Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Standard disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.  It is for entertainment
purposes only and intended exclusively for adults.  If you are not legally
of age according to the laws of your land, please go away.
Warnings: M+/M, rape, humiliation

   The Strict Disciplinarian by Mother Kali

   Sheriff Williams put down the report he'd been reviewing and rubbed his
eyes tiredly.  If the war on drugs were being fought on an actual
battlefield, they would have sent up the white flag a long time ago.  The
statistics were that disheartening.  Things seemed to grow worse every
year. Hell, every month, maybe even every week.  It was wearing the sheriff
out.  He was seriously beginning to consider retirement.

   The situation was especially grave in the small locality he served.  The
Mexican border was only a couple of miles away, and there was a sizeable
university the next town over.  His beloved hometown ended up caught in the
middle--attracting hardcore drug dealers and the upscale college kids who
came to buy their merchandise.  It had gotten to the point that people were
afraid to go out after dark.

   The thing that got to him the most were the kids.  The lowlife losers
who smuggled the drugs--well, there was really nothing to do with them but
lock them up and throw away the key.  But the students--he could never
understand what they were thinking.  They had everything going for them,
everything to lose.  But kids never thought things through.  They just did
what their friends were doing and never considered for a moment where it
all might lead.

   There was a knock at the door, and Getty, one of his deputies, stepped
into his office.

   "Sir, we have a situation."

   "Yes?"

   "Carson and Saunders caught a kid with drugs out behind the mall.  He
was dealing right there in plain sight."

   "Another one from the university?"

   Getty nodded.  "We found his student ID on him."

   The sheriff sighed heavily.  "Okay.  Go ahead and tell Saunders to get
started with the interrogation.  I'll be right there."

   "Sure thing, Sheriff."

   Getty left.  The sheriff picked up the photograph of his son that was
proudly displayed on his desk.  Scott's sunny face smiled at him from the
frame, the winning grin the boy relied on to get him out of every scrape.
He shook his head and put the picture back down.  Kids just didn't realize
the far-reaching repercussions their actions could have.  They didn't look
ahead.  They just leaped right in with both feet, and too often, they
landed in more trouble than they could handle.

   That's why the sheriff took a personal interest in cases like this one.
In a sense, they were all his sons.  He couldn't be satisfied simply with
following procedures and processing them through the system.  He felt a
duty to teach them something that might make a difference in their lives.
He owed that to the boys and their parents.  He had to show them that even
a seemingly small misstep could have disastrous consequences.

   He sighed again, got up from his desk and headed for the observation
room.  They had informed the boy of his rights at the scene.  Saunders, his
head deputy, was conducting the interview.  The kid slouched sullenly in
his chair as he answered the questions.  He reminded the sheriff of hippies
from his own generation.  He had long curly dark hair, earrings, a black
T-shirt with the name of some band the sheriff didn't recognize emblazoned
on it, a long-sleeved flannel shirt over that, ragged jeans with the knees
out and a tear along the rear that showed his briefs--the typical uniform
for a young man rebelling against authority.

   Saunders took down the boy's basic information.

   "Okay," he said when he'd finished.  "We're going to need to conduct a
thorough search of your person.  We'll need you to get undressed."

   The boy stared at him incredulously.  "You've got to be kidding."

   "I'm afraid not, son.  This is a very serious matter."

   The kid shook his head.  "No way, man.  I know my rights.  I'm not
letting you search me.  I want to call a lawyer."

   "And you'll have plenty of time for that later on.  Our officers saw you
in plain sight with the drugs.  That means we have probable cause for the
search.  Now, get undressed.  Or these deputies here will have to help
you."

   The kid eyed the deputies.  Carson and Getty were both well over six
feet tall.  Their brown shirts had to stretch to accommodate their biceps.
The sheriff could see the boy's throat muscles working as he swallowed
hard.

   "All right.  I'll do it," he finally said.  "If I have to."

   Saunders nodded.  "I appreciate the cooperation."

   The boy got up, his movements jerky and nervous.

   "Uh-- you mean right here?" he asked.

   "This is where we typically conduct searches," Saunders said.  "Go ahead
and undress if you would."

   The boy looked around the room at the other officers present.  "In front
of everybody?"

   "State law requires that we have more than one law enforcement officer
present during a search.  That's for your protection.  So there's no
question about evidence being planted.  I'm sure you understand the need
for such safeguards."

   The boy reluctantly agreed, "I guess so."

   "Good then.  Now, please, disrobe.  And we'll get this search over with
as quickly as we can."

   The kid hesitantly unbuttoned his flannel shirt, took it off and laid it
on the table.  He removed his shoes and socks.  He unbuckled his belt and
looked around the room nervously before stripping off his T-shirt.  He had
a nipple ring in his right nipple.  The sheriff shook his head.  The cons
on the block would just love that.

   "Do you have to watch?" the boy asked, balking at taking his pants off
in front of an audience.

   "'Fraid so," Saunders told him.  "In case you have it in mind to try to
destroy evidence.  Again, that's a safeguard for your protection. 
Destroying evidence is a serious crime.  This way, you won't be tempted. 
Now, if you'll remove your pants and underwear, we can get on with this."

   The kid blushed as he unzipped his jeans and pushed them down his legs,
along with his underwear.  He stepped out of his clothes and kicked them to
the side.

   "All right.  Good," Saunders said.  "Now, raise your arms."

   The kid lifted his arms above his head.

   "Okay.  Good.  Open your mouth and lift your tongue."

   Saunders shone a light in his mouth and used a tongue depressor to make
sure nothing was hidden in his cheeks.

   "Good," the deputy said.  "Now, hop on one foot and then the other. 
Bend the knee and really lift the foot up off the floor.  We need to make
sure there's nothing clenched between your toes.  Go ahead then."

   The boy awkwardly hopped, his genitals bouncing as he did.

   "All right.  Now lift your testicles."

   The kid's face turned bright red as he held up his scrotum, so the
officer could check beneath it.

   "Okay.  You can let your testicles go.  Bend over.  Spread your cheeks."

   The boy's face turned even redder as he exposed himself to the officer.
Saunders stepped behind him and shone the light into his crack.

   "Uh-oh."

   "What?" the boy asked, nervously.

   "Looks like there's something in there.  Carson, hand me that box of
gloves."

   "What are you doing?"

   "You just stay like that son.  Keep those cheeks spread as wide as you
can."

   The deputy snapped on a pair of latex gloves.  The boy reacted to the
sound with visible alarm.

   "There's nothing in my ass.  I swear to God."

