T H E G U N S E R I E S ____________________________ _ -|_////_(_____)_______________|O| ) __________ ________\_/ /------(|| // / xxx /____// GUNS DON'T HURT PEOPLE / xxxxx // PEOPLE HURT PEOPLE. / xxxxx // |____ _// OR SO THE NRA WOULD HAVE YOU BELIEVE. In 1996 35,000 human beings were killed in the US with guns. That's almost 2.4 people every hour of every day of the year. Did you know that in Great Britain there were less than 100 people killed by hand guns during the same period. Archive name: (Guns10.txt (mm, v, rp) Authors name: Mark E. Dassad. (C) 1992 Story title : Reform School Boys - Lesson 1 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 Thomp- son "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 fin- ished 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 feet 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 para- lyzing 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 witless, 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-em," 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 fur- ther enrage the man in control of the situation. "You know the drill." Karn hissed, gave his perfect grayish blond flat-top a quick backward brush, 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 paper- weight. 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'd 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, wait- ing 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 for- ward 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 sur- face of the desk. "SIX," he shrieked. He nearly collapsed from the force of the paddle landing yet again on his tor- tured 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 glisten- ing 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 men- acingly. "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 Thompson's abused but- tocks and lowered his shorts. With strong muscular hands he pulled Thompson's cheeks apart; Thompson wailed and began crying afresh 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 but- tocks 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 indi- cation 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, tor- tured to the point where he couldn't decipher one physical sensation from the next as the burning, tear- ing 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 buf- feted 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 himself ready to explode. He began slamming wildly in and out of the boy's 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 com- plement to his purple, swollen, slightly bloodied buttocks. He pulled his gym shorts up to cover his humiliation and walked 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.