"Bypassing the Crymaker"; Part 6 in a series....
[Author's note: This story forms part 6 of the Crymaker series. While this story could stand alone, if you have missed the first 5 parts, I would suggest you read those first.]
Michael Hanson's life was drastically different that it had been only 6 months ago. He was no longer in the "in crowd" and his friends for the most part had long since left him. The teasing and ridicule had slowed down a lot, and for the most part most of the students just ignored him. His rear had long since healed, but the humiliation of that Saturday when his entire school had watched him cry like a baby would never really go away. It had helped somewhat when Robert and Travis Harrison, from Daniel Boone High, had been arrested and then met their fates, but he even felt robbed at that. He had been hit with that _d_a_m_n_ paddle 29 times, again and again and again, and he remembered every single one of the blows. He cried still whenever he thought about it, and even now, six months afterwards, he still didn't think that the vandalism acts he had done warranted the misery that his life had become. What really made him mad was that Robert Harrison had done a lot worse--he had almost killed one kid and helped his brother rape another, and for all of that he had only gotten smacked 16 times on his rear! 16 times verses 29! It just didn't seem fair!
When his junior year had ended he was so happy; he had tried to just stay home but him mom and his probation officer had forced him to go to work. Turning burgers wasn't his idea of fun, and he really hated it when his schoolmates would drop by the burger joint and laugh at him while they ordered. He had been tempted to sabotage their orders, but the threat of the Crymaker loomed over him everyday, and so he said nothing. Instead, he was the model employee, doing exactly what he was supposed to, and always returning their orders with a smile. What else COULD he do, really?
Now, in his senior year, school life still sucked. He couldn't do anything the other kids did, and almost anyone could turn him in for a probation violation and send him back to that machine. If he told one lie, got pissed off just once at a teacher or a principal or a coach or almost anyone, he could be forced to return. He felt like he was walking on eggshells, and he dreamed about it, thought about it, worried about it, all of the time. It was a very real possibility and it constantly hung over his head. Some of his teachers would even threaten him, and while they were probably kidding and seemed to like him overall, you could never really be sure. And his dumb sister didn't help matters---she still teased him about it and laughed at him and whenever she got pissed she would even use that _d_a_m_n_ name "Shooter." He couldn't help it! Even now, when he jacked off, which wasn't all that often really, sometimes his dick would go soft just thinking about the laughter, ringing in his ears, as his whole school watched him ejaculate. Right on the _d_a_m_n_ stage! Yeah, life wasn't so hot, and each waking hour he thought and feared and worried about one thing above all else, just trying to get through the day and not somehow, someway, doing something that might send him back to the county's punishment room.
On Friday, the 3rd week into September of his senior year, it had happened, the event that would ultimately require his return. It would later be remember as THE EVENT, at least that's how his mom would refer to it. And it didn't immediately make the news, at least not the headlines, and it wasn't a big deal as far as most of the community of Brinrick County was concerned. But it was the thing that forced Michael Hanson back, back to the jailhouse, back to the source of his misery, and back to the source of his pain. It was the beginning of his nightmare, but not exactly the nightmare as he envisioned it, and with an ending he could never have imagined.
He had been running laps on the field, with the rest of his gym class. Unlike most of the kids, when he rounded the corner in the far back portion of the school lot, Michael Hanson wasn't cutting the corner, which the other kids were certainly doing. If you cut the corner you could shorten the run and the workout, and the coach couldn't see because that corner of the field passed through a wooded stand of birch trees and was out of sight of the school. But there was no way Michael would do that now, not after meeting the Crymaker, and so he ran the full circuit, even the corner that took him through the trees. Of course, not cutting the corner put him further and further behind with each lap, making the coach madder and madder, and in the end it was his downfall. On the fifth circuit, as he was running his P. E. laps he had rounded the long corner of the field one more time, and it was there that he ran into them. There were three of his worst enemies standing there, arms crossed, and it was obvious they were waiting; waiting for him! Carl Benson had been the ring leader, and he was a first class jerk. And Carl was the very last person on earth that Michael wanted to see, much less have now standing in front of him, blocking his path. Michael knew Carl Benson, but more importantly he knew his dad. For Carl Benson's father had been the very man to strap him into the machine, laughing as he did so, just six months ago. Carl looked just like his dad, and when Michael looked into Carl's eyes he was looking at the perfect image of his father, and that sent chills all the way down into the core of his soul. It was Carl's dad that had strapped him in, Carl's dad that had held his dick, Carl's dad that had pushed the humiliation ring onto his baby oiled _c_o_c_k_. It was Carl's dad that had pressed the start button, and Carl's dad that had literally and figuratively seen to his humiliation and the total paddling of his teenage ass in front of everyone in his life. Oh God....why was Carl bothering him now?
