Introduction

Setting

The year is 1979 at the height of the Cold War. The place is Czechoslovakia, a communist client-state of the Soviet Union and a member of the Warsaw Pact.

More than 10 years have passed since the Prague Spring and Czechoslovakia is in the so-called "normalization" period. The country has foreign soldiers technically guarding it, but in effect, occupying it. These are mainly Soviet troops, but also Poles and Hungarians, as well as others from various Warsaw Pact countries, all under the command of their Soviet overlords.

The Czech communist regime is tough and paranoid, and things are nearly as oppressive in the late 1970s as they were throughout the 1950s, although those deemed a threat to the regime in this era are for the most part only jailed or imprisoned rather than executed or disappeared into concentration camps in the Soviet Union.

The atmosphere in the country is tense and grim. Somewhat oddly, however, the communist regime does not want to be viewed as backwards, so the dress-code is a bit relaxed. Nonetheless, any signs of obvious Western influence, such as long hair or blue-denim jeans, is frowned-upon even if not outright banned. Standing out is discouraged, and it is an especially bad time to draw attention to oneself or to get into any kind of trouble that attracts the attention of the authorities. Even a prank or something similarly unimportant can land a person and his or her family members in prison if it is interpreted as a political act.

Although corporal punishment in schools has been formally outlawed for the sake of "progress", it still is going on in much of the country, especially in the boarding schools known in Czech as internátní škola, or internats.

Principal Characters

Stanislav Tichy – age 32

Stanislav Tichý (his friends call him "Standa" or "Slavek") is the physical education instructor at the internat known as the Pripravna Internatni Skola Klementa Gottwalda [Author's note: "Internat School of Klement Gottwald"; Klement Gottwald was an early Czech communist president] located in the near the village of Zelezny Brod in the Liberec Region of Czechoslovakia. Second in command only to the headmaster at PISKG, Tichy is the head of dorm, responsible for military training and student discipline at the preparatory school, which houses approximately 160 boys aged roughly 12 to 15. As 1979 is the height of the Cold War, Tichy's duties also include overseeing the boys in fire, air-raid, and nuclear-fallout drills, all of which were commonplace in that era.

Born in 1947, just after the end of World War II, the man now is in his early thirties and is a typical example of a devoted Czech communist of his time. A fervent careerist, he is willing to throw anyone and anything under the bus to progress in his work and social status. Tichy is a hater of the old order and an ardent admirer of the Soviets. He agrees with the occupation of his country as a necessary step to protect socialism.

Tichy smokes and drinks, with a preference for both vodka and beer. He's unmarried, which is a bit peculiar given his age, but he easily explains his unwed status by claiming to be "married to the Party".

Tichy believes in strict discipline for the boys and is a dedicated proponent and practitioner of corporal punishment. Although corporal punishment has been banned nationwide, there are no authorities to ensure compliance with this edict, and PISKG itself is remote, being situated in a repurposed monastery up in the mountains above the village of Zelezny Brod. The boys fear Tichy unanimously and unconditionally, although he does rely on several of the boys to be his eyes and ears in the dorms.

As a child growing up in the Liberec Region, Tichy heard many stories from his parents about the failings of pre-war capitalism, including the period his parents spent working together in a glass factory owned by Josef Hurta, a prominent local businessman known as the "Glass King". Tichy's parents were working-class people who met at the factory and ended up marrying thereafter, but their experience working for Hurta caused them to despise the Glass King as well as capitalism itself, and they readily embraced communism after the war.

According to his parents, Josef Hurta was among the worst of the pre-war Czech capitalists, an irredeemable exploiter of the working class who built his fortune on the backs of his workers, most of whom labored endless hours at slave wages under brutal conditions. The stories Tichy heard about Hurta and the capitalist exploitation of his parents made him angry as a boy and helped him to become the dedicated communist that he is today. Despite never having even met the man, he has despised the Glass King his entire life.

The stories told by his parents stayed with Tichy, and eventually, using his connections to local Party officials, Tichy investigated the post-war fate of the Glass King. Through his research, he found that although the man was long dead, he had fathered a son, Ludek, who later become part of the anti-Soviet resistance following the Prague Spring. Learning that the Glass King's son had been a traitor to Czech communism caused Tichy to despise Hurta and his entire family even more than he already did. Tichy's research further revealed that while Ludek had disappeared in 1968 and was presumed dead, he was survived by his widow and a single child, a young son named Marek. Tichy was pleased to learn from his sources that the mother and child appeared to be quite poor and did not seem to have benefitted from the inheritance of any portion of the Glass King's former fortune, which as far as he was concerned had been made at the expense of the Czech working class.

At the time of Tichy's discovery, Marek Hurta, grandson of the Glass King, was 11 years old, just shy of the age of the incoming first-year students at the internat where Tichy held sway. As he contemplated that very fact, Tichy could not help but fantasize about having the grandson of the infamous Glass King enrolled at the school, where the boy would be subject to Tichy's perverted whims, discipline, and vengeance. Of course, Tichy knew that the chances of that were nil, as the boy and his mother lived hundreds of kilometers away from the school in the village of Vacenovice in Moravia. But it was during this daydreaming that the normally low-intellect Tichy seized upon a devious and sinister plan: He would use his contacts within the Ministry of Education to have the Hurta boy admitted to the school, no questions asked.

The following spring, Tichy put his plan into action, and the Ministry approved Marek Hurta's admission to the school. To the extent they even thought about it at all, Tichy's contacts at the Ministry merely assumed that the boy was a relative of his or the son of one of his friends – the provision of such favors between and among Party-connected Czechs being very much the currency of the realm at that time.

Marek Hurta – age 12

At the time our story begins, Marek Hurta is an ordinary, 12-year-old schoolboy who lives in the town of Vacenovice in south-central Czechoslovakia. An only child, Marek's father, Ludek Hurta, "disappeared" in the aftermath of the Prague Spring in 1968 when the boy was a toddler. Ludek had worked for the state as a civil engineer, and while not overly political or even an early supporter of Alexander Dubček, he became involved in anti-Soviet resistance efforts following the invasion. He has not been seen since he was arrested by the authorities and dragged from his apartment for interrogation. That was over 11 years ago, and Ludek has been presumed dead for many years.

Ludek's father – Marek's paternal grandfather – was important in pre-communist Czechoslovakia. Known as "Hurta the Glass King", he owned a very successful industrial glass factory in the Liberec Region. The factory was converted to making munitions for the German Army during World War II. After the war, it was nationalized by the Czech government. Marek's grandfather was briefly jailed by the regime after the communists took power in 1948, but he was released on the condition that he agree to help operate the very factory he used to own, which was again making glass for industrial applications, primarily for export to the USSR.

Marek's grandfather died in 1952, 15 years before the boy was born, but Marek inherited his famous surname, which readily identifies his lineage to those who choose to remember such things. Following the death of the Glass King, however, Ludek moved away from Bohemia to start a new life in Vacenovice, away from the region where his father and his ancestors had lived for centuries. It was there that Ludek met his future wife, married, and settled down to raise a family until the events of the Prague Spring.

Marek's mother, Aneta, was held for interrogation for four months after the Prague Spring. She was not physically mistreated despite her husband's suspected involvement in the resistance, but the experience of being separated from her young son, losing her husband to an unknown fate, and being jailed and terrified for weeks on end caused her to have her first of several nervous breakdowns. While she was detained and during the several months thereafter that she spent recovering in a mental hospital, Marek was cared for by her sister, Martina, and her husband. When his mother was released to home, she had difficulty putting the pieces of her old life back together. Among other issues, she no longer had her husband's income and his pension was denied to her. She was able to recover somewhat, and she now works at the local JZD [Author's note: unified agricultural society].

Marek and his mother live together in a drab, post-war, government-owned concrete apartment building in Vacenovice. Contrary to the suspicions of some, Aneta's infamous father-in-law died virtually penniless and there is no secret family money left to help support her and Marek. Aneta loves Marek, but largely is unable to demonstrate her attachment to the boy given her own frail mental state. In addition, she has a weak composition and is frequently sick. She was born in 1943 and is now age 36, but she looks to be at least 10 years older than her actual age.

Marek grew up without any first-hand memories of his father, but others in their town well remember that the man disappeared shortly after the occupation and was never heard from again. Rumors have swirled for over a decade about Ludek Hurta's role in the resistance. At his former school, Marek sometimes heard slurs directed his way about both his father ("traitor") and his grandfather ("capitalist dog"). The boy sometimes fought his tormentors, but he usually turned the other cheek and tried to stay out of trouble in deference to his mother's delicate mental health.

For reasons that are not clear to him or his family, Marek surprisingly earned admission to the Pripravna Internatni Skola Klementa Gottwalda in Zelezny Brod, far away from his home, but not far from where his grandfather used to live and own the glass factory. The school caters primarily to the sons of Party officials and low-level government functionaries. Marek's family suspects that an old friend of the boy's father may have arranged for the admission as a way of thanking Ludek for something – perhaps for not divulging the friend's name while Ludek was in police custody undergoing interrogation. In any event, the offer of admission was far too good an opportunity to be turned down by Marek's family, and preparations were made for the boy to matriculate at the school in the Fall.

Although far from his home, Marek's admission to PISKG is seen as the boy's one and only chance to receive the type of education and make the connections that will allow him to carve out a decent life in bleak, Cold War-era Czechoslovakia. Marek is determined to succeed at the school and not let his family down.

Marek's First Term

Marek arrived in Zelezny Brod by train in early September 1979. Until that trip, the boy had never traveled more than a few kilometers from Vacenovice, the town of his birth. The train ride lasted over six hours, taking Marek first to the Czech capital city of Prague, where he changed trains for the remainder of the journey, and then on to Zelezny Brod. Throughout the trip, Marek avidly watched the passing landscape out the compartment window. It was an exciting time for the boy, but one that also filled him with worry. He knew no one at his new school and would be hundreds of kilometers from home, away from his mother for the first time in his memory.

The internat he would attend for the next four years was nestled in the hills above the village, located on the site of an old monastery that had been converted to a school after the war. To house the 160 boys that comprised the school's population, the former monks' cells were converted to dormitory rooms, two boys to a room. Upon arrival at the school, Marek received a brief introduction and tour from the school's math instructor, Evžen Becvar. Thereafter, the boy was escorted to the dormitories, where he was introduced to his roommate, a slightly chubby, ginger-haired boy from the nearby town of Prosicka named Radek Kinter. Their room was located on the second floor of the dormitory, which housed the first-year boys.

Unfortunately, Marek's first weeks at the school did not go particularly well either socially or academically. To the other boys, he was a rank outsider with no Party connections. While it appeared that the identity of his infamous grandfather remained a secret for now, several of the boys seemed to go out of their way to tease and bully Marek from the start. This resulted in several fights as Marek desperately tried, but mostly failed, to stand up for himself and gain the respect of his classmates. His roommate, Radek, was cold, unfriendly, and no help in the situation. While not every boy was openly hostile to him, Marek was unable to make any friends because he was either shunned or simply ignored by the ones who weren't.

Marek also found the classes difficult and the teachers strict. His prior schooling had not prepared him for the rigors of the internat, which, despite being a third-tier boarding school, academically was still above most of the zakladni skola [Author's note: "basic" or "primary" school] in the country. While Marek was not stupid by any means, he immediately struggled in several of his subjects as he encountered material that he had not seen before. Only on the football pitch and in physical education class did the boy excel, even earning the grudging admiration of some of his classmates with his athletic prowess. This was not enough to help him in his other areas of struggle, however, and between his fights and poor grades, Marek soon found himself in trouble with the school administration, and that trouble only worsened as the term continued.

By November of his first term, only weeks after his arrival in Zelezny Brod, Marek found himself in grave danger of being expelled. One fight too many and another poor test result had resulted in a final warning being issued to him. One more significant failure or transgression and he would be sent home. While that result might have been acceptable to the boy, who was struggling to fit in at the boarding school so far from his home, he knew it would be unacceptable to his mother and other family members who had placed high hopes on his anticipated success at the internat located so far from Vacenovice.

Chapter One

"Marek, Marek, Marek," Tichy said reproachfully to the boy, rubbing the spot between his eyebrows. "Look, when I heard about the cheat sheet," he said as he shook his head, "I almost went straight to the headmaster with it. Part of me still thinks I should have," he sighed, "but then I remembered that you're on your second warning. You're on probation. If I take this up with Mr. Skala that's it for you here. He won't even waste time on a hearing. I don't want to do that to you, young man, but it puts me in a difficult position, which I'm sure you can appreciate," he said with a frown. It was just the two of them in his private office, a musty but warm and well-lit room on the top floor of the main school building. Tichy lit up a cigarette, looking at the boy questioningly.

Sitting in one of the straight-backed wooden chairs before the desk in Mr. Tichy's office, Marek was an unhappy boy. He always felt out of sorts when he was being called by school officials to answer for misdeeds, and Tichy's reputation for discipline was notorious among the boys. But this time was different. He hadn't done it and he desperately needed Mr. Tichy to understand that. It wasn't his cheat sheet! He hadn't written it. He hadn't put it there. He hadn't known it was there. He hadn't used it.

Marek's heart was beating hard in his chest. Things had not been going well for him at the school. Every day he tried harder, but the fights – they weren't his fault, at least not most of them. The other boys didn't seem to like him from the start. They picked on him. Some of the other things had been his fault, it was true, but he had been trying to be good and striving to keep his transgressions to a minimum.

"But it wasn't mine … I didn't write it. Somebody else put it there," the boy explained.

Tichy's face scrunched up in disgust and he raised his hands, palms out to the boy to stop his words. "And the dog ate your homework, and someone else always starts the fight, and … what else, Marek? If that weren't the oldest, lamest excuse in the book I might even believe you." Tichy paused with a word-weary sigh. "I've seen you give good effort in gym class. You never slack off on the football pitch, you do your laps … I can see you're trying Marek," he said, encouraging the boy, trying to convey that he was on his side. "But I'm afraid this absolutely cannot go unpunished. We can keep it between us if you decide not to risk expulsion, and I can shield you from any greater consequences, but I'll make sure you don't end up thinking you got off easy." He took another drag on the cheap, smelly cigarette. "What do you think, young comrade?"

Marek swallowed nervously as the man ridiculed his excuses. The boy knew there was no explaining it, but inwardly, he seethed. He wanted to cry at the unfairness of it, the injustice, but he was a big kid now, 12 years old, and crying would be unbecoming. Which boy had done this to him? Fighting was one thing. Not liking him – for whatever reason – was another. But sabotaging him? Slipping a cheat sheet between the pages of his textbook and ratting on him for it to Mr. Drabek? Which boy had done that? Marek even knew when it must have happened. He had left his book unattended on his desk to go to the bathroom the day of the test. But who had done it? Which boy? And why?

He turned his attention back to Mr. Tichy. The man seemed to be trying to help him. Marek knew that cheating was wrong. As bad a boy as he could be, he wasn't a cheat, but he knew the man thought he was. Mr. Drabek did, too. He swallowed nervously as Tichy smoked his cigarette. Instinctively, he still wanted to persuade the man. He at least had to try.

"If you look at my test – if you look at my answers, I didn't cheat, Mr. Tichy. I don't even know if the answers on that sheet were right. I never looked at them. I didn't even know it was there, I swear."

Tichy stubbed the cigarette out somewhat abruptly and rapped his finger on his desk, impatiently. "Look, Marek, if you're confident you can prove your innocence, we'll take this up the official route. If you're going to argue and explain, you'll do that with the headmaster, not with me. I'm not offering you a hearing or an investigation or anything like that. I'm telling you that you can be punished right now without the rest of the school knowing about it, and that will be the end of it. That's my offer, no more, no less."

"So," he said sternly, clearly getting irritated as the boy continued to make excuses, "shall we continue this conversation down the hallway, in the headmaster's office?" he demanded. His eyes no longer appeared as warm as when he had initially extended the offer.

Marek looked down at his knees. Was he confident he could prove his innocence? Not with the whole world against him, as it very much seemed to be. Mr. Drabek had been eager to hold up the cheat sheet and show it to the entire class. He hadn't even given Marek a chance to explain himself, much less to deny that it was his. It appeared to everyone that he had been caught red-handed, and the boy was under no illusions as to what that meant for him and his future if the headmaster found out about it.

Marek's heart was racing. If he were expelled … he simply couldn't be expelled. He just couldn't be.

"I guess I'll take the punishment, then," he said with a very unhappy look. He knew for certain what that meant. His old school hadn't employed corporal punishment, but the internats still did, especially for serious offenses like cheating, and this school was no different.

"Well, then," said Tichy, sounding tentatively appeased. "That proves to me that you're serious about your place here and that you really are trying," he added, even giving the boy a brief smile of encouragement. Of course, for Tichy, all of this was nothing but a game, and his smile was as fake as the cheating accusation had been in the first place – but not nearly as fake as his offer to help Marek out of the situation by punishing him in secret. He had plotted the whole thing himself, preparing the dire stakes exactly so he could be in the very position he found himself in now.

"My part of the deal is that this stays between us and us only. It goes no further than this office, and the cheat sheet will be destroyed and forgotten," he told the boy. "What I ask in return is that you accept your punishment without a fuss. I've already told you I will not make you feel like you got off easy and I'll make sure it's as memorable as it is unpleasant, to discourage you from future offenses."

"Do we have a deal?"

Marek kicked his legs under his chair. He felt very unsettled, as he always did whenever he was called to the disciplinarian's office to answer for his latest misdeed. It was his most-hated place in the world, no matter how old he was or what school he attended. The gut-wrenching unfairness of the cheat sheet was a profound blow to the boy because he already got in enough trouble on his own without being blamed for things he hadn't done.

While Tichy did appear to be trying to help, the boy wasn't naive. The man seemed to enjoy his job – his power – too much. The other boys sometimes spoke about him, but always in hushed tones and in a careful manner. Tichy was rumored to have some of the older boys on his payroll, so to speak. Those boys were his eyes and ears, especially in the dorms.

"OK," said Marek hesitantly, as his brain searched for a way out. There didn't seem to be one. And going to the headmaster certainly was not an option.

"All right, replied Tichy. "We can't have you leaving with cane marks on your bottom if none of this ever happened," he winked, "so it will be 25 with the slipper, on the bare. With some old-fashioned corner time afterwards so you can fully feel the shame – not just the pain – of the punishment."

"Now …" Tichy continued, almost casually, nodding at the boy and pulling open a drawer to extract a leather slipper that clearly had been used for the same purpose in the past. When Marek was slow to move, Tichy cleared his throat. He was becoming more than a little impatient.

Marek wasn't used to corporal punishment. His mother had never used it on him. His uncle – the drinking one – had spanked him a couple of times when he was visiting and too rambunctious with his cousins. But his old school hadn't used it, and Marek didn't have a father to worry about that sort of thing. The boy eyed the slipper warily. It didn't look all that awful, but was it? Would it be? Was 25 a lot? And what did "on the bare mean"?

Marek swallowed. He nodded unhappily. At least he knew now what his punishment would be.

"I said on the bare," huffed Tichy impatiently. "Trousers and pants off, please," he said even as he pulled his chair back. "Fold them over the chair you're sitting on, then come lie yourself over my lap. Better to get this over with quickly," he added, once again making it sound like he was somehow doing Marek a favor. "Remember your part of the deal. No fuss. Come on, now. I haven't got all day."

Marek's eyes went wide as he learned what "on the bare" meant. Without his trousers and underwear, the man and anyone else who happened to come into his office would see him naked. Marek didn't like that part at all. Why couldn't he just do it with his underwear on? Surely that thin bit of clothing wouldn't make any difference to his spanking. What if someone came up to Mr. Tichy's office while he was undressed? That would be the worst, the absolute worst. He would never live it down.

Marek stood up from his chair. He didn't look confident or happy. "Can you- are you gonna lock the door?" he asked in a meek voice.

"Nervous?" replied Tichy mockingly. "No one will dare enter my office without knocking. If I lock the door, you'll take off all your clothes for the spanking. Remember, making you feel ashamed and embarrassed for what you did is very much a part of your punishment, Marek," Tichy explained. "You're a tough, strong boy, and physically punishing you alone wouldn't be enough to get the message across. So, which will it be?" he asked, as he picked up the key to the door and showed it to the boy.

Marek didn't know what to decide. He really, really, really didn't want anyone to come in Tichy's office while he was being disciplined. Being seen half-naked in Mr. Tichy's office would be mortifying. Yet, the man's office was located on the third floor in the administration wing. Classes were done for the day, and for the most part, the boys would be in their dorms until dinner. He knew that Tichy probably had picked this time of day precisely because the two of them were unlikely to be disturbed. The chance of somebody coming up to see Mr. Tichy was low. Not impossible, but low.

Tichy smiled as he awaited the boy's response. Marek now faced a serious dilemma. He either could remove some of his clothing and receive his spanking in an unlocked room, or he could ensure complete privacy for the occasion by removing all of his clothing and taking his punishment fully in the nude. It was his choice, and Tichy didn't really care which option the boy selected. He also smiled at the irony that if the boy had known what else Tichy had planned for him, the possibility of being seen naked by someone probably wouldn't even have made his list of things to worry about.

Marek didn't think he could take the chance of being seen. It would be hopelessly embarrassing and humiliating if anyone were to pick this moment to visit the disciplinarian's office. Mr. Tichy was going to see his bare bottom, anyway. He'd already seen him naked in the gymnasium locker room, and having Tichy see him naked again wasn't his main concern.

"I th-think you should lock it," Marek said nervously. He wasn't sure if that was the right decision, but in his mind it did eliminate nearly all the risk of being seen.

Upon hearing Marek's choice, Tichy immediately stood up from his chair, strode across the room, and locked the door with the large brass key, leaving it in the keyhole. "Go on then. Every stitch. You're pushing my buttons, boy," he said, "and that's a dangerous game to play. Any more fuss and you'll be doing your corner time downstairs on the first floor, with the other boys walking by and seeing everything. You can say it was for talking back and not mention the cheat sheet if anyone who matters asks. But if you want this to remain private between the two of us, you'll get on with it in a real hurry." Tichy sounded impatient and irate once again.

Marek watched the man lock the door. He felt a modicum of relief. At least it would only be Mr. Tichy who saw him. The man had made it clear that this was private between them and that it would not be mentioned again. Based on Tichy's assurances, he was confident that the man wouldn't say anything to anyone else about his punishment.

In any event, the man's patience obviously was at an end, so Marek stood up from his chair and kicked off his shoes. He unbuttoned and removed his shirt. His trousers were next. His underwear was more gray than white, obviously old, and embarrassing – perhaps even more embarrassing than being seen naked, if that were possible. He skinned them down. His uncut penis flopped free. It was appropriately sized for a boy of nearly 13 years but still hairless, with balls that were just beginning to descend in their wrinkled, pink scrotum.

Marek was now naked save for his socks. His fit young body was lean with no fat. He had some muscle definition to his chest and strong, toned legs from football. As soon as he was fully undressed, he placed his hands protectively over his genitals, protecting them from Tichy's gaze.

Tichy took two steps that brought him right up to Marek. He couldn't quite manage to hold back a smug, sadistic smile. "Go on, then, Marek," said Tichy. "You chose a private punishment and you chose the more embarrassing, behind-locked-doors option. Put your hands up on the top of your head. You don't get to hide anything," said the man in a strict but satisfied tone of voice.

Tichy was enjoying this cat-and-mouse game, most especially because he was playing the role of the cat. The power imbalance between the tall, imposing 32-year-old fully dressed adult figure of authority and the naked, diminutive twelve-year-old first-year schoolboy could not have been any starker, and Tichy reveled in it. The fact that the naked boy awaiting punishment was the grandson of Hurta the Glass King made Tichy's heart sing and his cock absolutely twitch with anticipation. He had waited for this moment for months. He'd planned for it, in fact, and now it was here.

Marek already was stark naked and therefore in no real position to bargain for better terms. He felt nervous and out of sorts being completely undressed in the man's office. Random, almost silly concerns filled his head. What if someone heard them through the opaque glass pane in the middle of the door? What if there was a crack or a peep hole through which someone could see? What if the door wasn't actually locked and someone just walked in? Marek knew that most of his concerns were unfounded, but the sooner his punishment was over and done with, the better.

The boy blushed as he raised his hands to his head. His taut stomach curved inward as his lean body stretched. The bottom of his rib cage showed. His hairless penis hung free. He knew the man had seen naked boys before. He'd undoubtedly punished them naked, too. But that only made it a tiny little bit less embarrassing. The man could see his genitals and his butt on full display, but there was nothing Marek could do about it with his hands on his head.

Tichy marveled at the boy's smooth, fit, and hairless presentation. Marek was a handsome boy, a real looker, and the man took his time studying every aspect of his nude body. The boy undoubtedly thought that this would all be over soon, but for Tichy, having the Hurta boy standing naked and exposed in his office, obeying his commands, was just the beginning of a very long and intense game that he planned to play with the boy. He reveled in Marek's nervousness and fear. The boy already was resigned to his fate and submitting to Tichy's punishment, but that was no reason not to bully him a little bit more before the real fun began.

"Socks, too, I said every stitch," Tichy barked. "Then stand up straight and turn around and around slowly on the same spot. You're blushing quite nicely, Marek, and that means you're almost ready for your punishment to begin."

Marek desperately wanted this to be over just as soon as it could be. Yes, he was very afraid of the punishment itself. He didn't like pain, wasn't particularly brave about it, and was very worried about how that slipper would feel being applied to his bare bottom. But even more than that, he was concerned about anyone else finding out that he had been punished, naked, in Mr. Tichy's office. He was terrified that someone would see, hear, know, or otherwise somehow find out what had happened to him. That would be a disaster. If the other boys found out, the boy knew that they would tease and mock him terribly. Marek was already having trouble fitting in. Being discovered stark naked in the man's office getting spanked was something he was sure he never would live down.

At Tichy's command, he reached down and quickly plucked his socks off. It was just another delay, another few seconds he had to stay naked in a place where he knew a boy simply should not be naked. The boy slowly turned around with his hands on his head as Mr. Tichy had ordered. This was awful. The man could see everything. It was embarrassing. The boy just wanted it to be over.

"All right, then," allowed Tichy, now finally satisfied. He sat down back onto his chair and steered Marek to step up and fold himself over the man's lap. He took great care positioning the boy just right so that Marek's head hung nice and low above the man's brown leather shoes with his butt up high, curving to form the apex of Marek's smooth, naked body. Tichy adjusted the lad until his backside was perfectly positioned to receive what it had coming. All this adjusting of course gave Tichy plenty of chances to touch the boy's back, arms, legs, and eventually even his smooth, unblemished buttocks.

Marek found it was awkward to lie across the man's lap. In fact, it was worse than awkward. It had felt weird and odd and a whole bunch of other distasteful things when the naked boy reluctantly came to the man who he knew was going to hurt him and awkwardly placed himself over the man's thighs. Marek was scared, and between that and his nakedness, he felt cold as the man re-positioned him, seemingly touching him all over his body in the process.

Now the boy finally was ready, and it was time for the next phase of Tichy's plan. Using his left hand, Tichy grasped Marek's slender wrists and crossed them over one another, then held them fast and tight against the boy's lower back in a firm grip. Without further delay, his right hand raised the slipper high up over his shoulder and with a loud and resonating CRACK!!! brought it slamming down with all of his considerable strength on the boy's exposed, twelve-year-old bottom.

The impact of the slipper landing sounded like a pistol shot and left a very satisfying, dark-red imprint behind, as well as, very evidently, a shock of excruciating pain. Tichy had seen boys underestimate the slipper before, and he knew that there was no way a 12-year-old first-year boy was going to be able to take 25 scream-inducing whacks like that one unless his aim was to leave him a snot-dripping, shivering, crying little mess with his vocal cords raw from screaming. But that wasn't Tichy's plan.

Marek had never been punished like this before. He'd never been draped over someone's lap for a spanking. It was frightening and with his head dangling down, a little disorienting. Now, with his firm bottom upturned and extremely vulnerable, he was far less concerned about being discovered or seen than what was about to happen to his backside. It hadn't taken long for his focus to shift. When the man grabbed his wrists and held them in a vice-like grip. Marek almost moaned in fear. He wasn't good with pain. But what boy of 12 was?

And then it happened. A sensation. A very loud sound, and then … nothing. Nothing for several seconds, before suddenly all the pain in the entire world rushed to his bottom at the same time, burning and stinging with almost-impossible intensity. Marek couldn't believe the ferocity of the pain. It was a rolling, increasing, deafening, inferno of agony. Tears flooded his eyes. He wasn't crying; the tears just came on their own, unbidden. "Uhhhhh," he grunted, his reaction delayed – almost surprised. He immediately began trying to tug his hands free. He wriggled, too, as if contemplating whether he wanted to stay in position for any more of what he had just received. He knew that one spank was not the end or even close to it, but he wasn't sure he was up for any more than that.

Tichy had no intention of delaying things or allowing the boy time to adjust to the pain as he might with another first-year boy receiving his first slippering. That decidedly was not part of his plan for Marek Hurta . He maintained his steely grip on the boy's wrists to keep him in position, raised the slipper up high again, holding it by its heel, and then brought it down in a sharp, swift arch, snapping his wrist at the last moment to make the smooth, thick leather meet Marek's buttocks at the highest possible speed. CRACK!!! He paused for a moment before hitting the boy again. CRACK!!! After each application, Tichy varied the length of the pauses and made sure not to go too fast. He wanted the boy to feel every hit thoroughly and not quite know when the next one was coming. CRACK!!! … CRACK!!!

Marek heard the loud reports as the slipper hit his buttocks. The slipper was large enough that each time it landed, it seemed to hit the same spots on his sensitive skin. The pain was excruciating. The boy couldn't believe how much it hurt. All the air had been driven from his lungs or he would have screamed. The pain level was impossible to endure. He heard yet another loud sound and felt another rush of pain. His buns clenched. His body tensed. Could it really hurt this much? Could it? It could.

There was no way that Marek could prepare himself for this. The pain was breathtaking – so much so that the virtually upside-down boy literally forgot to breathe, or at least to inhale, as his body tried to adjust to what had happened. He squirmed. He fought. He desperately wanted out of his predicament. He'd take his chances with the headmaster. He'd leave school if he had to, but he had to stop this right now. But the man had other ideas. His hand held the child's wrists, keeping Marek in position as the boy tried to kick and struggle. The blows kept landing, one after the other. The boy couldn't breathe. The pain was unbearable.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, fresh air hit Marek's lungs, and he let out a blood-curdling scream. "Ahhhhhh ahaaaaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" he squealed. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Mr Tichhyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!" It was the sound of a young boy undergoing severe correction.

Marek had intended to take his punishment stoically and not cry out, but he no longer cared about being discovered. The pain was blinding. He had never felt anything like it. Just when he thought that it couldn't possibly get any worse, it did, and then it got still worse from there. He wriggled and writhed and tried to break free. But he was only 12 years old; the man was nearly three times his age and twice as strong, and he easily kept the struggling boy in position over his lap.

After five ferocious whacks with the slipper, Tichy paused for a moment to listen to the boy's screams, then chuckled aloud. "I thought you didn't want the whole school to find out about your punishment, you wimp!" he taunted Marek. Then he smiled, because everything was going exactly, precisely according to his cruel plan. He gave the crying, struggling boy a moment to compose himself, then huffed impatiently.

"You're fighting this like you no longer want a private way out," he said crossly, pretending to be annoyed even though he was in fact overjoyed with the boy's reaction. Still holding Marek's wrists, Tichy stood up, causing the boy to fall to his knees before him. With his free hand, he grabbed the youngster by his hair and pulled him to his feet. Tichy then steered him to the door exactly as he was, stark naked, with a tear-covered face and a glowing red butt. He pressed the boy against the door with his body and with his left hand still holding both the boy's wrists together in a death-grip, he reached for the key with his right.

"Headmaster's office?" he asked calmly.

"Mr. Tichy – no, no, please!" Marek begged as he realized what the man intended to do. Tichy wouldn't really parade him naked down the hall, would he? Then Marek saw him reach for the key. He was absolutely bawling now, and terrified. He couldn't help it.

"Noooooo! Mr. Tichyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy! Noooooooooooo! I'm naked!"

"Yes, you are, and because you wanted it that way, remember? The door is locked so you are naked, that was the deal. But you don't seem to be up for the deal anymore, so I guess it's off and we'd better hurry into the headmaster's office," he said. To terrify the boy even more, he started to turn the key in the lock. It was an old, stiff lock, and the mechanism rasped with a satisfying sound.

Marek saw the key turn, causing him to moan and sob in anguish. This was like a nightmare.

Tichy stopped turning the key before the door was fully unlocked. "To be honest, I simply don't know what to do with you, Mr. Hurta," he said. "You can't take your punishment like a man, but you bawl like a baby when I suggest we return to the original and proper way of going about it and take it up with the headmaster." Tichy paused with satisfaction at his little lecture. Everything was going exactly according to plan.

Marek was distraught and terrified. The pain in his bottom was now secondary to the very real and convincing threat that Mr. Tichy was going to walk him down the hall to the headmaster's office, naked, crying, and obviously freshly spanked. The boy was too upset even to consider the possibility that the man was bluffing him. All he could think of was that door and the hallway just beyond it. He moaned and sobbed in despair.

"Hmmmm," the man continued as if deep in thought. "Maybe, just maybe, if you admit you're a pathetic wimp who can't take a simple punishment without crying your eyes out and acting like a baby, I could, perhaps, consider making your punishment more humiliating but less painful for you, to suit the kind of boy you are. What do you think? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Marek continued to sob as he listened to the man's offer. Mr. Tichy was right – or right enough. There was no way to argue anything he had said. The slipper had hurt like blazes and he had bawled like a three-year-old. But now he desperately did not want to go to the headmaster, especially not like this, not completely naked. Through his terror, anxiety, and pain, it seemed to Marek that the man was offering him an out once again. The one he had offered before – 25 spanks with the slipper – had been too awful to complete, but thankfully Tichy didn't appear to be insisting on that now.

Marek knew that if he refused the offer, the man would march him to the headmaster, stark naked and crying. His heart raced in his chest. "Yes … yes," he agreed breathlessly. Anything. Just not out into that hall.

"'Yes' won't cut it," Tichy said, before lowering his mouth to the boy's ear, and whispering in a conspiratorial voice: "'I am a pathetic little wimp who can't take a punishment like a man and I deserve to be humiliated' – say it nice and loud and clear," he said. "In fact, say 'please,' since you're asking for a favor, asking me to change our original agreement," he demanded gruffly.

The man let go of the door; if Marek wanted to unlock it and run into the corridor, he could suit himself. Given the boy's terrified reaction, Tichy doubted that was a serious risk.

"Down on your knees, boy, and say it!" he barked at the sobbing boy.

Marek could feel the man's breath in his ear, hot and wet. He sucked in a deep breath and held it, listening. He was a wimp. There was no denying it. He was terrified. But maybe the man was merciful after all. Maybe he understood that the punishment was too harsh. He could take Marek to the headmaster, but he was giving the boy another out. It didn't really matter what it was.

Marek sank to his knees before the door. "I-I'm a path- path- pathetic little w-wimp who deserves to b-be punished like a man … um, um, please," the boy sobbed to the door as the awfulness of this day continued.

"No, not like a man. Like a wimp," corrected Tichy with emphasis. "Last chance. I've just about had it with you. Do as you're told now, everything, without a hint of fuss or hesitation, or I'll take charge of the situation fully and do what I probably should have done all along – drag you to the headmaster just as you are, with your classmates all over the hallways," he said. "Or maybe I'll just give you the rest of your spanking, or maybe I'll do both, how about that?" he added.

Marek was bewildered and frightened, upset and confused. His bottom hurt. His head spun. What did the man want? How could he make this horror end? Anything but the hallway, anything but that. "OK," the boy gasped through his sobs. At this point, he was ready to agree to anything Tichy wanted from him.

"If you're a pathetic wimp, you'll be treated like one and you'll know you deserve every bit of it," said Tichy. "Get down on all fours, lower your nose until it's almost touching the carpet and crawl back to my chair, boy," he commanded sharply.

Still sobbing, the boy instantly went down on all fours. He oriented his head face-down to the carpet and crawled across the carpet on his hands and knees. His bottom glowed ruby red as he made his way in the direction of the man's desk. There wasn't a moment's pause or even a fraction of a second in which the boy contemplated disobeying the man's instructions. Anything seemed better than the resumption of his spanking or being dragged fully naked into the hallway.

"Tuck your belly in!" commanded Tichy as the boy crawled across the carpet. "Stick that butt out! Put your head down and sniff like a dog following a track!" he added as he watched with his eyes glowing, his cheap nylon suit pants now bulging out obscenely at the crotch.

It was humiliating, but it was also taking Marek farther away from that door, away from that hallway. He crawled with his belly sucked in and his butt stuck out, just as the man had instructed him to do. He was sobbing softly as he made his way to the man's chair. He could only hope that his beating would not resume once he arrived there.

Tichy watched Marek crawl, his cock twitching. It was a spectacular sight. It was perfect. He had the Hurta boy scared and cornered, and now he would see exactly how far he could push him. The man walked past Marek and sat in his chair before the naked boy. Marek was still on all fours with his head down, and Tichy decided to leave him like that for the moment.

Marek continued to cower by the chair, face down, staring at the ugly carpet. It smelled of cigarettes and was musty with age. He dared not look up. What would the man decide? Marek knew he called all the shots now.

Opening his desk drawer, the man pulled out a piece of paper and drew 20 lines down the page. "Twenty lines, twenty more whacks to go," he explained to the boy. "I'll cross one out for every pathetic, silly, humiliating thing you agree to. But once you refuse to agree to something I've offered, you immediately get whatever is left of your punishment – you can't pick and choose," he warned. "Is that clear?"

Marek heard the desk drawer opening and then the rustle of paper. He listened as the man announced his decision and how much of his punishment he had left to go. The boy's bottom was on fire already and he knew he couldn't possibly take 20 more whacks with the slipper. He'd never survive the pain. He was a wimp, just as the man said.

Tichy put the tip of his pen on the first short line he had drawn, then looked down at Marek. "Number one," he announced. "'I'll come for and accept a light, short spanking with the hand, in the nude, with the door locked, each day for the next week,'" he recited to the boy. "Either say 'I promise,' or get over my lap for the twenty more you have coming."

Marek was still breathing heavily, panting – almost hyperventilating – with fear. He almost couldn't think straight. Between the slipper and the hallway, the boy was scared to death.

"Yes," he whispered to the floor. "I promise," he added in a whispered voice.

Tichy crossed off the first line and then the next six lines after it. "I'll count that as seven because I'm being generous and trying to help you here," he said benevolently. "But the rest are worth only one each."

"Now," he continued, "number two. 'Each day for the next week I'll stay here for up to an hour after my spanking and do as I'm told, while I'm treated like the pathetic little wimp that I am,'" said Tichy. Then, just to test the boy, he added something else. "Roll over," he said, casually, like he was talking to a dog.

Marek was shaking uncontrollably as he maintained his position on the floor and listened to Mr. Tichy's terms. Hearing that the man would count the first item as the equivalent of seven spanks the boy felt a welcome rush of relief. A light, hand-spanking didn't sound too bad and showed that Tichy could be merciful. For the first time since his beating had begun, the boy began to think he might survive this, somehow, without literally dying from either pain or embarrassment.

"I'll s-spend an hour-" the boy began to repeat, then broke off. "Yes," he said to the floor. The carpet continued to smell terrible, like feet and cigarette smoke. "Roll over … I'll- yes," the boy agreed.

"No, that wasn't from the list, that was just a command to test your obedience," Tichy sneered as he rolled his eyes at the child's stupidity. "Roll over onto your back, you idiot, with your legs and hands spread," the man commanded as he crossed off another line, leaving 12 to go.

Marek hesitated, not sure what the man meant. Roll over? On his back? But why? Realizing quickly enough that the "why" part didn't matter at all, he rolled over and held his arms and legs up and out, mimicking a dog that wanted its belly scratched. Is this what Mr. Tichy wanted? Did it count for one of the spanks? Marek looked up at the man with fearful eyes as he held his arms and legs in the air. He felt ridiculous.

Tichy ignored the boy and proceeded to the third new rule. "'When told to open my mouth I'll open it and let Mr. Tichy do whatever he wants with it, even though they'll be very disgusting and humiliating things that only wimps would ever let happen to their mouths,'" said the man with his pen hovering over the next line.

Marek hesitated. Once again, he was not sure what the man meant. His mouth? What did that have to do with anything? But once again, the boy realized that it really didn't matter what he thought, or even what he understood about the man's pronouncements. Any refusal to agree would see him back across the man's lap for the resumption of his original punishment with the slipper.

"Yes," the boy agreed. But what was the count, now? He had lost track. How many more things were there? Did the last two things just count for one each, or for more than that?

Tichy crossed off the line and cocked an eyebrow at the boy. Seeing him confused he smiled. "You still have 11 to go, and you already have a hell of a week ahead of you, wimp," he chuckled. "And the little instructions I give you here and there don't count against the total. I'm just testing to see if you're lying to me about your promises, you see?"

Marek saw the smile on the man's face, and despite his fear and exposed position, he didn't like it. The man was being merciful, but also mean. What he was doing to Marek was a form of bullying, made more unfair by the man's position, indeed, by the very fact that he was an adult. Marek didn't at all appreciate the man's laugh.

"Now roll back over, open your mouth, and lick my shoes like a good doggie. Lap all over them," demanded Tichy.

Marek started to roll over even before the man had finished speaking. He was happy to lower his legs, which were starting to feel heavy. But what had Tichy just said? He had to lick the man's shoes? Marek froze. Tichy was kidding, right? Wasn't he? That was gross. Marek hesitated, not complying, as the man pondered his next humiliation. The boy's cheeks flushed red, not quite matching the color of his other cheeks.

"You just made a promise, you brat. Get on with it, or else!" Tichy warned sharply and whacked the leather slipper against the desk. "Either you're a pathetic wimp in which case you need to act like one and obey, or else get up here for the rest of what your butt is due; including two extra for breaking your last promise in the blink of an eye," he grunted.

Marek's head was spinning. What promise had he broken, and why did Mr. Tichy want him to lick his shoes? It was disgusting and humiliating. The boy nearly jumped out of his skin as the man hit the desk with the slipper. The sudden, unexpected, loud sound of it brought fresh tears to his eyes and an adrenaline reaction in his entire body.

This wasn't fair! It wasn't merciful. The man wasn't being nice, he was being a stupid asshole. Marek wanted to cry. But the sound of the slipper hitting the desk was enough. Marek had no pride left. With a look of utter revulsion on his face, and an anguished little moan of despair, he lowered his head and began to lick the man's shoes.

The shoes tasted of dust, and leather, and shoe polish. It wasn't the taste that was so bad to Marek, but the knowledge of what he was doing. This was all because he couldn't take the beating, couldn't bear to go before the headmaster. The man was right – he was a wimp. Now he was a cowering, shoe-licking wimp, and as far as Marek was concerned, that was the worst kind of wimp there was.

Tichy smiled to himself. Even if he couldn't feel the boy's tongue through the thick, strong leather of his shoes, the act itself was making him feel drunk with power. The grandson of the great Josef Hurta – Hurta the Glass King, Hurta the millionaire – the very first millionaire from the Liberec Region, in fact, discounting nobility – was prostrate on his hands and knees before him, whimpering with despair while he complied with the man's every whim. For Tichy, the son of two manual laborers – it was like Christmas had come early to the village of Zelezny Brod. He had always considered himself as a shining example of how people of simple descent could do well for themselves under the socialist regime if they were hardworking and determined – and perhaps a bit ruthless, of course – and now, here, he had the grandson of a hated capitalist oppressor literally at his feet, acknowledging his ascension by quite literally licking his shoes clean with his tongue..

Tichy smiled as he watched the boy work, but it was time to dictate another item from his list.

"I'll spend the time between today and coming back here for my spanking tomorrow wearing the girl's panties that Mr. Tichy gives me, and the whole time I'm wearing them they won't go any lower than my knees, and then only when I'm using the toilet," he said to the boy.

Marek couldn't see clearly from the tears in his eyes. The sound of that slipper – sounding like a gunshot – had set him off again, with adrenaline flowing, fear returning, and tears filling his eyes. He continued to lick the man's shoes as he heard the latest indignity he would suffer. Girl's panties? How could he wear those in the dormitory with the other boys? How could he change his clothes without being seen? How could he shower? The boy's cheek color deepened as he contemplated the man's words.

"Good enough Hurta," Tichy said to the licking boy, using his surname for emphasis as he thought again about the Glass King once again. "Now what about those panties?"

None of this was fair, and the boy knew it. The man was taking advantage of him. This wasn't mercy; it wasn't an out. It was bullying, plain and simple. The boy's vocabulary did not yet contain the word sadistic, but he well understood the concept. The man was teasing and taunting him, and there was nothing Marek could do but take it because Tichy was an adult and he held all the power. Tichy knew he could get away with it because he knew Marek wouldn't tell. But what could he do but agree?

Marek lifted his head. "Yes," he replied numbly.

"Ten," said Tichy, crossing off another line. "That's enough for the day. We can do the rest tomorrow when this has all sunken in a bit," he decided. "Stand up and come here for your spanking, then I'll give you your panties and you'll be off. But you had better be here again immediately after your last class tomorrow, pronto, no dawdling, no delays," he said decisively. "By 4 o'clock, not a moment later."

Marek's head was spinning. He had never been punished this extensively before. He'd never been traumatized like this before. Mr. Tichy was in his head. The man clearly called all the shots and the boy felt helpless. How had this happened? It took Marek a moment to remember the cheat sheet, but when he did, he seethed with anger. All of this was undeserved, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He rose to his knees, then partially to his feet, as the man pulled him across his lap once again. Marek was almost beyond humiliation at this point. He hoped the spanking wouldn't hurt too much, but oddly, he found that he almost didn't care anymore.