   Saunders squirted lube onto his fingers.  "You just hold still now," he
instructed the boy.  "Since the visual inspection turned up something, I'm
going to need to follow up with a cavity search."

   The boy let go of his butt and straightened up.  "No way, man.  You are
*not* touching me there.  I'm serious.  I want to call a lawyer.  I want to
call one *now*."

   "Son, I already explained that we have every legal right to perform this
search.  Now, we can do this with your cooperation or without it.  But let
me tell you, your behind is likely to smart something awful if you fight me
while I'm trying to search you.  So, what's it going to be?  You going to
make trouble for yourself?  Or are you going to put that brain of yours to
work and figure out the easiest way to get through this is by cooperating?"

   Faced with the possibility of a forced rectal search, the boy's bravado
quickly deflated.  He suddenly looked like he wanted to cry.

   The deputy said in a gentle voice, "Now bend back over and hold your
cheeks apart.  We'll get this taken care of as fast as we can."

   The boy reluctantly did as he was told, and the deputy began the search,
slowly, carefully probing his anus.

   "Uh-oh," the deputy said.  "I feel something."

   "Ow!  You're hurting me," the boy complained, red-faced.

   Saunders carefully worked his finger inside the boy and removed a small
vial.  He held it up to get a better look.  It was filled with white
powder.

   "Looks like heroin," Carson said.

   Saunders nodded.  "Yeah, I'm afraid so.  Go get the sheriff.  Tell him
we recovered what appears to be narcotics from the boy's rectum."

   "I didn't have anything to do with this," the boy protested hotly.

   The deputy laughed.  "Son, are you seriously trying to tell me that
someone else has access to your rectum without you knowing about it?"

   The boy blushed with humiliation.  The sheriff sighed heavily as looked
on.  It was always the same.  These kids never just admitted their crimes
and took responsibility for their mistakes.  They had to tell every
outrageous lie they could think of and blame everybody from their first
grade teacher to their dead grandfather, anything to try to weasel out of
being accountable for their own actions.  It was the kind of character flaw
that would only get them into more and more serious trouble if they weren't
taught a proper lesson.

   Carson knocked on the door and poked his head inside.  "You heard?"

   The sheriff nodded.

   "Should we follow the usual procedure?" Carson asked.

   "Yeah.  I'll take care of the next part."

   Carson nodded and disappeared, heading back to the interrogation room.
The sheriff lingered a moment, watching the boy.  There was fear beneath
his tough-boy facade.  How many times had he seen that in the eyes of the
young men who paraded through his station?  And he thought the same thing
he always did: That the best thing for them would be to give them something
to really worry about.

   The sheriff went next door to join his deputies.

   "I don't see why I can't get dressed now.  You've done your stupid
search already," the boy was complaining as the sheriff entered the room.

   "That was only a level one examination," the sheriff said from the
doorframe.

   The boy whirled around.

   "Who are you?"

   "I'm Sheriff Williams.  I'll be conducting the next phase of the search.
Once we ascertain that there is reason to believe drugs are being smuggled
in a body cavity, we then move on to a more rigorous physical inspection."

   "You have no *right*," the boy said indignantly.

   "The law gives me the right.  Now, if you'll resume the position, we'll
go ahead and get this over with."

   The sheriff pulled on a pair of gloves.

   "I wasn't smuggling anything." The boy's belligerence was disappearing.
He was beginning to sound scared.  "Okay, so I admit I had drugs on me. 
But you already found everything I had.  I swear.  That's it.  There's no
more.  No reason to do this."

   The sheriff lubed his latex-covered fingers.

   "That's an interesting way to carry your drugs.  Most recreational users
I've run into during my thirty years in law enforcement tend to use their
pockets.  But dealers.  Well, that's another story.  They'll stash their
merchandise all over their bodies when they go out to sell.  In their
mouths, snugged up in their arm pits, in their shoes.  And sometimes in
their rectums, usually as a safety supply.  That way, they'll still have
something to sell if they run into cops and have to ditch the rest of their
stuff.  No officer's going to find a stash there in a routine pat down."

   "That's not me, man.  I *swear*."

   "Well, son, you also swore there weren't any drugs on your body.  So
you'll have to excuse me if I don't take your word for it.  Now, go ahead
and resume the position."

   "What are you looking for?" the boy asked, as he bent over and spread
his cheeks again.

   "Where there's one vial of heroin, there's usually a few others to keep
it company.  Occasionally, we find weapons tucked up in there, too.  We
have to take proper precautions and rule that out as a possibility."

   "*He* didn't find anything else." The kid jerked his head in Saunders'
direction.

   "Sheriff Williams has a lot more experience in drug searches than I do,"
Saunders said.

   "This is going to be a three-finger search," the sheriff explained.

   "Shit!" the boy said, sounding scared.

   "I'm preparing to insert the first finger."

   The sheriff carefully worked his index finger past the boy's sphincter
and into his anal passage.  He pushed in until he felt the slight
protrusion of the boy's prostate.  Then he began to massage the gland.

   "Oh." A little involuntary noise escaped the boy.

   All the young men he performed this procedure on were surprised to find
out how pleasurable it could be.  He gently twisted his fingers, stretching
the boy's muscles.  He was a strict father, but he was not a cruel one.  He
always made sure to prepare his sons for the difficult lesson they were
about to face.

   Predictably, the boy began to get hard.

   "Aren't you finished yet?" he demanded, obviously disconcerted by his
body's reaction.

   "That's only the first finger.  I'm now introducing the second one."

   The boy groaned.  "It's too full.  You're hurting me."

   "Relax your rectal muscles.  Breathe out," the sheriff instructed.

   He worked the prostate with both fingers.  The boy was soon fully erect.

   "Now for the third finger," he said.

   The boy gasped.  "Shit!"

   Despite his protests, the sheriff could feel his muscles relaxing a
little more as they grew used to the intrusion, stretching to accommodate
the increased girth.  He spread the lubricant as deeply as he could reach
and then pulled his fingers out.  The boy's hard cock bobbed, drooling
pre-cum.  He flushed with embarrassment.

   "That seems to be it," he told his deputies.  "I didn't find anything
else."

   "Can I get dressed now?" the boy asked.

   "Of course." He turned to one of his deputies.  "Getty, go get him a
uniform."

   "Yes, sir."

   Getty left the room.

   "What's going to happen to me now?" the boy asked, alarmed by the
mention of a prison uniform.

   "You'll be held over for arraignment."

   "You're going to lock me up?" he asked, disbelievingly.

   "'Fraid so, son.  Dealing drugs is a serious offense."