Carl yelled "Hey Shooter....Crybaby running his laps like a good boy?"
Michael: "Hey guys...I uh...hey, I gotta go...sorry but I've got to get these laps done...pleassseeee...let me get by, OK?"
Carl suddenly was on him....fist swinging....screaming at him and then there was Greg and Zack and suddenly he was surrounded. Then they were all over him, pushing him down, and as laid there, unwilling to even struggle, Carl was sitting on his chest, slapping his face with his open hand again and again and again. Michael did nothing, he dared do nothing, could do nothing, and so just laid there taking it, not daring to even call out for help.
Suddenly, one of the boys was taking his gym shorts down, and then Carl was laughing, and Greg Gibson was laughing and Zack Mikels was laughing, and their laughing was like a laughing not so very long ago....a laugh of humiliation, a laugh of embarrassment, a laugh that Michael remembered every time he closed his eyes. Oh God, then Zack had his dick, was grabbing it, and laughing some more, and then as Michael started to cry, they were suddenly saying hey "Shooter wants to shoot.....yeah....come on Shooter, you want it don't you?" Zack was pumping him and he grew hard from the friction, struggling under Carl's weight, struggling with desperation as Zack worked his dick. It hadn't taken long, and as Carl slapped his face a couple of more times, his dick had spurted to the laughter and ridicule of the three assailants, firing his jism up on his t-shirt and soaking wet blobs of white spunk into the material. But they didn't even stop when that had happened; no, they ripped off his shorts then and pulled his jock further down to his ankles. Then Carl flipped him over, ripping his t-shirt in the process, and then he had grabbed Michael's arm and twisted it up towards his neck, pinning it behind him. Zack and Greg then started paddling his ass with their hands....again and again and again, laughing as they did it. As the smacks from their hands started to flow into a pattern, slowly Michael's ass began to take on a shade of pink, then cherry colored. One of the boys suddenly saw a branch laying off the path, and picking it up, hefted its 3 feet of length. There were a few more, not quite as long, also knocked down from the fall winds. The branches were limber, and yet strong, and Greg quickly gathered them together. With the birch branches held together in a bundle, they made the perfect weapon and the boys, almost in glee, started using them to assault Michael's bare ass. It really didn't matter that they weren't exactly bundled tightly, and it really didn't matter that they weren't perfectly shaped. The pain from the birch limbs was immediate, intense, and unforgiving. As Michael felt those blows biting into his just spanked bare ass as well, all of the memories and all of the fear and all of the feelings came flooding back in an instant. Suddenly, he was THERE, back in that auditorium, hooked to the Crymaker and the laughter of his school was filling the air! As the tears flooded out of his face, flowing like water in a stream, the boys suddenly let him go. Then Carl stood up, and left one final threat hanging in the air: "Listen Shooter boy, you so much as mention this to anyone, and I promise you my dad will strap your ass back into that machine of his! And he will, I mean it. You're a part of this so don't forget it." And then all three of the boys laughed, and, taking his gym shorts with them, they left him in that little corner of the field, under the beautiful birch trees, yellowed fall leaves drifting down as from heaven. Michael laid there, in shock, panic rising inside of him, and in giant sobs, he squeezed his eyes closed and fought the tears that were still pouring out of him.