Tichy positioned Marek across his lap the same way he had positioned him before introducing the boy to the slipper. He recalled that introduction very fondly. Boy, meet slipper, he thought to himself as he chuckled. Slipper, meet boy. The result of that had been nothing short of delightful, resulting in the boy's complete capitulation. Tichy could almost kiss that slipper! He might, even, once the boy was out of sight, just out of sheer joy and satisfaction.

Hoping to frighten the boy just a bit more, Tichy made sure that everything was precisely the same as before, including his vice-like grip on the boy's wrists just to emphasize his helplessness. Then his right hand slid onto Marek's still very red bottom and groped it, squeezed it, and toyed with it, letting the boy know just how much Tichy was unafraid that any of this would go beyond the door of his office.

His wrists were immobilized once again, but Marek gave no fight. Whatever happened would happen regardless of what he thought about it. He felt the man's hand and fingers on his butt as they grasped and groped, squeezed and fondled. The man was teasing him once again, trying to inflame his already beaten butt cheeks. Yet the boy said nothing. It didn't hurt as much as the man probably thought it did. At least there was that.

When Tichy finally began to spank the boy, it was a mockery of an actual spanking. The feel of the first spank on his bottom brought a little gasp of surprise from Marek, but his fear was misplaced. Even with an already sore bottom, it hardly hurt the boy at all. Tichy's smacks were being delivered with a soft, relaxed hand, each little smack followed by several moments of teasing, groping, and fondling of the boy's reddened butt cheeks. This activity clearly was meant to hurt the boy's pride more than his behind, and Tichy strongly doubted that Marek would complain.

The 25 smacks took some five minutes to deliver before Tichy relaxed his grip on Marek's wrists and let him get up from his lap. The boy's buttocks were no redder than when he had started the hand spanks; Tichy had been as good as his word on this occasion. The boy slid to the floor and stood on his feet. Feeling awkward once again despite all that he had been through, he covered his genitals with his hands. It was embarrassing to be so naked.

"Keep those hands away," smiled Tichy. "You're naked for a reason, so no covering up," he said firmly. He fished in his drawer again, found an old brown envelope, tore it open and pulled out something that he quite obviously didn't want someone to spot by accident. It was a pair of girl's panties. They were new and clean, obviously never worn, and very little-girlie. They were pink with emphasized hems, with the famous Czech cartoon figure Little Mole on them, and they looked very small. The panties would be a nasty, tight fit on the boy, ensuring that he would remain fully aware of their presence until he was permitted to take them off.

Tichy grinned as he handed them over to the boy. "Go on, put them on, and don't drag this out. You've already been here more than long enough today," he said, as if that had been Marek's fault.

The boy's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He knew he could wear the panties; that wasn't the issue. The issue was being seen in them by the other boys. Marek knew that it would cause a mortifying end to his stay at the school if he were discovered wearing them. His initial thought was to take them off as soon as he returned to his dorm room. He could just change out of them in the bathroom and tell the man he had worn them all day. At the absolute worst, he could wear his own underwear over them. He held them in his hand as he thought, his mind racing, planning, and conspiring.

As if he had read the boy's mind, Tichy reached to the umbrella stand behind his desk and pulled out a three-foot-long, finger-thick rattan cane. "You will wear them as your underwear, nonstop until you come back tomorrow. You will not wear any other underwear over them. This here," he said as he swished the cane through the air, "is how I deal with boys who break their promises. Are we clear, Mr. Hurta?"

Marek stared at the cane. He watched and heard it cut the air as the man waived it back and forth. Wooosh, fwooosh, wooosh. The boy swallowed. Every boy at the school knew about the cane. Most of the new boys had only heard rumors about it. It was reserved for the very worst kinds of infractions and transgressions, and usually used only on the older boys. But Marek had no doubt that Tichy would make an exception to that and use it on him if he tried to avoid wearing the panties.

"Yes," said the boy somberly, as he put his left foot through the panties' leg hole, then his right. He started to pull them up, but they were far too tight – surely the man would see that. They were for a little girl of eight years old, or maybe even younger. They barely covered his penis, and the boy's equipment wasn't even that big. Surely the man could see that they didn't fit.

"Pull them up, they'll stretch," said Tichy calmly. He already knew that would be a tight fit, like a permanent wedgie, cutting into the boy's crack, and constricting his balls and penis. If Marek got an erection, his cock would stick up from underneath the waistband, which might be an interesting predicament if he was wearing his pajamas when it happened. No, wearing the tiny, pink panties would not be a comfortable, forgettable experience for the boy, it would remind him constantly of his promises, and that was all that mattered. And the boy had better not cheat. If he did, that cane looked like it could make the slipper cry and run to the nearby hills in fear.

Marek looked up with astonishment as the man told him to pull the panties up. They didn't fit at all – couldn't he see that? They would stretch and be ruined, not that Marek cared, but didn't Mr. Tichy? They were his panties, after all. But then the boy realized the silliness of that thought. They were his panties to make Marek wear, or some other boy, just because he could. That was why he had them in his desk drawer. He pulled them up. The leg openings cut into his thighs. They were too tight by several sizes. They were very constricting, and they were very, very pink. He looked ridiculous in them, and he was already trying to figure out how he could possibly wear them for the next 24 hours without being seen. Radek, his roommate, would be the biggest problem.

"Go on, get the rest of your clothes on, little girl" said Tichy. "And don't even think about cheating, you wimp!" he added. "I have a special talent for sniffing out liars and cheats. I very nearly ended up working for the police, you see, but I just couldn't bear moving out of these beautiful mountains," he added with a sweet smile, like they were suddenly pals sharing chitchat with each other.

Marek looked at the man with a mixture of confusion and hurt on his face. Mr. Tichy was openly taunting him, calling him names, ridiculing him. The boy was used to that from teasing peers, and he'd done it himself to others when he had the opportunity. But he'd never seen it before in an adult. The man seemed to have a special degree of antipathy toward him, almost a hatred. It was probably because the man thought he was a cheat. Even to Marek, cheating and stealing were beyond the pale, but it hurt to be accused of it when he hadn't even done it.

"Go on, get the rest of your clothes on now, and begone, until tomorrow," Tichy said dismissively. Ignoring the boy, he reached into a cupboard on the right and poured himself a tall glass of vodka, which he filled nearly all the way – and lit up another cigarette before, taking an especially deep and long drag.

Marek reached for his other clothes, then, listening as the man spoke and threatened. He dressed as quickly as he could – trousers first, then his shirt, buttoning it up the front. He tugged his socks on and pushed his feet into his shoes, then picked up his underwear and stuffed them into his pocket. They didn't fit there, and his pocket bulged out like he was transporting contraband.

"What should I do with these, Mr. Tichy?" he asked the man, as he pulled his underpants free.

"Take them with you. You can stuff them into your wimp mouth for all I care," smirked Tichy, "just don't wear them," he added with a shrug. "Now, go. Until tomorrow," he said firmly, taking a swig of his vodka. He was clearly done with Marek. One moment, he was all focused on the boy, and the next, Marek Hurta was dismissed and forgotten as Tichy proceeded to smoke his cigarette and enjoy the Stalichnaja.

"Go! Before I change my mind!" he commanded. "See you tomorrow, wimp," he added with poison in his voice. Then he turned around, not even looking at the boy anymore, and took another swig of the burning, strong liquor. It was a drink of celebration and victory.

The boy stuffed his underwear back in his pocket. It would have to do until he got back to his dorm. He walked quickly, if a bit stiffly, to the door. The panties were tight and constricting everywhere, especially around his upper thighs. Nevertheless, he knew that he would have to wear them the rest of the day as well as much of the next.

The key remained in the lock. It took Marek several seconds to turn it. The man offered no help, but Marek was pretty sure he could feel the man's eyes boring through his back, filled with hatred for him. Finally, the lock turned, and he was free.

Chapter Two

Tichy didn't drink just one glass of vodka after Marek departed his office. He ended up having seconds and chain-smoking cigarette after cigarette as he drank them down. His time with the Hurta boy had been pure gold, tickling his ego in all the best ways as well as feeding his sadistic, ruthless soul. He was tempted to masturbate to the memory of it, but he decided against that for now. His plan was going almost too well at this point, and soon, if things progressed as he believed they would, there would be no need for him to masturbate at all. For now, though, it was worth denying himself the pleasure for what he was certain would be a case of delayed gratification. It wouldn't be delayed very long if everything went according to his plan.

Marek made it back to his dorm without incident. Radek was out, which was a blessing. The boy quickly removed his underwear from his pocket and placed them in his hamper bag. Then, keeping an eye on the door, he pulled his trouser waistband down to see where the panties were digging into his midsection and try to adjust them. They were too tight! He reached his hand down first one pant leg, then the other, trying to find a comfortable position for the bottom of the panties around his thighs.

He made it into his PJs later that night, waiting until Radek left the room, then changing under his sheets lest the boy return prematurely. The panties looked ridiculous on him. With his PJs on, he made his way into the communal bathroom to brush his teeth. As he nearly always did, every evening, he then went to one of the stalls and locked the door. He normally would have a wank. But when he pulled his trousers down and lowered the panties, the hot, pink color reminded him of the trauma he had experienced in Tichy's office. Touching his cock made it plump, but he couldn't get an erection, not as he looked down at the bright pink panties. At that, the boy gave up. He would wank in the morning, in bed, when Radek left the room.

And that is exactly what he did. Panties down, jerking feverishly, he expelled his boycum onto his abdomen, cleaned up quickly with a sock, and pulled the panties back up. When Radek came back, he faked sleep.

"I know you're awake," said the chubby boy. "It leaves a smell, you know."

"Fuck off, replied Marek, as he rolled over.

Aside from the discomfort of the panties, the day went alright for Marek. Even Mr. Drabek seemed to have forgotten the cheating incident from yesterday. Had Tichy spoken to him? Did he know what had happened? Marek worried about that possibility, but there was no way to tell.

At the start of the lunch break, Tichy caught up with Marek, surprising the boy and pulling him quite suddenly and a little roughly into a nearby utility closet before closing the door.

"Panty check! Show me," he demanded. The boy was not due in his office for another four hours, but Tichy calculated that now would be the time he was most likely to catch him breaking the rules he had laid down for him.

Marek's heart was in his throat as he looked up at the man. He fumbled for his fly and lowered his trousers, blushing fiercely. He hadn't cheated. He hadn't dared.

"There's a good holčička [Author's note: "little girl," "cute" implied by the diminutive form], grinned Tichy as he patted Marek's head patronizingly. His touch was soft and gentle, a caress almost like a mother's touch; indeed, it was almost a cuddle as his fingers stroked Marek's ears and hair. "Don't be late, as we still have ten items on the list. Or ten with the slipper to dole out," he reminded the boy. "Come in, lock, strip and crawl, stick to your promises, and remember what happens to promise-breakers!" he winked as he made a cane-swishing gesture in the air. He barely gave Marek enough time to pull his trousers up before he was out the closet door, leaving the frightened boy behind.

Marek had been dreading his afternoon return to Mr. Tichy's office, and the episode in the closet made him dread it even more. If there was a silver lining, however, it was that the man didn't seem to be in quite as nasty or mean a mood as he had been in yesterday. Marek didn't like the teasing and taunting, but he preferred it to being beaten and treated meanly. Perhaps the man had softened from the day before. Perhaps he wouldn't be so hard on him.

Marek watched the clock warily, wishing for time to stand still. But it didn't. It wouldn't. If time could stand still, everyone would be frozen. Marek would be the only one who could move about. He would torment his tormentors then. He would exact revenge for the cheating scandal. For a moment, he savored the thought of beating up his tormentors without them knowing who had done it. They would unfreeze afterward and be in pain, and they wouldn't know why. Marek would laugh and laugh …

But time did not stand still for the boy. It seemed that none of his schoolboy wishes ever came true. And so, at the appointed time, the unhappy boy climbed the steps to the top floor and approached Mr. Tichy's closed office door. His knock was soft – two raps on the wooden door frame, his head turned and listening for any response.

At 4 o'clock that afternoon Tichy was done with most of his work, except evening rounds of the dorm and basic routines like that, and he was sitting in his office, very much ready for Marek. In preparation for the boy's visit, Tichy had done one more thing that afternoon: Toward the end of the lunch break, he had called Radek into his office and put the fear of Stalin in him, squeezing the boy until he told him every last single thing he knew about Marek Hurta. Most of it was either boring, irrelevant, or information Tichy already knew, but before Radek left – pale, trembling, and scared shitless – Tichy did find out one very useful little piece of information that was bound to help him now.

"Come in," he said in a firm, loud voice, trying to sound neutral, and through the door he could probably pass for that, despite his significant excitement. When the door opened, he was seated behind his desk. The slipper was arrayed on its surface before him, as was the cane, and the sheet of paper. For once, the room wasn't smoky, even though the smell of cheap cigarettes lingered there as it always did.

Marek's heart was beating like a drum in his chest as he waited for, and then heard, the man's response. "Come in, lock, strip, and crawl," the boy whispered to himself in reminder. With every bone in his body and fiber of his being, the boy hoped that the man was not in a bad mood. He hoped for mercy. Taking a last, fortifying breath, he opened the door, stepped in, turned to face the door, and immediately tried to lock it. The stupid key vexed his hands and fingers for a moment as he struggled with it. But the bolt finally clicked home, and Marek turned.

Tichy looked up at the boy, keeping his face neutral to see how well he remembered his instructions, and how well he was ready to abide by them.

Marek knew what the instructions were. He had memorized them. There was no sense antagonizing the man by not complying with them, especially with the slipper and the cane already out on Tichy's desk. Marek was just about to strip, and crawl, and do the other things, but he paused. Mr. Tichy was simply seated at his desk, and he both seemed and sounded normal – as if he had forgotten that Marek was even supposed to come. Did he really want Marek to strip and crawl to him? Could he possibly be willing to let the boy off the hook? Marek hesitated, waiting hopefully for anything, for any sign.

It never came. And so, with a swallow, a blush, and very nervously, the boy proceeded to strip. He already had this down to a routine. Shoes first, then socks, shirt – the unbuttoning was so difficult with the man's gaze on him – trousers. And then those hated panties. They were so tight that he had to twist and jerk his hips to peel them down. Leaving his clothing behind, he went to his hands and knees, crawling now, like a dog. A few moments later, he arrived at the side of the man's desk, blushing and ashamed.

Tichy watched Marek intently. He couldn't believe he had made this much progress with his new toy in such a short time; it was only yesterday, after all, that he unleashed all of this on the boy. And yet here Marek was, stripping and crawling doggy style, without a reminder or a correction, pretty much on and by his own.

Marek felt humiliated as he knelt on hands and knees next to the man's desk. He could see Tichy's shoes – the same shoes he had reluctantly licked the day before. Just as the man was contemplating all the progress he had made with the boy, Marek was reviewing in his own mind how he had come to be in this position. It had been the threat of expulsion and Tichy's offer of an "alternative". It was the promise the man had extracted after Marek couldn't handle the agreed-upon punishment. The boy well remembered the punishment. He also remembered the pain. As bad as this was, it was better. Humiliating, but better. He would survive it. Tichy would forget about him soon enough, and move on to some other issue, some other boy.

Tichy reached down as the boy got close enough, caressing his hair once again and playfully ruffling it with his fingertips. But when he spoke, it was in a reproachful tone, soft at first, but that didn't last long. Soon his voice was as hard as the gaze of his cold blue eyes.

"You forgot something," he announced. "You have something of mine to return, unless you want to continue wearing them?" he chuckled. "Go, fetch, puppy. Hands off them, too, since you need your hands for crawling," he emphasized, leaving it to Marek to figure out just how, being a puppy now. he should fetch the used, discarded panties. This was fun. After all, Marek was here to play for a while, and Tichy had every intention of messing with his young victim.

Marek felt the man caress his head. It was the same touch as from the closet. It was gentle, reassuring, and not mean. But then the man spoke. Marek listened, head down, as he knew what he had forgotten. As much as he didn't want to crawl back to the door under the man's watchful gaze, he very much wanted to return those panties to Tichy, to be rid of them. And, so, he crawled. Head down, nose to the ancient, smelly carpet, he picked the panties in his mouth, turned awkwardly, and crawled back to the same spot. He was a dog. If the man wanted him to be a dog, he would be a dog. He took the panties from his mouth and looked up, offering them with his outstretched hand.

"I said hands-off," pouted Tichy in an almost childish way. He took the panties nonetheless, but only to crumple them up into a small ball. "Open wide," he instructed casually.

Marek hesitated only a moment before opening his mouth. The man was bent on humiliating him, but the boy simply had to trust that his sessions with Mr. Tichy would go no further than the man's office. The man already had enough to embarrass Marek forever between the spanking, the crawling, and the panties. The boy had to trust that the man would not be so cruel as to tell anyone about those things. But then again, the man seemed to enjoy taunting, teasing, and humiliating Marek as much as he could. That was worrisome to the boy.

Tichy stuffed the balled-up panties into the boy's mouth. "Close, and keep 'em there for now," he added, smiling at the cute look of the boy's face with his mouth stuffed full. He could think of other things he was going to stuff in that pretty, little mouth soon enough, but for now, there was a plan to follow. Things needed to happen in the proper order, after all.

Tichy pulled Marek to his feet and had him stand about three feet away from the desk, then made him lean forward and rest his chin on the desk. He guided the boy's arms and hands back, crossing them over his lower back just above his butt. He made the boy spread his legs, dip his belly, and stick out his butt. His hands traced over Marek's naked skin, caressing the boy's legs and hips, massaging those buttocks with the boy's little puckered opening quite visible between them. Tichy was pleased to see the boy had firm-enough skin and a tanned-enough complexion not to have bruised too badly the day before; those five whacks with the slipper had left marks, but not anything the boy could go telling horror stories about if it suddenly occurred to him it would be a good idea to do so.

Marek was almost oblivious to his nakedness now. His 12-year-old cock was completely flaccid, and it looked small – as if it had constricted in shame and fear. He bowed his chin to the desk and let the man adjust him. As that was happening, he silently hoped that today's "light" spanking would be as easy as it had been yesterday, but he had no real hope that it would be. The slipper was out on the desk. The cane, too. Marek knew that "light" did not mean it wouldn't happen at all. Chin on desk, butt out, legs spread, the boy said nothing as Tichy adjusted him. There was no sense in angering the man, no sense trying to oppose him. Even if he had wanted to, the boy had a pair of panties crammed in his mouth, and he knew that he had already made the decision to embark down this slippery slope when he had accepted yesterday's deal. He remained still as the man touched him, save for some involuntary flinches as his body reacted to the unusually intimate contact.

Leaving Marek in position, Tichy walked around the desk and picked up the cane. "Stay put," he said, in a warning tone, even as he swished it through the air. "You're not in for any … yet," he added. He walked back and lowered the cane to Marek's bottom, slowly, softly, barely touching his skin. He meant to make him scared and nervous, but he wasn't ready to hurt him, yet.

The boy was aware when the man picked up the cane. He wished and hoped for mercy even as he momentarily forgot to breathe. Tichy's words were confusing. Marek flinched at the touch of the cane.

"We established yesterday that you're a pathetic wimp who deserves to be humiliated, since you can't take pain, so I've made plans for this week accordingly," said Tichy almost sorrowfully, like what was being delivered was a eulogy. "But I've since found out some shocking new information that changes things somewhat. I now know, for a fact, that you're a pervert. You've been touching yourself and ruining your health and character by diddling and playing with yourself in obscene fashion."

All Marek could do was listen as the man's lecture began. Gagged with the panties and bent over with his chin on the desk, Marek knew that he risked having the cane administered to his defenseless backside if he dared make a sound. He blushed as he processed the man's words. Who …? How …? He blushed even more deeply as the man's words sunk in. How could Tichy know that? Suddenly, Marek knew. It was Radek. Fucking Radek. The boy seethed with anger at the same time he blushed with shame. But Radek did it, too! Marek had heard him, under the sheets, after dark, rustling his sheets, jerking away.

"Now," said Tichy, "I'm going to take the panties out of your mouth and you can either admit to being a pervert, and acknowledge that you deserve to be treated like one, and you will also tell me – and not lie – when you last indulged in such perversions. Or you can try and lie to me, but did I mention that I almost became a police officer? And liars get treated same as cheats, just so you know," he said and swished the cane in the air. He then pulled the panties out of Marek's mouth and aligned the cane with the boy's naked, prominently displayed bottom.

As the panties came out, wet with drool. Marek swallowed nervously but did not immediately speak. How could he admit that he was a pervert? Tichy would use an admission like that to prolong and worsen his punishment. The boy's head was spinning.

"Now what are you waiting for, Marek?," asked Tichy. "Your instructions are crystal clear. Are you a pervert, deserving to be treated like one, or are you not?" he demanded firmly, giving the boy's butt a light tap with the cane for emphasis. "Hmmm?" he demanded.

Marek flinched at the touch of the cane to his backside. He knew it wasn't a true stroke, but instead just a reminder. His buttocks clenched anyway – as if by clenching them he could ward off the evilness of the cane. How could he tell the man that he was a pervert? He did … touch himself, that much was true. Two, sometimes three times a day. All the boys did. They never admitted it, but Marek was sure they did. Or mostly sure.

"The whole truth and nothing but the truth; no excuses, no nonsense, no fairy tales," said Tichy as he gave the boy's buttocks another light tap, this time with just a hint of a sting to give him a bit of an idea just how bad this could very easily become.

"Speak. Now. This is not something you should need to think about. Just tell it as it is!" demanded the man. He had the boy cornered, of course, and had all the reasons he needed, potentially, to go that extra step.

Marek's head was still spinning as he tried to figure out what to do. Fucking Radek. It had to be that boy. He was Marek's roommate, and he therefore knew more about Marek's activities than anyone else. But Radek he did it, too. He was also a pervert and a self-abuser. Tichy reminded him of the pending question with the cane once again, and this one hurt. Marek's bottom clenched. He knew he couldn't take the cane bravely. Not naked with his bare bottom. Not even clothed. The boys knew about the cane; they spoke about it, but they never joked about it, for good reason.

Marek had no choice but to speak. "I'm a p-pervert," the boy said to the expanse of desk filling his vision beneath his chin. He wanted to die, and his cheeks flushed with shame as his eyes watered with tears. Was the man going to cane him, now? Was wanking somehow even worse than cheating? Wanking and getting caught? He was new to the school and to Zelezny Brod, and he didn't know all the customs. But he knew he needed to tell the man the truth. Tichy hadn't arranged him this way, with his bottom completely exposed and vulnerable, for no reason.

"The truth hurts, I know," said Tichy when he could hear the tears in the boy's voice. "But now you'll stop. You won't do it anymore, not at all, starting right now. That's a new rule. No touching yourself, no playing with yourself, no cumming, no exceptions. I'll even cross a line off your list for it, but you don't get the choice to turn this one down," he said firmly, giving Marek's butt another light, warning-sort of tap "When did you last abuse yourself," he asked the boy.

The boy felt very confused and out of sorts. Was wanking really that frowned upon here? It didn't seem to him like it was a big deal. He did it in private. In secret. Or, at least, he tried to. The only boy who knew about it was Radek. Fucking Radek. He was sure Radek did it, too, under his covers, at night, after lights out. But then again, the fat boy's penis looked like a toddler's, tiny and pink. Maybe Radek was just scratching, or something. Oh, how Marek hated that boy. Radek would pay for this. Marek would see to that. But Tichy's instructions were clear: no more wanking – his words punctuated by another tap of the cane. Marek swallowed nervously. Was that … it, he wondered? Was the man still going to punish him for what he had done? Or was he so disgusted with Marek that he would simply make him stop and that would be the end of it? And Marek would stop, oh, yes, he would stop right away.

"I did it- I did it this morning," said Marek. He swallowed nervously. The desk felt hard against his chin and his back was starting to hurt. "I'm sorry," he said in a whispered voice.

None of what the boy admitted to Tichy was news to the man, of course, but he still acted shocked, pretending that a realization had just dawned on him. "Wait, this very morning you did such a thing?" he asked the boy in an incredulous voice. He paused, as if allowing this dreadful new information to sink in. "But you were told to wear the panties, not to take them off at all, just down to your knees, even for going to the toilet," he gasped. "Marek?! Did you diddle yourself while wearing little-girl panties? Were they not humiliating enough to discourage you? I mean there's wanking, and being a dirty boy but this … I don't think I even have the words to describe it! That's really perverted. Either that, or perhaps you enjoyed wearing them. Which is it?" he demanded.

As the man spoke, Marek realized his error. He had pulled the panties down to wank, not even realizing that it was a violation of Tichy's rules. Oh, no. Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no! And he had admitted to it already. There was no taking it back. The man's words cut into him like a knife. It was all true, what he had done. Radek had picked this morning, of all mornings to catch him, and that was because he had been unable to wank himself the night before in the bathroom, all because of the panties. Those damned panties. Tichy would cane him for sure, now. He had committed multiple offenses and rules violations.

"I- I didn't- I didn't enjoy it- wearing them," the boy stammered to the surface of the desk.

Tichy couldn't help but smile. He knew well enough that masturbation was normal for a boy of 12. Maybe slightly frowned upon at the school, at least officially, but it wasn't a big deal. No one really went around checking if someone did it, no one really believed that it ruined one's character, health, or life. Tichy was relying on the shyness and naivete of a barely-pubescent boy and the fact that Marek didn't really have any close friends at the school, and also on the fact that the boy wouldn't know enough, not with confidence, to reject his absurd accusation of perversion and wrongdoing.

"Hmm, I guess I can believe that, even if it makes your perverse behavior all the more confusing and disturbing," sighed Tichy, a little skeptically. "But you did break the rules." The cane was still touching Marek's buttocks. "I'm going to wash and dry the panties, Marek," announced Tichy, "but unless you're ready to take a caning for cheating here and now, that's not the last you've seen of them, and next time, the rules will be stricter, and you'll be more closely watched to make sure you're following them to the T. Understood?" he demanded sternly.

The boy listened carefully as the man spoke. It didn't seem as though he was going to get the cane, at least not right now. Tichy believed him, thankfully, but there were still punishments to go. So many punishments. Marek knew he would have to find a way to get through all of them.

"Yes," Marek replied to the man – or rather, to the desk in front of him.

"Now you are going to be punished like the pervert you are," announced the teacher. "Play along nicely, since you know you deserve it, and I'll cross off two lines of it.

To Marek, it seemed like he was getting in more and more trouble with Mr. Tichy, not less. Things seemed to be getting worse, not better. He had come yesterday to be punished for cheating. Then he was punished for being a wimp. Now he was being punished for breaking the rules on the panties, and for wanking. Could he ever dig his way out of this mess?

The man also had him completely intimidated. Being naked and completely at the man's mercy didn't exactly fill him with confidence. The man could tell others about all of this: The cheating, the crying, the wimpishness, the shoe-licking, the nudity, even the panty-wearing. Or he could just go to the headmaster and that would be the end of Marek's stay at the internat. The man confirmed he would be punished yet again, this time for being a pervert. Marek could only hope it wouldn't hurt too much.

"Recite your promises from yesterday, things we crossed lines off for, and recite what you deserve and what for, too. Don't leave anything out, unless you want even more trouble," said Tichy sternly, giving Marek's naked rump a swat, with just his bare hand, but stinging enough to show the boy that not all bare-handed spankings were for laughs like the one from yesterday.

Marek felt his heart rate rise the instant the man gave his first command, and then he flinched as the man spanked his bottom. His promises from yesterday? The boy barely remembered any of them, much less all of them. He had been so traumatized by the pain of the slipper, the prolonged nature of the punishment, his nudity, and the risk of detection, that he had agreed to nearly everything – or maybe actually everything – the man had proposed. How could he possibly remember what they were?

"You- you can put things in my mouth," he recited, as he remembered that the man had done just that with the panties. "I have to do … things you tell me to," he said, thinking of the doggy crawling – and the shoe-licking. "I have to come back every day for a light spanking," he said. "I have to stay afterwards for- to be- for me to be humil- humiliating- humiliated."

Marek couldn't think of any more, but then, suddenly, he remembered the the obvious. "I had to wear the panties – and not take them off … "

"Good, good," said Tichy. "And of course, you deserve to be humiliated because you're a wimp, and you deserve to be punished like a pervert, because, well, you are one; caught and confirmed, not to mention all of your rule-breaking!" added Tichy. He then pulled out a jump rope from a wardrobe. He was a physical education instructor after all, so having an item like the jump rope in his office wasn't all that odd. But this jump rope wasn't used for exercise. Tichy instead used it to tie Marek's wrists tightly together behind his back, just as he had done so many times with other boys sent to him for discipline.

Marek pulled at his wrists a bit as the man tied him. They were soon secured just as tightly as Mr. Tichy had secured them yesterday with his bare hand. Being bound merely added to the boy's humiliation and misery. Tied and naked, he knew that he was completely at the man's mercy. There was no escape for him. He had listened without speaking as Mr. Tichy added to the list of things he was and things he had done. There had been no argument from the boy.

Tichy checked that the boy was quite thoroughly bound. He had added a loop around Marek's neck attached to his wrists so the boy couldn't reach his arms and hands below a certain point. "Now, stay put, boy," said Tichy. "You're about to experience a punishment that's not really been used since before The War, but then, you're quite a unique piece of work, Marek Hurta, and this one checks all the boxes; you'll find it humiliating, it's for perverts, and it will definitely be a lesson you won't easily forget."

Tichy went to the shelf behind his desk and took down a jar. He plucked a small object from it before returning the jar to the shelf. In his hand he now held a small piece of fresh ginger root, the bottom portion of which he had carefully peeled and carved with a pocket-knife only 30 minutes before Marek's arrival. Stepping behind the boy, he quickly spread his butt cheeks further apart before pressing the tip of the root agaimst his anus and sliding nearly the entire length straight into the youngster's rectum.

"There," said Tichy as he admired his work. The piece of ginger root was no larger than a finger and had slipped easily into the boy's ass. It was big enough that the insertion was probably unpleasant for the boy if not actually painful, and it had been carefully carved with a little indent near the base so that Marek's anal ring would hold it tightly in place.

Marek couldn't see what happened next and the man's action took him by surprise. His chin remained firmly on the desk, his legs spread, as he felt the man take hold of his hips. "Ahhhh," he intoned, more in fear than from pain, as the man quickly pushed something up his butt, up inside him. He lifted his chin for a moment and tried to look behind him, then thought better of it and resumed the position Tichy had placed him in. What was the thing? What kind of old, pre-war punishment was this? Marek didn't know the answers to those questions, but he knew that punishments from that era were undoubtedly crueler than modern ones, and the thought made him very nervous.

"That's a nice little slice of freshly peeled ginger, Marek," Tichy told the boy. "Which is a traditional way of teaching naughty, wanking schoolboys not to abuse themselves in such a vile and despicable manner. Now, turn around and down on your knees, Marek. Do it now!" said Tichy. As the boy moved to comply, the man removed his belt and pulled his trousers and boxer shorts down, so that as the boy turned and knelt, he was confronted with the man's uncut, 7" [18 cm] erection, which was undoubtedy very intimidating to the 12-year-old.

Aside from his surprise and a small bit of discomfort, whatever Tichy had put in Marek's butt didn't really hurt. The boy was thankful for that. He slid to his knees, his eyes widening as he saw the man removing his belt. The belt would be as bad as the slipper. Almost as bad as the cane. Belts could hit anywhere. And Marek was both naked and bound. His entire body was exposed to anywhere Tichy wanted to hit him. But to Marek's horror, Tichy didn't stop with the removal of his belt; the man also yanked his trousers and boxer shorts down below his knees, exposing his penis, which jutted from the man's groin mere inches from Marek's face. The boy's eyes went wide. Why was the man disrobing? What did he want? Marek didn't have long to wonder as the man spoke once again.

"Open your mouth, pervert," Tichy commanded, as he plucked off his socks one at a time.

The man wanted him to open his mouth? Marek looked sick. No. Tichy couldn't do this to him. He couldn't make him. He wouldn't do this to him … would he?

Tichy wasn't surprised that the boy hesitated; in fact, that was precisely why he had applied the fresh ginger root to the boy's ass. "That thing you feel in your your butt will soon feel warm, then hot and prickly, and then it will start burning, and it will only keep getting worse until I decide to take it out," he calmly explained to the boy. He didn't mention that the pain probably would peak in about twenty minutes and fade out by the half-hour mark; having the boy imagine it would just keep getting endlessly worse played perfectly into his hands. He also neglected to say that it was likely to have, despite the pain, a certain effect on Marek's boy parts.

When the boy still didn't move to comply, however, Tichy continued in a lecturing style. "As you well remember, Marek, you agreed that whatever I want goes in your mouth. That was your agreement. So, the first thing that's going in your mouth is my cock," he said matter-of-factly as he reached for the boy's hair to pull him closer.

"But more importantly, for the punishment to match your perverted crime," he grinned victoriously, "it's my cum – my spunk, as you boys call it – that will go in your mouth. And you will be the one to get it there, by licking and sucking my cock very pleasantly and very well. You'll have to figure out what feels good to a cock; after all, you have plenty of experience playing with your own.

Tichy paused for a moment to allow his words to sink in. "I'm not pulling the root out until my spunk's in your mouth," he advised the child. "That's your punishment. If you make a lot of fuss, well, then I guess it's going to be a very long and painful afternoon for you," he said as shrugged like he didn't really care one way or the other. He then forced Marek's head toward his cock, but not all the way; the boy would have to do that part on his own, voluntarily. Tichy was quite certain that he would find ample motivation to do just that in the coming minutes.

A bit to his surprise, Marek still felt nothing in his butt. Even the brief pain from the insertion was gone. It just felt a little strange, like he had something in there. But he had no reason to doubt the man, other than to hope that perhaps he somehow was immune from the pain Tichy had described. But putting the man's cock in his mouth? Marek could tell the man was serious. Didn't he realize how … bad that was? It was homosexual. It was even worse because he was a man, forcing it on a boy. Punishment or not, this was beyond the pale. It couldn't happen like this, not at a school, not in the man's carpeted office on the third floor of the administration wing.

The man's act of grasping his hair and pulling his head closer coincided with Marek's first awareness that the ginger root was, indeed, getting warmer in his butt. It was not only getting warmer, even more worrisome, it was starting to sting. Nonetheless, the boy pulled back against the man's hand – as much as he could from his knees, anyway. He just couldn't put the man's penis in his mouth. He wasn't a homosexual. He wouldn't ever be. Even if he was a pervert for wanking, even if he deserved to be humiliated and punished as a wimp, he wasn't that. He hadn't agreed to do what the man was asking of him, either.

"No – I don't want to!" he said, as he shook his head, trying to free himself from the man's grasp. He managed to bring his right foot underneath him and made as if to stand.

The boy's opposition aggravated Tichy. "That's three hard ones with the cane when this part of your punishment is over," he informed the boy matter-of-factly. "Remember, Mr. Hurta, your promise had no caveats; everything I want in your mouth goes in your mouth. I even emphasized this would include especially humiliating and disgusting things," chuckled the teacher. "You can't say you weren't fully informed and aware when you agreed to those terms in order to avoid your punishment."

Tichy just stood there as the boy tried to struggle to his feet. He knew that the rope was tied in such a way that Marek couldn't reach the base of the ginger root to extract it unless he was a ludicrously flexible ballerina. It might even be fun to watch the boy try to do so. Tichy could imagine him marching around the office in pain, his body contorting as he tried to extract the root as it burned and stung inside him. Tichy smiled at the thought as Marek rose to one knee. While he knew he could simply punish the boy for his disobedience, he was prepared to let the fresh ginger root do its job for him. He didn't say or do anything else. He just looked at the boy with cold, hard, and slightly amused eyes.

Marek's eyes went wide at the man's sentence. Three with the cane – that would be too painful to bear. Everything was going from bad to worse. The boy felt like he was suffocating, drowning. And that's when the ginger really started to kick into gear, giving a hint of what was to come. It started to burn. Especially on the boy's anal ring, where the base of it jutted from his bottom, but also on the inside, where the membranes of his rectum pressed against the invader, trying unsuccessfully to expel it from his body. Marek's expression went from disgust to worry. He wasn't immune from whatever ginger root did.

Tichy had emphasized that he could put anything he wanted in Marek's mouth. Yes, Marek had made that promise, but the man's penis? That was gross. It was … unnatural. Marek went to stand, as the ginger root really started to blaze inside him. He reached for it again, but found that he could not lower his arms or hands close enough to get to it. As the burning sensation grew and grew, he looked wildly at the man, his expression now a mixture of surprise and fear. Could it really hurt as much as the man said? It was getting worse seemingly by the second. For the very first time, Marek thought to himself – I may have to do this. I may have to put Tichy's cock in my mouth. Because this really, really hurts.

But he decided to beg, instead.

"Mr. Tichy – please. I- I want to go the headmaster," he said with a wince. "I- I can't do your p-pun – aaaaaaah! Owwwwww – Mr. Tichy," he said with panicked eyes. "Please – please! Take it out!" the boy gasped as he twisted and danced in place and tried to reach for his bottom once again.

"Think about what you're asking for, boy," said Tichy in a slow and calm voice. "You really want me to grab you by the back of your neck and steer you out of here, down the hallway to the headmaster's office to … explain yourself? To tell him about your perversions? Mr. Skala is just as familiar as I am with the best way to cure a boy of self-abuse, and that's with the ginger root. Not to mention that we'll have to tell him that you're a wimp and then wimped out even on your wimp punishment. People will still be laughing about it years from now, Marek. But maybe we really should," he grinned and cracked his knuckles as he watched the boy's struggles. "Now, I suggest that you stop misbehaving and crawl back over here and get to work."

Having said his piece, Tichy sat down in his chair, fully erect, with his legs apart. He was teasing Marek, of course, because really, the boy had only one viable option. Craftily arranged and long in making, the situation the boy found himself in wasn't set up to provide the boy with good alternatives. Marek may have felt some illusion of a choice – though exactly what he thought his alternative solution was escaped Tichy – but there was only going to be one way to stop the ginger root from burning a hole through his rectum, and that was by sucking the cum straight out of Tichy's cock. Seemingly disinterested in the boy's plight, the man reached for his pack of Startkas, pulled one out and playfully slipped it into his mouth, wordlessly sending the boy a message. He, and he alone, had plenty of time.

Marek, on the other hand, did not have plenty of time. The pain in his rectum from the ginger root had worsened from smoldering to blazing as the boy continued to move almost randomly about the man's office, his face a rictus of pain, uncertainty, and worry. He leaned this way and that; he walked a few paces before trying to reach his bottom once again; he bent at the waist; he clenched his bottom; he knelt to one knee and then immediately stood up again. His smooth, naked body broke out in a thin sheen of perspiration as he moved vigorously about the warm office. It was an unplanned, unchoreographed pain dance, accompanied by all of the suitable grunts, moans, and little cries of a very miserable, hurting, 12-year-old boy. Yet he couldn't reach what he needed to reach, and the pain kept getting worse, just as the man had promised, just as he had forecast. To Marek, it felt like he had a burning coal in his rectum.

Going to the headmaster was not actually an option, and the boy knew it. There wasn't even time for that, anyway. The only thing that mattered now was getting the ginger root out of his butt hole, but Marek, despite his efforts, simply couldn't do so. He couldn't even reach it, nor could he dance it free or otherwise expel it from his bottom. He was crying in pain now, and as the burning sensation continued to intensify, he suddenly and utterly surrendered. Scurrying back to Tichy, he quickly knelt before the man and opened his mouth wide like a baby bird, waiting desperately for the man's cock.

Tichy smiled broadly as he used his left hand to steer the boy's head to his erection. Marek had to knee-walk a bit closer and kneel up a bit higher to get his mouth around the man's cock. The boy moaned in pain as he quickly, seemingly eagerly, took Tichy's cock into his virgin mouth. His eyes watered with tears as he tasted the awful muskiness of it.

"Suck, lick, and slide your lips over it," Tichy counseled the neophyte boy. "Try your best. Remember, my cum in your mouth gets the ginger out of your butt. That's your only option. Begging is useless, fussing is useless. You've made it so much worse on yourself with this unnecessary delay, Marek," he said in a seemingly sympathetic voice.

Marek heard the man's instructions and immediately complied, sucking, licking, and sliding his lips up and down the man's cock. While he knew the rudiments of a blowjob in theory, he had no idea how to give one, but that didn't stop him from trying to please the man with his full energy and concentration. The ginger root was blazing a hole in his backside – burning with the heat of 1,000 suns. Marek couldn't help but dance in place on his knees and clench his cheeks against the pain even as he did his best to suck the man to orgasm.

Tichy's cock was salty and tasted a little acidic from sweat. It smelled like a grown-up's cock probably should – musky and earthy – and it also was hot and very hard. It had a surprisingly smooth texture and the head felt slick in the boy's mouth. The foreskin was soft and especially strong in aroma and flavor.

As Marek was showing reasonable proficiency and good effort from the start, Tichy let go of the boy's head and let him do his thing. Marek would have to figure this out on his own, while Tichy lit up once again and took a long, satisfied drag out of his Startka. He knew this was going to be good.

For a boy who minutes before had been revolted at the idea of taking the man's cock in his mouth, now he desperately wanted the man to cum in his mouth just as quickly as the man's testicles could pump out their load. The ginger root was that persuasive. Marek sucked. He slid his lips up and down. He danced on his knees. He clenched his butt. And unbeknownst to him, through his trauma, he started to erect. Bit by bit, his own cock rose, straightened, and lengthened, and hardened, all as he sucked Mr. Tichy just as well and as effectively as he could. Sucking didn't stop his tears or his moans of pain, however. It merely muffled those moans, while the tears of his misery continued to roll down his cheeks.

It was all Tichy could do to stop himself from laughing out loud at the sight of the boy's plight. The blowjob was surprisingly good coming from a boy who had never delivered one before, almost good enough to distract him from how ludicrous Marek looked in the delivery. Kneeling up high and bending over gave the boy a better angle on Tichy's cock, but all the butt-clenching, leaning, moving, and knee-dancing he was doing only served to make the burn from the ginger root worse. Of course, the boy had no way of knowing that, and Tichy wasn't about to tell him. Adding to the man's amusement was that all the extra blood the ginger was causing to rush into that general area of Marek's body had given the child a a boner, which bounced and bobbed hilariously as he danced in pain from his knees. It was all beautiful to behold. Tichy wished he had a movie camera to record the sight of the Glass King's grandson, on his knees desperately and eagerly sucking his cock – and pretty well, too, he had to admit – while knee-dancing, crying, moaning in pain, and clenching his butt cheeks around a juicy, stinging piece of ginger that seemed to be burning a hole straight through his ass.

For Marek, it was simply awful. The pain, the sucking – all of it. Yet Marek sucked the man's cock and slid his lips and his tongue over as if he were on a mission, and in a way, he was. The pain in his rectum was overwhelming. He continued to dance on his knees and lean with his body, still desperately trying to reach his butt with his bound hands, even as he maintained his mouth-hold on the man's erection. The boy's lithe, athletic body was damp with sweat as he danced, moaned, sucked, tongued, and suffered.

It was quite lucky for Marek that Tichy had decided not to jerk off the day before. If Tichy had wanted to hold out on him and leave him in agony for longer, on an average day, in a more ordinary situation, he could have. But today he was horny and aroused, and he soon closed his eyes and after one last drag, he put the cigarette in the ashtray, lifting his head up and blowing the bluish smoke up towards the ceiling before tensing, shuddering, and gasping in a final, deep breath. He then treated Marek to his prize, blowing a big, strong, bitter-tasting load straight into the boy's mouth in spurts and waves that just kept coming and coming.

As the first spurt of cum jetted into the back of Marek's throat, the man reached for the boy's head and forced him to endure his entire orgasm. Tichy wasn't about to let such exquisite pleasure be ruined by the youngster pulling off his cock prematurely; instead, he force-fed Marek his entire load, flooding the boy's mouth with his sperm again and again even as he grunted with the pleasure of his very intense ejaculation.

The first copious spurt of cum took Marek by surprise, and he would have pulled off just as Tichy had predicted, but the man's hands clamped down on his head as he was forced to take Tichy's full cum load in his mouth and throat. Marek spluttered as he tried to swallow the substance, then coughed and gagged as he experienced his very first taste of cum. The boy had not, as had so many of his same-aged peers, ever tried his own. He thought that was gross. Tichy's was his first, and it was thick, warm, and exceedingly bitter. There was also a great deal of it, as the man shot five or six juicy loads straight into the boy's mouth. Even as he gagged and choked on the man's cum, Marek continued to dance in pain as he silently begged the man to remove the ginger root from his rectum.

Still holding Marek's head, it took Tichy just a moment to recover before he made good on his promise and reached down, under and behind Marek's balls, to pluck the ginger root straight from the boy's ass. The whole event from insertion to extraction had taken less than 20 minutes, not long enough for Marek to learn that the burn from the ginger would only get so bad before the pain started to ease. That seemed a good thing, since the boy would be left with the impression that the pain would grow endlessly worse and worse – something for Tichy to remember should he ever desire to play the ginger-root game with Marek again, which, given the delightful and very arousing spectacle he had just observed, the man thought that he very likely would.

"Well now, don't you agree about the ginger root?" said Tichy as he released the boy's head and pushed it away. "I bet you won't be forgetting this lesson any time soon. Now, get back over the desk. You earned yourself three with the cane. You need to remember to honor your promises," said Tichy and cocked an eyebrow. "Chop, chop, or should I make it six?"

