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.