He was still there when the class lapped the field, and then he was noticed and then suddenly there were kids surrounding him. He was cowered in a ball, and he was surrounded by is classmates, then more kids, and then more. Some were laughing at him, some were helping him. He tried to cover his t-shirt, but it was impossible. Then the coach was there, then the vice principal, and then he was being walked into the school office area. Finally, somewhere, somehow, he finally was given some pants to wear, although no one thought enough to allow him to change his shirt. He had been totally humiliated, wearing nothing but a jock and a ripped and cum-spotted t-shirt, and he was so scared and so humiliated yet he dared say nothing to anyone. By mid afternoon the police were there, his mom was there, and the principal was there, and yet he still refused to identify any of his attackers or to tell anyone what had happened. At first he claimed he had just lost his pants.....and had been looking for them. He was even asked if he had "stopped for a wank" and he had almost died at the question. He lied and told them he had wanted to skip the run, and was hiding when he tripped. When they didn't buy that story he had denied anyone had done anything to him and he had just fallen. But he hadn't been able to hide the marks on his ass; they were large, purple welts that were angry and scabbing from the bleeding of the birching. And there was no way he gave those to himself. Every kid in his gym class had seen them, and all of the kids that watched him being escorted into the school from the field had seen them. Walking in only his jock strap, tears still streaming down his face, with his own goo spotting his t-shirt, his embarrassment had been complete. Still, he had held out, protecting his assailants, and they probably would have even gotten completely away with it except for one thing....his probation officer. With a single threat, Michael had broken down, and had had to tell at least part of the story. The choice had really been a simple one, but one that tore Michael right in two.
His probation officer wasn't a man to play around with, and with only a week to go until his next progress report, Michael hadn't had a lot of options. His words hammered into Michael's very being: "You listen here, and you listen real good. I'm tired of this crap; I want to know WHO did this to you and WHY, and I want to know NOW. If you tell me one more lie or refuse one more time to answer my questions, I am going to recommend you be returned to the state punishment apparatus for a violation of probation, and if you are that stupid I'll personally come watch you get your ass pounded. Do we understand each other here Michael?"
Michael had looked him in his eyes, and wailed. Finally, he had whispered a name, and from there, things had gone quickly. One boy had led to two, and then three, and soon the three boys were quickly rounded up and brought to the office. At first they denied everything. But they had been separated, and their stories hadn't lined up, and then, slowly, it had unraveled for them, and finally the truth had come out, at least part of it. Still, there didn't seem to be any justice in the world, and all Michael wanted was for him to be left alone, and for them to just go away. But things hadn't worked out that way, not at all, and the following day he felt like he was the victim all over again...
Brinrick County Gazette, Saturday, 3rd Week in September "HS SENIOR HANSON GETS HIS LICKS" At George Washington High school last Friday convicted vandal Michael Hanson was attacked by schoolmates during his Physical Education class. The names and ages of his attackers are being withheld, pending the outcome of the investigation. The principal, Thomas Burton, said the attack had apparently been unprovoked, and he was hoping to resolve the entire issue "in house." According to the principal, it was a boyish prank that had gone too far, and even the senior Hanson, almost 18, wasn't making a big deal of it and didn't want to press any charges. Michael Hanson has certainly been in the center of trouble before. Last march, the then junior was convicted for three acts of wanton vandalism. For his damages to private and school property, he was sentenced to 34 strokes on the states punishment apparatus for his misdeeds. Apparently, he's still a trouble magnet, and hasn't learned his lesson. From preliminary reports, this incident involved some pushing and shoving, and the actions of Hanson so enraged his fellow mates that they actually pulled his pants down and administered a paddling of their own. Hanson, who was spared 5 strokes of his original punishment due to leniency from his original victims, could be returned to the state punishment apparatus as early as next week if he is found to have contributed to this incident. API photo: Michael Hanson, 17, crying, leaving the school escorted by his mother.