Marek was in no mood to disobey the man again. Rising to his feet, still sobbing from his ordeal, he placed his chin on the desk in its familiar location. His fingers clenched into fists behind his back as he steeled himself against the pain to come.

Tichy picked up the cane and stood up, stepping up to Marek to align it with his bottom. This was perfect, he thought as he briefly caressed the boy's naked buttocks. There couldn't be any better way to follow a satisfying blowjob than by caning a boy, what with all of the beautiful screams, squeals, and cries of pain that were sure to accompany it.

"P-p-please," the Glass King's teary-eyed grandson begged the man, "don't d-do it too h-hard."

Tichy hesitated as his cock literally twitched in response to the boy's entreaty. "Back to being a wimp now, are we?" Tichy snorted. "I only cane with full force, unless I have a good reason not to. Pathetic begging is not a good reason," he informed the boy with a tone of finality. "But I might find a way to be a little lenient if I'm absolutely sure you've learned your lesson," he said, in a suggestive tone.

As much as Tichy looked forward to caning the boy, he also liked the sound of his tearful begging, and he calculated that by showing the child some mercy now, he might be able to exact further concessions and promises from him later on. "Turn around. Cock in mouth!" he commanded. Rather than cane the boy, Tichy would instead exact a second blowjob on the heels of the first, and this time, the incentive wouldn't be the ginger root in Marek's butt, but the cane in Tichy's hand.

Marek felt the touch of the cane on his cheeks. As the man barked his order, however, the boy turned from the desk, turned, and fell to his knees. He immediately reached for the man's cock and lipped it into his mouth once again. All of his pride was gone; the boy acted merely to avoid the cane. Tichy had been wretched to him, but he had always kept his word, and Marek was not going to give him a chance to change his mind.

"Go on, suck," snorted the man as the boy gulped down his half-erect cock. The man knew his penis was cold to the boy's lips due to the cooling remnants of drool and cum from the just-finished blowjob.

"Good, now kiss and lick my balls, go on," he commanded shortly after. Then in a sudden moment of inspiration, he barked a further order. "Feet. Kiss and lick my feet, boy!" he commanded, swishing the cane through the air as he pushed his bare right foot toward the boy.

Marek was by now a thoroughly defeated boy. There was virtually nothing the man could demand of him now that Marek would not do. So, he sucked, sliding and lipping, tonguing and mouthing – all made more difficult by the man's semi-flaccid state. He leaned over awkwardly to lick and suckle the man's balls, before toppling over and literally falling to the ground to kiss and lick Tichy's bare feet. The boy could hear the cane swish the air as well as the glee in the man's voice as he issued his instructions in serial fashion. Although he had tears in his eyes, the boy was past the point of fighting Tichy. He would do whatever the man required of him.

For Tichy, this was just too good. The man's cock didn't stay limp for very long as the youngster set to work on it with his mouth once again. For once, Tichy wasn't following his plan, or any plan; this was pure improvisation on his part. Tichy was simply taking what Marek was now so eagerly giving him, all the while enjoying the fact that the boy had submitted to his authority and whims so completely, and so quickly. Indeed, the boy's wholesale surrender had come unexpectedly soon. Why, the boy hadn't even been caned, yet! Tichy often found the cane necessary to ensure a boy's full and eager cooperation, but Marek seemed to have capitulated without the need for such persuasion. It seemed by all appearances that the Glass King's 12-year-old grandson was, indeed, a first-class wimp.

Tichy looked down contentedly as Marek licked and kissed his feet. The man didn't have a foot fetish, but he always enjoyed the symbolism of the act, especially in this case because it was the Hurta boy who was the one poking his little tongue between Tichy's wriggling toes. The sight made the man shiver with lust, but he didn't let Marek waste much time there. He wanted the boy back on his cock, which was already as rigid as it could be, especially considering that he wasn't long removed from his last orgasm.

"Cock!" Tichy snapped, and when the bound boy managed to struggle back to a kneeling position, he grabbed Marek's head and graced the child's open mouth with his erection once again. "All right, wimp, have it your way," said Tichy. "No cane for you, today. Swallow this down and you can get dressed and go when I'm done," he said, as he thrust his hips just far enough forward to make Marek gag a little, before pulling out, though not quite all the way, and then began to repeat the motion, again and again, face-fucking the boy, falling into a sweet, pleasing rhythm almost instantly.

With his arms still tied behind him, Marek could do nothing as the man grasped his head and fed him his cock once again. The boy's eyes bulged comically as the man thrust deep enough to cause him to gag. He heard the man speak, but what he said almost didn't matter now. Marek was in a different place – a place of deep shame and humiliation, from which he wasn't sure he would ever be able to return. The taste of the man's cum had still been in his mouth as he licked the man's disgusting feet. Now he had that same cock back in his mouth, while the smell and taste of the man's feet lingered on his tongue. But he continued to kneel, his mouth open, arms bound behind him, eyes glazed with tears, as the man humped his mouth. The boy's cheeks were red with shame, his brow wet with sweat. His knees hurt and his body trembled as the man held his head and pleasured himself at Marek's expense.

Tichy hadn't been entirely sure that Marek would even finish the first blowjob without being caned, but here he was submitting to a second blowjob within the last hour. It was more like a mouth-fuck than a blowjob, of course, but Tichy was sure that the boy would eagerly make love to his cock with his mouth if he were given the opportunity to do so. The boy's progress so far had been virtually unprecedented, and Tichy gleefully took in his brokenness, submission, and passivity as he fucked Marek's sad little face. The fact that he had taken all of the fight out of the Hurta boy so easily made Tichy's cock absolutely twitch with pleasure. The man loved this, every bit of it, especially the boy's gagging, teary-eyed expression of pure misery.

The fact that Marek didn't even fight back or try to resist, unlike nearly every other boy whose tonsils Tichy had tickled in the years gone by, was surprising. But perhaps his wholesale surrender was due to his tender age. Tichy didn't usually avail himself of the younger boys. There was no need, especially when he could virtually have his pick of the older boys who made their way to his office for discipline. He'd made an exception for Marek, of course, given the man's famous grandfather. And he had given the boy ample reason to fear him, what with the slippering he had received and the ginger root in his butt. That was a lot for a 12-year-old, Tichy reasoned, even if it was nowhere near all he had planned for the boy, not by a long shot.

To Marek, it seemed to take forever. Tichy was in no hurry, and Marek could go nowhere. He remained in position on his knees on the floor as Tichy humped his face. Every thrust was too deep, threatening to choke the boy. But with his arms tied behind his back and the man firmly gripping his head, there was nothing he could do but endure it. His mind began to wander. It was a defense mechanism, really, so he could take his mind off what his mouth was doing. But his mind gave him no respite. All the boy could think about was the shame, the humiliation. He wished he could go back in time. He would take the slipper, no matter how much it hurt. Or he would go to the headmaster and withdraw from school. His efforts to make his punishment better had made things so much worse. Infinitely worse. Now he was naked, kneeling on the floor, taking the man's cock in his mouth like a born homosexual. There was no taking that back, not ever. There was no taking back swallowing Tichy's cum, either. There was also no taking back kissing feet, or groveling, or wearing panties, or crying like baby with a piece of ginger root rammed up his butt hole.

Almost a quarter of an hour later, after nearly 15 full minutes of sheer, face-fucking bliss, Tichy came again, with a deeper, guttural growl, as he forced the boy to take his load and swallow every bit of it down into his taut little tummy. He patted the exhausted child on the head as he pulled his cock out of Marek's mouth. The man was spent, himself, but in a very good way. While technically, Tichy knew that he owed Marek his end-of-session spanking, there would be plenty of time for that kind of fun over the next several days, and the man wanted to get on with his day.

"Tomorrow, 4 o'clock," he reminded the kneeling boy as he leaned over his head and untied the rope harness from around his wrists and neck. "And no wanking. Now, get dressed and go," he said dismissively, as he reached for his own underwear and began to dress.

Ignoring the boy, Tichy finished pulling his own clothes back on before opening the window wide to rid the room of its stench of sex and sweat. He poured himself a vodka, lit up another cigarette, and sat down at his desk with a contented sigh. Then he watched in silence as the very humiliated, ashamed, and defeated young boy finished dressing in silence, unlocked the door, and left the man's office to return to his dorm.

Chapter Three

Marek skipped dinner that night. He simply couldn't get Tichy out of his mind, and that made him far too anxious and worried to eat. The boy had an enormous pit in his stomach as he thought about returning to the man's office for more punishment sessions day after day after day. To the 12-year-old, it seemed that his week-long punishment would last forever, and the prospect filled him with dread and anxiety. It was all he could think about. He didn't speak to anyone that night, not even Radek. His vow to punish the boy for what he had done to him no longer seemed to matter. Nothing seemed to matter anymore, other than the problem with Tichy. At least his roommate left him alone, almost as if he knew the damage his betrayal had caused.

The next day, Marek poked at his breakfast. He still couldn't eat. He went to morning classes, listlessly, as his dread of the 4 o'clock meeting grew and grew. Just prior to lunch, feeling nauseated with worry, he visited the infirmary. The nurse took his temperature and had him lie down, all the while asking questions about what had brought him to her. The boy could not articulate what was wrong, but he looked to be on the verge of tears. She sensed homesickness, which was not a rarity among the first-year boys, the 11- and 12-year-olds, especially the ones who were far from home. But this boy looked particularly despondent. He also appeared very frightened and apprehensive about something. The nurse noticed that he kept looking at the door, as if someone might be looking for him, or pursuing him.

When she asked how school was going for the boy, silent tears formed in his eyes, but he still refused to answer her questions. She offered to speak to the headmaster for him, but the boy declined, then suddenly declared that he felt better and was able to return to class. She let him go, watching as he walked out the door. The boy's slightly hunched posture told her that something was wrong, but she still couldn't tell what it was. Probably a boy squabble, she determined. Either that or homesickness. It didn't really matter which it was, as the boy undoubtedly would be fine in a couple of days.

Marek wasn't fine. While at the nurse's office he had missed lunch, making that his third skipped meal in a row. His stomach felt empty, and whatever food normally would be there had been replaced by a pit the size of a melon. From the infirmary, he returned to his dorm room and sat down dejectedly at the end of his bed, his heart beating nervously in his chest. The boy could not stop thinking about the last two days, about what he had done and what it seemed that he had become. It no longer mattered that he was innocent of being a cheat. Now he was a homosexual. A pervert. A deviant. A panty-wearing, foot-licking, cocksucking faggot. There was no taking any of that back, and as Marek obsessed about it, he became more and more despondent. He was also full of anxiety and dread, for it was nearly 2 o'clock in the afternoon, and only two hours remained before he was due back in Tichy's office for more of the same activities. The boy felt shaky and sick to his stomach at the prospect. He was far too upset and out of sorts to return to Tichy, but what other option did he have?

Just before 3 o'clock, after sitting nearly motionless on his bed for over an hour, the boy made his decision. He rose from the bed, looking somber but determined, and left his room, heading back through the covered walkway to the main building, down to the end of the hall to the administration wing, all the way to the south staircase. Nervously, with his heart beating like a drum in his chest, he climbed the stairs one at a time to the third floor. Tichy's office was there, which raised the boy's anxiety level even higher, but at the opposite end of the hallway, so was the headmaster's. He went there, now, to that door, and knocked, softly, twice.

The headmaster, František Skála, whose surname literally meant "Rock," was anything but rock-like. He was instead a rotund man in his late 50s, with thinning, greying curly hair, a round face, small and beady eyes, and a big, overstated, walrus moustache. Skala was a pipe-smoker with a somewhat squashed, too-small-for-his-face nose. He should have looked either magnificent or comical with all that going on, but in fact he was neither. Average in most things, neither terrible nor excellent in anything that mattered, Skala had landed his job at the school more through quiet perseverance than anything else. He had no offensive background, no rich or important ancestors, and no convictions or run-ins with the authorities. He didn't even have any major rumors circulating about him. Married, and a father of two nearly adult daughters, he lived a quiet life. He ate and smoked a bit too much but drank only sparingly and had no taste for drama, nor did he have any dangerous ambitions.

He had been the school's headmaster for six uneventful years. An important man in this little fishpond with no real significance beyond it, he was likely to hold onto his position until retirement, if his health held out that long. Under Skala's stewardship, the school had, for the most part, done over those years what it was supposed to do: Educate, to a reasonable degree, the sons of Party officials – most of whom were either talentless, or at best average-but-uninspired and without much ambition – with no drama and no politically-sensitive shenanigans. Indeed, Skala's talents as a quiet, semi-competent, unpretentious bureaucrat had proven to be a winning combination in this junior internat located in a converted monastery above the small, somewhat sleepy provincial town of Zelezny Brod.

"You may enter," said Skala from his desk chair. He watched as the small boy opened the office door, then smiled at the youngster in a mousy, not-all-that-headmaster-ish sort of way.

"Young mister Hurta – I've been told you might stop by," Skala said. "What is it, boy, that you need to discuss with the headmaster?" he asked, not without kindness, but with a very slight edge. Skala didn't particularly like it when the boys came to see him directly. That always smelled of drama to him, and Skala was not a fan of drama in any way, shape, or form. The headmaster knew that the boy standing before him brought a heightened risk of drama just by his very presence at the school, because even if no one would admit the politically dangerous truth, the name Hurta still meant something in this region, and the boy's matriculation at the school hadn't gone unnoticed, not even by a low-lying man like Skala.

Entering the headmaster's office, Marek was nervous, but he had made his decision and it was final. It wasn't just Tichy, although of course he had been the catalyst. The boy missed his home, missed his friends, and missed his mother – despite all of her issues, both physical and mental – and he knew that he didn't fit in at the school. The other boys here were all the sons of Party officials or important bureaucrats and position-holders, whereas Marek had no such connections or lineage. At best, the other boys left Marek alone. On most days, however, they teased and bullied him as an outsider, and a roving band of them had apparently singled out Marek for abuse of a more physical and painful sort. He had tried to stand up to them, but they were many, and most of them were bigger and older than he.

Marek was surprised that the headmaster knew his name. Until now, save for one or two interactions, he had not really had any contact with the man. But what was the comment Mr. Skala had made, that he had known in advance about Marek's visit? That he had been told something? Told what?

The boy's heart started to beat even a bit faster in his chest. Had Mr. Drabek told him about the cheat sheet after all, despite everything that he had already endured from Mr. Tichy? Had it all been for nothing? It seemed that way, but none of that even mattered for what the boy had to say now.

"G-good afternoon, sir," Marek said, using his best manners. "I was- I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Yes?" replied Skala. The man seemed a little distracted. His tone made it seem to Marek that he was being inconvenienced by the boy's presence, the way some adults who have work to do tend to be when forced to interact with kids. He certainly wasn't acting as if he thought Marek was in any trouble, but how had anyone known that the boy was going to come by to see him? What did the headmaster know about him? What had he been told? And by whom?

So far, none of this was playing out the way Marek had envisioned and planned it. The man's very look made Marek feel awkward. Skala hadn't invited him to move closer, much less to take a seat. Two armchairs sat empty before the man's desk. The boy stood just inside the door, which remained conspicuously open. He worried that if it stayed that way, Tichy would see him if he came out of his office.

"C-can I close the door?" Marek asked. "It's um, private."

"If you must," replied the headmaster a little sourly. His expression and tone made it seem like he had a toothache. "But I should warn you, I'm not very good at consoling homesick little boys. You can try the nurse if she isn't too busy, or if you're having trouble in the dorm or with your roommate, you really should see Comrade Tichy," he said, already sounding tired of the conversation.

Marek felt a blush coming on from the man's less-than-thrilled response, but he nevertheless turned and closed the door. He turned back to face the headmaster and began to speak.

"Um, Mr. Skala, um, I've been doing a lot of thinking – I mean, for a while, um, and I don't think … I mean, I really like it here?," the boy said. "But um, I don't think this is the right school for me. And I was thinking … it might be better if- if I go back to my old school," he explained. "It's hard for me here."

"Hurta," the headmaster sighed in world-weary fashion. "Marek, right?" He opened a box of Hašlerky [Author's note: licorice-flavored hard candy] and held it out to the boy. "The first year at a junior internat is always hard. I know you've had a rough start," Skala continued. "I signed your first and the second warnings myself, you see? I also know that you've been having some trouble with the other boys, but things are bound to improve soon enough. Being so far away from home requires an adjustment. You'll find a way to fit in eventually. You just need to give it time."

The boy took a piece of the candy to be polite and nodded as the man spoke to him in a kindly, reassuring manner. He wasn't sure what to make of the headmaster so far. The other boys didn't seem to have strong opinions about him one way or the other. It was mostly Tichy they spoke of, and some of the teachers. Skala was just there at the school, almost like a desk or some other needed piece of furniture.

"Comrade Tichy came to see me last night," continued Skala. "He said that you were feeling a little homesick and might perhaps come to visit with me. He put in a good word for you, and suggested that I mention during the next teachers' meeting that you're trying very hard, improving, and quite soon, likely to be doing much better with your studies and your interactions with the other boys. He even thinks that you're one of the very few half-decent football players among the first-year boys, so we certainly can't afford to lose you before the Christmas přátelák [Author's note: friendly, exhibition match] with Technoglass," the man said with a smile.

"You need to pull yourself together, Marek," said the headmaster. "And stick to Tichy. He's in your corner and he's a far more hands-on and ambitious man than I am. If someone can make a difference for you here, it's him. Don't give up, yet. Remember that this school gives you hope of a better life. You can't just run back home, Hurta. Embrace the opportunity you've been given here."

The man's remarks were kind and understanding, but not what Marek wanted to hear. At the mention of Tichy, the boy's blood ran cold. He could feel his plan going awry as he stood there. He had not anticipated that Tichy would come to speak to the headmaster about him.

"And um, the other reason, um, did um, did Mr. Drabek tell you?" the boy stammered. "He caught me cheating, um, on my test. And I know I had two warnings already …"

Skala shook his head as he smiled at Marek indulgently. "We all make mistakes, my boy, and I'm sure Drabek and Tichy have already dealt with that situation in the appropriate manner. Everyone wants you to succeed here, Hurta, and if it hasn't been reported it to me, it couldn't have been all that serious. You get full credit for your honesty, but there's no need for me to take up the issue at all."

When Marek did not respond right away, Skala continued. "I know this might not look like a very busy place," he said as he gestured to his musty office with yellowing stacks of papers everywhere, crystal-glass paperweights, and plywood furniture all under a light layer of dust. "But a lot goes into running this school, you know. It's my job to deal with the ministry, the government, and the budget. I keep you boys fed and housed, with the heat and the light on, and teachers to teach you. If every small, classroom incident came to me to deal with, how would I be able to do those other things?" he asked the boy with a smile. "So, no, nothing was reported to me, and as far as I am concerned, the matter is closed. Anything else?"

As the man replied, Marek's head started to spin. He felt trapped. This wasn't going at all the way he had planned. He had been certain that Skala would help him, if not when Marek had confessed that the school was not right for him or too hard, but definitely – absolutely – after he admitted to cheating. He already was on his second warning. Cheating was high up on the list of transgressions at the school, and Marek had been sure that it would result in his expulsion once the headmaster found out about it.

Except, it hadn't. His plan wasn't working at all; indeed, it was falling apart before his very eyes. He felt the pit growing in his stomach again. He felt nauseated. He felt dizzy. Tichy had gotten to Mr. Skala before he had. Tichy had known what he was going to do. At that realization, Marek put his hand on the door jamb as his head started to spin. For a moment, it felt to the boy as if he might actually fall or even pass out. His face turned pasty white and he felt sick. It was now just after 3:30 p.m. In fewer than 30 minutes, he was due to visit Mr. Tichy. That thought almost made the boy vomit where he stood.

"It's- it's really hard for me here, Mr. Skala," Marek said a bit desperately, feeling wobbly and unsteady on his feet. "I th-think I should … go back … home."

The headmaster smiled dismissively. He saw a homesick boy who was frightened of failing and trying to give up and exit on his own terms, partly because that's what he often saw when the boys came to see him, and partly because, in a roundabout way, that was exactly what he was seeing from Marek. If there was anything more than that to the boy's presentation, Skala didn't see it because, at core, he wasn't a very sensitive, perceptive, or all-that-intelligent man. As he had already told the boy, Skala wasn't very good at dealing with homesick kids. His wife did most of the parenting in their home, while he was the pipe-smoking, newspaper-and-book-reading kind of father. He provided for his family, and he even helped with the odd chore here and there so his wife didn't have to go it alone – after all, she worked full-time shifts in the local glass-jewelry factory herself – but Skala wasn't one to talk about his own feelings or want to hear very much about the feelings or concerns of others.

"Hard is good, Hurta," he told the boy. "It may not seem that way to you now, but it builds character. All truly good things in the world have been achieved through toil and hardship of the working class. Remember, bez práce nejsou koláče." [Author's note: literally, "No hard work, no sweet cake." – Czech expression equivalent to "No pain, no gain."] The man smiled indulgently at Marek once more, but his look told the boy that he considered the conversation to be at an end and he wanted him to leave.

Marek knew that he had one more card to play, and that was to tell the man about Mr. Tichy – about what Tichy had done to him, what he had demanded of him. But the boy's head was spinning, and he still felt sick to his empty stomach and more than a bit faint. Telling the man about Tichy was not something he had planned to do. It was also not something he had prepared for. It would be embarrassing, awkward, and risky even if he felt well enough and up to it, which he didn't. But even as the thought crossed his queasy mind, the man was already rising from his desk, approaching Marek as he continued to speak.

"Consider it your contribution to the Revolutionary effort, young Pioneer!" said Skala with a smile. "We must be tough and brave, for the enemies of the working man are many and oh, so vile. We must stick together, unite, and not give up. For socialism and world peace, all together, marching onwards and onwards only, not a step back!" and with that he stood up and steered the boy out of his office, shutting the door behind him before sighing in relief that the boy was gone.

Marek suddenly found himself back out in the hall as the administrator's office door closed behind him. His visit had failed completely. Mr. Skala either wasn't listening, didn't understand, or didn't care. He had regaled Marek with nothing more than a series of platitudes, most of which the boy had heard many times before. Mr. Skala was not what the boy had expected and certainly not what he had hoped for. Most significantly, he wasn't going to help Marek, and, despite what Marek had counted on, he wasn't going to expel him from the school, either.

His office empty now, Skala sat back down behind his desk. That handy little bit of propaganda, which the former history teacher didn't believe even though he'd never admit that out loud, had come to him suddenly like a blessing from Go-… well, an inspiration from Marx, that is. Or perhaps it had come from Tichy – the man had spouted some nonsense like that when he came by to see Skala the night before. Heaven forbid anyone knew that Skala, even though he didn't dare set foot in a church for fear of being seen by one of the many spies, part-time and volunteer snitches, or just about anyone, really, was still a practicing Christian, an adherent to the Hussite [Author's note: old-school Protestant] faith.

Suddenly, though, having God and faith together in his mind didn't sit all that well with the nervous, cowardly man. Perhaps he should avoid any future one-to-one chats with someone as politically sensitive as the Hurta boy. Tichy was much better at handling such things to the Party's satisfaction. Skala dabbed his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief as he slid his paperwork to one side. He hated working on the budget. He really wasn't much of a manager, or even all that good at math. He stuffed his pipe with his favorite Dutch-bourbon-and-vanilla-flavored tobacco and was soon puffing away, as he tried to settle himself down from the Hurta boy's uncomfortable visit.

Standing in the hallway, staring at Tichy's closed office door at the other end of the hall, Marek felt his blood run cold. His gambit had failed. Who else could he turn to? The nurse? What could she do? He couldn't call his mother – there was no telephone in their dodgy apartment. His emergency contact was his Aunt Martina, but that was truly only for emergencies. He hadn't called her since school started, and the telephone at her little farmhouse was just as likely to be answered by Marek's uncle. His uncle was a hard man who drank, smoked, and lashed out aggressively when he was angry. The man was also impatient, always seemed to be mad at something, and as far as Marek could tell, didn't care for kids – even his own nieces and nephews, perhaps even his own children. Aside from Tichy, he was the only person who had ever disciplined the boy physically. And it was not like Marek had a telephone in his room. Calls had to be scheduled in advance from the school office. There had to be a good reason for them. Non-emergency calls happened only on weekends.

Marek's eyes remained fixed on Tichy's office door at the other end of the hall. He could not tell if the light shining through the opaque glass was natural or artificial, but somehow, in that instant, he knew that Tichy was there, in his office, waiting for him. Marek knew it with every fiber of his being, as if he could sense the man, or even smell him. The boy froze for a moment, certain that Tichy already knew he was standing there in the hallway, certain that the man would emerge in an instant with a grim, angry look on his face and summon the boy directly into his office. But Tichy's office door remained closed, and the hallway remained still and quiet. He was in there, though. Marek could sense it.

At that very moment, Tichy was, indeed, sitting in his office at his desk. He was chain-smoking, and he had already consumed a half a glass of vodka more than his daily quota. He checked the time. The Hurta boy was due in only a few minutes, but Tichy had a premonition that he wouldn't be coming today. He had seen the seething, shame-filled look in the boy's eyes yesterday while he mouth-fucked him. Tichy had seen that look before in other boys. It was the look of a cornered animal, but one that had not yet surrendered to its fate. So far, the Hurta boy had been pushed hard but not yet broken, and until he was broken, Tichy knew that he presented a danger. In fact, right now, two days into the boy's ordeal, was perhaps the most dangerous time of all.

The boy undoubtedly already knew by now that he could not handle Tichy on his own, but because he remained unbroken, the man knew that he was bound to seek assistance from other quarters. Of course, the boy had limited options in that regard. The most likely place for him to go for help would be the infirmary, but Tichy knew that the boy almost certainly would find no comfort there. Nurse Pavlik was nearing retirement and was about as disinterested in sticking her neck out for the boys under her care as she was in running naked through the streets of Zelezny Brod in the middle of July singing Christmas carols. Marek could go to another teacher, of course, but Tichy likewise was confident that none of them posed a serious threat to his plan. He was, after all, the school disciplinarian to whom all the teachers referred their most problematic and troublesome students. They weren't very likely to question his methods with the boys, especially when they had always worked so well.

The only other option for the boy was the headmaster. Tichy knew that Skala, and virtually Skala alone, could cause trouble for him at the school. That is why he had gone to the man to prepare him for a possible visit from Marek, telling him something about the boy being homesick and sad, and likely wanting to go home, and probably willing to find all sorts of reasons and excuses that would help him to do so. Tichy had told the headmaster that the Hurta boy needed only to persevere against the hardship to reach the brighter tomorrows that were sure to come, just like any good Pioneer and citizen. He had really poured on the doctrinaire communist zeal that he knew made the headmaster uncomfortable, and, knowing how important it was to the man, he had also emphasized how much the school needed to keep the boy in the fold for the football match with Technoglass. The match was only ten days away, but Tichy was confident that he could break Marek's will before then, or certainly within a few days thereafter. Broken boys, he knew from experience, posed little danger at all. Broken boys simply did what they were told, and Tichy was supremely confident that the Hurta boy would be no different.

Marek shook his head, trying to regain some clarity. He simply couldn't go to Tichy. He wouldn't! He walked briskly to the center staircase. His feet moving with blurry quickness, he descended the stairs in a rush, flying around the landing and descending to the first floor. Leaving the stairwell, he entered the long hallway and broke into a run. He had to get away. He had to. He just couldn't go to Tichy. Not today. Not again. There were still some students lingering in the hallway, but Marek ignored them as he ran past. He left the building, now, running through the covered walkway to the student dorms, up the stairwell to the second floor, sprinting now, his lungs heaving, until he reached his room. The door was partially ajar – Radek was there. Marek went inside in a rush and quickly closed the door.

Radek was at his desk and turned to look at him. To the ginger boy, it looked as if Marek had seen a ghost. Radek just stared at him. He knew that Marek was in trouble with Tichy – almost certainly as a result of the cheat-sheet scandal that virtually the entire school had heard about – but he didn't know the extent of it. The boy hoped that Marek would be caned for it, even if the prospect of that same fate happening to him at Tichy's hands at some point caused him to break out in a cold sweat. Radek already was scared of Tichy, and he had nearly wet himself when the man had summoned him to his office and interrogated him about his roommate for a full 20 minutes, forcing Radek to tell him every last thing the boy knew about Marek Hurta – his schedule, his habits, his vices, and even his … most private behaviors. The terrified Radek had been only too willing and happy to comply, but he had been even more relieved and happy to leave the man's office once Mr. Tichy finally sent him on his way.

As Radek looked on, Marek paced about the room, his eyes frantic. He had no plan. He had no ideas, but he knew he couldn't remain here in his dorm room. It would soon be 4 o'clock. Tichy would come looking for him – Marek was sure of that – and the dorms would be the first place he looked.

Without speaking to Radek or even acknowledging the boy's existence, Marek walked to his closet. He opened it, studying the contents for a moment as his head continued to spin. He took a folded sweater from the shelf, but even he didn't know why. And then, without so much as a parting glance at Radek, he quickly left the room again, leaving the door wide open in his wake. He knew that he had to get away, and fast. It was nearly 4 o'clock.

As he entered the dormitory hallway, Marek broke into a run once again. He felt panicked, and he knew he wasn't thinking clearly, but his instincts told him that he needed to hide. He knew that Tichy would come looking for him. The man would be on his way soon. Tichy had already known that he would go to see the headmaster, and he had planned for that. The man had outsmarted Marek, and the boy knew there would be a terrible price to pay for what he had done – made even worse by his failure to appear in the man's office at the appointed time. As he ran, Marek felt trapped and panicked. His entire body tingled in fear. His mind was working on only a very basic level, and all it told him was that he had to get away. He had to hide.

He ran out of the dorm building heading west toward the football field, toward the gymnasium building. The building was very familiar to Marek and he knew that he could hide there. He would be safe there. He could hide in the locker room … no, the equipment room would be better – he could go there. He could hide there, through dinner, at least, almost until lights out. Nobody would be in the building this late to see him. Nobody would be there at this time of day, not during dinner, especially not in the evening. He would be safe there until after the man had given up looking for him. He would return to his dorm just before lights out. It was at least a semblance of a plan, and it would keep him safe from Tichy, at least safe for now, and that was all that mattered.

Tichy waited in his office and smoked. It was only just past 4 o'clock, but he knew almost for a fact that if Marek was going to come at all, he was going to be on time. Now he would have to go find the boy; but first, he would finish his Startka; it would give him time to think. Tichy stepped towards the window with the cigarette in hand and looked out at the mountains, standing there in a haze of smoke. His third-floor office faced west away from the town, toward the mountains and the back area of the fenced-in, secure perimeter of the internat. From his vantage point, the man could see the large flat area to the west, in what was otherwise sloped terrain. The football pitch and the gymnasium were located there, near the highest, westernmost point of the grounds.

As he looked out the window, Tichy coughed. He didn't usually smoke this much, but today he had felt uneasy. Although his plan for the Hurta boy was playing out well and so far with excellent results, the fact that Marek remained unbroken was a concern. The boy was scared and undoubtedly would try to hide from him. Even using his "rats," Tichy knew it might take a while to sniff Marek out of his hiding spot. But he had time for that, of course, so once he finished his smoke, he poured himself a vodka while contemplating his next move. There were only so many places the boy could go, and Tichy had all afternoon and evening to find him. His hands tingled at the prospect. This was going to be fun.

As Tichy exhaled another smoke-filled breath, his eyes focused on the warm, sunlit horizon. The mountains were beautiful this time of year, with the November sun already low and orange in the sky. The man sighed and rubbed the top of his nose between his eyebrows as he forced himself to take a few deep breaths to clear his head. He did not wish to act rashly or precipitously from the vague sense of unease he could feel in the pit of his stomach. He preferred to act rationally, cleverly, and with forethought and consideration. It was always best to remain calm and proceed methodically in such situations.

It was as he gazed at the mountains that Tichy thought he detected movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned his gaze downward just in time to see a small figure quickly entering the gymnasium building through the side entrance. His first thought was to wonder if he had been the one to leave it unlocked. He didn't think he had done so, as the boys tended to "borrow" footballs and the like and make a general mess of things when he did. It must have been Hujer. Hujer sometimes let the boys borrow equipment to kill time during the lunch period. Tichy made a mental note to talk to the Czech and Russian languages teacher about that at the appropriate time, but for now, he had more important matters to attend to.

Marek quickly entered the building and closed the door. As he had suspected, it was deserted. Only the emergency lights were on. He knew he would be safe here. His heart rate started to lower. He went to his locker, placing the sweater there. He wasn't cold, and there was no need for the sweater now. He wasn't even sure why he had brought it. He had been panicked, of course, and not thinking straight.

After a brief pause to gather his thoughts, he headed to the equipment room. He knew he could hide there. Nobody would think to look for him there, and he would be safe at least until he chose to emerge. The boy knew that hiding from Tichy would not be a long-term solution, but right now, he was worried about the short term. Tomorrow he could go back to the nurse, or make an emergency call home, or go back to the headmaster, or he would think of something else. But for now, he would wait here.

Marek settled to the floor in the semi-darkness alongside an old, wooden desk. He pulled his arms around his knees as he sat there, motionless, and quiet. He willed himself to calm down so that his head could clear, and he could think. He knew he needed to think, because he desperately needed a solution to the terrible mess he now found himself in.

Tichy stubbed his cigarette out, picked up his keyring, and walking briskly but calmly so as not to draw attention, headed down the stairs and out through the utility door of the main building that typically was used only for deliveries. He strode across the grounds, taking a much shorter route than the one the boy had taken, thus ensuring that he would arrive at the gymnasium within minutes of Marek entering it – if, indeed, the small figure he had seen was the Hurta boy, which Tichy's instincts told him it almost certainly was. If anyone saw him, which Tichy doubted, there would be nothing suspicious about the physical education instructor going to the gymnasium in the afternoon to check on things, tidy up, lock up, and make sure all the lights were off.

Tichy stepped into the building through the side entrance, closed the door behind him, and locked it. He stood quietly and took a deep breath. Where should he look for the boy, first? There were two locker rooms, but both would be damp and stinky at this time of the day. The large, main area of the gymnasium faced west and would still be sunlit and warmish. It would also be too exposed, with nowhere for a boy to hide. The toilets? They were cold, dirty, and smelly. The boiler room? It could get a bit warm in there, so also not likely. So where would a scared boy go to hide? There was only one room left, and although it was a bit cluttered, it was dry and not too warm, with plenty of places for a small boy to secret himself. Tichy felt confident. He would try the equipment room, first.

Marek sat on the floor in the semi-darkness with his arms still wrapped around his knees. The boy was nervous. The 4 o'clock witching hour had come and gone, and now his decision to disobey Tichy and violate his agreement with the man was locked in and permanent. Tichy undoubtedly would wait for him for a while, and as he waited, he would grow angrier and angrier. Marek could visualize the man in his office, behind his desk, smoking, a drink in his hand. The boy could also see Tichy's mood darkening as he waited, his fingers rubbing the top of his nose between his eyebrows as he breathed deeply, thinking and planning. Marek shivered at the thought of it. Perhaps he should have kept the sweater, after all. Perhaps he would go retrieve it from his locker, but not now. Not right away. For now, he was going to stay where he was and let the sun continue to set, until the only light in this room would be coming from the emergency lights in the hallway and whatever other light managed to filter in from the single, filthy window that sat high up on the opposite wall.

Suddenly, a sound made its way to Marek. It was a click, or a rattle, or something. The boy strained to hear it repeat itself, but there was nothing. It was most likely a mouse. Or a pipe contracting in the shower room. But it had been a sound, and Marek was sure he had heard it. The boy remained still. He didn't dare to breathe. But there was nothing further, nothing he could hear … not exactly … but was there? He couldn't tell.

Quietly and smoothly, without making any audible footfalls on the tiled floor, Tichy made directly and immediately for the equipment room. His heart rate was elevated; this cat-and-mouse chase was quite thrilling to the man. After all, he could be wrong with his hunch. It could also be a different boy he had seen, or it could all have been a bluff, with Marek dashing out of the building again as soon as Tichy had stepped away from the window. On the other hand, if he was he right in his assessment of the boy's most likely hiding place, he could only imagine what Marek would think when he was caught so soon after he had arrived at the building. It would be nothing short of magnificent.

In the end, it wasn't anything the boy heard, it was something he felt. It was the same feeling he had had of Tichy waiting for him behind the closed door of his office as Marek stood collecting himself outside the headmaster's door at the top of the stairs. It was the feeling that Tichy was close, waiting, and watching. The boy tried to banish the feeling from his mind, even as his body gave a cold shiver. He should have kept the sweater. The room was cold, the concrete floor especially so. Perhaps he had chosen the wrong place to hide. Maybe he shou-

Marek froze as he heard another sound, then more sounds, several of them now. The door creaked open. The boy nearly wet himself, but, somehow, he managed to remain motionless. Somebody could be in the hallway, and that would be okay. It could still be okay. He could always leave through a window. He cou-

With a hard, tight smile on his face, Tichy stepped into the equipment room, turned and locked the door behind him, before striding into the very center of the small room.

"Boy, oh boy, oh boy, is someone in real trouble now, or what?" he said gleefully as he surveyed the room and caught sight of Marek seated on the floor, hiding behind the desk, with his arms clasped around his knees.

The boy very nearly fainted at the sound of Tichy's voice. Marek looked up, and there the man was, almost as if he had been there all along. The boy's eyes looked dull, almost dead, as his blood ran stone cold in his veins. It was like looking up at the Grim Reaper. Marek didn't even bother to move. Not a muscle. He simply stared up at the man from his seated position on the floor.

As Tichy smiled down at him, the boy looked defeated, as if the light in his eyes had already gone out. His expression, however, was one of confusion. A single question repeated itself over and over in Marek's head: How? How had the man known? It wasn't just that he knew exactly where Marek had gone; it was that he knew it within minutes of Marek going there. How could he have? Nobody could have seen where he had gone inside the building. Nobody could have known that he was in the equipment room. From his seated position on the floor hidden behind the desk, he couldn't even be seen from the doorway. But Tichy had known. Somehow, the man had known he was there. He had known what was not possible to know and seen what was not possible to see, and now he was here.

For a moment, Tichy thought about playing the role of an evil, unerring god, impossible to oppose or defeat. The question the boy wanted to ask was so obvious in Marek's deer-in-headlights expression that Tichy was tempted to gloat and bask in his victory, but he knew he hadn't yet broken the boy's resolve. He had doled out some bad things to the kid, certainly, but not enough to crush the boy's will to resist. That was yet to come.

Now he had an important choice to make. There was absolutely no question that he would have caned the boy's backside to ribbons if they were in his office, but they weren't, and in his haste to leave, Tichy hadn't even thought about bringing the cane with him. That was a shame, because here, in the quiet of the remote gymnasium, after hours, he could probably beat the boy without even having to gag him – a rare occurrence in the man's experience and one that would be simply … exquisite. He could make it last, too. He could make it last and last, until the child literally wet himself with agony as he screamed himself hoarse. Tichy was still tempted to just lay into the boy, anyway, and beat him to a pulp. But what then? What about tomorrow? No, the cane would be even more painful and prolonged, but it would not send the boy to the hospital and it was far more justifiable than a pummeling in the grand scheme of things. The beating of Marek Hurta inevitably would come, but for now, it would have to wait.

"Ach ty můj blbečku," [Author's note: "Oh, my sweet little dumbass"] sighed Tichy as he slipped down and sat next to the slender, trembling boy. He wrapped his arm around Marek's shoulders like a father comforting a distraught son. They were alone here and would be for hours and hours. There was no need to rush things, not even a little bit. Tichy would take his time and enjoy just sitting back and soaking up the boy's fear and misery.

Marek fought back tears as the man joined him on the floor. The boy was trembling so severely that there was no doubt in his mind that Tichy could feel his entire body shaking. He didn't even try to shy away from the man's embrace. There was no sense in that. Marek already knew he was as good as dead. His decision to hide from Tichy in the equipment room had also had the effect of ensuring that there was no one within earshot to hear him if Tichy happened to find him there. And now Tichy had.

The two of them sat in morbid silence for several minutes, which only served to reinforce to the terrified youngster that he was in for a very long and very unhappy afternoon and evening. The only movement was the boy's uncontrollable shaking, which had not abated in the least from the moment the man first appeared. Finally, after at least five minutes of excruciating silence, the man was the first to speak.

"So, let's set aside the fact that on top of being a cheater, a proven wimp, and a confirmed pervert, you're also a promise-breaker, and you went to the headmaster," he stated. His words were not phrased as a question. "Now, let me guess. You told Mr. Skala that you wanted to leave school, but he wouldn't let you, would he? And you couldn't quite bring yourself to tell him about the most current and acute problem you are facing – namely me – and he didn't get the hint because he's such a stupid, preoccupied tool." Tichy chuckled at his own observation as he reached for Marek's hair to caress it. "You're all panicked about yesterday, you feel like your world is coming to an end, and all you can think about is running away. Does that about sum it up, or is there something else on your mind, as well?" asked Tichy. His tone was warm and, seemingly, almost kind.

The boy felt an odd sense of serenity as he listened to the man. Tichy spoke slowly and calmly, almost matter-of-factly. Marek knew that there was no need for the man to rush things. Tichy now had hours and hours alone with him if that's what he wanted. Nothing Marek could do would change that, or even affect whatever course the man elected to take. Perhaps it was because the boy could not even influence his fate – much less change it – that he felt such a strange sense of calm wash over him. Other than flinching when Tichy first began to stroke his hair, he remained completely motionless as the man spoke. Tichy's touch was gentle and soft, but Marek knew it was only the calm before the storm.

Tichy had described the boy's actions and thoughts almost completely accurately. Once again, Marek was surprised. He wasn't shocked that the man knew about his visit to the headmaster. What surprised him was that the man seemed to know his thoughts – even thoughts that he had not expressed to anyone. How? How could he know these things? How was it possible? How could Tichy see what couldn't be seen and know what couldn't be known? When the man asked if he had properly summed things up, all Marek could do was nod – just once – but it was enough to acknowledge the accuracy of the man's description. There was no sense in denying it; Tichy already knew. He knew everything. There was no reason to lie about it or deny it. It would do no good to try.

"I know that I must look like the Devil to you right now," Tichy continued with a shrug. "And, well, maybe I am. I believe this rotten old world needs some Devils like me to purge it and pave a better course for the future. But let's not get political, shall we?" he chuckled. "But there is a Devil here, Marek, and right now, you're locked inside the gates of Hell with him. It's a big old, triple-locked gate separating you and him from the rest of the world, and there is simply no version of that world, in the near or foreseeable future, where your life will be Devil-free. But this Devil had already ironed out your little cheating incident with Drabek. This Devil has already dropped a kindly word on your behalf to Skala. And this Devil has selected you to play striker in the přátelák." And in case you haven't noticed, kid, this Devil has made sure no one jumped you or beat you up this week, even though they are positively itching to, just like they have been all term," the man recited.

"So, Mr. Hurta," Tichy continued, "take a deep breath and a moment to think, since you can't opt out of any of this: Do you want this Devil to be your ally, or your enemy?"

As Marek listened to the man speak, a tingly feeling of impending doom began spreading across his body, from his torso outward to his extremities. Was Tichy really the Devil? Marek wasn't sure that the Devil existed, but if he did, the boy could well believe it was Tichy. The man seemed to have supernatural powers, after all, and he was most definitely evil. But had he actually helped Marek as he claimed? Had he fixed things with Mr. Drabek? Marek supposed that perhaps he had. Mr. Skala himself had referred to Tichy's intervention on his behalf. The football, the other boys – was it all true? Certainly at least some of it was. The thought confused and troubled the boy. Things were now more complex than perhaps they had seemed at first.

And then the man told him to take a deep breath as he made a kind of … proposal. Listening to it, the boy felt cold. How could Tichy be his ally? And why would he want to be? Before, he had asked himself "how"? Now, he found himself asking "why"? The man's words – and his motives – were confusing to the 12-year-old. Why would Tichy be his ally after everything that had happened? It made no sense. Tichy had the boy completely at his mercy, now. He hated Marek, and here in the gymnasium – really, anywhere in the school – there was no escape for the boy, no safe haven. Tichy had him exactly where he wanted him and they both knew that. So why did he want to be Marek's ally? What was in it for him?

Marek tried to think. He took the deep breath the man suggested, but nothing even approaching clarity came to his mind. In the end, however, there was only really one answer to give. Only one answer offered any real possibility of Marek surviving this encounter, because Marek knew that Tichy was right – he couldn't opt out. They both knew it. What sense was there in pretending otherwise?

"My ally," Marek whispered finally, in a barely audible voice. And as he listened to himself speak, it sounded to Marek exactly as if he had just made a pact with the Devil himself.

Chapter Four

"Good," replied Tichy, in a tone that sounded both satisfied and final. "From now on, you'll steer well clear of the headmaster's office, and the nurse's office, too. No more attempts to get yourself expelled or sent home, and most certainly, no tattling to other grown-ups. That's not only our deal going forward, Marek, but it's also what's best for you. Skala would never believe you, anyway – a troublemaker on a second warning," Tichy continued. "But the boys might very well believe it when the rumor spreads. Imagine, being known for your remaining three and a half years here as a panty-wearing cocksucker," Tichy said as he ruffled the boy's hair a little more roughly. "You'd never live that down, would you? So, if you want to keep our deal private, you need to do your part of the job, too, and not be a baba" [Author's note: "cowardly person"; usually female].