   "I wasn't hurting anyone," he blustered.  "Don't you people have any
clue how stupid this whole war on drugs is?  How useless?"

   The sheriff regarded him calmly.  "That may be, son.  Maybe those people
up in the state capital really ought to change the entire drug statute.  I
don't rightly know.  What I do know is that right now this law is still on
the books.  And you've broken it."

   "That really *sucks*, man," the boy said vehemently.

   Getty opened the door and stepped back into the room.

   "Sheriff, the laundry truck hasn't shown up yet.  We're completely out
of shirts.  All we have on hand is this pair of pants."

   "That's fine," the Sheriff told him.  And then he explained to the boy,
"It's against policy to allow detainees to wear non-issue clothing.  I'm
afraid you'll have to go shirtless until the laundry truck arrives and we
can get you a shirt.  But it's warm back there in the holding cell.  I
don't think you'll be uncomfortable."

   Getty handed the pants to the boy.

   "Can I at least have my underwear?" he asked.

   The Sheriff shook his head.  "We need it for evidence." He motioned to
Carson.  "Do me a favor and bag that for me."

   The deputy carefully picked up the boy's briefs, placed them in a
plastic bag and sealed it.

   "How could that possibly be evidence?" the boy asked, as he quickly
pulled on the pants he'd been given.

   "Because you hid your drugs in your rectum.  Sometimes there are traces
of chemicals left behind in the underwear."

   "Oh," the boy said, clearly mortified.

   The sheriff could never believe how easily they accepted the bullshit he
told them, but they always did.  The pants the boy was wearing were
standard prison issue, made of a light cotton, now paper thin from years of
washing.  Without his underwear, the boy's erection was clearly outlined by
the soft, worn fabric.  He was quite hard and appeared in no danger of
going soft any time soon.

   The sheriff couldn't help feeling a stab of envy.  A nineteen year old
dick was truly a thing of a wonder.  It got hard at the drop of a hat and
could stay that way forever if the boy didn't get off.  The sheriff could
still vaguely remember what they had been like, way back in his prime. 
Now, it took him a good hour of foreplay with his girlfriend before he was
totally up and ready to go.  Not that Wanda seemed to mind.  In fact, it
meant more of the good stuff as far as she was concerned.  But he couldn't
help feeling the loss, as if his virility was slowly seeping out of him.

   On the other hand, there were some pluses to not being nineteen anymore.
There was certainly a whole lot less embarrassment.  The boy was trying to
hold his hands in front of himself to hide the tent his hard dick was
making in his pants and the wet spot that was forming on the fabric.  The
sheriff had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from smiling.

   "Take him on back to the cell now, Saunders," the sheriff instructed his
deputy.

   "I want a lawyer," the boy demanded.  "I'm supposed to get one call."

   "That's true.  But there's only one public defender around these parts,
and I know for a certainty that he's out of town on a fishing trip until
tomorrow morning.  Of course, I'm assuming you'd need free legal counsel.
But maybe you want to call your parents and have them arrange a lawyer for
you?"

   The boy quickly shook his head.  "No.  No.  You were right.  A public
defender.  That's how I want to handle it."

   It always pained the sheriff how eager these kids were to conceal what
they'd done from their parents.  It never seemed to occur to them that
their mothers and fathers could be very helpful in such serious
circumstances.

   "I thought you might feel that way," he told the boy.  "Anyway, like I
was saying, George Hicks is our only public defender.  You can call him
tomorrow morning when he's back in his office."

   "All right, kid," Saunders said.  "Let's go."

   The deputy hustled him away.  The boy's face clearly showed how much he
dreaded a night in lockup.

   *If only you knew,* the sheriff thought.

   When the door closed, the sheriff said to his men, "Let's make sure we
monitor the situation.  Any signs of real violence, we intervene. 
Understood?"

   "Yes, sir," they said in unison.

   The sheriff nodded.  They'd all been through the drill before.  He just
never liked to take any chances.

   "All right then.  I'll be finishing up my paperwork if anybody needs
me."

   He headed back to his office.  Once there, he opened the large cabinet
on the wall opposite his desk and flipped on the TV.  It was a closed
circuit feed from the cellblock.  He'd be able to keep an eye on everything
that happened to the kid from here.  He put on a pot of coffee.  There was
no telling how long this would take.  He was prepared to stay up all night
if that's what it took.  This child was embarking on his dark night of the
soul, and the sheriff would keep vigil with him.

   After a few moments, Saunders and the kid appeared in the picture.  The
boy's pace grew slower and slower with each step.  Saunders ended up
practically dragging him by the arm.  The sheriff could certainly
understand the boy's hesitation.  There were more than a half dozen other
prisoners already in the cell.  Some of these thugs were so rough around
the edges they unnerved the younger deputies.  A college boy like this
would have every reason to be terrified.

   Saunders opened the cell door, pushed the kid inside and turned the
lock. This was the part the deputy always enjoyed the most.

   He leaned in and told the boy confidentially, in a voice loud enough for
everyone to hear, "Hey, don't worry too much about throwing a boner during
the rectal search.  That just happens sometimes."

   The kid froze, and his face went pale.  The other cons began whistling
and making catcalls, and the tips of the boy's ears turned red.  The deputy
laughed and headed for the door.

   "Hey!" the kid yelled after him.  "You can't leave me in here."

   "Have fun," the deputy told him.

   He laughed again and closed the heavy outer door behind him with a harsh
clang.

   The kid stared at the closed door for several seconds, as if he expected
it to open at any moment and someone to come through it to tell him that
this whole nightmare was really just a terrible joke.  He wasn't actually
going to have to spend the night locked in a cage with these animals.

   When that didn't happen, the boy reluctantly turned around to face
reality and his cellmates.

   There was Hank, with the burn scar disfiguring half his face; JoJo, big
and black, sporting a shaved head and biceps so huge they looked downright
freakish, not to mention scary; Donny, who kept ending up in lockup for
getting high and then proceeding to beat the shit out of whoever was
unlucky enough to cross his path; and several more professional hoodlums,
gang members and one upstanding citizen they thought had probably committed
the most recent drug-related homicide.

   The kid shrank back against the bars.

   *As if that's going to help him,* the sheriff thought.

   The cons began to close in, slowly, stealthily, the way predators
attacked their unfortunate victims in the wild.

   "Help!" the boy screamed at the top of his lungs.  "Somebody help me!"

   Of course, no one responded.