On Monday, things got more interesting and by noon the story had pretty much been figured out. But that's when all the parents got involved and then things just sort of got messed up, like they always get messed up when your dealing with schools and principals and parents and kids. In this case, first the district attorney got involved, and he was pushing for a trial and appropriate punishments under the Juvenile Corporal Punishment Act, or JCPA, for the three boys. Michael was exonerated, but the pressures at school continued. The school principal, under considerable pressure from the parents of the three boys, was pushing to handle everything in house. He was still trying to see this thing as a prank that went too far. Just when everything was coming apart and the looming trial looked like the only solution, he had made a proposal, and it had some merit that was immediately apparent, even if it was a might bit unusual. Since the Hanson boy had figuratively and in fact literally been birched on school property, he proposed a similar punishment for the perpetrators. He asked why not a birching, in his office, to be conducted by the parents themselves. If they agreed, it would keep everything out of the papers and out of the courts. He felt that if the boys could feel what they had done to Michael Hanson, they would learn a lesson, and coupled with a 5 day suspension, it would still be a lot better than a trip through the court system and an almost certain visit to the state punishment apparatus. At first, the district attorney wasn't keen on the idea of letting the assault go unpunished under the JCPA, and a birching was something that wasn't even in the law books and had no legal precedence. Initially, he wasn't even sure it was constitutional, even under the amendment, but he did realize that it would resolve the matter and simplify his life. After doing some research though, he decided it would pass the legal test, and so had relented and said that he would drop the charges if the boys' parents agreed to punish them privately at the school. He added a few conditions, but not many. As long as the parents did the swinging, no state laws would be violated, and he didn't care weather they were paddled or belted or hell, even birched. All he wanted was to make _d_a_m_n_ sure they got punished for what they had done. At first the parents of Greg and Zack were aghast at the very idea of birching their own kid, but then when they looked at the options, they started to warm up to the idea. There was a lot of discussion on how many strokes would be required to keep the district attorney satisfied, and the matter out of court. It was finally settled that giving them 1 stroke of the birch for each of their 15 years made since, and would pretty much equal what the Hanson boy had apparently had to endure. The district attorney had mandated that two guards from the jailhouse be on hand to help and also to witness the punishment. The excuse he used was that they had experience with dealing with unwilling prisoners. His real reason he wanted them there was to make sure that the boys were really punished, and the guards would be able to certify that the punishment had been carried out. That offer was accepted by the parents, or at least the parents of two of the three juveniles. The one holdout was Carl's dad, Randy Benson. He didn't like it at all, and with his many friends on the police force and his connections to the biggest law firm in Brinrick County, he wasn't going to accept it either.
And so, with Carl's dad fighting it all the way, the mess ended up in the court system, with the biggest law firm in the state trying to get his son off "scott-free." The big legal firm had the finest lawyers in the state. They were brilliant actually, and they tore apart the only witness that could hurt their case. Michael Hanson hadn't had a chance, and they chastised him, humiliated him, and in the end they had pretty much destroyed him as he set crying and shaking on the witness stand. They showed the police photos of him, and even pointed out the stains on his t-shirt and tried to prove they were self-induced, going into spray patterns and infinite, gory details of how he must have masturbated himself. They broke him with every word, humiliated him at every chance. They got him to admit under oath that he wasn't even going to report the incident at all until he was made to do so by the authorities. Using information from his prior conviction and showing the jurors his past record they had tried to paint a picture of a bad teen who deserved what he got and so got what he deserved. By the end of the short trial he admitted that it was all pretty much a blur, and he couldn't really remember much of anything with certainty anyway and wasn't even certain who had done what in particular to him. With the lawyers attacking him, they made him look more like the perpetrator in this episode than the victim. With Hanson's testimony in ruins, they almost got Carl off....except for the fact that someway and somehow Michael's gym shorts had ended up in his locker. For the jury, that, along with photographs of the Hanson boy's birched rear end, had sealed his fate, and he was finally convicted of "assault to do bodily harm" and was sentenced to 34 strokes of the paddle on his bare buttocks, in accordance with the standard judicial punishment protocols. He was destined for 17 of those for sure, and the Hanson boy as the only victim held the key to the rest of it. Carl's father had exploded at the outcome, and yet he had been his own son's undoing. While he had kept his son ass from being birched, he had nevertheless unknowingly insured it would be blistered just the same, but perhaps, to a much greater degree. For the law firm of Gibson & Moffit, the entire case had been an embarrassment and a travesty.