Marek listened to the man's terms with a pit in his stomach and a sense of dread permeating seemingly every pore of his body. It was chilling the way the man described what would happen if he tried to tell anyone what was happening to him at Tichy's hands. The other boys simply couldn't find out. Tichy was right: Even the rumor of such a thing would spread like wildfire and give his tormentors endless cause and ammunition to make his life a living hell. Marek found himself feeling relieved that he had not tried to tell Skala anything. His visit to the headmaster could have turned into a disaster if he had.

"I'll help you to survive and do well in this school," said Tichy, "but here, between us, the deal's the same. Ally or not, you're still a wimp and a pervert and a promise-breaker, and as you know … you're late for your session," the man said.

He paused for a moment, then gave the boy his instruction. "Get naked, Marek."

Marek's slender body was still trembling as Tichy told him that the deal was the same. That simple statement offered hope that Tichy would not exact a horrible vengeance for Marek's recent decisions, but it also bespoke of horrors to come for several more days. The boy was well aware that he still had five days remaining in his punishment. Five more days of humiliation, and likely, pain. He wasn't sure he could bear it. But what choice did he have? Tichy called all the shots, and he had decided on Marek's punishment and his fate.

Marek's head was spinning with worry and he felt faint as he disentangled himself from the man and rose slowly to his feet. His legs tingled as his circulation suddenly was restored. "Mr. T-Tichy," he said as he turned to face his tormentor. The boy's face looked pallid.

Tichy sprung to his feet and slapped the boy. Not too hard, but enough for the slap to sting and jerk the boy's head to the side, and enough to water the kid's eyes.

"Obey first, speak or ask questions, later. Always," emphasized Tichy. "When, and only when, you are standing here buck naked with your hands on your head, you'll be allowed to ask whatever you were going to ask," said the man firmly and decisively. He narrowed his eyes at the boy, almost questioningly. Did Marek really think he was in a good position to push his luck, now? Really?

Despite his innate fear of the man, Tichy's slap nevertheless took the boy by surprise. His eyes filled with tears not just with the sting of it, but also with the injustice. He hadn't intended to argue, not really; they were beyond that point now, and the boy knew it. It was obvious that the man despised him. He had come here, to the gymnasium building, solely to exact his vengeance against Marek and carry out whatever punishments he wished to inflict. Marek could only imagine the depths of the man's antipathy toward him that would cause him to go to so much effort.

The boy hung his head as the man instructed him. He knew that there was no out for him now, no hope, and no mercy. Especially not here, not now, not when they were so far away from anyone else who could possibly help him.

And so, in the fading, late afternoon sunlight in the dingy, musty equipment room, a very unhappy young boy began to remove his clothes in anticipation of a punishment that he dreaded with every fiber of his being.

Soon enough, Marek was completely naked and shaking in the suddenly cool air. He placed his hands on his head, awaiting the man's instructions. Tichy reached down and grabbed Marek by his little ball sack, using a good grip that wouldn't slip easily, but not a crushing one.

"Follow meekly. If I feel resistance, I'll grip harder," he warned the boy as he began to walk toward the door.

Marek flinched, then gasped aloud, as the man reached for his testicles. It had begun. Only Tichy knew where it would end. With the man's hand gripping his bits, there was absolutely no resistance from the frightened boy.

Tichy unlocked the door to the equipment room with his left hand and pulled Marek out into the empty hallway – literally by his balls – then shut and locked the door again, before pocketing the key. He really didn't need to make Marek feel any more vulnerable or afraid than he already was, but there was something perversely satisfying about playing with the kid while they both knew Marek's clothes were locked away, far from his reach. Eventually, he let go of the boy's nuts and strode towards the gym.

With his hands still on his head, Marek followed awkwardly, pausing as the man unlocked the door, then continuing out into the hallway. Normally, when Marek was in this building, bustling, raucous sounds of adolescent boys at sports play filled the air. Now, it was eerily quiet. The sound of the door unlocking was almost deafening in the near-total silence.

Into the gym Tichy went. It was a narrow, functional, spartan, rectangular room with exercise racks along the long walls and opposing goalposts on the short ones, with basketball nets above them. Marek followed, hands still on his head. The boy felt cold in his nakedness, no doubt assisted by his fear. The gym seemed larger with only the two of them in it, and darker too, with most of the lights still off.

"Gimme a lap, a brisk one, to warm up," commanded Tichy.

At the man's direction, the lithe, athletic boy broke into a run, circling the perimeter of the lacquered gym floor, his bare feet making gentle slapping sounds as he ran the lap in silence and dread. Tichy, on the other hand, grinned as he watched the naked boy run, his cock rising to full staff at the sight. He had done a lot with his boys in this very building, but what he had been doing and planned to do with Marek this afternoon was in a whole new league. Despite his offensive family history, the Hurta boy was a fine specimen of boyhood, and this humiliating physical drill with the utterly compliant youngster was turning Tichy on right from the start.

It was a light run for a fit boy, and Marek returned to his starting point only slightly out of breath. His tummy sucked inward and outward as he regained his breath.

"Good," said Tichy. "Now, legs straight, just a bit apart, bend over and touch your toes! Stretch up, touch your toes again. Now touch the floor! Up. Legs wider apart. Touch the floor. Reach back, hands on your butt. And spread your buttocks. Spread them, stretch them. Go on!"

The boy began to stretch, positioning himself as the man directed, complying with the instructions as they came. If anything, Marek welcomed the physical activity. If this were to be his punishment – after all, Tichy was the physical education teacher and the boys had been made to run punishment laps before – he knew that he could endure it. But as the man made him spread his buttocks obscenely, the boy became well aware that his torment on this day would not consist solely of exercise. It didn't take long for him to be proven correct.

"Down on all fours, follow me – crawl," commanded Tichy as he walked away from the boy and headed toward the toilets. The boy had made him horny, and there was no need to deny himself anymore. He didn't feel like he needed a detailed plan to play with the kid's mind today. He had already won this round by unanimous decision, even if he knew that his complete victory had come largely by the random chance that he had been looking out his office window at precisely the right time.

Marek dropped to his hands and knees as his cheeks blushed with shame. Why did the man hate him so? Why did he seem to revel in tormenting him? Yet, having no choice, he crawled obediently behind the man, out of the gymnasium proper, down the hall, past the changing rooms, and toward the lavatory.

With the boy at his heels, Tichy walked into the lavatory and found a stall that was at least reasonably tidy. He removed his shoes, socks, trousers, and boxer shorts, then sat down on the very back of the toilet, leaving most of the ceramic bowl in front of him. He beckoned to the boy, and Marek crawled toward him on a floor that was in desperate need of a cleaning. The boy had a lump in his throat.

"Since you're a cocksucker already, I might as well teach you how to be a good one. Come on, get over here and get it in your mouth, now!"

Marek hesitated for a moment as the man gave his instruction. The moniker "cocksucker" tore at his pride, or what was left of it, and he bridled at the man's savagery. He debated rising to his feet and running, running anywhere, just running away from the man. But Marek knew that despite all his drinking and smoking, Tichy was in good physical shape. The man would catch him – perhaps sooner, perhaps later – but he would catch him before he could escape the building. And what if he did manage to evade the man? Marek was naked and his clothes were locked away in the equipment room. Where could he go? What would running from Tichy even accomplish?

So, the boy crawled to the man, nestling himself between his legs and preparing to suck the man's penis once again. In that precise moment, if his hatred of Tichy had been a physical force, it would have swallowed the entire earth into a black hole from which it would never escape.

Tichy put a hand on the back of the boy's head and guided his young face onto his erection. Marek emitted the tiniest sigh of despair – or perhaps it was a moan – as the man drew his head and mouth toward his cock. The boy felt dirty and ashamed. Here he was, kneeling on the floor in a toilet stall, about to suck the cock of a grown man. It was a humiliating act for a 12-year-old boy who, like all his peers, was revolted by homosexuality and the vile acts that epitomized it. But now, for the second – no, the third – time in two days, he was being forced to perform what he believed to be the vilest homosexual act of them all. He was, and there could be no debating it now, truly a cocksucker.

"Go on, now, open up," Tichy instructed the naked youngster. Marek opened his mouth for the man's member because he had no choice. Tichy called all the shots, especially now, especially here, especially after all that had happened. Even as he complied, however, the boy was well aware that his life would be a living hell for the next several days, and that this undoubtedly would not be the last time he would be required to pleasure the man with his mouth and tongue.

"Get on there," instructed Tichy. "Now, with the tip still in your mouth, give me some tongue. Left and right over the underside, all around the tip, like it's coated with thick honey and you're trying to lick it off. Go on! Then reach as far as you can with your tongue, sliding it over the shaft, and back. Nice and firm pressure, long strokes. Go on."

Blushing with embarrassment, Marek tried to comply with the man's instructions, all the while wary of and dreading the explosion of bitter liquid that would come when the man had his orgasm. The boy's hands rested on his bare thighs as he sucked Stanislav Tichy's penis, complying with the man's directives as they came. If Marek had had any idea what the man's plans for him were, especially in the long run, he probably would have felt relieved and grateful that he was only sucking cock right now. But of course, he didn't yet know the full extent of the man's depravity, nor was he aware that he would be losing his virginity before the day was out. What he was learning to know pretty well were all the details of Tichy's cock, including its taste, warmth, texture, and stiffness, as he worked it into his mouth for the third time in a roughly 24-hour period.

"Now grab it near the root so you can control the angle, pull it a bit towards you, keep that tongue on it, and start moving your head," said Tichy. "You did a promising job of it yesterday, even with your hands bound, so this should be a piece of cake to you by now."

Marek's eyes flitted up to Tichy's. The man wanted him to hold his penis? To touch it with his hand? That would be a first, but it was clear that he did, so the boy reached out with his right hand and encircled the man's rigid shaft near the base. It was a large penis compared to the boy's own. Marek could feel its warmth. He pulled it toward him, leaned in, and began to bob, tongue, and suck. He could taste the flavor of the man, already eerily familiar to the boy. Tichy had his own taste, or at least, his cock did. As he sucked, Marek's mind began to wander a little bit.

"Pay attention to what you're doing," ordered Tichy. "No teeth, just tongue, lips, and the inside of your mouth. Make it feel good. Eyes on me. Keep them open and on me, no pretending you're somewhere else doing something else, wimp," he smiled. "And there'll be no spitting today. You'll be careful to swallow all on your own, and suck it clean afterwards, too," added Tichy.

"Keep at it! A bit deeper. Bob that head. Slide those lips over the tip! Yes, just like that … "

Bob, suck, tongue. The 12-year-old did as he was told, doing his best to comply with the man's instructions. He was a cocksucker, now, and his cheeks blushed with the shame of it even as he prayed that nobody but he and Tichy would ever come to learn what he had done.

The man had warned him not to pretend he was somewhere else, but that's exactly what the boy did. His eyes gazed up at the man, but they were unfocused, looking through Tichy, rather than at him. It was a defense mechanism for the 12-year-old. If he didn't concentrate on what his mouth was doing, maybe it wouldn't be so awful. Maybe it wouldn't really be happening. Maybe he wouldn't even be a cocksucker, after all.

"Now here's the part where you punish yourself for not showing up today," announced Tichy, calmly and neutrally. "Go deeper, for starters, like I had you do the second time yesterday. Every other down-stroke, you go until you gag."

Having said that, he rested his hand on top of Marek's head – gently for now, but ready to guide the boy and force-feed him more cock if he didn't obey on his own accord.

Marek tensed at the knowledge that he was still to be punished for not showing up. He had so many punishments stacked on top of other punishments now that he had lost track of them. Every encounter with Tichy seemed to add to the list. There was no sense to it, other than that the man hated him. The boy was not persuaded otherwise by Tichy's offer to be his ally – even if some of the things Tichy had done for him seemed, possibly, to have been of assistance to the boy.

"Go until you gag," the man had said. But how was he to do that? Gagging was uncomfortable. Marek hadn't liked the sensation yesterday. More than a few times, he had gagged and nearly retched. He simply couldn't do that to himself again. He went a little bit deeper, as deep as he could while keeping the gagging at bay. Three inches of Tichy's bulbous cockhead and shaft was the most he could handle in his mouth.

Tichy let him get away with that depth for perhaps a minute, but no more. Soon, the inevitable command came: "Deeper," and with that, a rather firm push with the hand, even as Marek already had taken those three inches into his mouth. After Marek's inevitable gag, Tichy pushed a little harder. If the boy wasn't going to obey his instructions, he would make sure that things happened on his terms.

He let Marek pull of a little, but not much, and soon enough, too soon, almost right away, the same command and assistance came again. "Deeper," with a firm push of the hand at the back of the boy's head. "And again. Deeper." The man's cock was something like seven inches long when fully erect, but even now, as he started to force some five of those inches into the mouth and the head into Marek's throat, it was suddenly a very different experience than sucking just the cock tip.

With every push, the boy gagged. Push … gag, tense, and hold … withdraw. Push … gag, tense, and hold … withdraw. The boy's toes curled as he fought the urge to retch. Push … gag, tense, and hold … withdraw. "Deeper," the man said. Push … gag, tense, and hold … withdraw. "And again." Push … gag, tense, and hold … withdraw.

It was difficult work. Several times, Marek nearly vomited, but somehow, he fought off the urge as the man worked into a rhythm. Push … gag, tense, and hold … withdraw. Push … gag, tense, and hold … withdraw. On and on it went, seemingly endlessly, as the boy silently prayed for the man to cum just so it would be over.

"If you need to puke, the toilet's literally right under your chin," Tichy pointed out dispassionately. "We both already know that you can't take a caning, and besides, by running away today you ended up in a place where there isn't a cane, so we're going to punish your throat today."

"You're probably not going to appreciate the praise right now," added Tichy with a shrug, "but you're doing pretty well. It feels good. It certainly makes me less angry – though as you know, we're not finished here, yet, not by a long shot."

"Now, not just a bit deep, but deeper than before. Don't fight it," said the man, swapping his soft palm at the back of the boy's head for a two-handed grip, much like the grip he had used yesterday when he had shallowly face-fucked the boy. Using his hands now as leverage, He forced the boy to take a full six inches, with the last three of those against gagging and resistance. He held the boy's head at that depth for a few second before letting him slide off again, this time letting go of his head entirely in case he needed to pull off and puke.

Marek desperately didn't want to vomit – the boy hated the taste and sensation of retching more than just about anything – but the man's reference to "puke" made him feel sick to his stomach. Yet it continued: Push … gag, tense, and hold … withdraw. For a time, it got a little better, as the boy reached a tentative truce with his gag reflex. He didn't gag with every downward thrust now as he willed himself to hold on long enough for the man to let him up. Push … tense and hold … withdraw. Push … tense and hold … withdraw. Push … gag, tense, and hold … withdraw.

But to Marek's dismay, the man was not satisfied. Push … gag – pull back! pull back! – gag … withdraw. Every muscle in the boy's body tensed as the man's cockhead pressed into his throat. Marek's eyes watered. He shifted on his knees as the man held his head. Push … gag – pull back! – hold … hold … hold …withdraw.

It was the fifth of the deeper holds that did it. The boy tried to pull off yet again as his tummy expelled its bile into his mouth, nose, and sinuses. Marek eyes watered and he looked green as he gagged up the meager contents of his tummy – mostly a greyish, yellowish bile – onto the man's cock, down his shaft, and into the toilet bowl. The boy pulled his mouth free just as a second spasm sent another retching, gagging flood of liquid from his mouth. The cruel acidic taste of stomach acid bit at the boy's sinuses and nose as his tummy clenched and clenched again.

Marek gasped for breath, his eyes watering and his hands braced on the sides of the toilet. He hoped the man was satisfied. Tichy had invited such a disgusting act by forcing his erection into the boy's throat. Although most of it had gone in the toilet, the man's cock was slick and glistening with stomach filth from tip to balls. Marek caught his breath and looked up at the man reproachfully, and perhaps a bit hopefully. Could he now be done?

Tichy let the kid vomit and even gave him a few seconds to recover. A bit of the sour and bitter juices from Marek's stomach still ended up pouring out of the boy's mouth over the tip of his cock, but most of it went directly down into the toilet, demonstrating to the boy the utility of Tichy's selection of this venue for the blowjob. The man didn't leave the 12-year-old much room for false hope, however. As soon as Marek was done retching, Tichy grabbed his head again and guided him back onto his cock. Shallowly at first, to let him re-adjust to the task that remained to be completed, but with no intention of letting the boy off the hook.

"Tongue. Suck!" he commanded dryly. He gave the boy's throat a needed break for a bit, but he kept both of his hands on the boy's head, using the force he needed to prevent Marek from giving up completely.

Marek felt the man grasp his head and force him back down, back to his cock. Marek gave but meek resistance as the man's cock re-entered his mouth. Tears watered the boy's eyes as he resumed sucking. Thankfully, Tichy wasn't pushing it into his throat again. The way Marek felt, he was sure he would retch again, even if his tummy had nothing more to give.

"Now, deeper," said Tich. "This time, by yourself."

Suddenly, the man's hands were gone, but the instruction had been given. Despite the slime that had accumulated there from the contents of his stomach, the miserable boy reached for the base of the man's shaft, pulled the cock toward him, and attempted to comply.

As Marek grabbed his cock and started to slide the slimy tip down his mouth and the top of his throat again, Tichy wondered: Did the boy realize all of this was a one-way ticket? Did he know, at least on a subconscious level, that this wasn't just going to stop after seven days? This was not the day, and most definitely not the time, to break the bad news to the kid, but it was a done and sure deal in Tichy's mind, especially now, with the handsome 12-year-old gagging away so pleasurably on his cock.

Of course, nothing could beat the pleasure of a tight, young anus, but Tichy had a bit of a weak spot for blowjobs, especially messy, noisy, and sloppy ones like this one. It was the power trip, of course, with the boy positioned on his knees, retching and miserable, and Tichy just sitting there, enjoying his birds-eye view of the boy's plight and the pleasurable sensations of the kid's convulsing throat on his throbbing cock. No one could possibly doubt for a moment who was the boss in such a scenario, and Tichy absolutely loved that part of it. He let it show, too. There was no reason for him to hide his pleasure from Marek, so he hummed and moaned as the boy sucked his throbbing cock. Even though he couldn't see it, he knew that Marek was now tasting his slick, translucent precum as it started to leak from his cockhead – that is, if the boy could even taste it over the acidity of his stomach bile.

The boy was doing a reasonably creditable job on his own, but he wasn't going nearly deep enough, and Tichy started giving directions again. "Deeper. Five times, pause, then ever deeper. Go on. You've nearly taken all of it before, let's see about that."

Marek did his best to perform for the man. He had no choice. There was nobody around, nobody to hear, nobody to discover them. It was just Tichy and him, alone together in the toilet stall, with Marek on his knees servicing the man's cock. It was a messy, awful, uncomfortable business. Marek no longer even pretended to keep his gaze on Tichy. It was all he could do to concentrate on keeping his mouth on the man's erection, going as deep as he dared without retching. His right hand held the man's cock at the root. The hand was glistening with wetness now, covered with slime consisting of saliva, bile, and whatever awfulness was leaking from the man's piss slit. Marek could taste that now – tangy and metallic, almost sweet. His own cock didn't make precum. He was still only 12 years old, and yet to discover the pleasures of edging. The boy's masturbation sessions were typically frantic, secretive, and fast, especially here at the boarding school, where one simply couldn't be discovered in the act.

Tichy's blowjob, however, was not fast. It seemed endless to Marek, with the man dictating the pace and the technique. Thankfully, he no longer was directing it with his hands on the back of Marek's head. At least there was that small mercy, which allowed the boy to keep his queasy tummy in check.

Deeper … it was awful. The boy's eyes watered. How could he possibly survive the next week? Fortunately for Marek, it never once even occurred to him that his "punishment" would last far longer than that. He had no idea of Tichy's plan for him. Boys of 12 are so trusting and naïve.

"Almost there," moaned Tichy. "Go all the way now. Just the once. But all the way."

The boy's nose was already almost touching the man's abdomen, but clearly, all the way meant all the way in Tichy's book. The man wouldn't be satisfied until he had forced Marek to take his entire shaft into his mouth and throat, holding it there with his lower lip at the crinkly skin of the man's tight, upraised balls, while his upper lip was being scratched by the man's trimmed, coarse pubes.

Tichy knew that he wouldn't last much longer, but he wanted to push the boy that extra bit, not only because there were few things he liked more than a tight, young throat spasming around his cock, but also to demonstrate to the boy that resistance and avoidance would only lead to Tichy getting exactly what he wanted, anyway, together with interest on the debt.

Tichy had his hands at the ready. If Marek didn't comply immediately, he was going to force him. Either way, the man would win, and he felt a familiar churning in his balls at the prospect. The boy didn't know it, of course, but he had about five more seconds to decide what to do. Tichy could feel his balls building to orgasm, and in less than a minute, he would be spurting his load down into Marek Hurta's little belly one way or the other.

Marek's stomach clenched at the man's words: "Almost there." The words conjured up the boy's memories from yesterday, of the man's thick, bitter cum flooding his mouth, of swallowing and nearly gagging at the vile, awful taste. But there was a mercy in those words, as well, in the sense that the boy's ordeal – at least this part of it, anyway – would soon be over. The man would cum, and Marek would be one step closer to freedom.

But all the way? It was impossible. He would vomit again. The man's cock was simply too big. Marek had thought that his personal limit was three inches – to the back of his mouth. He had been taught, and learned, that he could take up to five inches if he allowed the head of the man's cock into his throat. But all of it? It was simply too big, too long. His eyes flitted up to the man. He couldn't mean it.

One look from Tichy was all it took for the boy to lower his head once again and impale his mouth on the man's phallus. He would have to try. Three, four, five inches – that was it. He simply couldn't take any more. He would hold there, his body tense, counting, counting to five, one … two . .. three …

Tichy's reaction was instinctive at that point. The boy had either disobeyed him or failed; it hardly mattered which, and it was all the man need to know. His fingers tightened on the boy's skull as he quickly applied the brute force needed to impale his cock the rest of the way into the boy's mouth and down his throat. Marek, of course, tried to pull his head back, but Tichy held his face tight to his abdomen and groin as the boy's arms flapped helplessly in distress.

The boy could feel the man's erection force its way down his throat, the walls of which gripped the man's shaft like a wet, velvet glove. Marek's entire body tensed as his eyes bulged and watered. He couldn't breathe! He could feel the man's shaft pulsing and contracting in his throat, but all the boy cared about was pulling his head free. He could not. He pushed at the man's knees as Tichy held him there, impaled on his shaft, as Marek's tummy heaved and bucked as it tried once again to expel its contents.

Fully penetrated now, the boy's tight throat gagged and spasmed as Tichy knew it would, and it was that pulsating, protesting sensation on his needy cock that took the man straight over the edge to orgasm. With a gasp of anticipation, still holding the boy in a vise-like grip, Tichy threw his head back and simply exploded with pleasure, firing thick, juicy squirts of cum deep into the kid's tight little throat. The man grunted and moaned as each volley jetted from his cock.

The boy pushed at the man's stomach with both hands now, frantically trying to pull off, but he could not budge so much as a fraction of an inch from the man. His nose pressed hard to the man's abdomen as his face reddened rapidly. He still could not breathe, and it had been quite a while since his last breath.

In contrast to the boy's distress, it ended up being a very long and pleasurable orgasm for Tichy – six to eight heavy spurts of cum, followed by several additional contractions as his balls worked to empty their contents straight into the boy. The depth of his penetration removed swallowing from the equation this time, as Tichy's cum was propelled directly into the kid's esophagus, well beyond and past any point where it could be coughed back up. Shuddering with the intensity of his orgasm, Tichy maintained his iron grip on Marek's head for several additional seconds until his intensely powerful rush began to subside. As he sighed with pleasure, Tichy was surprised to find himself sweaty and panting, even though it seemed that Marek had just done all the hard work. In fact, the boy was still struggling to be released from the man's death grip, so at that point, Tichy simply removed his hands from the boy's head and let him go.

Marek immediately pulled off, a thick stream of bile, saliva, and cum trailing out of his mouth as he turned and collapsed to the floor on his hands and knees, gagging and retching almost silently, with his mouth open wide, his eyes bulging, and his face as red as a beet. A quick breath and another choking, silent retch shook the boy's naked body as he threatened to cough a lung up right there on the dirty bathroom floor.

Tichy smiled down in satisfaction at the distressed and miserable boy. "Maybe not such a wimp after all," he said with a smile. "But I bet you won't be late ever again when I tell you to be someplace at a certain time," he added reproachfully.

Marek barely heard the man's words as he knelt, bent over, face inches from the floor, trying to retch up whatever it was that his tummy no longer wished to store. But although his instinct was to vomit, nothing came up, and all the red-faced boy could do was pant and gasp as he tried to regain his breath and recover from his ordeal.

Tichy undid the last two buttons of his shirt in a hurry and pulled it over his head along with the light sweater he was wearing. Completely naked now, he reached down and grabbed Marek by his upper arm, pulled the boy to his feet, and steered him through a tiled opening into the shower room. The boy gasped in fear, his body trembling, as he didn't know what additional fate awaited him at Tichy's hands. But it was merely the shower room, where the boy had been many times before.

The shower room was cold and clammy at this time of day, but Tichy turned one of the shower heads on, and the water soon ran hot, quickly turning the entire area steamy. He stood the boy directly in the strong, warm stream, then reached for one of the communal bars of soap located in a wire-mesh basket attached to the wall and started to lather the boy's smooth little body as the water from the large above-head shower rained down on them. Marek coughed once, then again, trying to clear the bile and vomit from his sinuses, as the man steered him under the stream. He no longer cared what happened to him as the man began to run his soapy hands all over his body.

The dazed, sick, and abused boy may have taken a while to realize that Tichy's motions were intentionally slow and soothing, firm enough not to tickle, but gentle enough not to hurt, as the man scrubbed the boy down, and, at the same time, massaged and rubbed him in an attempt to work some of the tension from the boy's muscles and joints. He started on the child's arms and shoulders, but steadily progressed down the boy's body until his hands reached the boy's buttocks, and moments later, his cock and balls.

The warm shower was a welcome respite for Marek. It was far better than the alternative, whatever that was. Marek was under no illusion that the man had finished with him. Oh, no. He had done more than this yesterday, in Tichy's office, when Marek had actually showed up on time and obeyed. Here, alone in the gymnasium, the man had the time and the privacy to inflict whatever punishment on the disobedient boy he deemed merited.

For now, the man was cleaning and washing him like a toddler, not asking or demanding that the boy do anything but stand under the warm water. The boy was beyond any reaction to the man's touch as he reached his firm, rounded buttocks and his hairless bits and pieces. Marek simply stood there as the man washed him. Looking up, he allowed a bit of water to enter his mouth, swished it, and expelled it. Then he did it again. It helped to rid his mouth of the taste of his own stomach juices.

"Good. Gargle, rinse, and spit," encouraged Tichy. "Stomach bile isn't great for your teeth." At the man's suggestion, Marek took more warm water into his mouth and gargled it. He let it sluice from his mouth and then gathered some more, repeating the process. He gagged up some bile that had been hanging in his throat and spat it. Using his fingers to pinch first one nostril and then the next, he blew his nose free of the nasty gunk and let the water wash his fingers clean. He felt … better. Cleaner.

"It will be easier for you the next time," said Tichy in a kindly voice. "You were going plenty deep enough to do an excellent job before you retched. The last bit was punishment for not showing up," he said simply, as if he had every right to rape Marek's throat with his cock because the kid had tried to avoid a humiliating, sexually degrading punishment session in his office. Indeed, what he was doing to Marek didn't even seem wrong to Tichy. He was a cunning man, but not super-smart, and without any interest in ethics or philosophy beyond the basics of Marxism-Leninism, he didn't much worry about his treatment of the boy. He knew, of course, that what he was doing was illegal, but he also knew it was unlikely ever to be exposed here at the school, let alone proven. The kid was essentially his to abuse as he pleased, especially so, in Tichy's mind, since he had arranged to bring Marek to the internat precisely for that purpose.

Marek listened as Tichy spoke, but the man's odd mix of compliments and explanations made little impact on the boy. He didn't want to be praised for his performance. He had simply done what the man demanded. He had done what he needed to do. A stronger boy might have been able to avoid all of this by taking 25 strokes of the slipper, but Marek had not been that boy. He regretted that very much, now, as he knew that he still had a very steep price to pay for his wimpy behavior.

Tichy proceeded to wash Marek's legs – the boy had nice, strong athletic legs from football, Tichy observed – and even his feet; one, then the other, lifting them, the wall slightly too far away so Marek had to lean on the man's shoulders to keep himself balanced. Then he worked his hands back up the boy's body. His touch was more sensual and teasing now, as he rubbed the inside of the boy's thighs and fondled his ball sack. When he arrived at Marek's little prick, he gently began to masturbate it with his thumb and forefinger, hoping to get a physical reaction from the boy.

To Marek, as the man worked his feet and legs, it seemed that he was being cleaned carefully, almost reverently. But why? Why was Tichy being so kind and gentle? The boy was confused. Tichy seemed to hate him in one moment, but not in the next. Then the man's touch went higher, more tickling now, more tantalizing. Marek stood still. There was nothing else he could do. The man's hand on his penis felt good. That, Marek could not deny. He didn't like it, but it was far better than being beaten.

As Tichy continued to stroke the boy, he knelt down behind him and made the boy lean against his muscular body. The man's left hand glided and slid over the boy's torso, mainly his chest and belly, while his right hand gently tried to masturbate Marek's still-limp cock. Tichy knew boys this age usually got stiff very easily, but he also knew Marek was likely still shaken and queasy from his first-ever deep-throating session. Oh, but what a satisfying session that had been!

Even as he slowly, gently, and patiently worked the boy's body and his boyhood, trying to conjure up an erection to play with, he noticed his own cock stiffening once again. Oh, well! It wasn't his fault that the boy was such a fine specimen! Tichy had quite specific tastes in boys, and the one he was molesting right now managed to check almost all of those boxes. Pudgy boys like Radek Kinter were quite safe from Tichy's more-intimate desires. Overly skinny boys were hit-and-miss with Tichy, and pasty and pale boys were also not to his liking. There were no dark-skinned boys at the internat, not even a gypsy, so Tichy didn't really know whether he cared for them, or not.

But to Tichy, 12-year-old Marek Hurta was, by what was really the most amazing of coincidences, just about perfect. Even when he had arranged for the boy to be given a spot in the first-year class, Tichy had never so much as lain eyes on the boy, not even by way of a photograph. The man had no idea what to expect before Marek arrived at the school, but one glance at the youngster's sleek young form was all it had taken for Tichy to feel an instant and powerful sexual attraction. Lean but muscular, athletic and healthy-looking, the boy had a flawless complexion with lightly-tanned skin. In fact, the not-yet-fully-faded tan lines from the previous summer even now made the boy's glistening butt cheeks appear slightly whiter in color than the skin of his legs and back. Staring down at those smooth, young cheeks made Tichy's cock twitch. The boy's buttocks were firm yet rounded, perfectly smooth in texture, and utterly unblemished, which was a relative rarity for most of the boys who came into any significant extra-curricular contact with Tichy.

It was in that moment, as he gazed down at Marek's shapely little ass, that Tichy knew he would have to rape the boy before he let him go for the day. The gymnasium offered utter privacy for the act, and, after all, Marek had not shown up in Tichy's office at the agreed-upon time for his agreed-upon punishment session. While Tichy had already fully planned to take the boy's virginity at some point during the next week – perhaps even multiple times if he thought the boy's little ass could handle it – there was something very special about arranging it so Marek blamed himself for his own deflowering. Tichy had warned the boy that there was a price to pay for disobedience, and today, Marek would pay that price with his cute, virgin bottom.

For a moment, Tichy debated taking the boy right there on the shower floor in a brutal, painful manner. He was aroused enough to do it, but for the moment, he kept himself in check. He didn't want to fuck a completely passive, listless, and shell-shocked victim, and that was very much the risk he ran if he proceeded. A boy only lost his virginity once, after all, and the act would be much more enjoyable for Tichy if the boy recovered a bit more and could fully experience what was happening to him. They were not in any hurry here, so there would be plenty of time for the kid to get his bearings back before he was fucked. There were still hours and hours to go before the bedtime dorm check, and Tichy seriously doubted that anyone would be looking for the boy. No one was likely to be looking for him, either, and if they were, he could just as well be napping in his apartment, or even in town, grabbing a pint.

Instead, and much to the better, in his opinion, he was here in the shower with a naked young boy. The water was still nice and hot, and the shower room was so steamy now that it was difficult to see the walls. Using his left hand, Tichy gently tilted Marek's head back, exposing the boy's slender throat as he softly kissed the skin there. There was so much lovely skin-to-skin contact with the boy now. Marek's butt and back were against his chest as Tichy knelt, his hand on the boy's cock. The man briefly closed his eyes as he enjoyed the feel of the youngster's body.

Marek wasn't exactly sure when the shower changed from a simple cleaning to something more than that. The man had lathered and scrubbed his entire body, even his feet, but his touch had gradually changed, from a gentle-but-utilitarian cleaning and soaping to something more teasing, more tantalizing – something softer, gentler, and utterly unnecessary to the ordinary purpose of a shower. The water continued to flow, warm and seemingly endless, as the man touched the boy's body everywhere, including his chest, which showed more than a hint of boyish muscular definition, and his taut tummy. The boy was very ticklish, but the man's touch didn't tickle him, at least not exactly. It was his other hand that Marek was focused on, the one that was massaging and caressing the boy's member, kneading and squeezing it, pleasuring it and making it feel good.

Marek had no idea how to react to the man's touches, so he simply stood there, passively, his body contacting the man's in multiple places as the water splashed to the floor around them. Tichy's slow, sensual touch gave the boy plenty of time to think. What was Tichy doing? And why? It didn't feel bad to Marek, but wasn't it homosexual? It occurred to Marek that what Tichy had done to him already was just as homosexual for him as it had been for the boy. He hadn't thought of it in those terms before, but now, he did. The man was caressing his genitals, touching him, and even kissing his neck. Was Tichy a homosexual? It seemed unlikely. The man was so strong and fit. He was feared by the boys for his discipline, but also admired for his athleticism. It seemed that it was he who ran the internat, so much more than Skala. It was hard to believe that the man was a homosexual, but what he had already done with Marek and was doing to the boy right now seemed like strong evidence that he was.

The inevitable eventually happened, as Marek's 12-year-old penis began to respond to the man's touch. It erected quickly after that, as the boy closed his eyes and pretended that he was somewhere else, not here, not naked in the showers with a naked man, and not responding to the man's touch with a boner.

Tichy chuckled and started jerking the boy off. His touch was slow and tantalizing, and he used an entirely different technique than he was sure Marek did, given that boys his age usually just dry-jerked themselves to orgasm as fast as they could. Tichy did precisely the opposite. First, he coated his hand with lots and lots of soap. Then he gripped the boy's entire organ in his softly closed fist and began to move his hand up and down, almost as if in slow-motion, with languid, relaxed, unhurried strokes. About every one in five times, he squeezed the boy's cock a little harder, stroking the youngster with a slightly more-firmly-closed fist. Every now and then, as the water rinsed away too much of the soap, he reached for the bar and made his hand slippery again. For a while, he kissed the boy's ear and neck as he stroked him, but then he focused on Marek's smooth little body, massaging his firm, boyish buns and sliding his hand down his smooth, shapely thighs. He kept touching the boy even as he increased the speed of his handjob, only to pause entirely to show the boy a whole new sensation as he circled the pad of his thumb in a small, firm, continual circle around and over the kid's piss slit.

Marek didn't like what was happening to his body. He didn't like the thought of it, anyway. But if he kept his eyes closed and didn't see what was happening, it was better, because his penis liked what was happening very much. The boy was fully erect now, and the man's slippery, gliding, caressing, squeezing fingers felt good on his stiff member. They felt very good, in fact. The boy had done something similar to this before, using soap in his bath at home in Vacenovice to pleasure himself, but it had never felt quite like this. He never went so slowly, and never with such varied methods and pace as the man was using on him. Marek was indeed a young boy, and when it came time to empty his balls, he usually just jerked his shaft with his right hand until he came. He didn't have any other techniques. The only speed he used was frantic. Even with the aid of some slippery soap in the bath, speed was his approach, and a quick climax was his goal.

In his mind, he hated this. It was homosexual. He hated the man's kisses and he shied a bit away from them, but not so much as to aggravate Tichy. It was wrong. Everything he knew about everything told him that he should reject this, hate it, and fight it. But he didn't hate it. The man was being nice. His touch seemed almost apologetic, and his words had been, too. Marek liked this version of Tichy much better than the mean one, even if what they were doing was wrong. But how wrong could it be? It was just the two of them here. Nobody visited the gymnasium after hours on a weekday. Marek consoled himself in the knowledge that nobody else would ever have to know what they were doing here, together in the shower.

Now that Marek started to forget himself and melt into the man's touch, his cock fully stiff in Tichy's hand, the man was really having fun with it. As it went on, he didn't speed up or add force; in fact, he gradually reduced his speed and spent more time re-soaping his hand. He also skipped most of the firmer strokes, the ones with more friction, and reduced his stimulation of the boy to a mere teasing sensation. He had no idea what sort of stamina the boy had, but he observed him carefully in an effort to find out. He didn't want Marek to cum. Not here, not now. Not unless it was very much on Tichy's own terms. He idly wondered how long the hot water from the boiler would last, but there were normally twelve showers running simultaneously for ten minutes or so every hour all day, and since he had never once noticed the hot water running out, it seemed unlikely that this concern would spoil their fun. With the warm water raining down atop them, Tichy could make this last for a long, long time if he wanted to. So he brushed his lips over Marek's earlobe and slowed down even more.

Marek kept his eyes closed as the man slowly masturbated him. It seemed better that way. With his eyes closed, it didn't seem so bad to be leaning against the naked man – and the boy was, indeed, leaning now, his body not fully wanting to stand on its own as the man pleasured his penis. With his eyes closed, he could forget that it was Tichy kissing and nibbling at his neck and earlobe. With his eyes closed, it was easier to forget where he was, who he was with, and what he was doing. What Tichy was doing to him felt very good, and it was also unlike anything Marek had ever felt before. The tingling feeling in his loins was growing, and Marek wanted to cum, but he couldn't. Not just yet. The man simply wasn't going fast enough for that to happen. He was taking his time. Marek had never done it so slowly like this, but it felt good. It felt very good although rather tormenting, a sort of pleasant torture. The boy liked the slow-build sensation, and his hips started bucking almost involuntarily as he started to hump his stiff member into the man's hand. He found himself wishing that Tichy would speed up, even if that made the boy a homosexual, even if it was wrong.

Marek hated himself for it, but he gave into the pleasure just as he earlier had given into the pain and torment. Mr. Tichy called the shots. There was no opposing him in anything, so why oppose him in this? Especially if it felt good, which it did. Very good. The boy was close now. Tichy noticed the first signs of the boy's orgasm approaching and very briefly picked up the speed. Marek leaned against the man more, and humped more, willing the man's hand to go even faster. And it did, deliciously so, the sensation in the boy's balls growing, increasing, and building as Marek tilted his head to prepare for the coming pleasure …

"Maybe, one day, if you come to me all on your own and ask really nicely, I'll let you finish," said Tichy, as his hand suddenly slipped off Marek's cock and left it stiff and needy, and unsatisfied. There would be no climax for Marek.

"Come," he said, lightly, playfully swatting the boy's buttocks and rushing him out into the hallway and across it. The disappointed boy walked quickly across the hall, naked and dripping, his erection bobbing and leading the way, as the two of them dashed straight into the boiler room. It wasn't much to look at, but Tichy knew it was the warmest room in the entire building. "You wait here, and don't touch yourself," said Tichy simply as he ducked away.

Marek was alone. What had just happened? He waited for the man's return, his arms wrapped around his chest, feeling cold now, his little spike still prominently poking up from his groin. The man was so unpredictable, but that just made him seem scarier in the boy's mind. Tichy returned just a few moments later with a small pile of hand towels and a first-aid kit. He grabbed one of the small towels and started to rub Marek dry, starting with his hair and moving to his head and neck, tossing it aside as it got damp and grabbing another from the stack to continue drying the boy. It took three towels to get Marek decently dry, and then another four to dry himself. He couldn't help but smile at Marek's plight as he toweled off. The boy was still fully erect after the prolonged masturbation session that had not led to any release.

Marek stood still, like a toddler, as the man dried him off, and he continued to stand as the man dried himself. Only then did his boner begin to subside. When this was finally over – if it ever ended – Marek vowed that despite his promise to the man, he would take care of that unfulfilled need himself at his first opportunity. His need was especially acute now after the man had stroked him for so long without ever bringing him off. Of course, it was a risk if Tichy found out, so he would just do it once. He could feel the need still churning in his loins even as he watched the naked man dry himself off and wondered what would come next.

The boiler room was small, slightly smelly, but toasty warm. It was a cube-shaped room, almost a third of it taken up by the big boiler, with walls covered in pipes, ducts, and other mechanical paraphernalia. In one corner was an old, dusty, but still quite-softly-padded armchair that leaned just a little bit too far to one side. It was there from days when the building was heated by coal – which was actually not all that long ago. The janitor used to sit in it, reading and smoking while he monitored the temperamental old coal-fired boiler, which used to need far more attention and maintenance than the new, gas-fired version that was far more modern and basically worked by itself. But even after the boilers were swapped over, the armchair remained. There was even an old blanket on it, which Tichy now folded and spread across one of the armrests for extra padding.

With the drying of their bodies now mostly complete, Marek began to contemplate what Tichy had planned for him next. The boy was well aware that he had broken his promises and defied the man. He had been disobedient, and Tichy had caught him red-handed. Although the man had been surprisingly nice in the showers, Marek was under no illusions. He knew that he would be beaten for his transgressions. It was just a matter of when, with what, and for how long.

He did not have long to wait to find out, as Tichy immediately directed him to the armchair and had him lie over one of the armrests. The armrest in his midsection had the effect of folding the boy at his hips, leaving his naked bottom upturned and exposed. Marek swallowed nervously. He felt very vulnerable. The man had yet to tell him what implement he was going to use, but he fervently hoped it wasn't the cane. He wasn't sure the man would even find a cane in the gymnasium, but there were plenty of other items available to discipline him with. The boy vowed that, no matter what it was the man chose to beat him with, he would try to be brave.

With the boy property situated and facing in the other direction, Tichy opened the first-aid kit and extracted a small tube of cream. It wasn't exactly lube, but in Tichy's experience it did the job just fine, so long as you didn't use a condom, which the man had absolutely no intention of using now, not that he very often ever did. Still stiff from teasing and cuddling the handsome boy earlier, Tichy smeared the cream all over his penis and then dabbed a small dollop right over Marek's puckered entrance.

Marek braced his hands on the opposite armrest as he nervously awaited the man's sentence. He lowered his forehead to the blanket-covered chair seat, then raised it again. There was no comfortable position to be had when you were awaiting a beating. But as he felt the cool cream on his butt hole, he flinched, clenched his butt cheeks together, and looked over his shoulder. What was that? And why? What was Tichy do-

Oh, no. No. No. No. A frantic panic rose instantly, immediately in Marek as he knew – he knew absolutely – what the man had planned for him. With a strangled, anguished moan of panicked terror, the boy managed to roll off the armchair to the floor, turning partially to land on his hip and backside, as he tried to scramble backwards away from the man.

"Mr. Tichy," he said in a whimpered squeal. "No, no, please, don't! Please don't!" the boy sobbed. Not that. Anything but that. The boy had never been so desperate in all his 12 years. He shook his head no, as he tried to crab-walk away from the man. No. No. No. No. Not that. Oh god, please not that.

Tichy was surprised at just how fast Marek managed to roll and drop off the armchair. He had been about to grasp the boy's hips, which would have held him fast to the chair, but the boy's response was so quick that he never had a chance to do so. The kid was an athlete, alright, but that didn't stop the man from huffing with annoyance.

"It's too late for that now, boy," said Tichy with a menacing glare. "You should have shown up in my office on time. You'd have gotten away with a bit of crawling, some cock-sucking, a little teasing, and maybe I'd come up with a new thing or two for you to kiss and lick to test your obedience. But that train left the station a long time ago, and you know it."

"Now, you can keep resisting, and I'll just jump on you with my full weight, pin you down, and do it brutally right there on the floor, just as hard and as fast as I decide I want to, while you fight and make it painful and horrible for yourself," he told the boy. "Or you can get your ass back over that armrest and relax, and I'll do it slowly and carefully. It's your choice kid, but those are the only two choices you're gonna get."

Having said that, Tichy took a half step back to show the boy he wasn't even going to bother chasing after him – not just yet, anyway.

With wide, terrified eyes, Marek stared up at the man from his position on the floor. Once again, his predicament was hopeless. The boiler room was tiny, and, laughably, the man was already situated between him and the door. He would never make it out of the room before the man had him in his grasp. But even if he somehow could manage to make it to the hallway, what then? He couldn't even get to his clothes, and the man would catch him in the gym long before Marek could even get out of the building. The boy's panicked reaction had been instinctive, not logical. There was no hope of avoiding what the man had planned for him if Tichy was determined to proceed.

The youngster's eyes watered with tears once again as he listened to the man and realized the utter hopelessness of his situation. He shook his head no as the man spoke. Tichy didn't understand! He couldn't do this. He just couldn't. He was too scared. He- he wouldn't survive it. Tichy's cock was too big. But the man gave him the choice and stepped back. It was Marek's turn to speak.

"Please Mr. Tichy – please. I'm (gasp) r-really, really sorry," the boy shivered. Despite the heat of the boiler room, every inch of him felt cold. "Please don't this to me," he said in a high, tight voice that was at least an octave higher than his usual. He held his hands up, showing his palms, as if in surrender. "Pl-please don't d-do this to me," he sobbed. "You d-don't have to do this!"