   Hank lunged unexpectedly and yanked the kid away from the bars.  He
pulled the boy in front of him, hooked his arms under the kid's armpits and
hoisted him up.  The kid flailed and kicked his legs.  But JoJo was too
fast for him.  In a flash, he had untied the drawstring, stripped the kid's
pants off and tossed them to the side.

   The boy's cock bobbed and curved up toward his belly.

   JoJo laughed.  "Looks like he's enjoying himself, ey?"

   Donny rubbed his hands together in anticipation.  "A good thing, too. 
Since he doesn't have much choice about it."

   "No!" The boy struggled to break Hank's hold on him.  "Guard!  Somebody!
Help me!"

   "Now, don't go making this any harder than it needs to be," Hank said in
his ear.

   "Please, don't hurt me," the boy begged.

   JoJo put a finger beneath his chin.  "Oh, Sweet Thing, we don't want to
hurt you."

   Relief flashed naively through the boy's eyes.

   "We just want to fuck you," JoJo clarified and then laughed evilly.

   Before the kid could react, Hank threw him down onto his hands and knees
on the concrete floor.  The boy scrambled to get up, but Hank quickly got
down on the floor beside him and held him by the shoulders to keep him
where they wanted him.  The boy fought back as best he could, trying to
kick and bite and squirm out of Hank's grasp.  But the con was far too
strong for him, and he'd done this too many times before.  The kid didn't
have a chance.

   *They never do,* the sheriff thought.

   JoJo undid his pants, pulled out his cock and sank to his knees behind
the boy.

   When the kid felt the man's hard dick against his butt, he wailed,
"Nooooo!" Then he erupted into a hysterical frenzy of flailing and
struggling, a last desperate effort to prevent the inevitable.  "Guard! 
Guard!  Help me!" His voice started to go hoarse from screaming.  "God,
please, make this stop."

   Kenny, one of the streetwise, smartass kids that passed through the jail
like it was a revolving door, stepped up to where the boy struggled on the
floor.

   "Shut up, pussy!  Ain't nobody coming," he said.  "Ain't you figured
that out by now?"

   The kid continued to beg, "Oh, God, please.  Help me."

   Kenny made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat.  "Ain't no God
gonna get you out of this assfucking.  So why don't I give you something
better to do that with that nice, wet mouth of yours, huh?" He rubbed his
hard cock through his pants.

   "Not until I say so," JoJo warned him, as he lined up his cock with the
boy's hole.

   The sheriff shook his head.  It was so typical.  A big part of the
thrill of raping a privileged white college boy for any of these
street-hardened thugs was to hear his shrill, outraged squeal of protest as
they busted his cherry wide open.  JoJo didn't want anybody fucking his
mouth until after he'd heard the kid scream.

   "And you wait your turn," Donny reminded Kenny, elbowing him away.

   Kenny was the youngest, and so he was low man on the totem pole.  He had
really gotten lucky tonight.  If this other kid hadn't come along, he most
likely would have been the one on the cold concrete with his pants down
around his ankles and his cellmates all lined up behind him.

   "It's gonna be my turn soon enough," Kenny told the kid.  "And I'm gonna
make you really feel my dick, pussy boy."

   Kenny spat at him contemptuously, the glob landing on his forehead.  His
behavior didn't especially surprise the sheriff.  He'd read his file. 
Kenny had first landed in lockup when he was barely fourteen.  No doubt he
had undergone an initiation into the penal system much the same as this kid
was now experiencing.  Cons who had been turned out themselves were always
the most eager to do it to someone else, and they tended to be the most
vicious about it, too.

   Finally, JoJo was ready, and he surged forward, forcing his dick into
the boy's ass.

   "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!"

   The sound that came out of the kid was a wrenching combination of shock,
anguish, pain, irretrievable loss, and it broke the sheriff's heart.  He
swallowed hard and looked away for a moment, his eyes swimming.

   JoJo moaned in pleasure as he began to work his dick further inside. 
The kid sobbed brokenly.

   "Is that pussy tight?" Donny asked, his voice slurred with lust.

   "Oh, God," JoJo groaned throatily.  "*Really* tight."

   "Yeah.  Give it to him.  Fuck that tight little pussy," Donny
encouraged, reaching inside his pants to work his own dick.

   JoJo held the boy's hips firmly while he thrust in and out of his body.
The boy seemed to be in a state of shock.  He shuddered convulsively and
cried as JoJo used him like a woman.  Hank scooted around in front of him,
took out his dick and pushed it against his mouth.

   "Suck me," he ordered.

   The boy set his mouth in a hard line and refused.

   "The little bitch doesn't want to suck my cock," Hank said.

   "No problem," JoJo said.

   He reached around the boy's body, grabbed his sack and twisted.  The boy
howled in agony.

   "You play nice and suck his dick.  Or I'll rip them off with my bare
hands."

   Hank pressed his dick to the boy's lips again.  "And don't bite me,
either," he said.  "Or *I'll* tear them off."

   The boy whimpered in defeat as he was forced to open up wide for the
dick.  Hank held his head firmly between his hands and began to thrust. 
The boy choked and wheezed, desperately trying to breathe as the big man
raped his mouth.  The force of being taken at both ends made his whole body
shake.  His erect cock bobbed against his belly, and his balls swung back
and forth beneath him.

   The sheriff opened the kid's file.  He was Jason Miller, a sophomore at
the university.  The sheriff noted his home address.  It was an affluent
area, a nice family neighborhood.  The kid didn't have any priors, not even
a juvenile record.  He was sure Jason's parents thought they had nothing to
worry about.

   The sheriff had once thought the same thing about his own son.  Of
course, looking back on it he could see where he had made his mistakes.  He
hadn't been nearly strict enough.  He had let way too many things slide. 
His role as disciplinarian really started to suffer after the divorce.  He
and his wife Barbara were both hellbent on competing for their boy's
affection, whether they admitted it to themselves or not.  There were so
many times he could remember going easy on the kid, instead of putting the
fear of God into him the way his old man had done for him, just because he
didn't want Scott to like Barbara better than he liked him.  It tortured
him now to think how things might have been different if he hadn't been so
weak and selfish.

   But he was making up for it now, with this boy and all the others.

   Hank finished up first.  The boy nearly gagged as he struggled to
swallow the man's come.  His expression clearly showed his disgust at the
taste.  A moment later, JoJo shouted out and came.  The boy's face crumpled
as he felt the man's warm semen spurting in his ass.  JoJo pulled out, and
come streamed down the boy's legs.  The sheriff was glad to see there was
no blood.  He'd done a good job getting him ready.  Hopefully, he wouldn't
get torn up inside.