Two days later, Principals office, George Washington High School...
The two teenagers sat sweating in the chairs, awaiting the fate that was about to transpire. Their parents were in with the principal discussing the details of their punishments, and they nervously awaited what they new was coming. "Shooter" was in there too, the son-of-a-bitch, and the fact that he had been invited to watch didn't please them, no, that didn't please them at all. Looking through the open door, they could see the principal holding up one of the many 8 x 10" glossy evidence photos of his rear end, all scabbed up and raw from their attack. It wasn't helping letting the parents study the details of what they had done to him. No, that wasn't helping things at all. Then Zack's dad said "Wow!" as he gazed at one of the pictures, and you could just tell that it wasn't going to go well for either of them. Yeah, I guess they each knew inside that they had just beat the boy's ass to a pulp. They had known that since they did it. But they just would have preferred it better if their parents hadn't known that too.
Suddenly, the secretary announced, "Boys, they will see you both now...you may go in." Slowly, very slowly, the two reluctant teenagers stood up and then entered the room. There, standing before him, were their two fathers, each holding a bundle of birch twigs, all bound tightly together, dripping wet from something they had been soaked in, and with faces that meant business. Michael Hanson was standing in the corner, straight faced, and looking like he would rather be anywhere else in the world. There was a lady next to him, with her hand on his shoulder...his mom. Then Greg Gibson noticed his mother was here too, and _s_h_i_t_, so was his sister! God, they had invited her in to watch! Zack Mikels likewise saw his mom staring at him from the far corner of the office, and his younger brother with her as well. Both boys noticed the two huge police officers, and then there was Mr. Burton, their principal, who looked like he was anything but happy. The big office had huge windows overlooking the parking lot, and a few kids were outside, trying to see in. Then their principal spoke: "Ok....lets get this over with. Boys, please remove your pants, and bend over the desk there and grab the other side. It's plenty wide enough, and there's room for both of you. This is going to hurt, but it's meant too, and from the way you flailed Mr Hanson's rear, you both certainly deserve it. I hope you take it like men."
The two state guards, in their police-like uniforms, there to insure that the punishment was carried out to the satisfaction of the district attorney, were large men who meant business. The guards had brought some leather cuffs and restraining devices, along with the punishment completion certificates, and had insisted that the cuffs be used. At first, the parents had objected, but relented as they just wanted to get this over with as soon as possible and securing the boys might simplify things.
With their choices pretty limited...the two 15 year olds began to unbuckle their jeans and slide their pants down. As he unbuttoned his fly with shaking hands Greg hesitated, then was immediately driven on when his father spoke "NOW GREGORY...NOW!"
Wow! Greg's mind was racing....Yeah, dad was pissed all right, and he was gong to put on a performance for the other people in the room. _d_a_m_n_. _d_a_m_n_ it was going to hurt...._s_h_i_t_!
Then both boys got things moving. With their jeans open, they slid them down....and then down some more and then OFF. Oh God! Standing in their boxer shorts, Zack and Greg both glanced over at Shooter, and what the heck, it was worth a shot. Zack, trying anything that might help his situation then spoke: "Hey, Mike, I'm sorry man. I mean it." Greg was looking at the principal, and then he suddenly blurted out "Pleaseeee.....don't..don't do this...to us...."
Greg's dad yelled "OFF---NOW, DAM IT!" one more time and both boys literally jumped at the shout. With a tug, they both jerked their boxers down as well, then quickly turned towards the desk to hide as much as they could, hands covering their genitals. With a glance toward his sister, Greg then laid his chest across the broad surface of the desk, taking up the left half of the desk. Likewise, Zack laid down next to him, and both of them were laying with their chests flat on the desk, which was covered with a fancy leather desk pad. As Greg had turned around he hadn't been quite fast enough, as his penis had bobbed up and out, the very beginnings of an erection clearly present for all to see. Zack's dick had likewise been somewhat aroused, and it had jutted out from the root almost as if it enjoyed the freedom of release from his underwear. Greg's dick still had that certain thinness, almost tender looking actually, the skin soft and with the smooth look of a young teen, while Zack had a pole that was somewhat thicker and more the length of a man. Once across the desk, both laying face down, their asses were perched out, almost as if they were eager for the punishment to begin.