Tichy was torn. On the one hand, he was annoyed at the kid for opposing his will. He didn't like resistance, not even passive, fearful, ready-to-crumble resistance like this. On the other hand, he loved to be begged, beseeched, and pleaded with. It made him feel so powerful, so very much on top and in control. He took a deep breath and cracked his knuckles. He wasn't quite shouting when he spoke, but his voice was very loud, clear, and hard.

"Marek, stand up right now and lean over the side of that chair," he thundered. "My patience has run out, and this is your last chance to do this the easy way. It's nice to hear you know who the boss is, and I'm not at all surprised that you think you can beg, cry, and sneak your way out of what you have coming, but this is a lesson I've already decided you will learn, and it's coming whether you like, or not, in ten, nine, eight …"

Marek flinched as the man raised his voice to him. He brought his hands to his face, gripping his skull almost comically as if trying to make sure he still had one. Then he emitted an anguished, terrified sound, somewhere between a warbling moan and a squeal of misery as the man began his count. The boy was in great distress, and his expression had contorted into a panicked rictus of fear and agony at the hopelessness of his situation.

" … seven … six …"

Marek moaned again, as he tried to stand up, his chest and tummy heaving with sobs. He clutched at his face again with shaking hands and managed to rise to his knees.

" … five …four …"

His bladder gave out as he knelt and he peed himself, hyperventilating as a small spurt of urine that looked more like an ejaculation darkened the concrete floor before him. He gave no sign of even noticing.

" … three … two …"

Marek shuddered, utterly distraught, as he rose to his feet, the pee stream sputtering out nearly as quickly as it had started. The boy had missed his last several meals, as well as the opportunity to drink. He was dehydrated, his bladder largely empty.

Tichy saw the boy give in and his lips formed into a smile as Marek wet himself. Being feared that much by the boy made the man's cock visibly twitch, though Marek was way too distressed at that point to notice it. Tichy couldn't have cared less about the mess. There was a heap of soggy hand towels he was going to toss in the huge laundry pile, anyway, and soaking up a tiny splotch of piss with them would make exactly zero difference.

Marek stumbled toward the man now. His head spinning, he walked almost straight into Tichy, hyperventilating with fear. As he approached the man he turned, his eyes like saucers as he almost seemed to be searching for the armchair or remembering what he had been told to do.

Tichy could see that the boy was trying to obey, and he gently steered him into position, helping Marek to fold himself over the side of the armchair once again until his feet were barely touching the floor and his bottom was nicely upturned and presented. Marek lay there, distraught and shaking, terrified at what he knew was to come.

"All right," the man said in a soothing voice. "Smart choice. Correct decision," he announced almost cheerfully. He stepped behind the boy and smeared a bit more of the cream on his cock and then some on his fingers. "Slow down your breathing, breathe deeply. Try and relax your muscles. This doesn't have to be too bad; at least it doesn't have to hurt too bad," he said, almost warmly.

Marek was almost catatonic with fear. He had, of course, heard about "buttfucking" – what the homosexuals did with each other. It seemed utterly gross, horribly dirty, filthy, and nasty. He had never even imagined doing such a thing, or having it happen to him. He had also heard very graphically that it hurt. The boy had recent, first-hand experience with Tichy's cock, and the boy knew how thick and long it was. He was terrified about how it would feel inside him and what it would do to him. He sobbed audibly as the man instructed him, yet he did try to slow down his breathing. The boy would try anything to reduce the coming pain, but it was hard, as his heart rate had elevated to that of an Olympic sprinter, causing him to pant, hyperventilate and shake uncontrollably.

Tichy's right little finger pressed against Marek's pucker. This brought another flinch and a despairing moan from the boy, but this time, he remained in position and made no effort to roll to the floor and get away. Tichy pushed the finger in as Marek squirmed in distress and hyperventilated, but the man ignored the boy's discomfort and kept going, pushing his finger in slowly, slickly, right up to the last knuckle inside the boy's rectum. Then he turned and twisted the finger, and when the pad of it was pointing downwards, he bent it, firmly poking with the pad of it against a spot inside the boy that he was pretty sure Marek had no idea about. He massaged and teased that spot with his finger, then pulled out and quickly checked it. The finger came back clean, which was good. Making the boy go to the toilet now would have been awkward if there was a need for it, so it was good news that there wasn't.

Because the 12-year-old had submitted to him and offered up his ass for a fucking, Tichy believed the boy had earned himself the small mercy of some basic preparation. It was not really in Marek's interest that he did so; if he fucked the kid and gave him a big fissure in his rectum, he could bleed too much and then the nurse might end up asking some dangerous questions. So, the man applied more cream to each of his fingers in turn, working up in size and length, pressing each of them one by one into the child's bottom. He worked methodically, getting more and more cream into that young anus, and slowly stretching and tiring out the sphincter muscles, as the kid's clenching butthole was penetrated and teased again and again.

Tichy's thumb was not nearly as thick as his cock, but thicker than the fingers he had used so far, so he applied yet more cream and worked it into the boy's opening as slowly as he could. Then he rotated it and once again pressed down with the pad on the spot where he could feel the spongy resistance of the boy's prostate.

The boy was terrified and shaking as the man ran his fingers into his body, but he flinched as they seemed to touch a spot inside him that gave the strangest sensation and feeling that the boy had ever experienced. The boy's preconceptions made it awful beyond measure for him, but the truth was, the man's successively larger fingers hadn't hurt that much, or even at all, beyond the very first moment of penetration. More fingers penetrated him, each thicker than the last, but to the boy's surprise and relief, he still felt no significant pain, more like mild discomfort. Still, he flinched and clenched his cheeks together, steeling himself against the pain that was almost there but never quite came, not fully. Then the man's thumb pressed against his anus, and that did hurt. Marek moaned in distress and raised his head up, arching it back, his toes curling with the discomfort. The boy moaned again, softly now, as the man's thumb turned and twisted, touching that peculiar spot inside him once again.

Marek remained tense even as his sphincter muscles grew more accustomed to the man's thumb. His anal ring clutched at the digit tightly, a strong grip akin to twisting a rubber band around and around and around again until it forms multiple, constricting layers. The boy had never had anything up his ass before – save for the sprig of ginger root, of course – and his opening was still as small and tight as a 12-year-old virgin's anus should be. But the man's thumb kept grazing and rubbing a spot within him that seemed to like the feeling very much. It felt strange to the boy, like an oasis in the desert, a tiny bit of comfort or even pleasure amidst a background of fear and pain.

Tichy worked his thumb around and in and out of the boy's butthole, having finally reached a point of meaningful, significant warm-up. He doubted the boy would end up enjoying being fucked, as it was likely still going to hurt, or at least feel far too intense, with a combination of pressure and fullness well beyond comfort. But giving the kid a taste of the magic that could happen this way was a part of his longer-term plan, so he poked and massaged and rubbed the boy's prostate for several additional minutes, hoping that the boy would find the sensation pleasurable and arousing. He deliberately didn't do it systematically enough to force Marek to cum, or hard enough to milk his balls, but by the time he was through it was more likely than not that something had oozed from the boy's cock to the blanket and armrest below.

When he was ready, Tichy withdrew his thumb and aligned his cockhead with the boy's hole. Marek knew the man was out of fingers, and he was pretty sure he knew what was coming next. He rested his head on the seat cushion and closed his eyes, as his arms braced on the opposite arm rest. Please don't hurt too much, the trembling boy thought to himself as he felt Tichy press his erection against his puckered anus.

With a momentary thrust of his hips against the boy's resistance, Tichy pushed his cockhead inside the child's ass. Then he simply stopped, pausing to allow the boy time to become accustomed to his girth.

At the moment of entry, Marek gasped in surprise and pain. He breathed in, grunted, and exhaled. His bottom clenched around the intruder, his sphincter squeezing and massaging it. Despite the man's gentle preparations, it still hurt a lot, especially around the rim of the boy's anus, where it burned. As he had feared, it indeed felt like he was being split apart by the sheer size of it.

Marek concentrated on his breathing – punctuated with the occasional grunt and gasp – as he tried to get used to the man's girth. He emitted another gasp and raised his head from the chair seat. "Uhhhh," he panted as he exhaled and lowered his head once again. He concentrated on breathing in and out, but it still hurt. In, out. In, out, In out. For a long while, the only sound in the room was Marek's desperate breathing and panting as he tried to come to grips with the size of the man's cock in his ass.

Tichy knew from experience that the essential difference between more- and less-painful boy buggery was the degree of the boy's active resistance. He knew that if he waited long enough, the boy's sphincter would eventually tire itself out trying to clench around him, and the surrounding tissue would give a little, making the process easier for both of them. And so, he simply waited, with literally just his glans in the boy's rectum.

Tichy had been true to his word, going gently, and the boy counted his lucky stars the he had complied with the man's instructions. That had taken willpower and courage, and now Marek was beginning to believe that he could do this – survive this – and live not to tell anyone about it another day. Although he could feel the cock inside his body, the man didn't move. Not for a long, long time, as Marek's sphincter clenched, gripped, and adjusted to the man's invading member. By the end of the wait, the boy no longer felt pain there, only fullness.

Tichy waited and waited for as long as he could before he started to feel his erection subsiding, and that was his cue to continue. Preparation or no, he wasn't about to wait any longer and risk losing his sexual urge. Besides, after five minutes of motionless waiting, the boy's ass should be as ready as possible under the circumstances. With that thought in mind, Tichy pushed with his hips and sent three full inches of cock into Marek' backside. He paused again, then moved slowly back an inch, then an inch forward as he started to shallow-fuck the boy's anus, ever so slowly and gently.

As the man slowly fucked his 12-year-old ass, Marek had to admit that it had been nowhere near as bad as he had feared. He felt a bit childish now, given his panicked reaction. But the boys had said it hurt. They had all agreed. How was Marek to know otherwise?

As the man began to undulate in an out of his rectum, the boy felt pressure as Tichy's penis rearranged his insides with every thrust. Breathe … breathe … breathe, the boy practiced. Tichy kept it up at this same depth and slow pace and then suddenly, quite neutrally, asked the boy a question.

"Where will you be at exactly 4 o'clock tomorrow, Marek?" And with that question, he went about half an inch deeper than he had been going until that point. Then he slowed down, but he didn't cede this newly-gained territory and began fucking Marek's butt at about a three-and-a-half-inch depth.

"Your- ahhhhhh," gasped the boy, as Tichy pressed still deeper into his rectum. "Your office," he panted as he held his head up, looking down at the blanket on the chair seat his arms still braced on the opposite arm rest.

"Good boy," replied Tichy. "Yes, you'll be in my office, on time, with no detours, no other visits, nothing. And what will you do once you're in?" he demanded, as a if using his cock as a question mark, he thrust another half an inch or so deeper into the boy's behind. He was now four inches deep in the kid, fucking him quite tolerably and slowly. There was almost too much cream inside the boy, making things slippery and messy and the whole process kind of noisy, in a sloshing, slurping sort of way.

"Uhhh uhhhh," gasped Marek, as the man's erection drove deeper into his rectum. "Un-undress," he stammered in reply, before adding "and c-crawl to your desk on the fl-floor." The boy could hear the squishing sound of the man's penis thrusting into his ass.

"You forgot locking the door, but that's in your own interests anyway, so I'll let that slip," chuckled Tichy as he ruffled the boy's hair. "Once you're in my office, naked and kneeling at my feet, you'll obey every command, even ones that are disgusting and humiliating. I may well test you, to see if you're serious about that part. Understood?" the man said as he added another half an inch to his penetration, this one quite sharply, before he slowed down again. He was slowly stretching out his thrusts now, no longer an inch at a time, but two inches, and a little more intensely, too. He now had almost five inches deep in the boy's tight little rectum.

Marek groaned as the man's penis penetrated further and deeper into his bottom. The man had gone slowly, even gently, but he had a lot of cock to give the boy and the sheer length of his erection was leading to its own discomfort. The copious cream lubricating the boy's entryway had helped to control the abrasive pain at his anus. The discomfort was now mostly from pressure, the pressure caused mostly by the marked size differential between the man's adult body and the child's much smaller one.

"Uhhh … okay, y-yes, the boy panted. There was no disagreement. The boy would not risk angering the man now. Not with his cock inside him. Not when Marek knew he could thrust faster or harder whenever he wanted to.

"Yes, sir," corrected Tichy. Technically, "sir" was no longer in use at the school – it was all "comrade" this and "comrade" that, but in a private context, with a young boy like Marek, it just felt right.

"Yes – uuuuhhh – sir," the boy replied breathlessly, as he willed the pain to remain manageable. It did – barely – but the boy's discomfort was growing.

Tichy added just a little bit more cock for emphasis. "You come, you obey, you play by my rules. No talking to anyone, no attempts to run away and get yourself expelled." He added another half an inch to his penetration of the boy. He wasn't too far from getting his entire cock inside the child's ass.

Marek grunted with the discomfort and pain at the ever-deeper insertions. It was really starting to hurt, now, not nearly as bad as he had feared, but there was a dull ache in his bottom and a sharper pain that he felt deeper inside, usually just as the man had finished penetrating and was starting to back off. Marek's anus was also hurting again as the man thrust in and out against the boy's tight grip.

Tichy slowly pulled his cock out again until only the very tip of his cock was in Marek's butt, just like it had been during the long pause at the very beginning of the boy's deflowering. "I hope you do realize I could make this hurt a lot, with very little effort," he murmured. "I hope you appreciate that I'm being kind and delivering my lesson mercifully," he added, even as he started to slide his cock back inside Marek in one very slow, but continual motion. "I make the rules. You just play by them. Go on, say it back," he demanded even as his cock slid all the way in now, his balls pressing against Marek's own hairless little sack.

Marek tensed again as the man pulled nearly all the way out. The boy knew instinctively that this was not over. What did the man plan to do next? Marek was beset by worry, which compounded as the man confirmed the boy's suspicions. He could make it hurt a lot, and for all Marek knew, he was about to do just that. Thus, it was a very tense, very worried boy, who felt the man's shaft sliding slowly back inside him, deeper and deeper – Tichy's deepest penetration, yet. Marek winced. His toes curled. He grunted. He gasped. But he managed to hold it together as his bottom stretched to accommodate nearly the man's full length.

What had the man said? "Y-you make all the uuhhh rules," the boy gasped. "I just- uhhhhh I just … play b-by them."

"Sir," corrected Tichy once again, as he punished the boy with a single, short-but-sharp thrust.

"Sir-uuuhhhh," the boy gasped in apology as the man jabbed sharply in. It was just a reminder of what Tichy could do to him, and the lesson was not lost on Marek.

"And you do not, ever, under any circumstances, in any way or form, masturbate unless I for some reason allow it," he reminded the boy. "That means no jerking, no rubbing, no humping, no nothing. You'll try to avoid being in your dorm room alone, and you won't waste any time in the toilet stall, either. Your balls are starting to swell up, Marek, all nice and full. If you jerk off and cum, I'll be able to tell, I'll see the difference, and I will unleash absolute hell on your ass. That is one of my rules, and you had better play by it," said Tichy firmly.

Marek listened, occasionally gasping and grunting, as Tichy detailed his new rules to the boy while simultaneously pleasuring himself in the kid's rectum. Marek thought that the new rules were unfair. Tichy could do whatever – "uhhhhhhh" – he wanted, but Marek couldn't. The man was a – "uhhhhhh" – a hypocrite. What difference did it make to Tichy? Marek hadn't gone two days – "uhhhhhhhh" – without wanking since he had first learned how to do it. How could he go a full week, or six days, or whatever he had left? It – "uhhhhhhhhhh" — wasn't fair. The boy put his head down as the man thrust in and out of his bottom. He was spent. It had been a long, trying day, and also a very a long time since he had last eaten a solid meal.

Having said his piece, Tichy pulled out until he was only about four inches deep and picked up the pace somewhat; not brutally, but enough to get himself off with long thrusts that came at a much faster pace than before. Meanwhile, Marek's body undulated back and forth on the armrest with the force of the man's thrusts. He hoped the man would finish soon – and for once, at least, his hopes were answered as it wasn't long before Tichy's balls twitched with pleasure and he thrust deep as his cum squirted straight up the Glass King's grandson's behind. He grunted loudly with the pleasure of it, not holding his breath or the sound back, making use of their secure, private location to the fullest.

Afterwards, Tichy pulled out of Marek's backside, his cock taking with him an oozing mess of liquid that the boy immediately could feel start to run down the back and inside of his right thigh. Tichy quickly wiped his glistening cock with one of the hand towels. Leaving the boy in place for a moment, he then bent and wiped the floor. He used another clean towel to clean and wipe Marek's butt. The boy was grateful when the man cleaned it up for him, sparing him the ignominy of trying to reach between his legs and around his backside to clean it himself.

He then pulled the boy to his feet and told him to follow. Tichy took him back over the equipment room and unlocked it for him, giving Marek access to his clothes once again. He pulled the boy close for a quick hug and ruffled his hair.

"You did okay, in the end. Just remember your lessons, and you might yet turn out to be an alright boy, and a decent man at the end of all this," he said with a smile.

Marek could not for the life of him understand why the man had given him a hug. Tichy seemed to hate him viscerally one minute and be trying to help and encourage him the next. It was all very confusing to the 12-year-old. The man even threw a compliment his way, as if Marek had performed well on a test, or scored the winning goal on the football pitch. Marek didn't know what he had done to deserve the praise, but he wasn't about to argue with the man.

"Get dressed," Tichy instructed the kid as he walked to the toilets to retrieve his own clothing.

As he dressed, the boy took inventory of his situation. Unless the man planned to continue his torments once he was clothed, Marek somehow had managed to avoid a beating for trying to skip his afternoon session with Tichy and hiding from the man in the gymnasium building. He counted himself lucky for that. Running from the man and hiding had been a big mistake – one that could have had terrible consequences. The man could have beaten him severely in the privacy of the gymnasium, where not a soul would have interrupted his punishment until well after the man had fully vented his anger. As it was, Tichy had done the other thing to Marek, but at least he had been gentle, and the boy was now another day closer to the end of his punishment.

As Marek stepped back into his socks, Tichy returned to the equipment room. Marek looked up at him with a look of concern on his face – would there be more for the boy to endure? – but the man's expression revealed no anger or ill-intent. When they were both done dressing, he escorted Marek to the exterior door and unlocked it.

"Now, go," he said, as he ushered the boy into what was by now a dark night. It had been several hours since Tichy had converged on the gymnasium building seeking to find the boy. "Straight to the canteen and eat something. You're as pale as ghost. I'll be there in five minutes, and I want to see you actually eating something, not picking at your food like this morning," he said.

"Go. Eat. Take care of yourself," he instructed the boy. "You have classes tomorrow, and you know where you'll be at 4 o'clock," Tichy said as he patted the boy's back one last time. "Go."

Chapter Five

When the door to the gymnasium opened, Marek scampered away, eager to be free from the building and back to the protection of others. His bottom, however, had other ideas about that and Marek quickly slowed to a walk as he reached behind him to pull the cloth from his trousers and underwear away from his crack. His bottom was sore and walking too fast caused his underneath parts to rub together uncomfortably. There was also some leakage going on back there and it felt weird, so he ended up walking a bit penguin-like as he made his way back to the main building and into the dining hall.

Tichy made sure that everything was cleaned up and switched off, and that all direct evidence of what had occurred was gone, before locking up the gymnasium and following Marek out into the night. It was getting nippy, winter slowly sinking its claws into the hills.

Tichy knew that he had gone easy on the boy. Under normal circumstances, he would have made the kid pay a much higher price for failing to show up at his office on time, but he knew that his long-term plans for Marek required a bit more subtlety. He needed Marek to buy into the whole ally thing, and he wanted him to fear not coming to his office more than coming. Tichy knew he would have to walk a fine line on that issue, at least for now. Beating the living crap out of the kid just didn't seem like a plausible, long-term option, and anyway, the speed of his progress – taking the boy's virginity only three days into his plan – had exceeded all his expectations going into this by a mile.

The man had several more days of Marek's "punishment" to establish a firm routine and normalize a whole lot more things, as well as to prove to Marek that he indeed needed an ally here at the school. He still wasn't completely sure if he would just find an excuse to continue the routine once the scheduled sessions were over, or if he was going to give Marek a few days of peace before setting him up for more trouble, followed, of course, by ongoing monitoring. Either way, he had a lot of sessions with the boy ahead of him this week, and in the more distant future, too. After all, although the boy didn't yet know it, that was the entire reason the Hurta boy was even at the school.

It was still dinner time when Marek arrived at the canteen. After all that had happened in the gym, it felt strange to be back in the company of other boys, and Marek didn't feel like trying to sit with any of them. He accepted his tray and sat down to eat alone, all the while keeping one eye on the door for the man's promised arrival. He fidgeted in his seat from the discomfort in his bottom. When he saw Tichy enter the dining hall, his heart rate quickened, and he quickly looked down at his plate and pretended not to have seen him. He'd had more than enough of the man for one day.

For his part, Tichy made a point of walking by the kid and muttering "eat" as he grabbed his own tray with a plate of rajska omacka [Author's note: beef in sweet tomato sauce] and sat in the section reserved for staff and faculty. Traditionally served with steamed dumplings and a slice of roast beef, the communist canteen version was made with cheap, spiral pasta and meatballs that were predominately made of pork and soy beans. It wasn't exactly gourmet cuisine, but it would be filling enough, and the kid had better damn well eat it.

Marek did not look up from his plate, but he could sense the man and knew he was there. "Eat," was the only word uttered, and only in passing, but there was no doubt it was directed at him. Having the man so close to him in the company of others made the tips of the boy's ears tingle and his cheeks blush. Could the boys already tell what had happened to him in the gymnasium? Would they somehow come to know what he had done? Even as he had the thought, Marek knew it was irrational, and the other boys continued eating and talking just as they had before. The boy knew that it was he who had been changed by the events in the boiler room, not anyone else.

Tichy ate in a bit of a hurry and then went back to his office to wrap up his day, which included quickly writing ten separate notes on index cards he kept stored in his desk drawer. Making his way to the dorms, he found one of "his" boys, Filip Palach, and told him to distract and delay Marek without hurting him. Tichy then slipped into the boy's empty room just before dorm check. He put one of the cards into the boy's folded pajamas, one under his blanket, one under his pillow, one into the nylon sack he used to carry his toothbrush and toothpaste to the bathroom, and so on, throughout Marek's personal things, until all ten cards were out of sight but all of them very likely to be found by the time Marek went to bed and fell asleep. And with that, he was done with the kid for the day.

Marek returned to his dorm after dinner. He had missed his afternoon classes and he knew that would not excuse him from completing any assigned work. He managed to obtain the assignments from other boys who were at least somewhat neutral toward him, and he sat down at his desk – not without a little gasp of discomfort – to work on his schoolwork. The hated Radek was seated already at his own desk against the opposite wall. Seemingly by mutual agreement, neither boy spoke to the other. Marek still planned to exact his vengeance from the red-haired boy at some point for selling him out to Tichy, but that would have to wait for another day.

It was when Marek opened his desk drawer for a pencil that he saw the first index card. "Remember your rules," it said simply. Marek turned the note over, but there was no writing on the back. He did not recognize the handwriting on the front. He looked over his shoulder at Radek, but the boy seemed genuinely engaged in his reading. Who would have written such a note? It hadn't been there before, so who would have accessed his room to leave it? Marek glanced at his roommate once again. Whoever left the note, Radek would have at least seen him do it. That is, unless the person had his own reason to be in the room when neither he nor Radek were there …

Suddenly, Marek sat bolt upright. He knew instantly who had left the note: It was Tichy. The boy's face turned pale as he contemplated the man having been in there perhaps searching through the room, pawing through his belongings, and leaving the note for him amongst his possessions. Who would do such a thing other than a complete psychopath? And when had he even had time to do so? The man was like a ghost, seemingly everywhere at once, seemingly all-knowing. Shaken, he tried to return to his work but when he opened his dictionary he found a second card with the same message.

Marek dropped the book as if it had bitten him and pushed his chair out from the desk with a loud scraping sound and stood quickly to his feet. This caused his bottom to jolt with pain and a hateful, over-the-shoulder look from Radek. Marek ignored the other boy and proceeded to his dresser. If there were two notes from Tichy, he suspected there would be more. It didn't take him long to find the third note card, and then a fourth. All were in the same handwriting, and all said the same thing: "Remember your rules." Marek's skin broke out in goosebumps as he scanned through his belongings.

It was like something directly out of a horror film. Marek's heart rate and anxiety rose in tandem as he systematically searched his things, finding more and more note cards, all bearing the same message and instruction. The boy was breathing hard, almost panting, as Radek looked up at him once again with a mixed expression of curiosity, animosity, and scorn. Marek found seven notes in all, scattered all throughout his possessions, but in a manner that made them easy to find. He found it difficult to believe that Tichy had been able to leave the notes without Radek knowing it. It was also possible that his roommate had hidden the notes at Tichy's direction.

"Fuck you, Radek," Marek spat as he turned quickly and left the room.

The discovery of the notes had left him extremely unsettled and he needed to think. Ignoring the pain in his backside, he walked briskly to the bathroom and stood before the sink. He used his hands to splash cold water on his face, and then used the bottom of his shirt to dry himself before he ducked into one of the empty stalls. He closed and locked it, then sat gingerly on the toilet seat with a wince as his bottom called out in pain once again. Thank god the bathroom seemed to be empty. Marek needed the privacy to collect his thoughts.

How had this happened to him? And how could he survive it? The internat had been difficult for him, both academically and socially, since the day he arrived. Few, if any, of the other boys even seemed to tolerate his presence here, much less embrace it. He was an outsider from a different region. He had not managed to make any friends, and he already had more enemies than he could count. Marek knew that he didn't fit in here with the other boys, nearly all of whom were the sons of party officials and government functionaries. Now, he had somehow managed to incur the wrath and the attention of the most-feared adult in the entire school. This had made an already difficult situation utterly untenable and the thought of it left Marek feeling short of breath. Tichy absolutely was in his head. He had already been in … other places in the boy, too. He had done things to Marek, unspeakable things, and made Marek do other, unspeakable things to him. He had dictated rules to the boy, odd and peculiar ones, which Marek was expected to follow to the letter or face severe punishments for disobedience. And worst of all, the man seemed to have eyes everywhere; eyes that could see what Marek did and didn't do, and whether he was following the rules.

Suddenly, the boy jerked upright on the toilet seat as another thought occurred to him. One of Tichy's rules was that he was not to be alone for any extended period. He was not allowed to masturbate. Yet, Marek did most of his masturbating exactly where he was right now, in a closed and locked bathroom stall. The boy jumped to his feet in a panic. Several boys had already seen him go into the bathroom! Radek had seen him leave the room! It wasn't a time he normally went for a wank, but Tichy wouldn't know that, or Radek likely either. Marek was almost hyperventilating as he tried to force himself to think. How long had he been here? Certainly, it had been long enough for him to have jacked off, which meant that it would appear to anyone spying on him that he had violated one of Tichy's rules. Just being alone like this was a violation of Tichy's rules.

Marek quickly slid the locking bolt free, then flung open the stall door. He moved to the sink and washed his hands. He left the bathroom in a rush, just as Dobroslav Pokorny was walking in.

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you," said Marek as he waved his hand under his own nose.

"Fuck," the boy replied, as he gave Marek a disgusted look.

Walking quickly, and trying not to show any sign of his discomfort, Marek returned to his room. Radek looked over at him dismissively before turning back to his studies.

"My stomach's upset from dinner," he told the boy. He hated to grovel to Radek, but he knew that the boy had a direct line of communication to Tichy. That much had been confirmed by the man himself.

"Good for you," replied Radek without turning. It was all Marek could do not to punch him in the back of the head, but for now, Radek being in the room with him was a good thing. His presence would allow him to get his schoolwork done without violating any more of Tichy's rules. Still, Marek was concerned about the time he had just spent in the bathroom. Would Radek rat him out to Tichy? Would someone else? Not knowing what might be said about him made the boy very anxious. He almost wanted to tell Radek that he hadn't been masturbating, and beg him not to tell Tichy anything different, but that was a difficult conversation for the 12-year-old to initiate with his unfriendly roommate. In the end, he decided to keep quiet and take his chances.

Consumed with worry about Tichy and his apparent violation of the man's rules, Marek had difficulty applying himself to his studies. His mind kept wandering back to Tichy – what Tichy had made him do, what Tichy would do to him next, and how Tichy would punish him if he was found to have broken any of the man's rules. With his mind unable to focus, Marek did a poor job on his assignments, and he knew that he would have to answer for that eventually as well as for his unexplained absences from his afternoon classes today. He noted, ironically, that either issue could under normal circumstances result in him being sent straight to Tichy for discipline, and that got him worrying about his predicament all over again. He was already going to Tichy on a daily basis, and that was exactly the problem.

Marek found the eighth note card in his toilet kit as he stood before the bathroom sink preparing to brush his teeth and wash his face. It was just before lights out, and the discovery left him shivering in his pajamas. He found the ninth note hidden in his bed when he turned the covers back, and the tenth one by feel under his pillow after the lights had been switched off. He didn't bother to turn the lights back on to read what it said. He already knew that it was another warning to follow Tichy's rules.

The boy's heart rate was elevated as he worried obsessively about those very rules and the man who had left him the notes. He reviewed the rules over and over in his mind, trying to commit them to memory. He went over Tichy in his mind, too. No matter how many times he tried to change the topic of his thoughts, they eventually made their way back to Stanislav Tichy. With Tichy on his brain, Marek spent another couple of hours tossing and turning before he finally fell asleep.

The bowel movement the boy had the next morning was among the most painful experiences of his young life. He was in a hurry not to spend too much time alone in the stall, but the act of pushing brought with it such incredible pain to his abraded anus that his eyes watered with tears, and he needed to stand up for a moment for fear that he would pass out. Purging the contents of his bowels seemed to set Marek's butt hole on fire, and when he looked down at the result in the bowl, his feces was indeed tinged with blood. Wiping afterwards brought new pain and more blood, but there was not all that much of it, and Marek didn't even consider going to the nurse. How could he possibly explain the cause of the blood and his pain? He couldn't, not without making it clear to the nurse exactly what he had been doing and what type of boy he was.

Later in the day, Marek trekked back to the site of his recent deflowering for gym class. After the boys had changed into their kits in the locker room, Tichy took them outside to the football pitch to practice for the upcoming přátelák against Technoglass. After a short warm-up and some skill work, he announced two teams and assigned Marek to play striker for one of the teams. Only two boys from the first-year class had been selected to play in the traditional and locally important match, and Marek was one of them.

Thankfully, Tichy did not single the boy out for any special attention during the lesson, and to Marek's relief, none of the other boys seemed to be any the wiser about what they had done together. Marek was able to keep the pain in his rear end in check, and he felt stronger and stronger as the practice went on. Tichy had kept his promise and allowed him to play striker, a position in which Marek naturally excelled. He scored three goals overall, and the only hiccup occurred when one of his tormentors, Bořek Tauš, tripped him accidentally-but-on-purpose, causing Marek to fall in a heap with a grimace of pain while clutching the back of his right calf. Aside from Marek, Taus was the only other footballer in the first-year class whom Tichy had announced would play with the second years in the match against Technoglass, and for the practice match, Tichy had assigned him to play in midfield for the opposing team.

Taus had tripped Marek just as Marek was about to score his second goal. He did it cleverly, too, from behind, with just the tip of his foot. It was a nimble maneuver that he may have gotten away with in a real game if the referee happened to blink or was feeling lenient. Tichy usually let fouls like that slide, especially during training, but today, he not only whistled play to a stop and ordered a penalty, but he also told Taus he had a yellow card; one more foul and he would be out of the game, and if he earned himself a red card, he might well lose his position on the přátelák team. The boy was absolutely seething after the penalty and being dressed down by Tichy, and he made the mistake of muttering something under his breath about the bourgeoisie getting their comeuppance, at which point Tichy promptly kicked him entirely out of the game.

"You will not use the noble cause of socialism to excuse your shortcomings and shitty behavior," Tichy snapped sternly as he smacked the slender boy in the face in front of the entire class. "My office, right after class," he added, as Taus paled and the pitch went deadly silent. The blond boy went and stood alone on the sidelines and didn't make so much as a single peep for the rest of the session.

Without Taus in the game, Marek's team ended up winning the game by four goals, with Marek himself scoring three of them, even though, unlike in a real match, Tichy had another boy replace Taus to keep the teams even in numbers.

When the game was over, Marek returned to the gymnasium with the other boys to shower. Even at the risk of being labeled a homosexual, Marek carefully kept his eyes and body facing out with his back to the wall. This was opposite to the way he and the other boys usually showered, face to the wall with their butts showing, but he was deathly afraid that his backside would reveal its recent trauma at the hands of Tichy. The boy couldn't see what his butt looked like, but judging from the way it felt, he was certain that there had to be some bruising or other visible signs of what Tichy had done to him. Cleaning himself "back there" was a painful, delicate, and prolonged task; the soap stung his anus, and Marek found himself praying to whatever gods there were that the man would not seek a repeat of yesterday's activity when he went to see him in his office later today.

Taus showed up several minutes late for the following class, and when he finally arrived, he was red-eyed and walking very slowly. He handed the instructor a note, then sat on his chair very, very carefully. At the next break, he came up to Marek with his shoulders hung to mutter a reluctant apology, clearly on instruction from someone else.

"I'm sorry for being a stupid jerk. I know we're all comrades and equals here," the boy said, and then weakly saluted his despised classmate before scurrying off once again. Marek had been too surprised to say anything in reply, but it was clear to him that Tichy had told the boy to apologize to him, or else.

Beyond the affair with Taus, Marek also noticed that none of his usual nemeses was picking on him or provoking him, let alone attacking him. It seemed that even boys out of Tichy's immediate circle of influence understood that Marek was now to be left alone. As a first-year boy and an outsider, Marek was still learning about the different hierarchies that existed at the school. That was made harder by the fact that he had no older siblings or even friends to inform him about unofficial structures and secret pecking orders. But he, like the other boys, knew that Tichy's proteges unofficially but distinctly ranked above the rest. It was a ranking based more on fear of Tichy than on any genuine respect given to "his" boys. Rumor had it that entry into Tichy's inner circle required certain sacrifices to be made, even if Marek, like most, had never officially been made privy to what kind of sacrifices those were. Unofficially, he was pretty sure that now he had a good idea.

The pain in Marek's bottom continued to improve throughout the day, and he made it through all his classes unscathed and undisciplined, including, surprisingly, his afternoon classes. None of the teachers said a word about his unexplained absences from yesterday. Could Tichy have spoken to them, perhaps even put in a good word for him? Even Mr. Drabek left him alone, neither calling on him nor referencing him to the rest of the class with his usual tone of ridicule and derision. It was, oddly and surprisingly, turning into a relatively good day for Marek. Yet, the eternal ticking of the clock brought him ever closer to the dreaded 4 o'clock hour, and his collision course with Tichy.

Eventually, Marek found himself back in his dorm room, and at about ten minutes before the hour, Marek knew it was time. With a now-familiar, queasy feeling of dread, he left his room, then left the dormitory building altogether, and headed in the direction of the administration wing. Climbing the stairs to the third floor, he found himself alone in the austere hallway once again. Tichy's door was closed, a stream of fading sunlight partially illuminating the hallway through the door's opaque class pane. With a rapidly accelerating heartbeat and a tummy knotted with fear, the boy walked to Tichy's door, paused for a moment to gather his thoughts and say a silent prayer, then knocked twice, softly, on the door.

"Come in," said the calm, confident voice from the inside. Marek pulled the door open, furtively entered the man's office, and quickly closed the door behind him. The boy remained fearful to the point of paranoia that his visits to Tichy's office would be discovered and that the things they did together would be revealed. The shame and ignominy of being discovered seemed to Marek like a fate worse than death. For now, only the man and Marek knew what transpired when they were alone together, and the boy very much wanted to keep it that way. As much as the boy hated and feared Tichy, he feared being discovered and outed to his peers even more.

The room didn't smell of vodka today, and it had only a stale, lingering scent of old cigarette smoke. Tichy smoked less on training days and also when his nerves weren't on edge. Relative to the slight drama of yesterday's escapade, today he was as calm as a man with an unclean conscience could possibly be. He had yet to drink any vodka, and his eyes were especially eager, sharp, and lively. Today's on-time visit from Marek did not present him with a stressful or challenging situation, but it still very much mattered. His afternoon sessions with the boy were the building blocks of a routine and regime that Tichy was constructing just as diligently and with as much forethought and planning as all the best comrades were building the better socialist infrastructure of tomorrow.

Arrayed conspicuously on his desk before him were several items, including two coiled jump ropes, some of the same cream he had used to fuck Marek with the day before, a peeled ginger root, the slipper, the cane, and a pair of pale pink, frilly panties. The panties were not the dramatically undersized pair Marek already was familiar with, but a larger pair, intended, perhaps, for a medium-sized, 13-year-old girl. They would fit the boy's slender hips without a problem.

Marek paused, frozen, as he spied the items that were carefully arranged and arrayed on the man's desk. Most of them he could immediately identify from his position at the door, including the ropes, the panties, and the punishment implements. Others he could not make out from his vantage point, but just seeing the extent of the man's preparation for his visit was enough to send an adrenaline rush of dread and fear through his veins. The knowledge that Tichy had been anticipating his visit as much as Marek had been worrying about it was profoundly unsettling to the boy.

Tichy cocked an eyebrow as Marek didn't move fast enough for his liking. It was a "you know the drill, don't make me say it" sort of look, and it was enough to spur the kid into action. Turning quickly, Marek locked the door, or tried to. The key was obstinate in his hands, and it took a few seconds to turn it. All the while, the boy knew that the man's gaze was focused on him like a spotlight. Finally, the lock clicked home, and the nervous boy quickly began the process of undressing. Trying to make up for lost time, he toed his shoes off while unbuttoning his shirt. Belt, trousers, shirt, underwear, and finally socks piled onto the floor as the boy complied with Tichy's first rule.

Tichy scrutinized the boy as he undressed, checking for any signs of self-harm, unauthorized trauma, or malnourishment. It was important to Tichy that the boy stayed strong enough to play their games, and healthy enough not to need the nurse or a doctor. There wasn't really anything charitable in his push to have the boy eat properly; it was not out of kindness on his part towards the boy, it was something more akin to the routine maintenance of a necessary tool. Tichy had seen other boys descend into a spiral of deterioration and self-harm after going through only some of what Marek already had experienced, and he wasn't about to let that happen with the Hurta boy. If Tichy had anything to say about it, and he did, the boy would not be able to escape his fate by breaking himself physically or mentally.

As Marek completed the task of undressing, Tichy slipped out of his own shoes, socks, trousers, and boxer shorts. He had a small, unpleasant surprise for the boy that would only become obvious from when Marek drew near; after a workout in the morning and three sessions of gym class, Tichy, unlike Marek, had not showered, and up close, it would be easy for the boy to tell that, and to smell it.

Down to the floor Marek went on hand and knees, crawling with his nose just above the decrepit carpet on a now-familiar journey to the side of Tichy's desk. The naked boy felt cold today, and he shivered. Goosebumps broke out on his smooth flanks as he approached the partially undressed man. Arriving at Tichy's feet, Marek tried once again to steel himself for what the afternoon would bring.

Marek already was not a very happy boy, but he was made even less so by the odor emanating from the man's feet. He couldn't help but lift his head a bit higher than the nose-to-the-rug-like-a-dog height the man's rules had specified. The funky smell emanating from the man's recently un-socked feet was most unpleasant. Yet, Marek's slight adjustment only seemed to aggravate the man, or perhaps give him just the needed space to place his smelly foot directly beneath the boy's downturned nose. Marek's face curled in disgust at the sight of the man's pasty white foot. The fabric pattern from his socks was still molded into his skin.

And then came the man's command: "Lick."

It was gross, disgusting, and dehumanizing, and yet, Marek knew that he had to do it. By now, he was fully aware of what he had signed up for, even invited, by being such a wimp. By proving himself unable to endure a slippering, he was left to the only other alternative – humiliation at the hands of Tichy. The boy held his breath as he lowered his head and reluctantly began to lick the man's foot. His cheeks burned with shame as he could taste the fleshy, sweaty scent in his mouth.

Tichy left him to it, for maybe three minutes or so, then lifted his foot and rested it over his knee. "Now the sole, too, and between the toes," he commanded casually. He already knew that degrading the Glass King's grandson aroused and pleased him, but he was finding himself enjoying the sensation of the boy's little tongue on his feet and toes, as well. The knowledge that his feet were intentionally sweaty and smelly only added to his enjoyment of the situation. This was exceptional and amazing, and bending forward from his vantage point, he could also see the action from up close and with a much better view of Marek's flushed, red, and embarrassed young face.

Tichy was a paederast – a mostly gay pedophile – as well as a sadist, and a ruthless, opportunistic asshole. There was a reason why almost everyone in the school, including his boss-in-theory, Skala, was creeped out and intimidated by the man. But when it came to Marek Hurta, there was something else in addition to all of that. Tichy's already extraordinary sadism and nastiness were magnified and exacerbated by a both a personal and a more universal, politically motivated vendetta against the boy, his father, and his grandfather.

Tichy was a brainwashed communist, and even in these times, he was a Stalinist at heart. He had no knowledge or appreciation for any of Josef Hurta's good deeds, such as the infrastructure projects that the man had funded both during and even after his rise to riches – the eventual, long-delayed, post-war conversion of this school from an old monastery ironically being among them. Tichy knew nothing of all the people who had been lifted from their rough, shivering, mountainside lives into the modern world through their employment at the Glass King's factory, with its steady and decent wages and access to advancing healthcare and education. Tichy was far too brainwashed to give one of the region's industrial forefathers any credit for those advancements. All his mind could see was the greed of a capitalist who had grown famously rich while others labored and toiled in his factory, all well before the enlightened, socialist times of universal healthcare, retirement pensions, and paid annual leave.

Marek sat up, his buttocks on his heels, as the man raised his leg and presented the underside of his foot to him. The man could see his expressions now, and Marek did everything he could to maintain a neutral look as he leaned in and began to lick at the foot's clammy sole. He refused to look disgusted and he refused to look up at Tichy as he licked. He did not want to give the man the satisfaction. The man could humiliate him, but Marek would endure it. It was Tichy who was being debased by his treatment of the boy – at least that's what Marek told himself. He could do as he wished to Marek for the next several days but after that, the boy would hold his head high.

"Go on, don't miss a spot!" said the teacher in a sadistically playful, teasing sort of tone. "Looks like I might not even need that ginger root today," he added. "You know, I peeled that for you just in case you decided to be fussy." The man had to fight to keep his own expression neutral and disinterested because he wanted to grin like a Cheshire cat. It was a bit of a shame that the kid had chosen to be so compliant today, as Tichy hardly could imagine what havoc the ginger root would wreak in the boy's sore, fissured, and recently deflowered ass, but he suspected that Marek could well imagine it; after all, it was his bottom that undoubtedly had been uncomfortable for most of the last 24 hours.

For Marek, it was just awful, not only the taste, but the knowledge of what he was doing. Yet, he licked and tongued all over the man's foot, following Tichy's instructions, both verbal and, as the man turned and twisted his foot this way or that, nonverbal. It was humiliating, disgusting, bullying, and degrading, but at least it wasn't painful.

Marek listened as Tichy spoke, calmly and seemingly serenely, about the ginger root. After yesterday's experience in the gymnasium, the boy did not want any more trouble today. He already knew that he was licking the man's feet because he was a wimp. If the price for avoiding trouble and pain was his continued humiliation, he was prepared to pay it. That was the deal. He would do these things, these horrible things, until his punishment was finally over. Marek could well recall the pain from the slipper, and while he realized that the man had every intention to make the alternative punishment just as bad as it could possibly be, there was no way he could have taken 20 more of the slipper to his bottom. If that made him a wimp, then so be it. Marek would survive the experience and then do his best to forget that it had ever happened. Nobody but he and Tichy needed to know about what he had done. Nobody else would ever, ever need to know.

The boy could not see the surface of the man's desk from his kneeling position, but he had no doubt that the freshly peeled ginger root was there, even if he had not noticed it when he had come into the office. If Tichy said it was there he believed him and his willingness to use it on him. There had been many items arrayed on the desk when the boy entered the office, and the man had seemed excited to show them off. Marek made sure that Tichy would not feel inclined to use the root again by licking and tonguing the man's foot just a bit more vigorously. One experience with the ginger root had been more than enough. Marek could only imagine what it would feel like inside him now, with his bottom still burning where the man had … entered it. He banished the thought from his mind. His job today was to endure. Time was passing, slowly but surely, and then they would be done. Marek would endure. For now, he licked.

Tichy swapped feet and made Marek shuffle across to the other one resting on the opposite knee. He knew that the musk from his sweaty and unwashed groin was strong enough for the boy to smell even through the stench of his feet. He had Marek continue with the other foot, emphasizing once again that the boy was to use his tongue in between the toes. A bit to the man's surprise, Marek willingly enough complied. Oh, this was fun. Especially with the cane in his hands, the slipper and the ginger right there on the desk to keep Marek's memory and fear fresh, this was so much fun.

Marek licked and tongued the man's left foot, then shifted his attention to the right. It was awful and disgusting, but time was passing, and the boy was hoping that by doing as the man asked without hesitation or objection, Tichy would tire of bullying him and would send him on his way. Being made to lick the man's feet was bad enough, but it was particularly gross this day because the man had not had time to shower. Did Tichy even realize how much he smelled? He must have skipped his shower to be in his office at the appointed time, but Marek would gladly have waited the extra 15 minutes for Tichy to clean himself. The man desperately needed a shower. The boy could smell his body odor in addition to tasting the funkiness of his feet in his mouth. As he licked and tongued the man's toes, Marek vowed to himself that the first thing he would do upon being released was brush his teeth. Thoroughly.