   "My turn," said another of the cons, one whose name the sheriff couldn't
remember.

   "For head," Donny said.  "I've got dibs on his ass."

   "Fine by me," the con said.

   He took his pants off, sat down on one of the benches and spread his
legs wide.  Donny pushed the kid over to him.  The other con made Jason
kneel between his legs and bury his face in his crotch.

   "I want my balls licked, too," he told the kid.  "And make it good."

   Donny dropped to his knees behind the boy and quickly forced his dick up
his ass.  The kid moaned in pain around the dick he was sucking.

   The con buried his hands in the kid's hair.  "Oh, yeah, baby.  Moan for
me.  That feels so good."

   Donny laughed as he started to fuck the boy briskly.

   The sheriff suspected the other cops watching from the control room were
laughing right along with him.  They were all enthusiastic about
participating in these special projects, but they completely missed the
point.  They didn't understand how it was really for the boy's own good,
that it was a lesson, a harsh one to be sure, but something that might
ultimately save the kid's life.  It wasn't supposed to be cruelty for its
own sake.  It wasn't supposed to be something to get off on.

   But they did get off on it, the Sheriff realized.  Oh, they thought he
didn't know what they did in the control room while they were supposed to
be monitoring the events for safety reasons.  But how could he not know
when the place stank of spunk the next morning?  He imagined them sitting
around in there, exchanging obscene jokes about these poor kids and what
they were going through, while they wanked themselves off beneath the desk.

   He supposed he should have expected it.  As far as they were concerned,
any snot-nosed college brat who sold drugs in their town got exactly what
was coming to him.  None of them had ever managed to make it any further
away from home than the community college up the road, and there was a
certain bitterness in them because of it.  Without a four-year degree, they
would never advance beyond local law enforcement, with its complete lack of
glamor and its nothing pay.  It didn't escape them that most of these
college kids would make more just starting out in their first jobs than
they'd manage to pull down in their best year.  So they enjoyed nothing
more than seeing one of these college boys bawling for his mamma as he was
forced to take it up the ass by every con in the place.

   The sheriff himself could never understand finding gratification in
someone else's suffering .  He felt nothing but the most wrenching grief
whenever he watched a boy, helpless and terrified, being repeatedly raped.
But spare the rod, quite literally sometimes, and you spoiled the child. 
He'd already discovered that the hard way.  He wasn't going to fail any
more of his sons the way he had failed Scott.

   Donny threw his head back and howled as he finished in Jason's ass.  He
pulled out, and semen drooled out of the boy's butt.  A moment later, the
con fucking his mouth came, pulling hard on his ears, mashing his face into
his sticky groin.  When he finally finished pumping his spunk down Jason's
throat, he let him go.  Jason scooted away, white fluid trickling from the
corner of his mouth and dripping down his chin.  His eyes were red and
swollen from crying.  He huddled on the floor, his arms wrapped around
himself, his back heaving.

   But he wasn't left there in peace for very long.  A moment or two later,
he was hauled up and passed onto the next two men, who quickly put him to
use.

   The sheriff felt a primal ache, deep down in his gut, the way a father
always did when he saw a child in pain.  Of course, the first impulse was
to make that pain go away, but sometimes, you just couldn't give in to your
instincts.  You had to let them experience the consequences of their own
actions, take their hard knocks.  If you didn't, they wouldn't grow up to
be a man you could respect.  Hell, they might not get the chance to grow up
at all.

   At least, he could be here with this boy during his time of suffering.
At least, this child wasn't all alone.  There was some comfort in knowing
that.

   It had been different with Scott.  When he'd gotten the call at three
o'clock in the morning, he had thrown on his clothes, rushed to his truck
and driven all night, keeping the accelerator on the floor the whole time.
The sun was just coming up as he screeched into the hospital parking lot.

   But he was too late.

   The hospital staff did let him see his boy.  He was still lying on the
trauma room table where he'd died, a white sheet covering his body. 
Somebody had been humane enough to close his eyes, so he wouldn't have to
look into that terrible emptiness.  A nurse brought him a chair, so he
could sit with Scott.  He'd stayed there-- he didn't even know how long,
just clutching his boy's hand.  Even though there really was no point to
it. He couldn't offer his son any comfort.  He couldn't teach him anything
now.  He sure as hell couldn't bring him back.

   When the initial shock and grief lifted enough for his cop's brain to
start functioning again, he started asking questions.  How?  Why?  Scott's
friends were hesitant at first, but eventually, they came clean with him.
They'd all gone to a fraternity party.  They weren't even brothers in the
house.  It was an open party, and they didn't have anything better to do.
When they got there, everyone was doing acid, passing around these
stickers, little colored dots, that had the drug on it.  Scott and his
friends didn't normally do drugs, but they couldn't see how it could hurt
anything, not if everyone else was doing it.

   That part of the story made the sheriff cringe whenever he thought about
it.  If he had been a better, stricter father, Scott would have known quite
well the damage drugs could do.  He would have been too afraid of the
repercussions to have foolishly followed along with his friends.

   But he hadn't been the right kind of father, and his boy had taken the
hit of acid.  By the time his friends realized that Scott wasn't just
having a bad trip, that he was actually in trouble, it was already too
late. They called 911, and the ambulance came and rushed him to the
hospital.  But Scott never had a chance.

   From that day on, the sheriff had vowed never to let that happen to
another boy, to show them the consequences of their actions before it was
too late, in a way that would really change them, really help them make
better decisions.  It was a brutal lesson he taught them, but it was a hell
of a lot better than ending up like Scott.

   "Hey, boy, you don't think you're done, do you?" one of the cons who
hadn't yet taken his turn asked Jason.

   The boy lay in a heap on the floor where his last rapists had discarded
him.  He whimpered pitifully.  The inmates all laughed.

   "Lord, no," the con said.  " 'Cause I haven't had my go at your pussy
yet, and I'm feeling *really* horny after watching you fuck all these other
guys.  So shake that cute little ass of yours and get on over here."

   The boy didn't move.  He just kept making forlorn little noises of
distress.

   The con barked, "Now!"

   Jason jolted with alarm.

   "Or do I have to come over there and start getting rough?" the con
asked, menacingly.

   The boy cried.  There were tremors in his arms and legs, from shock and
pain.  He was too tired to stand.  But there was a look in his eyes that
the sheriff recognized: total defeat.  The boy didn't bother calling out
for help anymore.  He knew by now that no one was coming.  He realized that
he was going to be raped until they got tired of him, that if he didn't do
exactly what they wanted they might very well do even more unspeakable
things to him.  So, he pulled himself up to his hands and knees and started
to crawl over to the man.