Then, one of the state guards grabbed the wrists of the first teenager, and pulled him forward slightly until he was hard against the desk, with his feet flat on the floor and his crotch right at the edge of the desktop. The teenager's chest was drawn across the desk, and his dick was resting on the top edge of the desktop, just touching the leather padding, his penis laying under his belly on the flat surface of the desk. Greg's ballsack was hanging down, not quite on top of the desk, and the critical dividing line emphasized to him how vulnerable he really was. His ass was slightly covered by the lower portion of his t-shirt, and that was a quickly pulled up to his shoulders, exposing his ass to everyone in the room. The guard then slipped his wrists into the restraining cuffs, locking him into position. He then moved over to Zack, and pulling him forward he soon had him in a similar position, just so his balls were just off the desk and his dick was laying on it, flat under his belly. Once there, where he wanted him, he tightened the wrist cuffs, which had been attached to the rear legs of the desk. The two boys weren't going anywhere.
The other guard kicked both of the boy's legs apart, stretching them until each had an ankle against one of the legs of the desk, where it was secured into a leather restraining cuff. The boys were then made to move their other leg outward, toward the center of the big desk, and once there, the officer cuffed the two boys ankles together, effectively pinning their legs apart and their asses protruding in an exposed, ridiculously looking position. Only their toes were on the ground. The principal asked if that was really necessary, and the guard said "Oh yes....we don't want anything to stop as the punishment proceeds and we can't have these boys thrashing around."
Standing directly behind them, with their legs spread wide apart and bent over, there was a clear view of everything that made these two teenagers what they were. The darkness of Greg's hair was visible, right there in the crease of his ass, leading up to his balls hanging down at the edge of the desk. They were something to look at; the widely spread legs with every muscle tightened from the bonds stretching them apart. The buttocks, smooth and white and spotless, parted by the position of the legs and there, everything that was between them exposed and open to the gaze. Greg's mom was looking--staring actually at her son and the other young man spread-eagled next to him. His sister was looking too, and was amazed at both of the young males in front of her. Greg's mind was going crazy....Oh GOD! He was anxious, worried, with a look of fear in his eyes, and his ass twitched with the anticipation of the birching to come. He could literally feel everyone's eyes staring at his ass and his balls, hanging down like plums ripe for the plucking.
Likewise, Zack Mikels felt immensely vulnerable. From the rear the inverted V shape of his legs seemed to emphasize his total exposure. As Mathew looked at Zack his eyes narrowed and he noticed the other boy's body, perhaps for the first time. Zack had his head back, looking right at him, with eyes that were wide with fear but there was an element of something else there as well. Was it hatred, or what? He too was jerking at his bonds, almost humping the edge of the desk now. His motions seemed steady, driven as he desperately struggled. Mathew looked down to his ankles at the boy's straps, but they were tight and his legs were secure. His prick was visible when he occasionally raised his ass, and it appeared to have begun to grow stiff and long after being exposed and freed from the confinement of his pants. Greg's dick, while not as hard, seemed to be slightly thinner and much less massive than his friend's.
The two boys were ready, and their rears were both open. Both teens had well-muscled buttocks that were a soft pale white. While Greg's dark hair ran down the crack of his ass, Zack's patch of blond hair was almost invisible, just a light fur covering his balls. The trickle of hair ran up from his low hanging balls, and spread across and around his open hole. His thighs had just the beginning of light hair, and seemed well muscled and defined.
Both boys were squirming, trying to find a position that was not so uncomfortable, and they both felt ashamed beyond anything either of them had ever felt in all of their lives. With their families literally looking right up their ass....the principal there too, and the huge guards that seemed so out of place in this room--they were scared.