Tichy's cock slowly, step by step, lick by lick, filled, and grew, and grew, and grew. It was only when he was completely stiff, and after the boy had spent the better part of ten minutes warming him up by obeisantly licking his feet and toes, that he slipped his foot away from the boy's face and shifted in the chair. He kept his legs apart and drew Marek head in with his hands, not toward his cock, but instead just below it, guiding the twelve-year-old's face to the musky creases between his ball sack and his thighs and to his sweaty, glossy, and pungent pubes. He made the boy lick and suck him there, near the slightly hairy and very musky root of his cock and his wrinkled, textured scrotum. Hanging low in that scrotum were the two large, roughly quail-egg-sized testicles that already had fed the boy so much cum, and which Tichy knew, with certainty, soon would be feeding him much, much more.

"Lick me, here, and here," he instructed the pallid boy, as he pointed to the slick, stinky folds and creases in his skin. They had almost an oily feel to them after the kind of day Tichy had had, with lots of saltiness and that slight, not-quite-possible to taste, but definitely-possible-to-smell, bitter, gamey, and dark-spiced whiff of Tichy's musk and sweat.

The boy was aware of Tichy's growing cock even as he licked the man's feet. He was not naïve. He knew that the man had taken his trousers and pants off for a reason. The foot-licking was just the warmup to the afternoon's activities, and the boy knew that, too. What he fervently hoped, however, was that the man would not seek a repeat of yesterday's activity at the gymnasium. Marek was still very sore down there, and he was counting on the fact that yesterday's session had been so brutal because he had foolishly tried to run away instead of dutifully attending his regularly scheduled session.

The boy grimaced as the man drew him to his balls and thighs. Tichy's groin and hairy parts were oily and sweaty, and the scent was almost overpowering. Oh, how Marek wished the man had showered! It was bad enough to be made to lick the man's body in disgusting places, but when it was unwashed and sweaty, it was almost unbearable. But what Tichy wanted, Tichy got, so Marek bent to the task, using his tongue where the man directed him, tasting the salty, metallic, sweaty musk of the man on his tongue and taste buds. No longer could he maintain his neutral, I-could-care-less look. This was awful. It tasted awful and it smelled awful, and Marek could not prevent the look of disgust that lined his face as the man made sure that not a single, humiliating spot was missed.

After a moment, Tichy grabbed his ball sack and pulled it up against his erection. "Now lick my balls, and below them, too," he pointed to his taint, tight because of the rigidity of his erection, prominently arched, sparsely haired, and dangerously close to a particular spot on the man that was in a whole different universe of unclean, smelly, and disgusting. Tichy forced Marek to lick underneath his smelly balls, and they rubbed on Marek's forehead and nose as he complied with the man's command. The smell from underneath the man's testicles was cloying and revolting. This was the worst part of the entire activity, and Marek's toes clenched with disgust as he did as the man directed and waited desperately for it to be over. The man's directions were taking him perilously close to Tichy's unwashed, hairy, puckered hole.

"Hmmmm. Just a few licks away from blowjob time," announced Tichy in a quiet, cheerful sort of voice. Marek actually felt relieved at this news. Licking the skin beneath the man's balls was so utterly gross and disgusting that if he was being honest, he preferred to give the man a blowjob. Not to mention that a blowjob was way better than being fucked in the ass again, especially considering how sore he was back there. Hoping to get on with it, Marek licked a tiny bit little lower and awaited the man's announcement that he should proceed to the other task. He was very eager to be done, because if he licked a bit lower still, he would very nearly be at the man's asshole.

But Tichy wasn't done with him, not yet. "All you have to do is lick a little lower," he informed the boy. "A little lower, just like that, lower, straight in the middle, lower … ." His playful-sounding instructions very obviously were guiding Marek straight to his asshole, but he decided to make his intent abundantly clear and explicit in case Marek tried to fuck around and pretend he didn't know what was expected of him.

"Lick my asshole," he finally ordered the boy, who clearly was trying to avoid doing exactly that. "Remember, you're a wimp, and you'll do any degrading and disgusting thing with your mouth that I tell you to do. Go on, now, and prove that you know your place in this game," he said firmly, with his voice no longer sounding playful or teasing. This was no joke. This was an important test of the boy's obedience.

From his hunched-over position on the floor, Marek blanched white as a ghost. Was Tichy serious? Nobody could be that cruel and disgusting. Nobody could be that mean. Did he really mean it? Was he merely testing the boy? Every Czech boy knew the phrase "vyliž mi prdel" [Author's note: "lick my ass"; equivalent to "fuck you" in English], but that was just an insult. It was meant to be a joke, not a serious thing. But with a sinking, horrified feeling in the pit of his stomach, the 12-year-old realized that the man was not joking. He could tell it in his voice. Marek knew then that Tichy wanted him do this, this unspeakable thing, this unnatural, awful, disgusting thing.

Marek knew what he had agreed to when he had opted to avoid the slipper, and this wasn't it. It was revolting and depraved. Nobody in their right mind would willingly do what the man wanted him to do. He had agreed to allow the man to put things in his mouth or do things with his mouth, or something of that nature, but he had never agreed to lick the man's hairy asshole. Nothing he could have done wrong, and no punishment he had earned but tried to avoid, could possibly deserve that. Marek stopped licking altogether and pulled his face away from the man's groin. He straightened his back as he knelt up. His eyes met the man's. Inside, his stomach was churning, and his face was as white as a sheet. But in this moment, he had clarity. He had agreed to humiliation. He had not agreed to this.

"No," he told the man resolutely. "I'm not doing that."

Tichy's eyebrows furrowed at the boy's resistance. Hmmm. His eyes looked down at Marek with a steady, hard, unblinking gaze that Marek undoubtedly had seen several times before. By now, if the kid were at all smart, he would have recognized it as Tichy's "don't even think of fucking with me" look.

"So, we're switching to the cane then?" Tichy asked, calmly and neutrally, in an almost upbeat-sounding tone of voice, as if he couldn't have cared less either way what the child decided. "But don't be fooled into thinking this is an either/or situation," he added before Marek could respond. "We had an agreement, and you made your promises, so the cane won't come instead of you making good on them, but in addition to all that. It will also serve to remind you why you're being made to do what you're doing right now, which, in case you've forgotten, Hurta, has to do with the fact that you are a pathetic, perverted wimp. If you want to keep going down the path you're on right now, you'll get to experience a big-boy punishment," warned the man, "but well before it is over, you will beg me for the opportunity to go right back to being the pathetic, perverted wimp that we both know you are." Tich paused for a moment before continuing. "If I were you, I'd think very carefully about how you want to proceed."

Marek's eyes and gaze faltered. He suddenly felt cold and started to shake. Somehow, he had gone from the slipper, to the humiliation punishment and everything it entailed, and now he would get the cane. He had managed to go from bad, to awful, to worse, and it was as if it had all been for nothing. Everything had been a deception. Tichy would use him and beat him. Humiliate him and hurt him. Embarrass him and punish him. Marek had done everything the man asked. Everything – except this. There was no fairness in it. The boy had tried to make things easier for himself, but he had just ended up making everything worse.

Marek very much feared the cane. He was not a brave boy, and he was only 12 years old. But despite the certainty of pain, he feared the other thing even more. He simply could not do what Tichy had directed him to do. He would not do it. The mere thought of it made the boy shiver in disgust. He shifted on his heels. He looked uncomfortable. He couldn't look at the man for fear of what he might see.

"I'll do anything else you want," he promised in a defeated voice. "But not that. Please, Mr. Tichy."

"This is not a negotiation," Tichy informed the boy coldly. "We do not bargain, we do not haggle, we do not compromise. Beggars can't be choosers, Hurta. Either you're a wimp and you must obey my instructions, no matter how disgusting or degrading you find them to be, or you have your limits and your pride, and principles that suddenly matter to you, which is fine. It's a bit late to be switching between those trains, since this one is already kind of going full speed, but if you insist, we'll switch. But boy, oh, boy, kid, are you going to pay for the transfer ticket, especially after your little stunt from yesterday. Don't think for one second that I've forgotten about that, even if I may have let you off easy for it so far," Tichy reminded the boy. "So, either get your tongue where you've been told to put it or get your little ass over that desk."

Tears came to Marek's eyes as he listened to the man speak. The boy knew there was no way out now. There certainly was no escape. He felt trapped, and somehow, the feeling was even worse than yesterday when he had been locked in alone with the man in the gymnasium. There, it had at least seemed like neutral territory. But here, in Tichy's third-floor office, with everything carefully arranged and arrayed on his desk, Tichy unquestionably was the boss. This was his domain, and he called all the shots.

But Marek was tired of it all, the rules, the notes, the shame. He was especially tired of Tichy's laugh, his taunting, his name-calling, all of it. He had tried to obey and do the things the man had asked, and now he was just plain tired of the whole thing. "Get your tongue where you've been told to put it," the man had said, as if he were a coach telling him where to position himself on the football pitch. What the man had told him to do was absolutely disgusting. It went well beyond humiliation, beyond all human decency. Marek had never agreed to it, and Tichy knew he would never have agreed to it if the man had told him it was part of the deal. He would have taken the slipper, no matter how much it hurt.

Marek continued to kneel before the man, looking forlorn, yet stubborn. He had only two options to choose from, and neither was a good one. But one of them simply couldn't happen at all, not if he had any pride left to live for. Marek felt that despairing sensation wash over him that had become all too common these last few days. He felt faint, light-headed, and dizzy. There didn't seem to be any way out of this predicament. He felt trapped, and he wanted to give in to Tichy. The man was growing angry, and the boy shuddered at the thought of him taking the cane to his bare bottom. He knew the pain would be tremendous. The slipper had been bad; the cane would be even worse. Marek desperately wanted to surrender to the man and do that disgusting thing to avoid the cane.

But Tichy had needled him and teased him about being a wimp. He had degraded and bullied Marek, shamed him, taunted him, and humiliated him, all because Marek couldn't take the original punishment like a man. The boy had wimped out and failed at taking the slipper, and Tichy now took every opportunity to remind him of that. Marek was ashamed. He was even more ashamed at what he had become – the man's sniveling, crawling, foot-licking plaything. He wasn't about to become his ass-licking plaything, too.

Tichy's frown deepened. The boy was, albeit innocently and unwittingly, playing a dangerous game. He was starting to wind up his tormentor in a way that would not end well for any boy here at the school, but was most assuredly not going to end well at all for Marek Hurta, the direct, linear descendant of the Glass King. Tichy's nostrils flared as he huffed, showing an actual hint of anger underneath his otherwise calm-appearing demeanor. This was a power-game, and Marek's reluctance was drawing it out in a way that the man found aggravating. The boy was briefly, if only momentarily, blurring the lines that so clearly stated that Tichy was the boss here, and that Marek was the lowly recipient of whatever the boss decided to dish out to him. The boy needed to learn that that dynamic was immutable and unalterable, at least in this universe.

"It's not a waiting game either," said Tichy. "I didn't promise to be patient while you make up your mind about your priorities. You either obey, or it's the cane." Then, echoing his approach from yesterday in the gym, Tichy started to count down from ten. But this time, the boy gave no sign of reacting. Marek remained perfectly still, kneeling, buttocks on his heels, his back relatively straight. His head was slightly bowed, not in obeisance to the man, but because he was deep in thought.

Tichy continued to sit comfortably in the chair as he counted down. He was fully erect and leaning back as he contemplated the boy. He was curious that Marek apparently thought there was some way that this showdown would end in his favor. The office was locked, and Marek was stark naked; there would be no more running away. And it was a Friday, well after four o'clock in the afternoon. The two of them were more likely than not alone on this whole floor of the school building. Tichy wondered what the youngster thought he would accomplish with his stubbornness, but he knew from experience that the minds of 12-year-old boys did not always yield the most competent and rational decisions. It seemed to Tichy, however, that the boy kneeling naked at his feet was about to make a very seriously bad one, almost an epically bad one, at that.

Tichy had assessed all the odds and knew that he was going to have his way; there was simply no possibility that he wouldn't. As far as the man could tell, there was nothing other than sheer stubbornness underlying the boy's behavior. Tichy continued the countdown as the boy knelt before him, seemingly deep in thought. This time around, however, he didn't count particularly slowly, nor was he going to help to steer the boy back to his ass and help him to obey if he wasn't already in position before the count reached zero. If the child didn't yield, Tichy would show him the cost of being a little tough guy. He knew that, once given, the lesson was likely to result in a dramatic improvement in Marek's attitude and level of obedience for a long time to come.

Marek didn't move a muscle as the countdown went on, other than to tremble. He was terrified. He had no doubt what the man was going to do to him. It wasn't stubbornness or a failure to understand the consequences that caused him to remain motionless. It was the simple fact that even a scared, 12-year-old boy can have enough personal pride to take a stand against such gross unfairness, and Marek Hurta had too much pride left to do what the man had asked of him. He wouldn't do it, because he couldn't do it. Other than that, he didn't really have a plan. It was simply that the price the man demanded was unacceptable. Marek would not do it. He could not give in, as much as he wanted to, so he remained where he was, kneeling before the man, even as his heart rate spiked to near-panic levels in his chest.

"It's not fair," was all he said as the man counted down. There was no reaction from Tichy, and the boy said no more. They both knew it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all. But fairness didn't matter, anymore, not here in Tichy's office, not here at this stupid school.

"…one," said Tichy as he finished the countdown. With the count at an end, a wave of serenity washed over him. He stood up, grabbed Marek's upper arm, and yanked the smallish boy to his feet. He pushed him to the short side of the rectangular desk, swept the smaller items out of the way, and forced the naked child to bend over with his chest and tummy against the flat surface. Tichy grabbed one of the ropes and tied the boy's wrists in front of him, all the while proceeding in a firm, no-nonsense manner, but not in any apparent hurry.

Marek trembled in fear, but like a prisoner going quietly to his execution, he gave no resistance at all. The desk felt cold against Marek's bare skin as the man positioned him across it. He wondered idly how many other boys had Tichy beaten in this manner. He was sure he wasn't the first. Taus had obviously been beaten by Tichy earlier today, and he had survived the encounter. The thought gave Marek some comfort. Not a lot, but some.

For someone who had never even heard the terms "shibari," "kinbaku," or even "bondage" in the rope sense of the word, Tichy was a decent rigger. He was a Pioneer [Author's note: Eastern Bloc version of a Boy Scouts] with many badges as well as a village boy, not even from Zelezny Brod, but from the nearby village of Jirkov, of which he had a partial view from his office window. He was good with ropes for practical, down-to-earth reasons, but he had plenty of experience using them for this purpose, as well.

He opened a desk drawer and pulled out some additional ropes, using them to affix Marek's slight frame securely to the desk, with the boy's ankles spread and tied to the desk legs, and the rope from his wrists stretched to and tied to the matching legs at the other side. The ropes were looped many times and tied well; they wouldn't easily come undone, but they also wouldn't chafe much or cut off the boy's circulation. When he was finished securing the boy, Tichy picked up his own discarded sock, forced it into Marek's mouth and tied one last piece of string over that so that Marek couldn't spit out his impromptu gag. Then he picked up the cane and aligned it with Marek's naked and exposed little butt.

The man was thorough – Marek had to give him that. He had grunted as the man roughly pulled his left ankle out to secure it to the desk leg, but after that, he had promised himself not to make another sound, and he had kept that promise. His body, however, continue to tremble, belying his apparent calm. His bladder felt weak and he willed himself to concentrate on that. He moved only as the man went to gag him, clamping his jaws together and shaking his head away. But the man forced his mouth open and jammed it full with his smelly sock. Marek hadn't expected that. The man's sock was gross, but the awareness that he was now gagged and couldn't speak or cry out frightened Marek even more. The boy exhaled a soft, unhappy little moan as Tichy made the gag tight with a rope tied across his mouth.

It was time. Marek had made his decision, and with the gag in place, he couldn't beg to take it back even if he wanted to. It was out of his hands now. He closed his eyes, and although he wasn't particularly devout or religious, he did his best to say a little prayer to whoever might possibly be listening.

And just like that, Tichy was about to do the thing he had so fervently wanted to do for such a long, long time. He had been looking forward to this exact moment even more than he had looked forward to raping the Glass King's grandson in his little ass yesterday. While he had planned to do both of those things eventually, unlike the kid's deflowering, Tichy had masturbated several times to the thought of caning him, and now that precise, exquisite moment had actually arrived. He was going to break the kid.

Tichy was going to take the little shit on his own personalized, detailed, guided tour of every last blazing corner of Hell, and then turn him back around and take him through it again just to make sure he thoroughly understood the message. Not that Tichy actually believed in any of that religious nonsense, of course, but just now, the profane, popularized idea of Hell, with all its sulphur, brimstone, big pots of boiling oil, and imps stabbing people with pitchforks seemed like an appropriate metaphor for what he was about to do to Marek fucking Hurta.

Tichy was going to flay the boy, consequences be damned. There was risk in that, of course. The damage he was about to inflict on Marek's backside brought with it the very real possibility of being discovered and investigated. If, after it was all over, the child could provide a reasonably detailed, eloquent account of what had happened to him, it might be enough to override Tichy's excuses and denials. That hadn't happened, yet, of course, and Marek wasn't Tichy's first, or even tenth boy to break with the cane. But Tichy knew that this particular breaking session was going to be very special and very prolonged, because the trembling youngster stretched naked across the man's desk wasn't just any boy. This boy had been brought to the school by Tichy specifically to suffer at his hands, and oh, how Tichy was going to make him suffer right now. The man would see to it that Marek paid for the many sins of his grandfather and father, starting now.

"All right, comrade Hurta, this is what it feels like to be a tough boy when you've messed up," Tichy said, as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself. He wouldn't risk sloppy aim, even though he felt as excited as he had ever felt in his entire life. His cock was quivering hard, and he had a tingling sense along his spine as well as an elated, euphoric feeling filling his head like a narcotic buzz. He didn't tell Marek how many strokes he had coming, because Tichy himself didn't know. He didn't intend to count them, either. Rather, Tichy intended to beat the boy until he decided he was done, and the way he felt right now, that would not be for a very long time. The number didn't really matter, anyway. What mattered was the experience he intended to put the boy through, and the way the kid's backside looked at the end of it.

Just like with the slipper some three days ago, Tichy had no intention of warming the boy up or introducing him to the pain of caning in some gradual way. He lifted the finger-thick, three-foot long rattan switch high overhead and brought it swiftly down against the boy's pert little butt at full speed, with a "whoosh" sound as the cane cut the air followed by a "thwack" sound as it cut into the child's smooth, sensitive flesh. A horizontal line instantly appeared across Marek's spread buttocks. At first glance, the line appeared white, before rapidly turning red with two thin purple edges as its boundary. It also immediately began swell into a welt, marring the impeccable, rounded smoothness of the boy's bottom.

Marek couldn't stop trembling. His whole body was shaking now. He wasn't a brave boy, and this wasn't defiance. It was survival. For his survival as a boy – as a person, as a human being – Marek could not do what the man had instructed him to do. He had already debased himself enough. He had done everything the man had asked, sometimes willingly and sometimes under threat, but he had done those things. He had crawled, and groveled, and licked, and sucked, and even leaned his hips over a chair arm and let the man fuck him in the ass. But he could not and would not lick the man's hairy asshole. Now he was about to pay the price for that refusal, and the 12-year-old was absolutely scared to death.

The first stroke of the cane hit his buttocks with enough force to drive his hips into the desk. The pain came rushing in seconds later, roaring in intensity, transcending all rational thought. Marek screamed – or, at least he tried to. He emitted a muffled, animalistic, primal scream of pure agony as his bottom almost instantly felt like it had been lit on fire. The sock in his mouth mostly silenced the scream, but not entirely, and the boy's taut, muscular body revealed just how hard he was trying to be heard. Marek tensed and shook, his corded muscles pulling mightily against his binds. His fingers and toes twitched and curled in absolute agony.

Tichy let the boy scream into his gag for a moment as his body strained and pulled against his binds. Marek really did have an impressively fit, strong, and muscular little body, but right now, judging from his frenzied struggles, the backside of that body was quite obviously in significant pain. The man enjoyed the boy's struggling and screaming but did not let it influence him; instead, he lifted his arm high and hit the boy again, then again, then again after that, ignoring the kid screaming and screaming into the gag, his face red and his eyes wild with pain and fright.

Although Tichy's office was situated far away from the rest of the school, the boy's frenzied screaming demonstrated exactly why he had been so firmly tied and thoroughly gagged before the beating even began. As the strokes continued to rain down on his defenseless backside, Marek screamed and then screamed some more into the man's sweaty, smelly sock. His mind no longer formed coherent thoughts. All that existed was the pain, but Tichy went on, raising his arm up and hitting the boy again and again on his behind, harder – much harder, in fact – than he had ever caned a boy before. He varied the gap between the strokes just enough so that the kid wouldn't know exactly then the next one was coming, but he kept up a steady, relentless pace as he drove stroke after stroke into Marek's backside.

Despite his struggles and screams, Marek remained bound tightly to the desk, still gagged and very much in his fixed position. The boy had known that the cane would be even worse than the slipper; the man's careful preparations had brought that point home very vividly. But the cane was infinitely, undefinably worse. It bit like a viper, leaving searing, sizzling, white-hot pain wherever it touched. From the first blow, Marek screamed as his eyes flooded with tears. As the caning continued, he screamed and screamed and screamed some more. Utterly unable to move or protect himself, screaming was all he could do. He screamed until he was hoarse, then screamed even more after that. His bottom clenched repeatedly against the pain. Every muscle in his body pulled against the bonds as he tried frantically to free himself from the desk, but without the slightest success. Still the cane bit down, and still the boy screamed.

Even through his screams, it seemed to Marek he could hear every sound the cane made as the man brought it crashing down on his buttocks. A mere moment after he heard the cane slicing through the air and hitting home, he could feel each one of those blows on his bottom, biting, gnawing, visceral, and agonizing.

The boy had never been caned before so he had no good frame of reference for what was happening to him. He did not know that even in the most abusive youth prisons and orphanages in Europe, caning typically was done over clothing, as it had been done with Taus. Marek did not know that a bare-bottomed caning was an extremely rare and serious thing, reserved for only the most significant of transgressions committed by older, more senior boys. He did not know, because he could not know, that the number of strokes he received was more than double or even triple the number that would be involved in even a severe caning of older, fully-clothed schoolboys. Marek knew none of those things, and right now, none of them mattered. What mattered was the impossible intensity of pain that Marek had never before known existed.

It didn't take Tichy long to reach the point where he would normally stop with most boys, a point where he had stopped with Taus earlier in the day – and Taus's punishment had been delivered over the boy's football kit of shorts and underpants. But he didn't stop with the Hurta boy. "Whoosh, thwack! … Whoosh, thwack! … whoosh, thwack!" went the cane again against the kid's defenseless backside. Tichy knew from experience that there was no point in nearly breaking a boy or in breaking him only halfway. The man wanted Marek to piss himself again, and he wanted the memory of this beating to be so vivid in the child's memory that it would cause him to struggle not to piss himself again the next time he even saw the cane in the man's hand. So Tichy went on. Without any words being spoken, he simply, methodically, and calmly beat the boy's little ass to a mottled, welted, red-and-purple-striped pulp.

As the cane repeatedly hit home, the boy screamed and screamed until his stomach ached. He screamed and screamed until his vocal cords gave out. Then he screamed and screamed and screamed some more after that in breathless agony. At some point during the caning, his bladder did give out, releasing its meager contents onto the carpet, but Marek was unaware of that. All that he knew was the pain. It was all-consuming, but all he could do about it was scream some more.

Tichy stopped the beating just shy of the point where he imagined the boy would need serious medical attention. The kid by this point had taken at least 30 strokes, all of them delivered at the man's full-strength, and his bottom was striped all the way from his coccyx to the little creases where the backs of his thighs met his buns. Tichy knew that if he kept going, the kid's skin would seriously rupture and the lacerations might continue to bleed. The man had some antiseptic in his office which he could pour on Marek's wounds, but if they refused to heal and became infected, he might need more medical attention than even the school's nurse could provide. The woman was a vapid bitch, and Tichy knew that she would keep her mouth shut about what he had done to the kid, but his luck probably wouldn't hold if Marek needed to be taken into town for treatment. People would talk and questions would be asked.

So, as much as Tichy wanted to continue the boy's lesson – and he did momentarily consider adding some matching stripes to the backs of the boy's thighs – discretion won out over valor. Panting from exertion, he put the cane down, poured himself a vodka, lit up a Startka, and sat down in his chair to watch the still-screaming, struggling boy. He would give the youngster some alone time to contemplate his new reality.

For Marek, finally, there was a pause. Not in the pain, which continued, or in the boy's screams, which were now mostly exhausted, silent, ache-inducing gasps. But the caning itself stopped.

Tichy smoked, sipped his vodka between the drags, and studied his nearly bloody, dark, welted artwork that was Marek's ass. The sight made him smile. The Glass King's 12-year-old grandson had been bound and caned well beyond what even a senior boy in a secondary school could be expected to endure. Revenge was, indeed, sweet. It felt good. As Tichy admired his handiwork, it occurred to him that the condition of the boy's ass right now literally made it one in a million; with some fifteen million people in Czechoslovakia at that exact moment, there imaginably were a few brutal parents, prison guards, maniacs, and sadists like Tichy scattered throughout the country, and probably a few boys and girls unfortunate enough to be in their clutches. But there couldn't be that many of them, and even if there were, Tichy was fairly certain that what he had just done to Marek's backside would stand up favorably against the worst of them. What he had just done was out there by any reasonable measure, especially given the kid's age and his relatively diminutive size.

And yet, Tichy didn't untie the distraught, shaking, screaming boy or signal in any way that this was over. He simply finished his cigarette in an unhurried fashion and knocked back the rest of his vodka. It was not until some ten minutes or so after he'd stopped caning Marek, and only a scant few minutes after the boy's silent, body-racking screams had finally stopped and he lay whimpering across the desk, that Tichy picked up the cane again and drew it lightly across the youngster's heaving, naked back.

Exhausted, defeated, and unable to scream any more, Marek wished he were dead. He could broker no truce with the agony in his buttocks, which burned and throbbed like it had been roasted over a fire. The boy's entire body trembled and shook as he tried to come to grips with the pain, but that was simply impossible. He took hyperventilated breaths through his nose, all of them punctuated by little gasps and whimpers. He had never known such pain before. He had never even known that such pain existed.

The man did not untie him, and Marek would have been unable to move from the desk even if he had. He didn't want to move. He would lie here, his upper torso stretched across the man's desk, until death took him. He was sure that only death would relieve him of the pain he felt. Only death would end the agony he felt and the misery of his existence. Nevertheless, he flinched as the man dragged the cane across his skin.

"You still have six with the slipper coming your way," said Tichy in a carefree manner, "and I'd say about a dozen more with the cane for being such an insolent brat." He reached for the piece of rope that was holding Marek's gag in place, undid the knot and unwound the rope from around the boy's head. He then pulled the sock out of the kid's mouth.

"You want me to finish what I started, or have you come to your senses now?" he demanded of the whimpering boy. "Do I continue with the cane, or do I untie you with the understanding that you'll do every motherfucking thing you're told to do, starting with eating my ass out?"

Marek was still shaking, sobbing, and hyperventilating as the man began to speak. Full-body tremors punctuated his labored intake of breaths as the man took up the now-familiar position behind and to the side of the bound boy. Gasping in pain, Marek somehow found the energy to raise and turn his head to see the man brandishing the cane ominously once again. He lowered his cheek to the surface of the desk with an anguished little sob.

Saying no to him, opposing the man – it all seemed so futile now, so meaningless. Marek had tried to be brave, to stand up for himself, to stand for something and not be a wimp. None of that even remotely mattered now. It was almost as if those concepts and thoughts were from a life lived long ago, existing only in ancient memories and fables, or perhaps in the yellowed pages of an old book. There was no point to those concepts now. They had been rendered irrelevant by the whoosh sound of an object cutting the air and the thwack sound of it hitting home on sensitive young flesh.

It took effort to speak, and the boy had so little of it left, now. Nearly all the energy had been flayed from his body, and to the extent he could speak at all, it was only by summoning his emergency reserves. But the man had asked a question, and the child knew that an answer was called for. A response very much needed to be given – that is, if Marek wished to avoid the resumption of his ordeal, which he very much did. The boy collected himself for a moment, trying to suppress the shivers and full body quakes that accompanied his every effort to breathe.

"Yes," he gasped to the man – but to his surprise, no audible sound came out of his mouth. He lifted his head a couple of inches off of the desk and tried again. "Yes," he said again, straining to be heard, his voice dry, raspy, and faint.

For the briefest of moments, Tichy was stunned. He initially thought the kid was actually telling him to continue with his caning, but then the man realized that he had thrown a whole sequence of questions at the child, and perhaps he had been confused as to which one he was answering.

"Give me a full-sentence answer!" he thundered at the sobbing boy. "Yes what?" he demanded as he swished the cane in the air. "And you forgot to call me 'sir' again. That was the last time today you don't get another lick for it," he warned as he gave the kid's already beleaguered bottom a half-strength whack with the cane. He waited for Marek to respond more clearly, neither hitting him again, nor untying him just yet.

As he looked again at the boy's backside, Tichy was glad it was Friday. If tomorrow had been a school day for Marek instead of a Saturday, there would be no way he would be able to sit on that bottom for any extended period. The wounds where his thighs met his buttocks would make it especially hard for him to stay seated. Too much wriggling and repositioning in class would earn Marek unwanted attention. He could be sent to the nurse's office, or who knows what. If anyone but the nurse happened to see the sorry state of the boy's ass, Tichy would have a difficult time explaining why he had disciplined the boy so severely. Even the cheat-sheet incident wouldn't provide him with the kind of cover he would need for that. Ultimately, he thought he could stand his ground enough for Skala not to fire him, but it certainly would throw a monkey wrench in the rest of his plans for the kid, and it might jeopardize some of the other extra-curricular activities he liked to partake in at the school with some of the boys.

Marek's head rested on the man's desk as he continued to pant and tremble in pain. The harsh sound of the man's voice caused him to raise his head in fear, but it immediately sank back to the desk to rest once again. "I-" he tried to say, but once again no sound came out as his body flinched and shook at the sound of the cane cutting the air. "I'll do- Yes, I'll d-do … ever-every m-motherfucking thing," he croaked in a breathy whisper. His vocal cords were shot. "Sir,' he added tremulously.

"Starting with eating my ass out," emphasized Tichy even as he untied the boy, first his left ankle, then his right, followed by his wrists. The knots that had so tightly secured the boy to the desk gave way easily in his expert hands. Tichy sat back down in his chair, leaned back, slid his hips forward, and lifted and spread his legs to expose his asshole even more directly and obviously than before.

The boy did not move a muscle as the man untied him, other than to draw his legs a bit closer together as the ropes were removed from his ankles. Even that small motion brought fresh, searing pain to his buttocks. If he had had his druthers, he would not have moved at all. He would gladly have stayed where he was, splayed naked across Tichy's desk for the rest of the day and night, or for as long as it took before he thought he would be ready to move again.

"Now," said Tichy to the distraught boy, "as we previously discussed, eating my ass out is the very first thing you will do from the list of Every Motherfucking Thing, and you had better not mess with me, boy. You're all out of slack, all out of wiggle room, all out of mercy, forgiveness, and easy options. You play my game by my rules, or I'll finish what I started on your ass until you don't have any skin left back there to hit," warned Tichy. His voice was actually very calm, but with obvious and undeniable overtones of a storm cloud that could unleash hail, sleet, and lightning at any moment.

Marek closed his eyes against the tears as the man reiterated what was first up under the header "Every Motherfucking Thing". The boy had been beaten for nothing. He was no better off than before, and now Tichy was furious with him and his butt, and apparently also his voice, had been destroyed in the process. But remaining in his current position was not an option, and the boy well knew it. The man had demonstrated what he could do with the cane on his bottom, and Marek was in no mood or condition to learn any further lessons.

The boy knew that moving would be a painful trauma, and so it was. The act of slowly pushing up from the desk and standing on unsteady legs brought fresh tears to the boy's eyes, and a hot, stinging jolt of burning pain to his buttocks. He gasped as he turned white as a sheet and nearly passed out. He felt dizzy as he slowly turned around to see Tichy already there, already in position, waiting for him. The boy was trembling and softly crying as he delicately walked the two or three small steps it took to reach the man. But how could he kneel? How could he kneel without unleashing the burn of 10,000 suns on his backside?

But he did kneel, carefully and painfully, one knee at a time. He was between the man's legs now. Tichy was waiting eagerly and expectantly for him to begin. There was no avoiding it now. Eyes wet with tears and gently sobbing, Marek leaned forward, and slowly brought his still-trembling head and mouth to the man's ass. At the very last moment, just before his lips made contact, he closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was back home in Vacenovice.

Tichy smiled as the boy's lips touched home. It was another sweeping victory for him, and what a glorious one it had been! He had beaten the living crap out of the Hurta boy, wrecking his ass to a level beyond anything even remotely reasonable, and now as a result he had the boy fearing him on a whole new level. Tichy knew that Marek would obey him on command now, and obediently perform even the lowliest, filthiest acts that the man could think of. His cock twitched at the thought, but that subtle movement barely did justice to the maelstrom of bliss and satisfaction that was rampaging pretty much through the whole of his system. This was amazing. It was better than good. He had already beaten the shit out of the Glass King's grandson; not spanked him, not administratively corrected him, not punished him, not disciplinarily caned him, but literally beaten his bare little ass to a raw, inflamed pulp, while making the kid piss himself in the process. And now, as a result, Marek was obediently licking away at Tichy's unwashed, musky, sweaty ass. It was perfect beyond measure, and it brought a smile to the man's face.

"Lick, suck, and kiss my ass, you little fucking whore," said Tichy as he began to lecture the boy. "That's the only way you get out of this without me finishing what I started. You will obediently, diligently, and thoroughly eat my ass out until I am entirely satisfied with your performance, or unlike yesterday, I swear I'll finish what I started and there'll be no more second chances, no more interruptions, and no more slack cut to you. You will do every motherfucking thing I tell you to do, without delay, without fuss, and with no more attempts to haggle or compromise."

The sobbing boy continued to add his saliva and tears to the fetid, rank horror of the man's hairy asshole as he kept his mouth pressed there, licking and tonguing. The boy was sobbing and hyperventilating as he worked, the latter difficulty causing him to gulp and heave against the man's ass crack with every intake of breath. Despite his obvious distress, Marek forced himself to perform the vile task that less than a half hour ago he had flat-out declined to do. The burning, roaring, unfathomable pain he felt in his butt cheeks was a reminder of what would happen if he disobeyed the man again. Even as his entire body trembled and shook, he dared not voluntarily move so much as a single muscle below his waist, as every movement sent pain ratcheting through his backside.

The boy licked, he kissed, and when the man commanded it, with a silent sob, he sucked. All the while, he listened to the man's dire threats, knowing that Tichy would do what he said – that he would gladly do it – if Marek so much as hinted at stepping out of line. The man's ass was ripe and sweaty, humid and disgusting – exactly what one might suspect of the hairy ass on an adult physical education teacher who had not bathed after exercising for several hours – and Marek Hurta, grandson of the infamous Glass King, was eating the man's ass out with his mouth and tongue just as the old Czech insult directed. As Tichy gave orders, Marek simply obeyed the man. He knew now that there was no other way.

Tichy was in no hurry to let Marek stop anytime soon. He wanted the boy to savor every last sweaty nook and cranny of his hairy crack and asshole, so he began to bark orders to the boy, instructing him to lick, kiss, then lick back over the puckered starfish of his anus, then kiss up his crack and lick it some more. He had Marek kiss his anus, suck on it, lick it again, and make sweet love to it with his lips and tongue. He made him perform long licks, twirling ones, and spiraling ones, too. He had the boy do tip-of-the-tongue licks, broad, firm, flat-tongued, and dog-like lapping licks. Then he had him do some more lapping and kissing in and around his puckered bullseye. Tichy loved the sensation, and he couldn't get enough of the deep, perverse, self-righteous satisfaction of knowing it was the grandson of the hated Glass King who was debasing himself and his entire family with his face buried in Tichy's unwashed ass.

"Now, remember, you're not just giving it a playful little lick, you're eating my ass out, you little shit. Open wide, press your face in hard, and stick your tongue inside. You're going to leave that hole so polished it'll fucking shine," demanded Tichy, as he leaned even further back, the chair back creaking under his weight but supporting it. "Go on! Do it."

Marek sobbed as he licked, cried as he tongued, and continued to hyperventilate as he kissed the man's anus. He was a thoroughly beaten, utterly disgraced, and terribly distraught 12-year-old boy. All his resistance was gone. As the man directed his efforts with instructions and descriptions, Marek simply complied. He licked, he sucked, he tongued, he kissed, and, on Tichy's further instruction, he used his tongue to polish the man's orifice both outside and in. It wasn't playful. It wasn't fun. It was hard, awful, disgusting work, performed by a very unhappy, sobbing young boy who had been so thoroughly beaten into submission that he flinched and cowered every time the man so much as raised his voice at him.

Tichy was enjoying and thoroughly savoring every moment of this. This was a first for him, actually. Tichy had been abusing boys since his very first year at the internat, a whole decade ago now, and he had even done some pretty questionable and despicable things during his student years as an instructor at the pionýr [Author's note: Pioneer] camps, but this depravity was something he had thought up especially for the Glass King's grandson to endure. He had never had a boy literally tonguing inside his ass before, and while he had made a few boys kiss his ass cheeks, it was just a for a symbolic gesture of submission. This was on a whole new level of submission and humiliation, even for the seasoned bully, abuser, and pervert like Tichy, and he found that he liked it. He liked it a lot. There would definitely be some repeat anus-polishing performances in Marek Hurta's future if he had anything to say about it, which he most assuredly did.

Marek, of course, knew nothing of the man's history, nor did he have any understanding that the abuse and horrors to which he was being subjected at the hands of his tormentor went magnitudes beyond anything Tichy had done to anyone before. The boy had no awareness of the man's hatred of his infamous grandfather, although, in discussing his mysterious admission to the internat with his mother and other family members, he had been told that the Hurta family for many generations hailed from the Liberec Region, where the Glass King had risen to prominence as a factory owner.

Marek's father, Ludek, had been born there, and the family had moved to Vacenovice in Moravia only after the war. What Marek had not been told was that his family had moved so far away primarily to avoid the Glass King's stigma, and that the surname Hurta had been vilified and hated in that region ever since the communists came to power. Neither Marek's mother nor his Aunt Martina were aware that the hatred some people harbored for Josef Hurta had hardly abated over the ensuing 35 years.

Slowly but surely, Marek's sniffling, sobbing, and hyperventilating abated as he licked, tongued, and sucked the man's ass. Those physiological reactions were replaced with deeper thoughts of revulsion and despair as the trapped and defeated boy contemplated his new life as Tichy's "Every Motherfucking Thing" plaything. How could he possibly survive the next four days at Tichy's hands? And afterwards, how could he possibly look himself in the mirror knowing what he had been made to do?

Eventually, as much as he enjoyed the sensation of the boy's tongue licking his asshole, Tichy's balls started to ache from long-delayed gratification. His erection strained and was becoming uncomfortable. He pushed Marek off his ass, sat down more a bit more comfortably in the chair, and with his feet back on the grimy carpet, pushed Marek's face onto his cock.

"Suck me off," he demanded, "and suck me off well. You've been taught how to do it the right way, so do your best now, on your own."

The relieved but very exhausted boy winced as his head was manhandled to Tichy's cock. His bottom stung with every movement as he took the man's penis in his mouth and began to suck. He knew the man would want to see depth and effort – that much was clear from the instructions and warnings he had received. So, after wetting the man's glans as much as he was able with his tongue and some shallow bobs, Marek began the harder work of impaling his mouth and throat on the man's cock, going as deep as he dared and holding, before withdrawing part way and doing it all over again.

The boy did not hold back on his performance. He had no desire to see the man take control of the blowjob, because Tichy was so brutal and unrelenting when he ran the show. Marek knew that if the man took over for any reason, he would simply force his cock even deeper into the boy's gullet and hold him there, unable to breathe, as his throat spasmed and gagged. The boy desperately wanted to avoid any type of face-fucking or manhandling, as that would result in motion that undoubtedly would cause the fiery pain in his bottom to light up again. It hurt and throbbed even now – Marek could feel his pulse reverberating through the welts – but if the boy remained perfectly still, he could just manage to keep things in equilibrium and his pain somewhat in check.

Tichy was in his element. He had the sole, living descendant of the man who once as good as owned his parents, freshly beaten and with the taste of his asshole all over his tongue, kneeling before him sucking his cock. Tichy let out a satisfied moan at the pleasure of that thought. He did not believe in God, but he remembered one old proverb now: God's mills grind slowly, but without fail. In Tichy's twisted, sick, politically radical mind, what he had already done to the Hurta boy and what he planned to do to him in the future was all part of a greater socialist justice that was being carried out in the name of the working class.

The boy forced himself to take the man's cock deeper into his throat. Lower, lower, lower … . hold. The boy's eyes watered, and his tummy complained, but he kept at it despite his exhaustion. All he wanted to do was go to sleep. He was so tired, and at least when he slept, unless he dreamed of the man, Tichy left him alone. Every other time of day, Tichy was with him – either in his sight, mind, and thoughts, or worse in his mouth and ass. Tichy. Tichy. Tichy. Marek could not stop thinking of him every waking moment of his existence.

Lower, lower, lower … almost gagging now, the boy willed Tichy to cum even as the man marveled at the kid's fellatio skills. It occurred to Tichy that if he hadn't taken it upon himself to deliver such fitting and historical justice to the boy, the amazing and unprecedented cocksucking talents of this scion of the Hurta family may have gone undiscovered and wasted! From a family line famous for its managerial, administrative, and financial skills, Marek was an excellent cocksucker, and Tichy certainly was the kind of man who was a good judge of that, as his cock had been in more young boys' mouths than even he could count now, certainly over a hundred if you had added all of them up from over the years.

Marek simply performed the task he had been taught as instructed. He was unwilling to defy the man in the slightest, even by not sucking to the best of his ability, so he forced his head deep on the man's shaft and thanked his luck that Tichy was allowing him to do it on his own. The thought of retching on the man's penis – and the necessary panicked movements that would be associated with that, movements that would further inflame the pain in his backside – left the boy worried even as he tried to please the man to the orgasm that he hoped would arrive soon.

Lower, lower, lower … hold, and hold some more. Marek worked the man's penis with his mouth, lips, and throat. bobbing shallowly and using his tongue in between his occasional gag-inducing descents. He wasn't aware that his skills surpassed those of many boys who had sucked the man before. But then again, none of them had been incentivized as profoundly as Tichy had incentivized Marek. The boy sucked out of fear – that, and a very powerful desire to complete the task as soon as possible.

After several days in a row of getting off twice a day, Tichy normally could have held out on Marek, and he would have liked to today, but that would simply not be possible, especially after long buildup they had enjoyed together. Tichy's cock had been throbbing non-stop from before the boy's caning even began and all throughout his prolonged ass-licking and rimming session. Thus, not even quite ten minutes from the moment Marek's lips first slipped over his glans, Tichy tensed, then grunted and huffed as he spurted an unusually big, manly load directly into the boy's mouth and throat.

Marek's lips and mouth felt the man's glans contract just before a spurt of cum flooded his mouth. The boy withdrew his lips to the man's cockhead and swallowed just in time to take the next spurt, and the next, and the next one after that. He knew instinctively that swallowing was expected. He could hardly spit the bitter stuff out on the carpet, as that undoubtedly would result in another punishment. There was already a dark spot on the carpet where the boy had wet himself during his caning. Marek hoped that Tichy wouldn't notice that spot, but for right now, he was just relieved to be done

Tichy had cum quite a bit sooner than he had intended, and he found himself impressed with Marek's performance, especially considering the age of the kid and the fact that he was relatively new to cocksucking. Despite his inexperience and notwithstanding what had to be agonizing pain in his buttocks, Marek had rather expertly used his throat to get the man off, all on his own, after only a couple of lessons at the art of deep-throating. Between the boy's excellent technique and Tichy's arousal, he hadn't been able to hold back and deprive the kid of his well-earned prize. Tichy hadn't even had to warn the boy to swallow, although surely that was a given since there were no other feasible alternatives.

But Tichy was in control here, and he wasn't done for the day, not by a long shot, and therefore neither was the boy. The man instructed Marek to keep his lips around his cock and to use his tongue gently, which the boy dutifully proceeded to do as Tichy relaxed in his chair and savored the sight of the unhappy boy kneeling between his knees. It took a good while, but after half an hour or so, Tichy's cock was mostly erect again. Now it was time for the main event. The man took a deep breath and then issued his command.

"Give me another blowjob … unless you want it up your ass, this time."

Marek kept the man's softening cock in his mouth as directed, but he fervently, desperately wanted to be done. To his profound disappointment, however, the man started to erect once again, and soon enough, Tichy wanted another blowjob on the heels of the first. Marek's weary eyes told of his utter exhaustion, but as the man's instruction was not a request, and it clearly fell under the category of "Every Motherfucking Thing," the tired youngster knelt up a bit straighter and reluctantly put his mouth and tongue back to work.