   "Oh, yeah, baby," the con said.  "You look so good like that.  So sexy."

   The boy sobbed harder, but he kept going.

   When Jason reached him, the con said, "Now, as much as I like having you
down on your knees like that, I'm going to need you to stand up for what I
have in mind."

   The boy braced his arms on the bench and struggled to pull himself up.
But he was just too weak, and he couldn't manage it.  The con grew
impatient and yanked him up, onto his feet.

   "Now turn around," he instructed the boy.

   Jason did as he said.

   "Spread your legs wide.  And back up a little."

   He put his hands on the boy's waist and guided him until he was
straddling his lap.

   "Okay, boy.  Now sit down on my dick."

   Jason's lip trembled as he slowly began to lower his body.  He groaned
pitifully as he impaled himself on his rapist's ample erection.

   "Oh, yeah, boy.  Take that dick.  Take it deep."

   Jason continued to lower himself, whimpering in pain, until he was all
the way seated on the con's lap.

   "God, that feels good," the con moaned.  "Your pussy's still tight after
all the dicking it's taken.  That's nice, boy.  Real, real nice.  Now,
start moving and make me feel even better."

   "What?" Jason asked, the first word he'd spoken since he stopped calling
for help.

   "Start fucking yourself on my cock.  You don't expect me to do all the
work, do you?"

   "Please," the boy begged.

   The con squeezed his balls.  "Do I need to teach you a lesson?"

   "No!" Jason quickly gave in.  "I'll do it.  Please.  Don't hurt me."

   "That's a good boy.  Now go to it."

   The boy shakily lifted himself up, his thighs trembling, and gingerly
lowered himself down again.

   "Don't piss me off with that halfway shit," the con warned him.  "I told
you to fuck yourself on my cock.  And I meant it.  Now *fuck*!"

   The kid sobbed as he moved up and down again, more forcefully this time.

   "That's better.  Keep going."

   The kid settled into a regular rhythm, his cock still erect, bobbing out
in front of him as he moved.

   "Oh, yeah, baby," the con whispered hotly in the boy's ear.  "That's so
damned good.  And you know what?  I think you like it, too.  Or you
wouldn't still have this." He wrapped his hand around the kid's erection.

   Jason sucked in his breath.

   The con laughed.  "That's just what I thought." He started to move his
hand on the kid's dick.  "Why shouldn't you get off, too?"

   Jason moaned, and for the first time, it sounded like pleasure.

   The con kissed his neck.  "I could make it even better for you.  Would
you like that?"

   The boy's face twisted with guilt, but his eyes were shining and needy.

   "You have to tell me," the con coaxed.

   "Please," the boy begged.

   "What, baby?  You have to *say* it."

   Finally, Jason whispered, "Make it good.  Please."

   "Oh, yeah, baby.  Yeah." He took Jason's hips in his hands and changed
their angle slightly.

   "Aaaaagh!" Jason hollered, as he sat down on the guy's cock.

   The con laughed.  "Meet your prostate, kid.  That's your little fuck
button tucked up deep inside your pussy.  Like a hidden boy clit.  Feels
good, don't it?"

   Jason grunted as he began fucking himself more vigorously on the man's
cock, working his prostate with every stroke, his face intent with
surprised pleasure.

   The con kissed and sucked his neck, as he fisted his cock.  "God, yeah,
baby.  Go for it," he encouraged.  "Fuck that cock.  Fuck it good,
sweetheart."

   Jason closed his eyes in ecstasy, licking his lips.  The other cons
watched him lustfully, working their own dicks, even the ones who had
already had their turn with him.

   The man fucking him said, "You're so pretty, baby.  So fucking pretty."
He kissed him passionately on the shoulder, leaving a mark.  "Such sweet
little titties." He rubbed the boy's nipples and played with his piercing.

   Jason gasped, despite himself.

   The con smiled.  "Feels good, huh?" He tugged the ring again, and Jason
moaned out loud.  "Oh, yeah.  Sensitive little titties.  I like that."

   The boy moved with increasing speed, fucking himself more urgently, down
onto the other man's cock and up into his hand.  The con panted heavily,
getting close to orgasm.  He jerked the boy's dick harder and played with
his balls.  The kid moaned, also on the verge of coming.  The con bit down
hard on his neck.

   "Aaaagh!" Jason yelled, in both pleasure and disgust, as he came in his
rapist's hand.

   This sent the con tumbling over the edge.  His face twisted into a
grimace as he climaxed, filling the boy's rectum with his semen.

   When he finished, he slumped back against the wall.  The boy slid off
his lap and sank to the floor.  Tears streamed down his face, and his
shoulders shook.  The sheriff's throat closed up as he watched.  This
almost always happened.  Bodies were programmed to respond to stimulation,
and there was typically at least one inmate who got off on exploiting that
particular biological fact to humiliate the victim.  The boys always took
this part of the experience the hardest.

   "Hey!  I ain't had my turn yet," Kenny said, belligerently.  "Ya'll
don't wear that pussy out before I get me some of it."

   "All right.  All right, Kenny," JoJo told him.  "Don't get worked up. 
He's all yours now."

   "*Yes*!" Kenny said.  And then he turned to Jason.  "Get ready, pussy.
I'm really hard after waiting so long, and I need a good, long fuck."

   Jason let out a soft sound of misery.

   Kenny poked at him with his foot.  "Get your face down on the floor. 
Stick that pussy up in the air."

   Jason continued to sob as he assumed the degrading position.

   "Now spread your legs wide apart," Kenny said.

   The boy did as he was told.

   "Yeah.  That's it." Kenny sank down behind him.  "Take that, you little
faggot." He shoved his dick viciously inside.

   Jason howled in pain.

   "Mmm," Kenny moaned.  "That pussy's *tight*."

   Jason cried as Kenny brutally fucked him.  For a moment, the sheriff
considered intervening.  The point wasn't to leave the kid permanently
damaged, just scared enough to keep out of trouble in the future.  Before
he could make up his mind, though, the decision was made for him.  Kenny
was a big talker, but he was still really just a kid, with the lack of
staying power that went along with youth.  It wasn't long before he threw
his head back, howled and came.

   He pulled out, and Jason collapsed to the floor.  Kenny tucked his cock
back into his pants and got to his feet.

   "Pussy," he said, disdainfully.

   He pulled his foot back and was about to kick the boy in the side when
JoJo grabbed him by the arm and jerked him away.

   "You had your turn," JoJo told him.  "That's enough."