With a nod from one of the guards, Greg's father swung the bundled birch limbs with all of his might. There was an extended SWISH---SPLAT as it impacted his son's rear, instantly making little marks of red appear across the entire buttocks. As soon as he felt the birch, Greg began to twist widly; suddenly he was desperately attempting to gain his freedom from the ropes that held him. Likewise, and almost simultaneously, Zack's dad had swung his own bundle of birch limbs, and a second SWISH---SPLAT had followed the sound of the first. As the birch impacted his son's ass the boy's entire body had jerked and he had cried out in pain. Michael, standing behind him, noticed the struggles of his schoolmates, and then, while he watched, he noticed that as the boy's tugged against their bonds to fight the sting of the birch, it looked almost as if their asses were humping the principals desk. In their struggles to free themselves and end the pain, their buttocks jerked spasmodically up and down.
SWISH----SPLAT/SPLAT. Two GRUNTS....escaped their lips and both teenager's eyes watered from the impact of the birching in progress. With the impact of the birch bundles both pricks had gone rock hard, and that was immediately noticeable when they straightened their legs and thrusted upwards, raising their belly's off of the desk. It might have been from the constriction as they laid over the edge of the desk, their balls hanging down and their dicks laying flat. It might have been from the blood rushing from their heads, or from the sting of the birch as the branches were driven into their two ass's. Whatever the reason, as they laid flat under their bellies, the pricks of both boys grew, and their balls tightened a little and both assholes clinched closed. In fact, both of the boy's pricks were actually jutting back and forth under their bellies, bouncing on the desktop with their movements, as least to the limits of the bonds that held them.
SWISH---SPLAT/ISH SPLAT. Once again, both fathers slammed the birches into the buttocks below them. OH GOD...OH _s_h_i_t_. With the bite of the birch into the tender skin of the boys' asses they both shuddered together, and the boys' splayed out legs reacted even as their struggles intensified. Between their legs, as they tried to move, Mike watched both of his schoolmates' balls swing from their efforts, their legs struggling desperately to snap close.
SWISH---SPLAT. SWISH---SPLAT. SWISH---SPLAT/SPLAT. As each blow of the birch bundles fell again and again and again, the two ass's slowly changed color, and little spots of blood became visible. Their bottoms were getting little tiny cuts all across their cheeks, and the branches were cutting as much as they were smacking. Both boys were starting to cry by the fourth swing of the birch, and by the time their fathers' had worked the strokes up through 10 they were crying like a little kids, without humility, instead of like the teenagers they were supposed to be. Their tears were flowing down their cheeks steadily and without regard to who was in the room; just a babble of tears and slurping noises and snot running out of their noses.
The guard standing closest to the boy's buttocks knew something of the birching process, and had actually witnesses several birchings in England in previous years. He knew that a lad being birched will often ejaculate when the striping gets too intense. Some will do it from the fear and knowledge of the event itself, and it was common for it to happen near the end of the birching process. Some young men will do it when they feel something first touch their skin, although that is much rarer. Others will do it as they struggle and fight their bonds. Some will even do it from the gazes staring them down. Sometimes they will cum when you make the first stroke of the birch. Other times it will occur when you have beaten their ass so long that the pain is continuous from one stroke to the next. Sometimes, they won't cum at all. It's very hard to predict, and it really doesn't' make a lot of difference, not as far as the pain goes, although the pain is said to be intensified after an orgasm occurs. But it is something to watch for, and as Greg and Zack bucked and thrust their hips trying so hard to alleviate just a little of the burn they were feeling, they were both being very closely watched by everyone.