A second consecutive blowjob, unlike a lot of what the teacher had dished out to Marek today, was not unprecedented in Tichy's universe. He jokingly called them biathlons and had even demanded a triathlon once before – three successive blowjobs with his cock never once leaving the poor boy's mouth. The third one had taken so long to finish on that occasion that he had almost lost interest. The unfortunate kid doing the sucking had been nearly dead by the end of it, and Tichy had struggled to stay erect, which didn't gibe too well with his pride and confidence. But biathlons were another thing altogether. Beyond the pleasure of being sucked, which Tichy always enjoyed, there was something profoundly and exquisitely satisfying about quashing a boy's hopes by announcing he wasn't even close to being done.

"Eyes on me. Deeper," Tichy said, as he added a few small corrections to the boy's technique and guided him into a pace that felt good. At this rate, he would cum eventually, but not a bit too soon. This time, Tichy intended to see just how long he could hold out, and he fully planned to make Marek huff, puff, and sweat from the effort of sucking him before he was done.

Kneeling between the man's legs with his head bent low, Marek did as he was told. He sucked, bobbed, tongued, and licked at the man's penis, trying to implement Tichy's corrections as he gave them. There was no sense in doing less than what the man wanted; even if the man for some reason were to tolerate a subpar performance, not trying would only serve to make the blowjob last even longer. Fortunately, Marek had sucked the man's cock enough by now that it was becoming a bit easier. He could sometimes let his mind wander as he sucked and thought about other things. But the man soon reminded him to maintain eye contact. Marek complied, but he hated being forced to look at the man's smug, smiling, happy face as he sucked. That just made the experience even worse.

Even if the man had allowed his mind to wander, however, Marek knew that it would make its way back to Tichy soon enough. Every waking thought he had now seemed to involve the man in some fashion. From the notes left in his room, the man's quick discovery of him in the gymnasium's equipment room, even forecasting and planning for his visit to the headmaster, Tichy seemed to be able to predict his moves and read his thoughts. To the boy, he seemed all-powerful – and that was without even counting the important position he actually held at the school and the pain he was capable of inflicting in his role as the disciplinarian.

"There's a good cocksucker," said Tichy. He hummed, satisfied, as he stretched and yawned. He planned to maximize his enjoyment from this particular blowjob and vowed that nothing the kid did this time would make him cum before he felt good and ready to do so. There was no doubt who was in control here, and Tichy knew that he could have the kid suck his cock until his lips fell off if that's what he wanted him to do. So, he held out on Marek and even made the exhausted boy slow down a bit once he started leaking precum, not even bothering to pretend that he wasn't deliberately stretching it out.

Marek's knees and back started to ache as he continued to pleasure the man with his mouth. In addition to that, of course, his freshly punished bottom burned and throbbed even as he tried to keep his entire lower body perfectly still. Every movement was painful. Meanwhile, Tichy looked as smug and comfortable as ever. The boy could tell that he was intentionally prolonging the blowjob and making Marek work even harder. On a normal day, the boy would have seethed at the injustice and unfairness of it all. This, however, was not a normal day. On this day, Marek's bottom had been caned so thoroughly that all of the seething simply was out of his system. He was simply too tired, too defeated, and in too much pain to be angry. He just wanted to finish this second blowjob and be done with Tichy for the day.

Finally, Tichy's breath caught in his throat as he grunted gutturally and squirted a second, hotter, thinner load directly into Marek's mouth. Relieved, Marek dutifully swallowed the man's ejaculate for the second time and waited for permission to pull off. It never even occurred to the boy that the man might go for thirds, and that probably was a good thing, because Marek was so completely and utterly exhausted from his ordeal that he might have been unable to comply. Still, Tichy made him suck every last droplet of cum from his dick as it started going limp, then forced Marek to clean it with his mouth and tongue before he finally allowed the boy to slide off.

When the boy was done and his cock was fully clean, Tichy grabbed the new pair of panties from his desk and handed them over. "Put the panties on and keep them on. They only come down to your knees for shitting and pissing, and never, not for a moment, past your kneecaps, unless I explicitly say otherwise. Even tomorrow, when you come here again and strip for me, they don't go any lower than your knees when you crawl," he announced.

Movement brought pain, but when Tichy allowed it, the boy managed to rise awkwardly and slowly to his feet. The act of doing so was accompanied by little gasps and grunts as his buttocks sang out in profound discomfort. Marek looked pale as he looked down at the panties. It wasn't so much because they were humiliating, but rather because he knew that the act of putting them on would involve more movement and even more pain.

"Here, eat this," said Tichy as he handed the boy a chocolate bar. "Pain eats sugar and energy from your system, and I don't want you too dizzy and weak." Tichy wasn't being nice or even charitable; he simply didn't want the kid passing out in the hallway on the way back to his dorm. In addition to providing an energy boost, the chocolate undoubtedly would help the boy feel a little better, or at least better manage how bad he was feeling. It would certainly help with the taste in his mouth, likely overriding the flavors of ass and cum that currently were competing for supremacy over the boy's taste buds.

"Now you can go, and perhaps next time you will remember – I make the rules, you just play by them," he told the kid. "Even when you don't like it," he added as he slipped his own clothes back on.

Marek took the candy bar in his hand and walked delicately and slowly to the pile of clothes he had left by the door. Every step and movement hurt, but he managed to dress somehow, even as he nodded wordlessly at the man's instructions. Putting his trousers on over the panties was an ordeal, and it took a good deal of time, eliciting some gasps and heavy breathing from the boy as he pulled the garment up across his welted backside.

"Come at two o'clock tomorrow," said Tichy cheerfully as he moved the next day's schedule up a couple of hours. "It's Saturday."

Marek heard the man but gave no acknowledgment as he fought to turn the key in the lock. Every day, the fucking key vexed him, and today, of course, was no different. Finally, the mechanism turned, and the exhausted young boy stepped gingerly into the hall, closing the door behind him. It had been a long, grueling, and very painful session. Marek would never be quite the same again, but at least he was finally free of Stanislav Tichy – for now, anyway.

Chapter Six

Marek walked to the stairs and descended them very carefully, one slow step at a time. Reaching the first floor, he began to walk slowly toward the dorms. The pain in his buttocks was fierce and unyielding. As he passed the trash can, he dropped the candy bar into it as tears of pain and self-pity came to his eyes once again. How could he possibly survive four more days with Tichy? How? His bottom was absolutely killing him to the point where he could barely walk. He wanted to wash the stench of the man's ass from his face and mouth and brush his teeth more than anything, but he was also so tired that he just wanted to lie down. How could he shower like this? How could he go to dinner? How could he sit? How would he even be able to sleep with his buttocks all slashed and welted from the cane?

It was a very unhappy, miserable young boy who entered the dormitory building from the covered breezeway and slowly made his way down the hall to the stairway leading to the second floor. The stairs were even worse, and the fierce pain emanating from his buttocks required Marek to take them a single riser at a time, left foot first, then joined by his right, then the left foot again. It was slow going, but he was making progress, even though he whimpered and gasped in pain with every step. He just wanted to lie down – on his stomach, of course – and sleep. Everything else would have to wait. Even brushing his teeth and cleaning the stink from his face would have to be delayed, as he couldn't bear the thought of walking the extra, agonizing steps from his room to the bathroom and back.

Marek had nearly made it to the second-floor landing and was fewer than two hundred feet [61m] from the safety of his dorm room when he heard the clomping feet of multiple boys racing noisily up the stairs behind him. Young, exuberant, and energetic, they took the risers two at a time, more than quadrupling Marek's enfeebled pace. Marek tried to move a bit faster toward the door leading to the second-floor hallway, but it was no use; the other boys were on him in seconds, laughing as they came. Through despondent eyes, Marek saw who they were. Karel and Ondra both were second-years while Filip was a third-year, and all three boys had been picking on him since the beginning of the term. On a good day, Marek could hold his ground one on one against any of them. But now all three were together, and Marek was in no condition to fight even one of them. He was already exhausted and on the verge of collapse from his session with Tichy, and as their hands reached for him, the younger boy knew with the certainty of the damned that there was no way for him to avoid the beating that was sure to be delivered to him right here in the secluded confinement of the stairwell.

He moaned in fear but made no effort to escape as Karel and Ondra grabbed his arms and pushed him back against the wall of the landing. His buttocks flared in pain from the sudden movement and the contact with the wall. His heart raced with anxiety as he tried to come to grips with this latest threat to his wellbeing. He was in no condition to fight, or run, or do any of the things he might normally do to try to defend himself. In this moment, as the three older boys crushed in menacingly around him, their eyes bright with the prospect of harming him by one means or another, it occurred to the exhausted, beaten, first-year boy that everything might just be easier if he were dead. But he remained very much alive as Karel and Ondra held him tight to the wall while Filip grabbed his belt and tugged it very slightly down, more as a suggestion of what he might do to the boy than the actual act itself.

Filip spoke as Marek's chest heaved with fear. "Limping, eh? Tichy's protection never came cheaply," he snorted. "Maybe we should pull these down a bit lower and see exactly what price you've been paying, Hurta, hmmm?" he said as he again teased at Marek's belt. He was less than an inch away from revealing the waistline of the pretty pink panties Marek was wearing.

"No," Marek gasped as Filip toyed with his belt. His eyes glistened in terror. "Filip … please," he begged. "Leave me alone." He knew that he sounded like a baby, but he also knew that if the other boys saw what he was wearing, it would all be over for him here at the school. Marek's very existence seemed to hang in the balance as the older boys held him fast.

"I guess this falls under the category of 'don't lay a finger on him, or else,' so limp on, peach boy, and enjoy your time in the spotlight," said Filip. "I doubt you'll bask there long, and once you don't have Tichy sticking up for you …". Filip's voice trailed off as he tugged up hard before he finally let go of Marek's belt and cracked his knuckles. He brandished his fist in the boy's face, and just like that, the three bullies took off, laughing their way up the stairs to the third floor.

Suddenly alone once again, Marek reached for the handrail to steady himself, then simply clung to it, breathing hard. That had been close, and revealing, too. Based on what Filip had said, it was clear to Marek that Tichy had told the other boys not to touch him. That was not something he could pretend he hadn't heard, and it was the only thing that had just saved him from the discovery of the panties and the beating that most surely would have followed from it. It also explained the sudden lack of bullying over the past few days, and how he was no longer being jumped in the halls, nor tripped or shoved on the stairwells or in the canteen.

Panting heavily from his adrenaline rush and with his heart hammering in his chest, Marek released the wedgie his trousers and girlie panties had given him. He then made his way slowly and painfully up the remaining stairs to the second floor. He left the staircase and proceeded carefully down the hall toward his room, passing some of his classmates as he went. They eyed his slow progress curiously. Marek avoided eye contact with them but did his best to walk a bit more normally even as he pretended that they weren't really there.

Marek finally arrived at his room and went immediately to his bed to lie down on his stomach. Radek was out, and while technically his being alone in the room violated another one of Tichy's rules, it was a rule with which Marek, at the moment, simply could not comply. His backside was throbbing with pain, and the boy moaned several times at the intensity of it. Despite the pain, he fell asleep after a time, for a few minutes, anyway, then awoke as Radek came into the room. Neither boy spoke. Radek did not ask why Marek was asleep so early, and if he knew or suspected the reason, he did not let on.

After an hour or so of rest, Marek rose gingerly from his bed and made his way slowly to the bathroom. Halfway there, he realized with a soft moan of despair that he had not brought his toothbrush and kit with him. Slowly, he turned around and made his way back to his room, where he gathered his things before proceeding to the bathroom once again. He went to a sink, washed his face with soap and water, rinsed, and then washed it again. Then he washed it for a third time, soaping his entire face thoroughly, including his lips, before rinsing once more. It was only after a fourth face-washing that he felt like he could no longer smell and taste Tichy's ass on his lips. After that, he brushed his teeth. He brushed and brushed, and brushed again, and when the toothpaste in his mouth was nothing more than frothy, bloody, saliva soup, he rinsed briefly, applied more paste to his brush, and brushed some more.

He needed to pee, but instead of using the urinals, he walked penguin-like to a stall and locked the door. Ever so gingerly, he lowered his trousers and then, carefully, he began to tug down the panties. In the back, they were adhered to his bottom in places where the wounds from the cane had started to ooze blood. He gently pulled the fabric free, and when they were down off his hips, he turned his head to look down at his battered buttocks. He couldn't see all of the damage or even most of it, but what he did see at the top of his buttocks looked welted and discolored, the colors crimson and purple featuring most prominently. The finger-thick, blood-pooled red stripes on his skin looked like a lipstick-wielding lunatic had attacked him and slashed repeatedly at his bottom. When he reached around to touch the wounds, he gasped aloud at the pain and the raised, textured welts he felt there. Tichy had really hurt him this time; that much was obvious.

From the bathroom, Marek once again returned to his room, and with some pained gasps, managed to ease himself once again back onto the bed. The idea of sitting was inconceivable, so lying down like this was the only position outside of standing or kneeling that he had left. Radek eyed him with a look of disdain and curiosity but said nothing. As soon as the ginger-haired boy left to go to dinner, however, Marek rose agonizingly from the bed once again and changed into his pajamas as quickly as he could manage. It was far too early to be donning his bed clothes, but the boy wasn't sure when or if he would get another opportunity to change with Radek out of the room. He was hungry, and for a moment he regretted discarding the candy bar that Tichy had given him, but he knew he couldn't have eaten it considering where it had come from.

Marek was lying on his stomach awake in bed as Radek returned, breathing heavily, and looking as if had eaten quickly and hurried back to the dormitory. He looked tense and nervous as he tossed Marek a note that had been scribbled on a little corner of a napkin. With a feeling of dread, Marek reached for the note and read it, his heart rate elevating instantly as he already knew who it was from. The writing was messy, and the napkin material made for poor stationery, but the three all-caps letters were legible enough, and even their style and the handwriting was familiar enough to the boy by now. "EAT" was all the napkin said.

"Do I need to tell you who shoved that in my hand and told me to run back here?" pouted Radek as he climbed up the ladder near the foot of the bunk beds. He sprawled out on the upper bunk, opened a book, and pretended to read.

Marek knew that the direction on the note was not a request, but how could he comply with it? He had already changed into his pajamas, and now Radek was back in the room, seemingly to stay. Marek couldn't change back into his clothes again without revealing his shameful secret to his roommate. The boy was caught between a rock and a hard place. Deliberately disobeying Tichy meant suffering another one of the man's cruel punishments. But complying with the note meant revealing the panties to Radek, and thus probably to the entire school. Marek could see no way around the dilemma. He could hardly ask Radek to leave the room while he changed. The boy would simply ignore him or tell him to fuck off. What then?

With a grimace of pain, Marek forced himself to rise from the bed yet again. His heart was racing in his chest. The canteen would not be open much longer. Could he somehow change back into his clothes without Radek noticing the panties? It didn't seem possible. Could he take his clothing to the bathroom and change there? And even if he did, would he have enough time to get to the canteen, especially with how slowly he needed to walk to keep the throbbing agony in his backside even remotely in check?

"For fuck's sake," said Radek after a few moments of silence. "Will you get going, or what?" he huffed. "I don't want to get in trouble for delivering the note too late, and the canteen will be closed soon. Get going, you idiot, or you'll get us both in trouble with him," the boy said, with heavy emphasis on the last word. Radek sounded irritable, but also worried and anxious. "Especially if you're still hobbling about like you were earlier. Gee. Did you get the famous cane, or what?" he asked, but he didn't really sound curious, just tense and nervous.

Marek stood, feeling queasy in his stomach as the other boy berated him. In normal circumstances, pre-Tichy, he would have told the boy to fuck off, but in this moment, he knew that Radek was right. After all, Marek wouldn't be the only boy in trouble if he didn't make it to the canteen on time, and if the kid was now serving as a messenger for Tichy as well as a stool pigeon, it probably wasn't a good idea for Marek to mouth off to him, anyway. In any event, it was obvious the other boy already knew what had happened to him, so there was no need to respond to his taunt about the cane.

But there was still no way Marek could make it to the bathroom, change, come back with his clothes, and then get to the canteen. It was impossible, even assuming he could somehow withstand the pain in his backside and walk faster than he had been walking, or even run. He didn't want to beg the other boy, as Radek was no friend of his. But Marek was desperate. Once again, he felt trapped, with few good options to choose from.

"C-can you … not look while I get dressed?" he implored his roommate. Marek was desperately hoping that the boy would, just this once, humor him and comply with his pleading request.

Marek's question had the opposite effect, however, as Radek stopped pretending to read his book and leaned down from the upper bunk. "Ty vole [Author's note: "Dude" expressed with surprise], is it really that bad?" he asked, as his eyes widened.

It was clear from the boy's response that he thought Marek was trying to prevent him from seeing the cane marks. That was good cover for Marek's plan, and it gave the boy a glimmer of hope. He nodded somberly, as if to say, "Yes, it's really that bad, and I'm really embarrassed about it, so please don't look." But he made no move to start changing as Radek leered down at him.

Suddenly, Radek seemed to realize that he was delaying Marek from the canteen, so he turned completely around to face the wall. "All right," he said to Marek. "I'm not looking, promise I won't peek, but you owe me. As if it wasn't enough that the maniac nearly crucified me just because we're roommates and he wanted to know every fucking thing about you," he groaned. "You won't tell him I said that, right?" he asked his roommate apprehensively.

Marek was relieved as the red-haired boy turned to face the wall. "I owe you, sure," he said as he quickly reached for his trousers. "And I won't tell him, promise." With a quick look at the other boy and moving as fast as he could, Marek slipped the tie on his pajama bottoms and let them fall to his ankles. Stepping out of them, he quickly replaced them with his trousers, looking up at Radek again as he tugged them over his hips with a gasp of pain. The panties were obscured from view once again. Had the other boy seen them? Marek didn't think so, but he couldn't be completely sure.

For his part, Radek had decided to honor his pledge and not peek, although he would have liked to see the damage Tichy apparently had done to Marek's backside. Radek had been present in the gym when the popular and tough Borek Taus had gotten into trouble, and he had seen the boy again later when he returned to class, red-eyed and limping from what had to be a caning at Tichy's hands. Radek knew that technically, the use of the cane was forbidden at the school. Some of the boys had fathers who were mayors of towns, mid-ranking party representatives, town councilors, and the like. These were relatively important people. A boy could phone or write home if he got caned. Technically, someone could report Tichy, cause an investigation, and get the man into trouble. But no one ever did.

The boys who got it the worst were usually the same boys who spent a lot of one-on-one time with Tichy – the ones who got extra training and attention from him, who did really well in football or some other sport, and who lorded their positions of power over the peasants of this place, including boys like Radek, who desperately wanted to matter. How Marek fitted into that group, and why he had attracted Tichy's attention, remained a mystery to his roommate.

Unbeknownst to Radek, Tichy's system was somewhat clever, perhaps even ingenious. Being in his inner circle gave a boy a lot of advantages, but it also meant occasionally getting your ass whooped, and the rumor had it, other and more nefarious things, too – although probably all the talk of buttfucking and blowjobs was just schoolboy invention; someone like Radek had no way of knowing. It didn't sound very plausible, as it suggested that Tichy was a poof, and the man looked more like a Nazi or a murderous KGB agent than a homosexual. But whatever the boys in his circle had to put up with, they clearly liked the perks well enough not to make a public fuss about it.

Tichy always struck a careful balance between being feared by the boys, while at the same time making a spot in his little club something to be coveted. Maybe he could also read boys, and never messed with or overly humiliated the ones who would push back. His success might be attributed to luck, fate, or even his reputation. People suspected that he was quite influential and connected, and in such a crazy, secretive, communist system, you could never be too sure. Tichy himself did nothing to disabuse anyone of the rumors. All the boys and even some of the other teachers and staff were intimidated by him, if not downright scared of him, and that suited Tichy just fine.

Breathing heavily against the pain in his bottom, Marek finished dressing and headed out of his room. He tried to ignore the pain as he hurried to the canteen. He didn't exactly run, but he walked quickly enough, which caused his trousers to rub against the panties covering his wounded buttocks. It hurt, but not nearly as much as the boy knew Tichy would make it hurt if he missed dinner. Why the man so badly wanted Marek to eat was not important; the man had commanded him to eat, and that is what the boy was going to do. It made absolutely zero sense to Marek to risk another beating, or something even worse than that, over something so mundane as a skipped meal.

He made it to the canteen just before the service window was closed. He was told off by the cook, and his food was lukewarm and congealed from the bottom of the big saucepan, but it still was a full-sized portion. Tichy had commanded him to eat, and so he would eat. It was lucky for the boy that he arrived when he did, because Tichy poked his head into the echoey canteen just in time to see Marek carry his tray to one of the many free tables. The place was nearly empty, with only the teacher on duty and a small handful of boys still finishing up their food. Tichy seemed satisfied with that quick look. Marek was in the canteen with food on his tray, so Tichy simply disappeared. There was no way of knowing of course, if one of the boys still in the room was among Tichy's informers.

Marek pretended to sit, but instead of sitting, he hovered his bottom just over the chair. He lasted for several minutes until, finally, gravity forced him to lower his inflamed bottom gingerly onto the seat. Eating was difficult for the boy. He was hungry, but his stomach was clenched against the food, which sat heavy in his gullet. He hoped he could keep it down. As he ate, he tried to force himself to stop thinking about Tichy, because that was not helping the queasy feeling of disquiet that threatened to engulf his entire body.

Marek managed to keep the food down and he actually felt a little better as he made his way slowly back to the dormitory building. As he walked, he reached behind him and tried to pull the panties away from his wounded bottom where they had stuck to his skin once again. The walking itself went better, though, whether because of his somewhat renewed energy, the passage of time since his beating, or the fact that Marek was getting better at walking in a manner that caused the least rubbing on his sore butt cheeks.

When Marek arrived back at his room, Radek was pretending to be so absorbed in his Karel May western novel about the brave Old Shatterhand and his Apache friend Winettou that he didn't even look up. Unless Marek instigated a conversation, it would be silence until the lights out at 10 p.m. Thankfully, it was a Friday night, and Marek's studies could wait. He glanced over at Radek, wanting to say something in the form of thanks to the other boy, but Radek was back to ignoring him as he usually did. That was fine with Marek. Fuck him.

Should he try to sneak in a shower? Marek still felt unwashed from his activities with Tichy earlier in the day. Although he had washed his face and brushed his teeth until his gums bled, he still felt dirty in a way that he wasn't really convinced a shower would help to rectify. But there was also the problem of how to change back into his pajamas with the panties on his hips. Changing was not an emergency now, and the boy was not in a mood to debase himself by begging Radek to turn away a second time.

Without saying a word to his roommate, he took off his shirt, shoes, and socks, gathered up his kit, towel, and pajamas and headed down to the showers. If anyone wanted to know why he was still wearing his trousers before his shower, they could fuck off. No one questioned him, however, and because it was late and close to bedtime, he had fair odds that no one was going to see him strip, either. No one was there when he walked in, anyway. All the boys were tired at this cold, dark time of year as November tipped into December, most of them either crashing early or doing something low-key in their rooms.

Complete privacy was not really possible, since the dorms were built for boys attending a boys-only school. Normally that wasn't an issue, but in Marek's case, taking a shower brought with it the risk that the embarrassing damage to his bottom or the panties he was wearing would be discovered. The boy made sure the shower area was completely empty before ducking into a bathroom stall and quickly but carefully removing his trousers and the panties. Stuffing the panties in a trouser pocket, he came out of the stall carrying everything, with the towel wrapped around his slender waist. He placed his clothes on the bench outside the shower cubicle, walked quickly across to the shower itself, and closed the curtain. He was fully aware that his striped and welted backside was briefly on display, but he was almost certain that nobody had seen him. He showered, washing everywhere but only very delicately on his bottom, before turning off the water and listening to see if anyone had come into the area while he bathed.

The bathroom was quiet. A couple of boys were behind the wet wall, brushing their teeth and washing their faces before bed. One boy came in and out of a toilet stall while Marek was showering, but no one else came by the shower area. Marek had no way of knowing when Taus came in and snuck a peek through the gaps in the curtain at his bottom and the pile of clothes he had left on the bench. Taus needed to score some points with Tichy, and checking to see what Marek was up to, especially if he spent a lot of time alone in a toilet stall, were on the list of things that Tichy mentioned he wanted to know about. Looking at Marek's badly striped and welted ass, Taus paled and swallowed nervously. The raised, pink-colored cane marks on his own bottom bore absolutely no resemblance to what Tichy had done to the Hurta kid. Holy shit. Marek's ass looked utterly destroyed, like it had fallen into a meat-grinder or something. Taus vowed to himself on the spot that in the future, he would be extraordinarily cautious with his comments whenever he was around the man.

It never even occurred to Marek that he was violating Tichy's rules. While he was afraid of the man, Tichy's rules had not yet become Rules with a capital R, and they had not supplanted in his mind the practices that he had lived by all his life, including the first three months of his stay at the school. Marek was focused only on cleaning his body from the horror of what he had been forced to do in Tichy's office, while at the same time protecting the secret of the panties. He knew nothing about Taus's spying, as he had yet to come fully to grips with the idea that Tichy had eyes and ears everywhere, and that those eyes and ears could take most any form at any time, from Radek, to Borek, to Filip.

Marek waited until the coast was clear before quickly donning the panties and pulling his pajama bottoms up over them. He felt better as he returned to his room. The warm water had really helped to soothe the welts on his backside, and he was able to walk more easily. Back in his pajamas and feeling clean, he was ready for sleep after what had been a very trying day. Radek was still reading, and Marek did the same for a few minutes, before putting the book down and lying his head down on the pillow. It had also been a long day, but his eyes remained open for some time. Even when they closed, sleep did not come immediately. The last thought the boy had before sleep engulfed him was of Tichy.

The vision of Tichy faded from his waking mind but slipped into Marek's dreams. Chaotic and blurry at first, then proceeding through a series of short nightmares, with classic themes like being chased, hunted, cornered, confined, and trapped. He was caned all over again and then held face down, unable to breathe, his face pressed against a hairy cleft, his tongue inside a sweaty, musky asshole, again and again. Tichy kept melting out of human form into a behemoth of smelly, sweaty, cum-oozing appendages and limbs with puckered holes all over him, his stern, commanding voice seemingly coming out of nowhere and filling Marek's mind like the ring of the loudest church bell ever. The Tichy in Marek's dream took on an almost Lovecraftian quality, dark, monstrous, and out of proportion, horrid, but never quite scary or horrible enough to jerk the boy awake.

Suddenly he was bound in the gym, with boys from the school jeering, mocking, and booing him, all dressed in their gym outfits of red shorts and white t-shirts, while he was naked, bound to a climbing frame, spread-eagled, erect, his balls aching, so full and itching with need. Tichy walked up to him and grabbed his cock, and everyone laughed and it was horrible and nasty and the worst, most-humiliating thing ever, but the man's firm grip felt good, too good on his long-neglected cock as Tichy started to stroke it.

"No cumming," said a voice in his mind, not exactly Tichy's. "No cumming, no jerking, no humping."

And then another voice, fresher, more realistically Tichy-like, but echoing, as if the man were speaking from a gorge, or the sanctuary of a gothic cathedral. "Put the panties on and keep them on. They only come down to your knees for shitting and pissing, and never, not for a moment, past your kneecaps, unless I explicitly say otherwise. Even tomorrow, when you come here again and strip for me, they don't go any lower than your knees when you crawl."

"No cumming, no jerking, no humping. No nothing. Do NOT masturbate," said the "other" voice, which was still Tichy, but a different Tichy in a nightmarish universe the whole of which was echoes and different iterations of the man. But the hand on his cock felt too good, even though he was bound, naked, cold, and dying of shame.

Marek jerked awake, not with a nightmarish scream, but with a jolt and a gasp as his cock twitched inside Tichy's panties and soiled them with the boy's biggest load of cum since he had started jerking off. It was just before dawn, nearly six o'clock, the sky outside still gray and heavy. Radek turned over in his bed, probably still asleep but disturbed by Marek's noise and the creaky sound the bed made when his roommate sprang upright.

It took Marek a few moments to realize where he was. His dream had been so vivid and real, but now, he couldn't even remember what it had been about. He had only jumbled, disconnected memories of it – something about the gym, other boys, loud noises, and being unable to move. Then he felt wetness underneath his hips and reached there, pushing his hand in between his pajama bottoms and the panties. He felt wetness, which caused an immediate rush of panic in the boy as he realized to his mortification that he somehow had managed to piss the bed.

The fog of sleep cleared then, and the events of yesterday came rushing back to him: being bound to the desk and caned in Tichy's office, the panties, the blowjobs, Tichy's rules, and the other thing, the unspeakable thing he had been forced to do with his mouth and tongue. He clenched his buttocks to be sure it hadn't all been part of his dream, only to feel his welts and wounds flare in response. It had been real, all right.

Suddenly, the details of the dream came back, as well, replaying in his mind like an old film. He had been naked in the gym, unable to move; he had been bound, with the other boys hooting and jeering as Tichy – no, not just Tichy, but several Tichys, different Tichys with different Tichy voices – had mocked, teased, lectured, and touched him. One of the Tichys had grasped Marek's boner, stroking it for the other boys to see, and Marek had hated that, even though it had felt so good, so very, very good …

Marek turned to the side reached his hand underneath the panties now, into the wetness he found there. Extracting his hand, he brought it to his face. It was far too dark to see, but he could smell the wetness there, and it smelled exactly like cum. The realization dawned on him then: He hadn't wet the bed, he had cum in his sleep; he had cum in his sleep to the dream.

Marek had heard about wet dreams but never experienced one before. Now, only days after Tichy had warned him not to wank, not to masturbate, he'd had his first one. With a sinking, horrified feeling of despair, Marek realized that Tichy would never believe what had happened to him. Why would he? It was too coincidental and too lame to have happened precisely now, right up there with other excuses like "the dog ate my homework," or "it wasn't my cheat sheet." Even Marek couldn't believe that his own body had chosen this moment to betray him, not just by breaking Tichy's rules in his sleep, against his will, but also by leaving him with a terrible mess to clean up.

What should he do now? The panties were soaked with cum. The stuff was all over his penis and balls, soaking through his pajama bottoms, threatening to saturate the sheet and mattress below. The boy had never cum so much in his life. It was another betrayal by his body, another coincidence to make sure that he didn't just violate one of Tichy's rules, but did it with the biggest, wettest, fuck-you cum load of his entire life.

He had just come without permission and the panties were full of evidence of it. With a jolt of fear, he realized that he would have to take them off to clean them, which would violate another one of Tichy's rules. He would also have to spend a lot of time sneaking around to do so, alone and out of sight, which would break yet another rule. Marek knew that the combination of so many rules violations would make it seem like none of them were accidental, but very much by design and intention. Undoubtedly, Radek or someone else would blow him into Tichy, and there was bound to be a ferocious and unmerciful response from the man. But what choice did he have but to try to clean up the mess? He could hardly walk around in cum-soaked panties all day and then show up at Tichy's office with the evidence smeared all over the fabric, not to mention caked on his cock and balls. Marek's day hadn't even really begun, yet it seemed like he already was well and truly fucked.

Feelings of dread and panic filled the boy's mind. Somehow, he would have to clean up this mess without being detected, not by Radek, not by anyone. It was still dark as pitch outside, seemingly the middle of the night. He had another pair of pajamas to put on, and he could go to the bathroom and change. He could hide this pair in with his dirty clothes for now. But the panties were another story. What could he possibly do with those?

Moving carefully and all but ignoring the pain in his welted bottom, Marek slid from the bed and rose to his feet. Proceeding silently on the pads of his feet, he stepped to his closet. Feeling in the darkness for the shelf with his pajamas, he found the other pair folded there. Gathering them in his arms, he went to the door of his room and slowly opened it, allowing the faint light to spill inside as he slid quietly out into the hallway.

He stole away to the bathroom and was grateful to find it empty. He took a stall, locked it, and lowered his pajama bottoms. The sight that greeted him was even worse than the boy had imagined. The pink panties were soaked through across the front, the cum glistening and still thick as it adhered wetly to the defiled fabric, which in turn clung to the shriveled shape of his traitorous cock and balls.

Marek slid the panties down and off. Naked from the waist down now and kneeling before the toilet, he immersed the panties in the bowl, opening them like a fisherman's net, then using his fingers to rub as much of the cum off into the water as he could. He squeezed them out above the bowl, flushed the toilet, then immersed the panties again, repeating the process. Again and again he rinsed the panties in the cold water, squeezed them out, and tried to get them clean. Holding them before his face, he couldn't tell how successful his efforts were with the fabric so wrinkled and soaked. He sniffed them, but he still couldn't tell.

With a feeling of dread and foreboding that he couldn't shake, Marek used the legs of his defiled pajama bottoms to try to pat the panties dry. He squeezed them between the pajama fabric. He waved them up and down, and up and down again, several times, trying to air-dry them. The door to the bathroom creaked open then, and Marek froze, pale as a ghost. Still kneeling on the floor – aware that his bare feet were visible under the door to the stall if anyone cared to look – he didn't dare to move for what seemed like an eternity. He heard nothing but silence, then a flush, then the door once again. He let out his breath and resumed working on the panties.

They weren't dry, not by a long shot, but they were dryer than they had been. Marek stepped into them and slid them up his hips. They looked bad. They were terribly wrinkled and a different color than before from the dampness. Marek knew they would dry further, and perhaps the original color would return, but what would they look like then? He thought about ironing them – there was an iron in the room – but how could he? Radek was there, and he wasn't even supposed to take them off …

The irony of that last thought was not lost on Marek. He had already taken them off to clean them, a violation of Tichy's rules. Suddenly, it dawned on the boy that he had also taken them off to shower! The blood drained from Marek's face. He felt like he had been punched in the stomach. What had he been thinking? He had been so distracted by the pain in his bottom and by the memory of the horrible thing he had been forced to do in Tichy's office that he hadn't even thought about that. He had wanted to get clean, but how could he have been so stupid? Tichy had said not to take the panties off below his knees! That rule was supposed to remain in effect even when he returned to Tichy's office tomorrow for the resumption of his punishment, but he had already taken them off, not once, but twice, and he had cum in them on top of it all. He had defiled Tichy's panties, and looking down at them, he wasn't at all sure that the damp, wrinkled, clingy fabric would look any better by the afternoon.

Marek was tense as he put the new pajamas on and returned to his room. After a long time lying awake and worrying, he managed to fall back asleep for a bit. He awoke at the normal time and eventually was able to dress when Radek left for the bathroom. The panties were mostly dry now, but horribly wrinkled with a visible stain outlining the furthest spread of the cum. Marek felt nauseated and sick with worry. He went to breakfast and forced himself to eat something, but it was a just a fraction of his usual fare. He spent much of the morning pacing his room. It was still too uncomfortable to sit, and he was much too nervous to work on his studies.

As the day progressed into early afternoon, Marek felt even more sick to his stomach. There was no way he could eat, regardless of what Tichy might think or say. A feeling of impending doom left his heart rate elevated as he paced the room once again. When Radek finally left for lunch, Marek checked the panties again. They were dry now and the cum stain was faint, but they looked wrinkled and worn, like he had been wearing them non-stop for an entire week. It was simply not possible that Tichy would overlook their condition.

At one o'clock, after doing a lot of thinking, Marek finally decided what he needed to do. Still unable to sit, he knelt before his desk chair, placed a textbook on the seat, and gathered a pencil and a piece of paper from his desk. Hunched over the chair, and in his best penmanship, he began to write:

Just before two o'clock, Marek made his way to the administration building, climbed the stairs, and stopped before the man's office door. He muttered a small prayer aloud. "Please let everything go well today. Please let me survive this," and knocked on Tichy's door.

Tichy was ready for the boy. It had been a smart idea to get him to come much earlier; now they had hours and hours alone together. He could invent and test whole new ways in which to humiliate the boy and let them go on and on for as long as he could possibly want them to.

On the man's command, Marek entered, immediately disrobed, pulled the panties down to a point just above his knees, and crawled to Tichy with his head down. With his head still bowed and his face an inch from the floor, he reached up with a visibly trembling hand and offered the note to the man.

It took Tichy only one glance to see that Marek's panties had been through a rough time, even at the distance between the door and his desk chair. Then the boy crawled over and handed over a note. Tichy made a curious "hmmm" sound and read it.

"You must be very sorry," chuckled the teacher. "You're crawling around naked and in panties, with your thoroughly marked ass on display, and you didn't even remember to lock the door," he commented oh-so-casually, like that wasn't a concern for him, not a worry in the slightest. "I'm tempted to make it a part of your punishment today, leaving the door unlocked," he said amusedly when Marek flinched at the reminder.

Marek didn't dare look up. He remained on his hands and knees, face down, as the man spoke. As usual, the carpet stank of mustiness, age, and old cigarette smoke. Marek tensed as Tichy told him that he had forgotten to lock the door. He had been concentrating so hard on the note, on following the rules, on getting everything perfectly right for Tichy, that he had simply forgotten. All the familiar anxieties came flooding back to the boy. He was in Tichy's office, on the floor, naked and exposed, his only clothing a pair of girl's panties wrapped around his knees. A fate worse than Tichy – worse than death, in Marek's mind – awaited him if anyone chose this moment to visit the man's office and saw him there.

"First tell me about the accident, properly, in some detail and with no lies whatsoever," said Tichy. "Then I'll decide on your punishment and what we'll do about the door."

Marek dared not move, or look up, or anything. He knew he would be punished and wasn't surprised to hear the man confirm it. His fate was in Tichy's hands, not only for the rule-breaking and panty-defiling, but now thanks to the boy's mistake, Tichy also got to decide whether the door would be locked or unlocked during his punishment session. Marek desperately wanted the door to be locked. He knew that this would likely be an especially long session with Tichy since it was a Saturday and he had been directed to come early. The longer the session, it seemed, the greater the chance that he would be discovered.

He had to answer Tichy's question. It was embarrassing, but there was no use lying to the man, none whatsoever. "I- I was asleep," Marek stammered. "I had- I was dreaming. I had a wet dream … in the p-panties." Marek didn't move a muscle as he waited for the man's reaction.

"I think I can only accept that excuse if you admit that wearing the pretty panties at the very least seems to turn you on, Marek," said Tichy. "I'm reminded that the very first pair of panties I gave you made you wank, and now with these, it's your first night in them, and you can't even blame them for being tight. The silky, feminine fabric all around your crotch, the pink color of them, the feel of them, you liked that, didn't you, Marek? Or am I to believe that it's just a complete coincidence that you jizzed in them the very first night you had them on?" Tichy tutted and licked his lips. He sounded rather amused.

The boy could tell that Tichy was trying to taunt and humiliate him. He could tell it in his voice, but Marek didn't care. Except, of course, that he did care. He cared very much, and he was worried. For all he knew, the panties had contributed to his wet dream. Not because Marek wanted to wear them or found them sexy or anything like that, but because they were silky, or whatever the man had said. It was quite a coincidence, after all. Maybe it was even true.

"Yes," the boy spoke to the floor. His cheeks didn't even bother to blush. He was getting too used to Tichy's humiliations.

"Go on then," said Tichy after an uncomfortably long pause. "Go lock the door and let's see what we will do with you." Once the door was locked Tichy said, "Open that cabinet over there, there's a red plastic bucket. Grab it." He had pretended he didn't care about the door, but he only removed his shoes, trousers and underwear once it was locked. It wouldn't do for Skala to enter and see him partially undressed and erect in the company of a virtually naked, 12-year-old boy.

Marek was relieved when the man had permitted him to lock the door. Not knowing what he was authorized to do, he crawled back to the door before kneeling up to lock it, then returned to his hands and knees to crawl to the cabinet. Tichy hadn't told him to crawl, but it was better to be safe than sorry. He had to kneel up to open the cabinet, too. Inside he found the red bucket, which he removed and placed on the floor with more than a bit of dread. What was it for?

Tichy picked up the cane from the desk. "That's twice now that you messed up the panty challenge," he said. "That means, first and foremost, there will of course be a third challenge. And just as I made the rules stricter from the first attempt to the second, you can expect the third go to be even more difficult. We'll keep pushing you until you learn to obey and behave yourself, continually keeping your rules and instructions in mind," he said casually even as he spread his legs wide and pulled the bucket between them, scooting right to the edge of his office chair.

"Now, your punishment will be twenty-five with the cane," he said as he swished it in the air. He had pulled the number from thin air, of course, and he wasn't sure that the boy's battered bottom could take even half of that number without being torn to pieces. But Marek wouldn't likely know that, and the number alone was sure to scare him. Tichy had decided that it was time for some deep-throat training, and he wanted the boy to be properly incentivized for the lesson.

The boy gave no reaction as the man chided him and explained about the third panty challenge. But when Tichy announced his punishment – 25 with the cane – Marek's face blanched and he felt faint. He shivered as he knelt on hands and knees and stared at the floor, his face inches from Tichy's right foot. He'd never survive 25 cane strokes. Not on top of the ones from yesterday. Tichy would kill him with the cane. He would die.

"But, I'll give you a fair chance to redeem yourself and prove real effort and obedience, so listen," Tichy continued. "You will have twenty five attempts – no warm up, no messing up, exactly twenty-five tries – to go from opening your mouth nice and wide for my cock and then, in a single motion, in the single same attempt, to get your lips all the way down to the base of it; balls deep, so to speak. Each time you succeed, I'll count the number and that'll be a cane stroke taken off your punishment. Each time you fail, I'll say nothing, but I'll make a hashmark on my paper here that will be the final count of your punishment, which, of course, will be the cane. Hard."

Marek listened very carefully to the man's terms, as if his life depended on it. The boy thought that perhaps it did. Twenty-five additional strokes with the cane was not even survivable. He processed what he had heard. He had to take the man's cock all the way in his mouth and throat, down to the base, 25 times. Marek started to shake. He had gone that far before, but only with Tichy … helping him. Had he ever gone all that way on his own? By himself? He didn't think he had. Not even once.

From humiliating the boy, seeing him naked, and thinking up his punishment, Tichy was already mostly erect. Not 100% rigid, but pretty much up to his full size. And he would be as stiff as can be as soon as Marek was finished with his first out of the twenty five attempts that would all have to end in success if he wanted to avoid renewing the nasty pain in his butt. Tichy found himself hoping for more than a few failures, as it would be quite enjoyable for him to take the cane to the boy's bottom for the second consecutive day.

Marek had his head up now, and he could see that the man once again was naked from the waist down. He eyed the man's cock, which was standing up nearly erect, then his eyes flitted to the cane. It was enough to make the boy tremble. It was going to be a very long afternoon, and Marek knew it. The only conceivable consolation was that after today, he would have only two more days of punishment to go. If he survived it, that is. It seemed that Tichy was hellbent on turning his ass into sausage filling before his punishment was over.

Even as he crawled to the man, between Tichy's legs, and knelt up, Marek couldn't stop shaking. The boy's face looked pale. Tichy's cock looked dry. It was a tight fit in his throat even when it was wet and slippery. Marek had little confidence that he was going to avoid most of the promised cane strokes, or even any of them at all.

"M- Mr. Tichy," he said in a tremulous voice. "C-can I g-get it wet, first? Please? S-sir?"

Tichy thought about the boy's request for a moment. What he had asked did seem to make a lot of sense, and the boy was asking so nicely, but he didn't want to go back on his harsh judgment now. He had an image to uphold, after all. He hummed, pausing before he gave his response.

"If I allow that," he said imperiously, "you're going to lick my ass and balls first. Then my cock. Then you can have your go. And you have to ask again, say please, and ask for permission to do exactly that, all three areas," he decided, his voice firm, commanding, making the outrageous demand sound like he was cutting the boy some undeserved, last-minute slack, and that he had better hurry up and obey if he wanted to prove he deserved even that. "Or you can just begin. With it as dry as it is, you'll probably fail the first two or three times," he said matter-of-factly, as if he couldn't care less one way or the other. He let his eyes follow the path of the cane as he gently swished it through the air. Oh, my was this fun!

Marek had assessed his chances of taking the man's cock all the way to the root with it dry, and they were basically nil. The friction alone would cause him to fail, even without factoring in the likelihood – no, the certainty that he would gag on it. The strategic placement of the bucket was not lost on the boy. This was the fully portable equivalent of the Toilet Blowjob he had given the man a couple of days ago in the gym. Then he had gagged and vomited several times, but Tichy's cock had at least been wet and slick with saliva when he had tried – well, been forced – to take it deep. Right now, it was as dry as a bone in a way that seemed to scream "friction" at the boy.

Marek's eyes seemed unfocused as he tried to think, tried to come up with a solution. But there was none. There was only Tichy's way, and as much as he hated that way, despised it, failing to abide by it so far had led to nothing but misery and pain. The irony of the man's request was not lost on the boy. Now he would have to beg the man to be allowed to do what he had refused to do yesterday and been caned for. "Please, Mr. Tichy," he began. "Please may I- may I lick your ass, and your b-balls, and then your cock?" he heard himself ask. He wanted to cry like a toddler. "Sir," he added nervously, as he remembered who he was talking to.

"Yes, you may," allowed Tichy. He leaned back in the chair and lifted his feet up, gripping the armrests to stay in position. "Go on then, get busy. You get equal bits of time for each of the three areas, so if you speed over the ass licking, you'll only be allowed a speedy lick-down of the cock, too," he explained simply. "It's up to you how wet you want to get it before you begin."

Tichy was exposed and ready for Marek. His cock was fully erect now. Young boys were such wonderful, unpredictable things! Marek had just gifted him such an easy, brilliant way to repeat the disgusting humiliation from yesterday. Tichy was eager to see if the boy had learned his lesson and would lick the man's ass out without the need to be incentivized by the cane. Making it seem and sound like it was by the boy's own request was incredibly arousing. It was another way of debasing the Glass King's grandson, another way of crushing all of the pride, self-esteem, and confidence out of the boy.