   "He's a pussy.  He deserves it," Kenny protested.

   JoJo pointed a finger at him.  "That's not for you to decide.  I'm in
charge here.  And you never leave marks where the hacks can see.  You'll
get us all busted.  And if that happens, we'll bust you.  Got it?"

   Kenny cut his eyes to the side, his expression sullen, but he nodded in
agreement.

   "Good.  Now go find a spot to settle down for the night.  It's time to
get some sleep." JoJo turned to Jason.  "You, too."

   The rest of the inmates staked out places on the benches.  Jason slowly
crawled to the corner and huddled there on the floor.

   "Hey, kid," JoJo said to him.

   The boy cringed, pressing himself back against the wall, obviously
terrified of being raped again.

   JoJo threw him his pants.  "Don't you even think about telling nobody
what happened tonight."

   Jason scrambled into his pants, his hands shaking.  He pulled the
drawstring so tightly it dug into his skin.

   "'Cause I meant what I said before," JoJo told him.  "You cross me, and
you can kiss your balls good-bye.  You got me?"

   Jason nodded, his face a mask of misery, his knees pulled up tightly
against his chest, his arms wrapped around his shoulders, his body clenched
in a fetal position, his back against the wall so they couldn't sneak up on
him.

   "Good," JoJo said.  "I'm glad we understand each other."

   The cons eventually all quieted down for the night.  Jason stayed
plastered to the wall, wide awake, tears streaking down his cheeks,
muffling his sobs with the back of his hand.  There would be no sleep for
him tonight.

   The sheriff yawned.  His eyes burned.  He was getting way too old for
these all-nighters.  He started to doze off in his chair.  He managed to
rouse himself several times, before he finally decided to try to catch a
little sleep.  He knew if anything happened in the cellblock he would hear
it and wake up in time to help his son.

   ***

   The sheriff awoke to the sound of Saunders' voice.  He had gone to the
cell to get Jason.  It was just after dawn.

   "Come here, kid," Saunders said.

   "Me?" Jason asked.

   Saunders nodded.  The boy scrambled to his feet and went to the cell
door.  Saunders unlocked it and let him out.

   He handed him his clothes.  "Here.  The sheriff's decided to let you off
with a warning since this is your first offense."

   The boy looked stunned.  "Really?"

   "Yeah.  I guess the old man's going soft in his old age."

   Sheriff Williams shook his head.  Saunders always said this.  He thought
it was the funniest little inside joke.

   "I'll show you where you can get cleaned up," Saunders told the kid. 
"Then the sheriff wants to speak with you."

   The kid clutched his clothes to his chest.  "Oh, God.  Thank you.  Thank
you so much."

   "Thank the sheriff when you see him.  This was his idea." He motioned
the boy in front of him.  "I'll show you to the bathroom."

   When Saunders passed beneath the camera, he looked up and winked.  The
sheriff rolled his eyes.  His chief deputy could be such a goofball
sometimes.

   The sheriff fixed a fresh pot of coffee, tidied his desk and waited for
Jason to finish pulling himself together.  Finally, Saunders knocked on the
door and showed the boy inside.

   Jason had dark circles under his eyes.  He moved carefully, stiffly, his
body obviously sore, which wasn't surprising.  He sat down in the chair in
front of the sheriff's desk.  His hands shook, so he balled them into fists
at his sides.

   "Son, did Deputy Saunders inform you that I've decided to let you go?"

   He nodded.  "Yes, sir.  Thank you."

   His voice was respectful, even timid.  He had clearly been chastened by
the experience he'd undergone in the holding cell.

   "I hope you made it through last night all right?"

   The boy's lip trembled.  But he nodded and said very softly, "Yes, sir."

   "So you didn't have any problems?"

   Jason shook his head, on the verge of tears.

   "Well, that's good.  I'm glad to hear it."

   The boy clearly wasn't going to tell him what happened to him.  The
sheriff was sure his silence was due, in part, to the cons' threats.  But
he also suspected there was a part of the boy that believed he had brought
it on himself.  If he hadn't done something wrong, this never would have
happened to him.  And that was exactly what the sheriff wanted him to
realize.

   "You know why I decided to let you off?" he asked.

   The boy shook his head.

   "Because you remind me a little bit of my own son." He picked up the
picture and showed it to Jason.  "His name was Scott.  He was the best
thing that ever happened to me.  Losing him was the worst.  He's dead. 
Been dead for years."

   "I'm sorry," the boy said softly.

   "Me, too.  He was a good boy.  He just made one mistake.  But it-- Well,
sometimes one mistake is all it takes.  You know what I mean?"

   The boy looked stricken.  "Yeah," he said, his voice sticking in his
throat.

   "All my kid did was go to a party.  Just wanted to have some fun on a
Saturday night.  Nothing wrong with that, right?  Only these other kids
were all doing drugs.  Passing the stuff out to everybody who came through
the door, like it was some kind of party favor or something.  And Scott--
well, he'd never even smoked marijuana before that.  I don't know what got
into him, what he thought he was doing.  But he went right along with it.
Did a hit.  Only it didn't mix too well with his system.  By the time he go
to the ER, he had gone into convulsions.  He was foaming at the mouth.  His
pulse was almost 200.  Heart 'bout near exploded in his chest.  There
wasn't anything they could do for him."

   Jason shivered.  "That's awful."

   "Yeah.  It sure as hell was.  And you know the scariest part?  He never
saw it coming.  Sometimes, you just can't foresee where a bad choice is
going to take you," the sheriff continued.  "I mean, Scott just wanted to
have a good time.  I'm sure he never imagined what could happen to him when
he decided to go out that night.  I'm sure he never thought anything could
go wrong when he took that drug.  Never considered that he could lose his
life and break his father's heart."

   A tear streaked down Jason's cheek.

   "You know how that is, don't you, Jason?"

   The boy's mouth trembled.

   "I'm sure you never imagined you'd get caught when you went out to sell
drugs last night.  Did you?"

   He shook his head, a look of sheer misery on his face.

   "I want you to answer me something honestly.  What'd you want the money
for?"

   Jason swallowed hard.  "My father was going to buy me a car.  But I
wanted an SUV.  He wouldn't pay for it.  He said if I really wanted one
then I'd have to make the extra money myself.  So I--" He broke off with a
catch in his voice.

   "You decided to take the easy way out.  Not get an honest job.  Just
sell that crap to other kids and make a quick buck instead.  I bet that's
not what your father had in mind, was it?"

   He shook his head.  "No, sir."