SWISH---SPLAT. AHGGGGGG Greg yelled, and with the yell, his back quivered, and Michael saw him suddenly ejaculate. It came in waves, and was apparent through the muscles in his ass, in his legs; and it was obvious as those muscles began to involuntarily spasm and his asshole jerked open and closed. It was especially apparent with the two boys side-by-side, one jerking involuntarily and the other struggling against the pain of the birch. Out of the corner of his eye, Greg's father saw his son shudder and then watched as the boy's white semen sprayed across the desk top from under his belly and chest. Greg cried out with a gasp...a gasp of shock and horror and embarrassment, and his face blushed crimson. His cry reached all the way to the outer office, where several students had dropped by to get some question answered or another. SWISH---SPLAT. Then Greg suddenly spasmed again, and shook the entire desk when he did so, his teenage balls pumping the last of their semen out of his body and onto the leather pad below.
SWISH--CRACK. SWISH---CRACK. The thighs of both boys strained with the tension. Two strokes to go. Then one...and then, with a shudder, Zack's body tensed as well and it was at that moment that the boy suddenly spurted his seed as well. He quivered through his entire body, and then as the desk shook again from his movement the white sperm pulsed out from his thick prick and squirted under his belly, hitting his friend Gregory in his right armpit just as the last stroke of the birch was impacting his ass.
Finally it was over. Greg's and Zack's asses each looked like a replica of the color evidence photo, and it was quite apparent that what they had received had to be pretty close to what they had given. Both father's suddenly threw the used birches to the floor, disgusted with what they had done, and more importantly, with the sons they had done it to. As the guards remoced the restraints and the dad's help lift the two boys up, the mess they had made was apparent to everyone, even those in the room that had not picked up on the events when they had happened. The beautiful leather desk pad was covered in the boys' manjuice, and the semen had pooled and then smeared, spreading like melted butter from the wriggling of their stomachs and chests. Looking down, it was easy to see the long thin strings of clear fluid still oozing from their dickheads. What was probably a girl's voice laughed in the room, although later no one would recall who it had come from, and yet they would all remember it forevermore. For Michael, he hadn't laughed at all, but a thin smile was cracked across his lips, and he kept staring at the desktop and the two spotted t-shirts as he smiled.
The boys were reaching for their pants, tears flowing from their eyes and streaking their bright red faces, when Zack's dad suddenly announced, "I think you guys owe Mr. Hanson here an apology."
Time stood still. Then slowly they turned, and faced the boy they had both so willingly attacked just a few days ago. With quivering lips, as their dripping pricks still bobbed and bounced, they began their apologies:
"Sorry....er...I mean ...ah...Michael. I hope you can forgive me man." Then Zack offered his hand....
Greg, reaching out to offer his hand as well said "Yeah...I'm sorry too...God..oh God my ass.....yeah, I deserve it, man, hey anything, anything you want man, just ask us...ok?"....
Michael looked at both of them, head up, eyes clear, and then spoke: "Only one thing....that's all I want, just one thing...."
Zack: "Anything man, I mean it....just say it"
Michael, as he glanced at the mess on the desk, allowed himself a thin smile and said: "Just don't ever call me 'shooter' again."
Then, the three boys all laughed together. It was hard to describe the laugh...it wasn't loud or a funny laugh or anything like that. No, it was somewhat a laugh of humiliation, some part of it a laugh of embarrassment, but something else there too, something shared, and with that, they shook hands and a strange new friendship was initiated.
One of the mothers suddenly spoke: "I am so embarrassed and ashamed of you boys....lets go home NOW!!!".
The faces of both boys flushed bright red, almost as read as their two asses. And with that, the two boys were allowed to pull up their pants, which with some care and trepidation, they managed to accomplish. Then, will little else said from anyone, the two families left helping the two boys to walk toward their respective automobiles. It was the beginning of a 5 day suspension, which both boys were exceedingly grateful to have received.
As Michael walked out of the principals office, heading for the last class of the day, his trace of a smile disappeared from his face and was replaced by a thin line of fear. In only a few days, he was going back, back to the jailhouse, back to his fears, all the way back to visit the Crymaker. True, he wasn't going to be strapped into it this time, but nevertheless he would be there, and he wasn't sure he could handle that. NO, he wasn't sure of that at all.....
[Author's note: If you liked this story, I would enjoy hearing from you. If you didn't, please feel free to tell me to quit wasting my time and yours. Thanks...Nathan9001@yahoo. com]