As he waited for the boy's decision, Tichy smiled. He was almost annoyed that he had taken a long, thorough shower last night, but he had been feeling rather itchy after everything – including the boy's tearful licking and rimming of his butthole – and he had needed one. Marek would get an enormous break today because the man was much cleaner down there than yesterday. The boy had no idea how lucky he was!

Marek knew that he needed to get the man's cock wet to avoid failing at Tichy's latest challenge. There was no doubt in his mind that the man would cane him for failing at it, happily adding to the welts and wounds already imprinted on the boy's backside. There was also no doubt that he would have great difficulty taking the man's cock down his throat in a dry state. The high risk of failure coupled with the threat of the cane had incentivized Marek to agree to Tichy's disgusting terms. He would lick the man's asshole and balls in exchange for the privilege of getting his cock slippery and wet. It was the only way to have a chance at avoiding the cane as a punishment for his many transgressions and violations of Tichy's rules. It was, indeed, going to be a very long and very unhappy afternoon.

Marek was going to do it right up until Tichy leaned back and lifted his legs up, exposing his taint, scrotum, and asshole. As he knelt only a foot away from the man eyeing the asshole he was supposed to lick, Marek suddenly felt an overwhelming, uncontrollable urge to vomit. His stomach clenched and churned, and his face instantly turned greenish in color.

Maybe it was the ominous presence of the vomit bucket that caused it. Maybe it was the knowledge that he would soon be gagging and retching on Tichy's erect cock. Maybe it was the sight of the man's hairy asshole and the memory of what he had been forced to do yesterday. Maybe it was just fear. But whatever it was, Marek could not hold the contents of his stomach down. He had not eaten much of anything all day, but whatever was in his stomach was about to come back up, and if he had to lick the man's asshole, it was most assuredly going to come up right away.

For a few perilous seconds, Marek fought a pitched battle with the roiling forces in his stomach as the man waited with his legs spread. His stomach heaved once again, and the boy gasped. He looked stricken. Now it was clear: He was going to vomit.

Marek reached quickly for the bucket as his stomach heaved. Holding it before his face, his eyes watered as he opened his mouth to expel whatever was coming up, but at first, nothing did. Twice more he did this, heaving silently, his face turning red, and then he simply exploded. Frothy white, bubbly vomit and yellowish bile flooded from his mouth like a fire hydrant as he vomited forcefully into the bucket. Once, twice, three more times he strained and retched as still more liquid poured from his mouth.

Still holding the bucket, Marek's stomach clenched again, and he heaved once more. Then twice more after that. His face was red now, his eyes watering, and the bottom of the bucket had a quarter inch [6 mm] of frothy, yellowish-white stomach bile in it. What was not in the bucket was in Marek's mouth and nostrils where he could taste the awful, acidic flavor of it. A streamer of the liquid hung from his chin into the bucket as he gasped for air. The boy still looked green as he placed the bucket back on the floor and used his hand to help the dangling goo to fall into it. He felt nauseated and miserable as he looked up at the man once more.

"Aren't we a drama queen?" Tichy said as he rolled his eyes and lowered himself back into a seated position on the chair. He opened one of the lower drawers of his desk and passed Marek a clean handkerchief. "Clean yourself up," he instructed calmly.

Marek gratefully took the handkerchief and used it to clean his mouth and chin from the splatter. He hoped that maybe now Tichy would see that the tasks he had forced on the boy were simply too disgusting and too awful to perform, but he didn't really think there was much chance of that.

Tichy reached over to the cabinet where he kept his stash of vodka, opened a green unlabeled bottle, and filled a glass with the water, then passed it to Marek. "Go on. Rinse. Drink." He looked mildly annoyed, but long-suffering, as if he were resigned to having to put up with the problems such a queasy, sensitive loser of a kid caused. In any case there was no need to rush things, as they had all afternoon if they needed it.

Marek took the water and drank, still kneeling before the man's desk chair. His throat was burning from the stomach acid, and he winced as he gulped down the water. It helped. He took another sip and used it to rinse his mouth before swallowing it down. He did this several times.

Tichy suddenly tensed as he remembered one of the most common reasons for stomachs to become all shaky and sensitive and prone to losing their contents like this. He looked down at the bucket to see it completely devoid of anything that looked like regurgitated food. All that was present in the bucket was frothy liquid in the form of the kid's stomach bile. The little shit still was not eating!

"How much breakfast and lunch did you have, Marek?" he asked tersely. "How many times do you need to be reminded to eat, regularly and properly. If you don't feel hungry, force yourself. I told you before, you need strength and energy."

Marek tensed at Tichy's question. He had been consumed by anxiety and had not had his usual appetite for days, but he knew he had to eat more. For some reason, Tichy was very concerned about how much he ate, almost as if he cared about Marek's welfare. Sometimes, the man confused him.

"I had breakfast this morning," he told the man. He hadn't eaten much, but it was the truth. "I missed lunch, um, because I- I was writing the note."

Tichy was now frowning and looking quite annoyed. He wet another handkerchief and helped Marek clean up his face. If the man had not been partially naked and nearly erect with the naked boy kneeling submissively at his feet, his actions might have been almost fatherly. Then he walked over to the window, not even caring that he was half-naked, opened the window and lit up. The smell of vomit that was mostly bile and stomach acidic was too strong and unpleasant even for him, and quite distracting in the small, stuffy office. He nodded at Marek to drink more water.

Still on his knees, Marek drank more water as the man watched from the window. He was feeling better. At least his stomach no longer was cramping and sending disquieting messages to his brain.

After another minute or two, Tichy finished his cigarette, tossed it out the window, and moved back to his desk and simply sat down again in front of the boy, still naked from the waist down, as if nothing at all had happened.

"Take two," he commanded, almost as if Marek had been dawdling by being sick to his stomach. He put his legs up once again. "Ass, balls, dick, in that order," he told the boy. "And then exactly twenty-five attempts," he instructed.

The boy saw that Tichy didn't care about anything aside from continuing with his punishment and humiliation. There would be no respite for him, even though he had just been sick right in front of the man. Marek seethed with the injustice as the man slid a bit further forward in the chair and lifted his legs up once again. The boy's stomach gave another little heave as he eyed the man's hairy asshole once more. There was no way he could lick it now.

"I'm just going to do it … without getting it wet," replied Marek after a short pause, cane be damned.

"No, you aren't," replied Tichy decisively in response to Marek's change of heart. "You're not a prima donna, so don't act like one," he barked. "You politely asked if you could lick my ass, balls, and cock and I allowed it, so now you'll do it. You don't get to change your mind like the weather in April, little cocksucker." With his left hand in the boy's hair and the cane in his other, Tichy swished it through the air a couple of times before giving Marek's butt a warning tap.

Marek flinched and visibly paled as the man emphatically rejected his proposed change of plans and sternly lectured him, punctuating his words with what Marek knew from painful experience was only a light application of the cane on his bottom. He felt his head being pulled to the man's ass and he groaned in disgust and despair as his face touched down against the awful orifice once again.

With his eyes closed and his stomach clenched, he tried to hold his breath as he licked and polished the man's wrinkled hole. It was nasty, cloying, claustrophobic work, and when Marek could hold his breath no more, it was also smelly and nausea-inducing. Somehow, he managed to keep his stomach in check as the man steered his head and directed his performance.

Tichy had the boy rim him the right way. Thoroughly. Properly. Not just a few half-hearted flicks of his tongue; by fussing, Marek had lost control over the duration and the execution, something he would be well advised to learn was always a danger with Tichy. He made sure that the boy spent several minutes licking his ass before he directed him to start in on his balls.

Marek spent roughly the same time licking the man's balls, which were for the most part mercifully free of pubic hairs and weren't nearly as sweaty or musky as they had been the day before. Both activities took a long time, much longer than Marek had intended to spend, and he regretted losing control of the situation. He would have to try to remember in the future not to try to wiggle out of deals he made with the man. The consequences of doing so he was painfully learning, such as the episode in the gym, not to mention the caning he had received for rejecting the man's instructions yesterday.

Eventually, it was time to prepare Tichy's cock for the game. If there was any benefit to the new arrangement, it was that the boy had more time to get the man's penis entirely wet and slick with his saliva. For several minutes, he licked and mouthed the man's erection, using copious amounts of spit until the man's balls were wet with it and his cock glistened in the afternoon sunlight shining in through the open window. Marek kept at it until the man signaled that he was ready, keeping the cock as wet and slippery as he possibly could as he prepared himself mentally for the exertion to come.

Tichy gave the boy plenty of time to wet his cock. It felt good, and he supposed that it gave the kid at least a fighting chance. Much as it would be enjoyable to cane him again, 25 strokes added to what Marek had received yesterday would put him in the infirmary for sure. When he was sure the boy had his cock as wet and slippery as it was going to get, Tichy steadied himself in his position with his legs apart, his cock pointing upwards. It was rigid, hot, and now mercifully slick. With the stinky vomit bucket still between his legs, Tichy took a deep drag on the cigarette he had lit while Marek had worked on his balls and announced the start of the activity.

"Attempt number one. Go."

It was time. Marek lifted his head up, knelt up straight and high, grasped the man's cock in his hand, and pulled it toward him. He put his lips around the top of the man's bulbous cockhead, then looked up for the man's approval and signal. Seeing it, he quickly plunged down, impaling his mouth on Tichy's cock, taking it into his throat and gullet, all the way down, trying not to gag, all the way to the base, nose to the man's groin. It was good first effort – very good, in fact, and successful. But when Marek looked up with his eyes for the man's verdict, his gag reflex suddenly and forcefully kicked in, and he hitched, then raced to pull off as his body shuddered and he vomited once again, spewing a small quantity of clear, viscous liquid into the bucket below.

Tichy moaned as the boy impaled himself on his slick, slippery erection and took it all the way down on first try. Fuck! Blowjobs would never be the same for him now, knowing that this was possible! Tichy watched with amusement as the child pulled off and immediately retched into the bucket. Oh, this was just the perfect game, wasn't it? The boy was deep-throating him to the point of vomiting, all because he feared what would happen if he failed. The cane was such a wonderful motivational tool!

Tichy shuddered in pleasure. Could he cum from twenty-five consecutive impalements alone? He had doubted it was possible initially, but after the boy's first successful attempt, now he wasn't so sure. It wasn't just the feel of the kid's mouth and throat on his cock, it was also the eye contact, the boy's obedience, and the way he puked and retched afterwards. Of course, now, even if Marek retched, there would be no more wiping, no more water-drinking, just more of this. Retching was part of the game.

"One," allowed Tichy and marked the boy's attempt as a success. "Next try," he commanded almost as soon as Marek stopped spewing out whatever his stomach was sending up.

Marek wasn't sure whether he could make the next attempt, as his stomach was still forcefully trying to expel contents it simply didn't have. It clutched and clenched as the boy knelt up again for his second try. He looked queasy and pale as he mouthed the tip of the man's cock once again. He found himself silently thanking his lucky stars that Tichy had made him abide by his original request, as he knew he would not have been successful trying to do what he had done if Tichy's cock had been dry. The man's terms hadn't been pleasant, but there was no question that they had helped Marek to avoid at least one cane stroke so far.

With a short breath and a lot of resolve, Marek plunged his head back down on the man's cock. He made it all the way to the root once again, but this time his stomach did not wait, and instead clutched and spewed while the boy still was on the descent. His eyes watered as more of the clear, viscous liquid exploded through his sinuses and out his nostrils. He pulled off as quickly as he could, gasping, coughing, and pulling glop away from his nose with the fingers of his free hand.

Oh, this was just too good, Tichy thought. Too amazing. Not the mess of it – Tichy didn't actually like the smell or the feel of puke on his cock – but what it symbolized. How powerfully Marek must fear him to be so motivated to keep doing what he had been tasked to do. Oh yes, this was precious, special, and amazing. If the boy managed to finish his ordeal, it would be another first; Tichy had never put another of his victims through something like this before. Puke or not – Tichy took another drag to drown out the stench in his nose – the boy's protesting, desperate throat felt amazing on his shaft, especially since it was milking and massaging the whole of it, from tip to root.

"Two," he announced neutrally, as if oblivious to the boy's extreme struggle. "Next attempt. Go."

It was too soon! Tichy wasn't even giving him time to catch his breath between attempts! The boy's face was flushed, and his forehead was starting to break out in perspiration. He had 23 attempts to go and he wasn't sure he could get through five. Failure, however, was not an option. Marek had felt the cane, and he had no doubt Tichy was itching for an excuse to use it on him again. The boy had no idea what would happen to him if he received the cane again on top of the welts, wounds, and bruises he already had on his backside.

Once again Marek knelt up, ignoring his protesting stomach, and lipped the tip of the man's cock back into his mouth. Mustering his energy, he plunged down once again, his eyes bulging, until he rooted his face on the man's abdomen. He held for a second, and pulled off, gasping, but somehow holding the urge to vomit in check.

Tichy admired the sight of the 12-year-old impaling himself on his cock. Oh, what an excellent cocksucker even a smallish young boy could be with the right sort of motivation! Tichy hummed with pleasure and bone-deep, profound, and thorough satisfaction. Marek didn't even puke this time! Hmmmm. The boy sure had potential. But it felt far too good on Tichy's cock for him to give the boy long pauses between attempts. The kid's efforts were starting to make him feel horny and super-aroused, which was too bad for Marek because he wasn't going to get the breaks he probably needed and was hoping for. It was all part of the game, of course. Each descent should be a little bit more difficult than the one before.

"Three. Excellent effort so far," said Tichy. He paused for only a few heartbeats. "Again."

Marek's chest was rising and falling with effort as his stomach clenched against the thought of doing it again. Yet he had to do it again, and again after that. Tichy was unrelenting, and the boy gasped as he reached for the man's cock once again. Tip in mouth, he hesitated, then plunged down – all the way, pressing his nose to the man's abdomen, holding there, before pulling off once again and panting for air.

Tichy was already thinking of future blowjobs and possible excuses to repeat pretty much this exact exercise. It was perfect. Marek Hurta, the Glass King's grandson, with his caned, still very sore, and now darkly bruised ass was on his knees, impaling his face on the whole of his tormentor's cock, again and again and again. It looked good, it felt good, and it was just the sort of retribution Tichy had envisioned for the boy when he had arranged a place for him at the school. It would be the first of many such trials, the boy could be assured of that.

"Again," he commanded.

With a groan of sheer misery, Marek mouthed at the man's cockhead and pressed his face down once again, but this time his stomach protested and clutched, blasting his sinuses with fresh, acidic bile, as he touched nose to abdomen and pulled off with a retching, gasping, gagging sound. He used the fingers of his left hand to draw twin streamers of the oozing liquid from his nostrils and direct them to the bucket.

"Again," said Tichy unrelentingly.

"Please," Marek gasped, his stomach churning, as he held the man's cock in his right hand and gasped for air. He couldn't keep up this pace.

Tichy only smiled, picked up a pencil, ready to make a line that would end up turning into an actual line across Marek's caned – and soon to be re-caned – buttocks at the end of this cruel little game. He started to count down.

"Five … four … three …"

Quickly, Marek knelt up and placed the man's cockhead in his mouth once again. But he wasn't ready, and his stomach immediately told him so. It clenched and roiled even as he prepared to plunge, and as soon as he started down, he vomited, making a gargled choking sound as he lowered his head and directed the man's penis into his throat for the remainder of its journey into his gullet. But his head seemed to have other plans, and before he could make it all the way down, his eyes bulged as he gagged and vomited again, and he pulled off gasping, facing down into the bucket as he held Tichy's cock away and dry-heaved another streamer of goo into the abyss.

Tichy dispassionately made a line on his piece of paper. The rules were clear. Each go counted and successful attempts were only those that ended with Marek's lips around the very root of Tichy's cock. There was a silvery gray pencil line on the paper now. That was one cane stroke that Marek had not managed to avoid – it would be turned into another purple line across his little ass.

"Nope," he announced to the boy, even though his failure at the task had been obvious. Tichy said it only to rub it in, but to what he thought was his immense and charitable credit, he did give the boy a few additional seconds to recover before his next attempt. "Again," he said when those seconds were up, and so the game continued, descent, after descent, after descent.

Marek emitted a little moan of despair as he winced and tried to recover from his last effort. This was hard work. His face was red with effort and his brow was wet with perspiration. His entire naked body was tense and trembling as he willed his stomach to stand down and stop fucking with him. He had thrown up at least a half a dozen times by now, and he simply had nothing left to vomit, yet his stomach refused to let him be. It was as if his body was conspiring against him again, just as it had last night when he had his first wet dream and fired the largest, messiest cum load of his entire life.

"Again," said Tichy after a slightly longer pause.

The few extra seconds gave Marek enough time to regain his breath as he lipped the man's cockhead back into the front of his mouth. He steeled himself and plunged – only to find that he could not find the entrance to his throat! The man's cockhead hung up, hitting the back of his mouth instead, as the boy looked frantically up at Tichy. Marek had to pull back to find the entrance, then force the man's cock down hard, until his nose touched the man's abdomen once again. He held his nose there for an extra second, as if in apology, even as his lungs cried out for air. Would it count? He pulled off, gasping and red-faced, awaiting the man's verdict.

Tichy made eye contact with the youngster and smiled slightly, noticing that Marek didn't avoid him or let his eyes glass over for once – not when he was waiting for the man's ruling. Tichy let the pause stretch on. At least Marek could breathe and calm himself down some, even while Tichy was very much fucking with his mind. This was honestly more fun than a man should be allowed to have!

"Twelve," he said eventually. That was twelve good goes, one cane stroke and just like that, Marek had made it past half of his task. Halfway there. Twelve more times he had to impale his face on the man's erection, but it was obvious that the boy was tiring and would soon be earning himself some additional strokes. It was inevitable.

Marek gave a little groan of relief as he pulled the man's cockhead close once again and prepared himself for the next attempt. His stomach, mercifully, appeared to be standing down, perhaps because it was empty, or perhaps because it had figured out that nothing it did to protest seemed to matter to the activity. But now there was a different problem. A new problem. Marek could feel a pain rising in the top of his throat. Dull and achy, it felt like he had strep throat or something similar. It hurt.

"Again," came the command, and Marek plunged down once more. The man's cock found his throat this time, but it stuck there, as the throat was unwilling to allow it to enter, Marek had to force it to, pressing down all the way, nose to abdomen, causing an eye-watering gag at the bottom. As he lifted off once again, he realized that had hurt. A lot. He looked up at the man, panting heavily. The boy looked very tired and bedraggled. But more than that, he looked worried, as his throat tightened up even more and sang out in pain.

Tichy didn't need to be told that the boy's throat was sore. Nobody could do what Marek was doing without abrading the sensitive membranes that lined the walls of his passageway. They would surely be swelling now from so much abuse, constricting Marek's throat, closing off the opening, making the entry of Tichy's cock much more difficult. That development certainly was going to make the second half of the game another notch more interesting. Tichy's cock was straining, and even though he couldn't tell for sure, he thought he was likely leaking a bit of precum. Oh yes, there it was. At least the cockhead would be slicker for the boy's following attempts.

"Thirteen," he nodded. He let Marek catch a quick breath and contemplate the worsening pain of the act before he directed the boy to continue with his now-familiar, one-word command: "Again."

Marek panted for air as he held the man's cock by the base in his right hand and awaited the dreaded direction to continue. He seemingly had conquered his gag reflex only to find a new, potentially even greater problem to confront. The boy could feel each transit of the man's cock becoming more difficult, more constricted, requiring more pressure to force the man's member into his gullet. His throat was swelling. The opening, especially, was raw and abraded, and it was making it clear to the 12-year-old that it did not want to continue to provide passage for the man's erection, thank you very much.

On Tichy's command, Marek plunged down, directing the man's cockhead to the back of his mouth, the opening to his throat and down. It hurt. Marek forced his head lower, his eyes bulging with effort, as he willed his nose to touch the man's groin like an athlete desperately trying to do just one more rep. It was a struggle. The man's cock moved like a snake through sludge, further abrading the inflamed membranes of the boy's throat as it forced its way down. Marek pulled off, with a look of pain, worry, and disbelief on his face.

"Fourteen," announced Tichy. Marek looked to be near the end of his endurance. If he gave up now, however, it would be 12 strokes of the cane, not on a fresh, unhurt bottom but on top of the ungodly mess that Marek's behind already was. Hmmmm.

There was no easy way out for the boy, but Tichy didn't care. Twenty-five was a solid number for Marek's multiple violations of the rules. It was also set in stone at this point, especially as Tichy had already cut the boy some significant slack by letting him try to erase some of the strokes with this little game. The boy was rightfully trying hard to earn those strokes back and he had better be grateful, Tichy thought to himself.

Marek looked troubled as he massaged his neck and throat with his hand. He was obviously in pain, but pain etched on the faces of young boys was very familiar to Tichy. He was, after all the school's disciplinarian, and he was quite skilled at his job. He relished it, too. The fact that Marek was in pain didn't alter his course by so much as a single degree. He allowed the boy a few breaths before signaling the resumption of the game.

"Again."

Marek looked pale as he knelt up and pulled the man's cock to the proper angle. He tried to swallow some saliva in the hope that it would lubricate his throat, which was now very sore. He couldn't figure out exactly what was wrong. The man's cock was still wet, but it seemed to have expanded somehow. It was killing the boy's throat. On the last plunge, it had felt like it was wrapped in sandpaper.

"Mr. Tichy," he gasped. "Can I please have a drink of water?" he asked, hoping for some additional lubrication and utterly desperate for more time.

Tichy eyed the boy contemptuously. "You do realize that I keep going easy on you, I hope?" he said. "You're new here, you're young, and a lot of the time, when you mess up, you don't do it on purpose, but I won't always be such a softie," he warned as he poured the kid another glass of water. Tichy didn't want the boy to abrade his throat too severely. While he wasn't a doctor, this time of year a sore throat could probably be passed off as the flu, but still. He let Marek drink.

Marek nodded as the man granted his request, his head bobbing up and down in agreement at everything the man said. The boy was grateful. He took the glass in both hands like a toddler, lifted it to his mouth, and began to gulp it down. But swallowing was difficult, and Marek grimaced in pain. He lowered the glass and wiped his face, then lifted it again for another go. He needed the break. The water wouldn't hurt. But what was wrong with his throat?

"I already said again, and decided not to count down this time, but once you're ready, we still have 11 more attempts to go," reminded Tichy in an upbeat voice.

Marek swallowed the last gulp, still holding the glass, and looked at the man. How could he do 11 more? How could he do one more? The man's cock had expanded. Something was wrong. The boy was trembling. He felt cornered. He felt like he was going to fail. In fact, he knew he was going to fail. Then it would just be the fierce, agonizing bite of the cane.

"Mr. Tichy – my throat is really killing me," he said in a tight voice. He was near tears.

Tichy scratched his head and rolled his eyes. "You realize you come here, daily, to be punished, but in a way, all you're really getting is a lot of slack cut to you," he lectured the boy. "You had the nerve to come here with a note that warranted additional punishment, and now you're getting slack for that, too. There is literally one thing, and one thing only playing in your favor," he said, as he paused for dramatic effect. "It is only you openly admitting that you're a wimp and not brave enough to face too much pain and agreeing that you deserve to be humiliated that is saving you," he said menacingly.

Marek was on tenterhooks as he listened to the man's response. He was quite sure that it would be at least terribly painful, if not impossible, to finish the last eleven efforts successfully. His throat was swollen, the sensitive membranes raw and abraded by the forced passage of Tichy's hard cock down into his gullet. Yet the boy knew that Tichy might reject his plea and require him to continue. Any failure, of course, would be met by the cane. But as Tichy spoke, Marek detected a ray of hope in his words. The boy nodded in agreement – he was a wimp. He had been cut slack. Was the man going to let him off the hook? Would he?

"And so," Tichy continued as he reached into a drawer and pulled out the cream that Marek already was likely to associate with a certain act, "if your throat is that bad, we'll do it in your butt. Balls deep. Slowly, gently, but no warm-up with any fingers this time. And you'll be grateful that I keep moving the goalposts to accommodate for your wimpy behavior," said Tichy.

Tichy raised a finger before Marek could reply. "Don't say a word," he warned the boy. "Either you're up for your next go at it, or you can fold yourself over my desk and spread your ass cheeks apart. Let your actions speak instead of your mouth, this time."

The terms were stark, and Marek's head drooped. All of Tichy's deals had a price, and the price for this one was high, but the boy knew he had no choice. He could either take it in his ass or almost certainly take as many as a dozen more strokes of the cane to his bottom. Marek was not a brave kid when it came to pain. There was really only one choice.

With a last, nervous swallow down his painfully swollen throat, Marek rose to his feet and, shakily, made his way to the man's desk. He went to the same end where he had been positioned to receive his caning and leaned over it, arraying his naked body the same way the man had tied it for his punishment. Spreading his legs, trembling now, he reached back behind him with his hands, and gingerly peeled his bruised and discolored cheeks apart, offering his ass to the man.

Tichy's cock twitched. Well. This was a very different attitude from a couple of days ago when the boy had rolled off the dusty old armchair in the boiler room and started scrambling away in panic, looking like he might actually put up a fight. Once again, Tichy credited the almost magic, persuasive qualities of the cane. For a while, he just stared at the boy. There was something almost artistic, something that resonated with him deeply, to see the boy – in particular, this very special boy – naked, bent over, and offering up his puckered hole almost eagerly, stretching his bruised, battered, and cane-striped buns apart to show off his little starfish, inviting Tichy to fuck it. Marek Hurta had certainly come a long, long way in just a few short days.

Marek couldn't stop shaking. These were full-body trembles, from his torso to his legs, and into his hands as he held his buns apart for Tichy. The boy was terrified of the pain to come from Tichy's penetration, but he was even more scared of the cane. He would have to suffer through this, and two more days after it, all because he had been too much of a baby to take his slippering. It sounded so quaint now after what he had been through – a slippering. He had been a baby. He had been a wimp. Tichy was right about all of that.

Tichy wiped his cock and balls with the cleaner one of the two previously used hankies and smeared cream all over his shaft. He poked the cream's cold, small metallic tip against Marek's butthole and gave it a squeeze. Some spilled out around the boy's anus, but a good dollop of it was forced inside. The kid had no idea how fucking lucky he was right now to be cut this degree of slack. If after all of this charity he ever complained or tattled, Tichy would crucify the kid in the aftermath. Quite possibly literally.

Tichy aligned his thoroughly creamed cock tip with the boy's pucker. "Pull a little more," he demanded, more for the pleasure of giving the command than out of necessity.

The boy tensed and gasped as Tichy lubed him. He continued to shake but pulled his aching cheeks even farther apart as the man prepared to mount him. He felt Tichy's cockhead at his entrance.

Tichy slowly slipped the tip of his cock inside Marek's anus. Technically he could just keep going and hurt the boy, slowly like he had promised, but continuously, but once again he paused, much like last time, because he felt the boy's hole resisting and he didn't want to tear it.

Marek felt a shock of knife-like pain as the man entered him. "Ohhhhh," he moaned, as he prepared for even more pain. His anus twitched with discomfort. But the man paused, as if waiting for something.

"Just remember that as a wimp, you don't make the rules, you just play by them," said Tichy. "You don't have the word 'no' in your vocabulary here. You obey, you perform, no matter how gross, horrible, or humiliating it gets," warned the man. "You cannot switch tracks." He caressed Marek's hair and gently stroked his back.

"You can let go now so you can properly lie down on the desk and relax as best as you can," Tichy continued in a softer voice. "Your legs are all tense, too; just let them go limp and dangle. It'll help a lot. And don't forget your breathing. This is not your first time, wimp; you already know how to get fucked," chuckled the teacher.

Marek knew he was a wimp; the man didn't have to keep telling him that. He wasn't brave when it came to pain. He'd never been beaten before, certainly not systematically, not the way Tichy did it. The slipper had simply hurt too much. The cane had been even worse … he didn't even want to think about that. Other boys seemed to be able to take their punishments, where Marek had only failed. He knew that Tichy had cut him some slack, but he had also made clear his disgust for Marek's performance. The boy knew that Tichy was experienced in punishing boys, and he was embarrassed that he had been unable to handle his punishments as bravely as the others. Marek had no way of knowing, of course, that the over 30 hard strokes with the cane he had received on his naked bottom were almost medieval in their severity, especially for a small-statured boy of 12.

Marek listened as Tichy spoke. The man was right. There was no sense in fighting him or denying what he was. He felt Tichy's fingers on his back, where they had gone after smoothing his hair. Marek knew the man was trying to make this easier for him, and he was grateful for that. He let go of his ass cheeks and brought his hands forward, trying to make himself as comfortable as possible on the desk. He took a deep breath, exhaled, then did it again. Tichy was trying to help him, so he tried to help himself.

Tichy gave Marek a little longer before proceeding to slide in a little more, feeling around for resistance and a little while later pulling out. Technically, this was not quite a continuation of what Marek had been doing with his throat before, but the man wanted to add more lube just in case, before going in, pausing, this time more briefly, and then sliding all of the rest of the way in, in one smooth, slow, but nonstop motion until his trim pubes pressed against the boy's buttocks.

"Mhmmm," Tichy moaned as Marek's tight canal gripped his cock like a velvet glove.

Marek couldn't help but grunt in pain as the man's cock pushed deeper. But Tichy was going slowly, and Marek used the opportunity to take several deep breaths. It wasn't as bad as it had been in the gym. He had been so scared, then – his first time. This wasn't so- "ohhhhhhhh," he moaned, as the man slid in all the way. It hurt. Marek drew in a breath and held it as he willed his bottom to adjust to the intruder.

Tichy paused there a little, letting Marek adjust, preparing the boy for the nine further thrusts he was about to do, and then he slowly pulled out. No short thrusts like with the early butt-fucking; he actually let his cock pop all the way out of the boy's ass. It really was going to be like the throat challenge, except now he was the one in charge and the receiving orifice was the boy's butt, not his mouth.

Marek lay passively across the desk. Whatever happened now was not in his hands. His bottom was the man's to use. It was the price for being a wimp, being unable to perform, being unable to complete so many tasks and breaking the agreements he had struck with Tichy. The boy was simply exhausted and resigned to whatever fate Tichy planned for him, but he knew that in two more days, his torment would come to an end. At the beginning of his punishment, it had seemed endless. But now Marek saw a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, even as Tichy was at that very moment fucking a very real tunnel that belonged to the boy.

Suddenly, Tichy moved from behind the boy to the back of his desk, pulled at Marek's hair and brought the boy's face to his cock. "Open, wimp. And suck. Not with your throat, but lips, tongue, mouth. Show your obedience," he said firmly, darkly, presenting the boy with the oily, just-out-of-his-ass erection.

When it came to Tichy, Marek knew that nothing was ever certain, and his torments were never over, even when you had given up and accepted your fate. Marek felt the man withdraw from his ass before he was pulled across the desk, face to face with the man's slippery, nasty cock. Marek knew where that cock had been. He had felt it there. What the man wanted him to do was so utterly gross that he felt his beleaguered stomach clenching again, as if to say, "Are you kidding me? Really?" But the man wasn't kidding, and the boy was too defeated and demoralized to resist. He opened his mouth as Tichy prepared to feed him his vile, nasty cockhead.

Once again, this was a first for Tichy. He had humiliated and broken boys before, of course, but he had always been cautious not to make them sick and not to hurt them beyond what he could easily brush off. He had always stopped short of doing certain things. But with the Hurta boy, he felt no such need for restraint. On the contrary, the boy had been brought to the school specifically so that he could suffer at Tichy's hands, and Tichy fully intended to use him to fulfil all of his nastiest fantasies. He slipped his slick, oily, smelly cock into the boy's mouth and nodded affirmatively as if saying, yeah, just like that, wimp.

"Eyes," he warned the kid. "And let me really feel that tongue. Don't stall, or you'll only make this last that much longer."

Marek's face seemed to turn gray as the man fed him the same cock that had been removed from his ass only seconds before. It was gross. Marek forced himself to look up at Tichy, and what he saw there filled him with hatred. The man was happily smiling, reveling in Marek's disgust. It dawned on the boy then that this wasn't a punishment. He wasn't paying the price for cheating or being a wimp. Tichy was tormenting him because he enjoyed it. He got a kick out of being gross, mean, and disgusting. He probably got an even bigger kick out of hurting boys and making them cry. Marek didn't know the word that precisely described Tichy's behavior and mindset, nor did he fully understand the concept of sadism in his 12-year-old mind, but what he saw in the man's eyes and on his smiling face told him all he needed to know. The man was enjoying this; of that much, Marek was clear.

Tichy smiled, wondering how many weeks of hard work it would have taken to get the boy to this level of obedience if Marek hadn't kept messing up and failing, finding himself in need of slack and alternative punishments, time and time again. Never mind that Tichy had taken complete advantage of the boy's innocence and naivete and had set him up for nearly all those failures. He made no apologies for any of that. His plan had worked out amazingly well so far with Marek himself hastening things right along.

The boy felt absolutely defeated. Tichy had all the power and there was nothing that Marek could do about it. He could hurt and punish Marek to his heart's content, humiliate the boy, and make his life a living hell. And so far, that's exactly what he had done, all for something that Marek wasn't even guilty of. It was unfair. It was mean. Adults weren't supposed to be this way, but Tichy was, and there was nothing Marek could do about it but obey his instructions. He forced himself to mouth and tongue the man's cockhead. He cleaned his own juices and the disgusting lube from the fleshy bulb. All the while, his eyes looked up at Tichy's with hatred. He didn't even want to look away. He wanted Tichy to see the hatred there, see it and feel it.

Whatever impact Marek imagined his hate-filled look might have on Tichy, he was almost certainly wrong. Indeed, the man's cock twitched in response to the boy's irate gaze. That helpless, seething anger in the boy's eyes even as his tongue and lips worked on Tichy's filthy shaft was so cute, so precious, so sweetly absurd and contradictory, that the man couldn't help but smile. It was also an incredible turn-on for the man. Tichy had intended the boy's first ass-to-mouth experience to last for only a just a few seconds, just long enough for the boy to get a good taste before he returned his cock to the boy's ass, but instead he let it stretch on for more minutes as he savored the child's delicious reaction. As he gazed down at the boy, Tichy's body, mind, and rotten soul were in complete alignment with what he saw.

The boy was seething. Despite his no-blink, hostile, angry glare, Tichy looked even happier, even more content, even more amused at what he was making Marek do. The boy vowed, then and there, that he would have his revenge on Tichy someday. It would take time, years even, but someday, Marek would return with a vengeance, and Tichy would be sorry. He'd be very, very sorry. Marek would make him beg and plead, and then he'd shoot him. In the knees, probably, so it would hurt. And then he would kill him and spit in his face. Or spit in his face, and then kill him. He would have to work the details out. But someday, Marek knew he would come back, and Tichy would be very sorry. He would be the one begging Marek for mercy.

Tichy ignored Marek's evil glare right up until the end, as he finally pulled out. "You seem angry," he said to the boy matter-of-factly. "Would you prefer to try ten more with your throat, or eleven with the cane, Mr. Furious? Or will you apologize for frowning at me like a little bitch and spread your ass for the nine bits of your punishment and the hard fucking that follows?"

Suddenly, all the fight went out of the boy like an errant gust of wind. "I'm not angry," Marek lied. He forced his voice to remain neutral and his expression to seem harmless. But would it be enough? The boy wasn't sure. "I'm sorry if I looked that way," he apologized.

"Sir," Tichy corrected as he smacked the boy's ass. It would only be a small reminder normally, but over the bruises and just-starting-to-heal cane-marks, it was a plenty good reminder. "Now you'll count the nine that you have coming," said Tichy as he repositioned himself behind the boy, applying some more lube. "You'll count when I'm all the way in and you'll say thank you, because this is cutting you some double slack, in case you forgot."

"Uhhh- Sir," Marek stammered, as the man smacked his ass. He'd forgotten again and paid the price. His butt was already so sore from the abuse it had taken. He nodded along as the man instructed him. It almost didn't matter what Tichy said. The boy knew he had to comply. He put his right cheek down on the desk and tried to prepare himself for the man's re-entry.

Tichy pushed his cock into Marek's ass once again. He did it slowly, very slowly in fact, but this time, he didn't pause. He went from pushing the tip of his cock through the boy's puckered ring to balls deep in the same motion.

Marek's butt cheeks clenched and his nostrils flared as Tichy seated his cockhead at the boy's indent and pushed inside. Fuck.

"Uhhhh," Marek groaned as the man pushed deep. "OK," he gasped, as his eyes watered. "One."

Tichy pulled out and smacked the boy's butt again but harder this time. "One, thank you sir," he demonstrated exactly what he wanted to hear. "So that one didn't count. Try again," he said gruffly.

Marek's head rose off the desk with a gasp as the man corrected him with a smack to his ass, then he lowered it again. "One, thank-" he started to say, as the man told him it hadn't counted. Fuck Tichy and his stupid counts, the boy thought to himself. Always 25 of this, 10 of that. Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, fuck him! Marek tried to keep his expression neutral. He knew that his role was to lie on the desk and let the man do as he pleased. But inwardly, he raged against the man's whimsical rules and dictatorial manner.

Tichy proceeded to penetrate the boy, a little less slowly to get his full attention this time, from outside to balls deep in roughly one-two-three-four-ish seconds. He waited for Marek to count and thank him as instructed, staying balls-deep inside the boy in the meanwhile.

"Ahhhhhhh," Marek moaned in pain, his head lifted off the desk once again as he grunted an exhale. He put his head back down. "Two- I mean one, thank you, sir," he forced himself to say. Fuck that had hurt. He could feel himself starting to pant, his heart rate now elevated with fear and discomfort.

Tichy pulled all the way out, and then, without really waiting, just re-inserted his cock. He went slowly, especially as he was pushing through the boy's sphincter, to demonstrate that he appreciated and acknowledged the kid's obedience. But he still went balls deep, all the way, in one motion and paused, waiting for the expected count and polite thanks. When he heard it, he pulled out, pausing briefly to smear more lube on his cock, before going in again. And out. And in. He could see Marek's butthole glowing red as it was opened again and again; this activity was much more punishing on it than if he had simply entered the boy once to fuck him. He penetrated the boy again and again. He could feel the tension building in his balls, and he knew exactly what he was going to do as soon as Marek said nine, and he suspected the boy knew it, too.

It hurt, especially at the point of entry at Marek's hole, the ring inverting as it pushed inward, then stretching as the man pulled outward. It also hurt deeper inside as the man pushed in all the way. It hurt, but it was tolerable – much more so than the cane – and Marek kept up the count even while trying to keep his extra-curricular moans, grunts, and gasps to a minimum. Given the expression of pleasure he had seen on Tichy's face earlier, he didn't want to give him the satisfaction of hearing him in distress. But although his sounds of pain diminished but for the counting, Marek couldn't stop himself from hitching in breaths and forgetting to exhale. It was just too hard when he was worried about the pain.

"Nine, thank you, sir," he finally said in the most-neutral, this-doesn't-hurt voice he could muster.

"Well and good," declared Tichy. "We're done with your extra punishment and now we can begin our session as we would if you hadn't messed up last night with your rules," said Tichy benevolently. "You still have one stroke of the cane to come, but that can wait until I've finished," said Tichy amusedly as he began to fuck the boy's ass, not too roughly, not too gently, just nice and deep with about three-inch thrusts, the kind of ass-fucking that was entirely focused on making his cock feel good, and not intending to either punish or entirely avoid hurting the boy.

The inevitable ass-fucking proceeded as Marek had known it would. He knew the man wouldn't stop after only nine penetrations; he would stop only after he came inside the boy's butt. Marek continued to lie passively on the desk with his cheek on the wood surface, his face sliding a fraction of an inch back and forth with every thrust. He tried to concentrate on it not hurting; he wasn't entirely successful, but it was tolerable. It wasn't as bad as the boiler room, and it was far, far better than the cane. He tried to remain quiet, to give the man nothing to savor.

Tichy in fact wanted a bit more of a reaction from the kid. He could tell that Marek was trying to be brave, but that just amused Tichy. He loved beating and fucking the bravery right out of young boys, and with the Hurta kid, it was almost too easy. All it took to bring some satisfying grunts, gasps, and moans from the reluctant first-year boy were a few sharper, harder thrusts from Tichy's cock. Tichy liked hearing those sounds when he was fucking a boy. Boy-fucking wasn't meant to be comfortable for the recipient, and if it ever seemed to be trending in that direction, Tichy was more than happy to give it a go without lube. But he doubted he would need to go lube-less anytime soon with this kid, since Marek was only 12 years old and on the small side for his age. The size and length of Tichy's cock alone was enough to ensure that the boy wouldn't get too comfortable as he was being plowed.

Marek wasn't happy with his situation, but he was very relieved to hear that coming out of this entire ordeal, he had escaped all but one stroke with the cane. Given how worried he had been about his multiple violations of Tichy's rules, the boy considered himself fortunate. As the man proceeded to fuck him, he thought back to the 25 strokes of the cane he had had avoided, and how the man had given him a further break from the deep-plunging task when his throat had seized up. His throat still hurt, and the boy was under no illusions that he would have been able to complete the task without several additional strokes of the cane added to his total. As angry as he was with Tichy, the man had been merciful, at least to a certain extent. Marek would take his gifts as he received them.

Marek took the man's cock along with his gifts, every thrust of it. He didn't exactly have a choice. The pain wasn't horrible, it was just there – unless the man thrust hard, almost jaggedly. Those hurt. As Tichy fucked him, Marek wondered if the man fully knew what a poof that made him. Made both of them, actually, except that Marek hadn't wanted to do this. But Tichy had wanted to, and that made him a poof. Even if he was only doing it to punish and humiliate Marek – the boy could hardly imagine that the strong, handsome gym teacher was an actual homosexual – it still made him a poof in Marek's book. No wonder Tichy had promised not tell anyone about his punishment of Marek.

Tichy eventually came with a very satisfied grunt. He remained inside Marek until he began to shrink, then pulled his slick, sloppy, and smelly cock out of the boy's hole. He watched as a small trickle of his cum oozed out of the kid's raw, abraded opening. Marek's butthole actually gaped slightly, rather than closing up entirely it remained open, just enough for a pencil to slide in without touching his sphincter, no more, but it was enough for that slick trickle to continue and somehow, Tichy was quite amused by it. He wondered if he could get it to gape even more one day, really stretching the boy out, since he was here at the school very much to be fucked and fucked with.

Marek could feel the man cum, and when Tichy withdrew, his cock slid free from the boy's rectum without so much as a word of complaint from Marek's abraded anus. The man's cum provided a wonderful lubricant, but now Marek could feel it oozing down his balls and leg. Gross. He hoped the man would clean his bottom as he had done in the boiler room, because Marek didn't want to touch it.

"Turn around, up on the desk," Tichy instructed the kid. "Knees to your shoulders. Time for the cane," he said. It was a new and different position, even more humiliating than the one Marek was already in and of course, Tichy wasn't going to miss, but if he did, he could very easily whack the boy on his balls.

Did the man really want him to sit on the desk with cum leaking out of his butt hole? With a faint smile, Marek was only too happy to comply. He'd leave cum on the man's desk – Tichy's own cum – and that would be funny. Maybe even worth a stroke of the cane. Well, maybe not, but it was funny! Marek slid off the deck immediately turned around, then hopped gingerly up on his sore butt. Leaning back, he placed his forearms behind the backs of his legs and pulled them back. He could literally feel the cum puddling from his now stretched rectum down his leg to the desk below. Ha! Fuck Tichy! It gave him something to think about other than the pain that was about to come.

Tichy could see the cum leaking from Marek's bottom, but he found the boy's punished, gaping ass far too alluring to want to clean it up in a hurry. His desk could always be wiped, even polished with a hanky soaked in vodka, or … Tichy chuckled as an idea occurred to him. He picked up the cane and aimed it carefully so as not to hit the kid over one of the worst marks. He wanted to deliver a full-forced blow to remind Marek of the pain he could be experiencing, but he still didn't want to break his skin.

Measuring the distance and the angle, positioning the cane very precisely, Tichy lifted it – not quite overhead this time, but high up – and SWOOSH-THWACK!!!! went the cane, leaving an angry reddish-purple line behind almost precisely where Tichy had wanted it to land.

Marek's enjoyment at the thought of Tichy's defiled desk was short-lived as the man picked up the cane and prepared to deliver the stroke that the boy knew he had coming. Unlike the first time he was caned, this time the boy could see how carefully Tichy planned to maximize the blow – measuring the distance, aiming, and then raising the thing in a manner that Marek knew, with every tensed, trembling muscle in his body, was going to hurt like fuck. He clenched his teeth. His eyes went wide as the cane slashed down, cutting the air with a terrible "SWOOOOOOOSH!" and then impacting the boy's bottom with a sharp "THWAAAAAACK" sound that signaled pain was on the way.

And was it. Marek felt the air expel from his lungs in a forceful gasp as his eyes watered with tears. Fuccccccck it hurt! Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Tichy kept the cane in his hand and pulled Marek off the desk, making him turn sideways so he wouldn't smear the puddle of cum which leaked most when he had spread and opened his legs, a small pool of it glistening on the side of Tichy's desk. With the cane still very much at the ready in his right hand, he grabbed Marek's hair with his left and pushed his face towards the runny puddle.

"You left a mess. Clean it up, cocksucker."

Marek was trying desperately not to scream as the man pulled him from the desk. He bent at the waist and crouched as he winced in agony, but the man had other idea and Marek was pulled up by his hair and propelled back to the desk. Fucccckkk! With a sinking feeling, as Tichy brought his face to the cum puddle, the boy realized that the joke was on him, just like it always seemed to be when he was with Tichy. With a little sigh, he began to lick up the mess.

NEXT PART