   "And look where it's led you.  All the trouble it's gotten you into. 
You never once thought about the possibilities, did you?"

   More tears fell.  "No, sir."

   "Never thought you'd get caught."

   He shook his head.

   "Never thought you'd get arrested.  Or wind up in jail."

   He looked down and shook his head.

   "I bet you certainly never imagined spending the night in lockup getting
your mouth and rectum violated by every con in the place.  Did you?"

   Jason's head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock.  "How--" he
stuttered.

   "How do I know you're not a virgin to sex with men anymore after last
night?"

   Jason flushed with humiliation.

   "Because that's just what happens to boys who get in over their heads
and end up in jail where they don't belong.  The mean motherfuckers who
*do* belong there show them a thing or to about the real world of crime.  I
don't know a boy who's gone into that holding cell who's come out with his
cherry still intact."

   The kid's eyes flashed with a supreme sense of betrayal.  They always
looked like that when they figured out everybody had known what was
happening to them and no one had come to save them.  But that was the
point. Up until now, the sheriff was certain somebody had always bailed
Jason out.  It had made him brazen enough to think he could go out and
break the law and not have to answer for it.  Just the way his letting
Scott off the hook too easily had made him feel invincible enough to do
something so fatally stupid as taking a drug he knew nothing about.

   At least, now Jason knew better.  He knew there were some consequences
you had to face all by yourself.  He knew you had to make careful choices
or else you just might end up with more than you bargained for.

   "So I guess those boys on the cellblock taught you an important lesson
last night, huh, Jason?"

   The kid cried harder, his nose starting to run.

   "If you don't respect yourself, then nobody else is going to respect
you, either," the sheriff told him.  "You disrespected your body by hiding
drugs in your ass.  And that landed you in jail where your cellmates had
the opportunity to show you the ultimate disrespect.  I think that's one
lesson you're not going to be forgetting any time soon, are you, Jason?"

   "Oh, God," the boy sobbed.

   "Because you have to know that you're different now, son.  Just one
little mistake, and it's left you changed forever.  You realize you're not
like other men any more, right?  Normal men never have a cock shoved up
their asses.  They don't know what it feels like to have some other guy
come inside them.  But you do, don't you, Jason?  You know all about that."

   Jason's shoulders shook with his grief.

   "You have a pussy between your legs now, boy.  And it's gonna stay a
pussy for as long as you live.  Even if there's never another man who dicks
you.  All it takes is one fucking, and there's no going back.  It won't
matter how many women you make it with.  You're always gonna know the
truth. It'll just flash back to you sometimes.  Like when you're having sex
with your girlfriend, moving in and out of her pussy, and suddenly, bam! 
There it is, the cellblock, all those other men, the way their dicks moved
in and out of *you*."

   "No!" Jason shuddered.

   "Oh, yes.  You're never going to be free of it.  And you're never going
to be a real man again.  And all because you were too greedy and too lazy
to get a real job and earn the money you needed honestly.  That's an
awfully big price to pay, isn't it?  To lose your manhood forever over
something like that.  I hope you'll remember that the next time you're
tempted to do something stupid.  And make the right decision instead."

   "Please," the boy begged.  "Stop."

   The look on Jason's face was one of total devastation.  The sheriff knew
it well.  There was a gnawing, painful place in his stomach knowing that he
had caused it, on this boy's face and so man others.  But sometimes, you
just couldn't think of yourself.  You had to do what was right, what was
for their own good.

   "You think this doesn't hurt me as much as it hurts you, Jason?" he
asked.  "You think I enjoy this?  'Cause I don't.  Believe me.  But I can't
let you walk out of this station without seeing the error of your ways.  I
can't let you make the same mistake twice.  Because sometimes you don't get
a chance to do things over.  God knows my kid didn't.  So, I want you to
tell me the truth.  Are you ever going to sell drugs again?"

   He shook his head vehemently.  "No, sir."

   "Or do drugs?"

   "No, sir."

   "Or break the law in any way?"

   "No, sir."

   "Is that the God's honest truth, Jason?"

   "Yes, sir.  I swear.  I swear to God."

   "Because that was just a taste of what happens to college boys who
stupidly end up in prison.  We have mandatory minimums for drug offenses in
this state.  You know what that means, son?  It means you could get as many
as five, ten, even twenty years for a first offense.  That's *years* of
being passed from con to con, having your mouth and ass fucked against your
will, night after night after night.  Is that something you'd enjoy,
Jason?"

   The boy's entire body shook.  "No!"

   "Well, then, you'd best make good use of this second chance I'm giving
you.  I don't want to see you around this police station again.  And I
don't want to hear of you getting into trouble over at the university.  Or
anywhere.  Ever.  You understand me?"

   Jason nodded, tears streaming down his face.  "Yes.  I understand.  I
promise."

   "Good.  I'm real glad to hear that, Jason."

   The boy sat sobbing, his arms wrapped around himself, his chest heaving.

   The sheriff made his voice more gentle.  "Someday, you'll see that this
has all been for the best.  I know that's hard to imagine right now.  But
who knows what would have happened to you if you hadn't learned this
lesson?"

   The boy didn't answer.  He just kept crying.

   "Well, I guess that's all, as long as we understand one another.  You'd
best be getting back to school.  We don't want your grades to suffer."

   "You mean I can go?" the boy asked, as if he couldn't imagine there ever
being an end to this nightmare.

   The sheriff nodded.  "Sure.  Go on.  Saunders is waiting for you.  He'll
show you out."

   The boy stood up, grimacing as he moved.  The sheriff watched him walk
out of his office.  He heard Saunders out in the hall telling the kid to
follow him.  The sheriff went to stand by the window.  From there, he had a
perfect view of the exit.

   A few moments later, Saunders and the kid materialized at the door. 
Saunders held it open, and Jason slipped past him.  He walked down the
sidewalk, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one was going to come
after him.  When he saw Saunders go back inside, he started to run, a
grimace on his face, his shoulders hunched, the set of his body belying his
pain.  But still he ran.  The sheriff watched until he disappeared around a
corner, and then he nodded to himself.  He'd done a good job with this one.
He felt certain that Jason would never forget this lesson, no matter how
fast he ran or how far he went.

   He sat back down at his desk and sighed.  He still had the mountain of
reports to go through, the disheartening evidence that the usual tactics
weren't working on this scourge of drugs.  He sometimes wished he could
share his methods with his law enforcement brethren in other areas, but
that would never be possible.  They would never understand.

   At least, he had the personal satisfaction of knowing that this one
kid's life had been changed forever thanks to him.