screaming to be let into his ass, but finally the head popped through, and the kid did squeal, a gasping desperate cry as I poked the first inch of my cock into his shit-hole. He moaned again as I shoved against him; slowly forcing inch by slow, painful, inch of my dick into his tight little baby ass. Noises, animal noises, popped out of his lungs in bursts; the kid's hands were balled into fists, one of them was squeezing his t-shirt, smashing it into his mouth to stifle off his moans and grunts and squeals, and I added my own animal fucking-noises to his being-fucked noises, as his virgin ass squeezed my dick for all it was worth.

It was goddamn frustrating, slow going, and the instinct to fuck, to piston my cock like a goddamn dog on a bitch in heat, pound my pud back and forth in this kid's incredibly tight little ass was coursing through my hips, barrelling back and forth between my belly button and knees like a runaway train. I got all caught up in this wave of pure instinct, I found myself clutching the kid's skinny hips, squashing fingerprint bruises into both sides of his pelvis. I bent my knees, held onto his hips, and slammed the rest of my dick up into his shit-tube in one awesome thrust. The kid choked on his t-shirt, thrashing around on my pole rammed up his hole, both hands stuffed against his mouth to keep from shrieking out loud.

I stopped for a few really long seconds, feeling the tight ring of the little punk's ass muscle squeezing the base of my cock, the soft walls of his shit-tube gripping the length of my dick, the sensitive head buried deep inside his gut. Feeling my loose, dangling balls resting against his small hairless sac, Feeling his firm little butt-cheeks mashed against my bush.

And then I totally fucking lost it, and I reamed him for all he was worth.

The kid weighed barely a hundred pounds, I pumped his ass maybe a dozen or so times, hard. Quick, really hard. The desk made a major racket as I did him, metal scraping noises as the thing moved around as I pounded into the kid. His butt-cheeks flattened when I slammed into him, my hands crushing his hips, pulling him back onto my stabbing prick, his butt seemed to rebound off my pelvis, only to be reeled in again by the iron grip of my hands on his hips, picking up speed on each cycle.

I came harder than I ever came before in my life, too; I slammed into him so fast and hard I couldn't count the number of strokes. I could fell his ass opening up more and more as I fucked him, the grip of his butt-muscle getting looser and looser as my cum greased the way for my dick. I've got only this very dim memory of these faraway, muffled screams filtering out around the wad of t-shirt the kid had crammed into his mouth.

I popped my limp pud out of the kid's ass after I came, I pulled down his t-shirt, wiped the streaks of shit, my cum, some blood that proved his ass was virgin, off my dick on the inside of his shirt, stuffed myself back into my shorts, and I watched, bored, as his asshole winked and spasmed, spitting out little pinkish brown dribbles of my jizz. The kid lay for a couple seconds like that, bent over the desk with his ass still exposed, his shorts and underwear around his ankles, as I parked myself in the creaky old office chair on the other side of the desk.

The kid got up slowly; I grinned at how he moved like he still had a log up his ass. I got the briefest glimpse of his flaccid pink little prick and hairless groin as he pulled his pants up. He stood there, all nervous like, not looking at me, shifting around. The whole thing had lasted maybe three minutes, start to finish.

"Uh. so 3; could you uh. spot me a hit?"

"Sure, for ten dollars" I stared at the kid, dead-eyed, as he stared at his feet, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched.

"You got my last ten bucks 3;" he mumbled, shifting his weight, kicking nervously at the front of the desk.

"Yeah, I guess I do."

"I could suck you 3;" the kid trailed off.

I laughed, real ugly, a cruel laugh. "Not interested."

The kid shifted around, like he still expected something. A cigarette maybe? A 'thank-you sweetie'?

"I'm sure you can find some fag who wants a ten-dollar blow-job," I suggested helpfully. "Now get the fuck outta here, unless you got cash, I got business."

I watched him limp off, his walk all wobbly, what with my load still sloshing around in his ass. He'd be back. That kid needed his head candy.

I wonder what his name was?

The End