‘Discipline, Inc. is dedicated to improving the level of discipline in the elementary and high school student environment,’ the brochure said. The glossy flyer was one of several dozen others touting different products and services that I had picked up at the American Educators convention. I had stuffed them all in my tote bag and now that I was back at work I was taking the time to sort through them.

Discipline was a problem, and when I’d been hired as District Superintendent I’d been given the mandate to make the classrooms safer and less disruptive and to improve the district’s attendance. So far I haven’t been able to accomplish either. The inner-city district is about a third Asian immigrants, a third black, and the rest a mixture of various white minorities. The district has the lowest per capita income of any in the state and the whole inner city is regarded as being little more than a drug-infested gangland. Neither I nor the Principals under me have the option of suspending a kid; no child can to be left behind and unless they commit an offense so severe as to result in incarceration they have to be in school. Nor could they administer the type of punishment that they had received as kids, when a swat on the ass was frequently used to get a miscreant’s attention. We can dish out a tongue-lashing and issue all kinds of threats, but that was as far as it can go. Any dangerous behavior is referred to the police, who report the calls in their regular news releases, which even further erodes the public’s confidence in the both me and the school system.

Later that afternoon I tagged Discipline, Inc.’s web site and read more about the relatively new firm. They didn’t list their rates, which they claimed they were both ‘affordable and reasonable’, so I filled in the blank to request even more information and to receive a quote on their services. The school board would not only have to review any new program but also approve funding, and I wanted to have pricing information available before approaching them.

“There are some people from a company called Discipline, Incorporated to see you, Mr. Watson,” my secretary announced two weeks later. I had almost forgotten about requesting more information, and the fact that they sent a sales team without first notifying me sort of pissed me off. I despise ambush salesmen using hard-sell tactics, like those I used to sell vacuum cleaners in college. I could have brushed them off and asked them to make an appointment but instead I had her show them in.

Marcie was a short and frail looking black, late twenties or early thirties, and was dressed in a manner that accentuated her statuesque figure. I thought that her tee shirt and tight jeans were somewhat inappropriate for a sales representative. Darrin was about the same age and looked extremely fit without being muscle bound. He was wore a simple team tee shirt, sweat pants, and sneakers. Although he was white, the chemistry between him and Marcie was obvious. Mr. Williams was obviously the leader. He was in his late forties or early fifties, somewhat over weight, and wore a conservative suit.

“I only requested additional information,” I stated rather sarcastically as soon as the introductions had been made. “I wasn’t expecting a salesman to call, let alone a team.”

“I’m the sales rep,” Mr. Williams replied. “Marcie and Darrin are my demonstration assistants. We’re not selling vacuum cleaners, after all, and there certainly won’t be any boiler room tactics, but before we mention a price I’d like you to see just what the program can do. I want to give a demonstration, preferably on your toughest, most problematic individual. You can then take a month or two to analyze the results, and then we’ll talk at your convenience about the price. I that fair enough?”

It was almost like the way I sold vacuum cleaners, where I’d weasel my way into a house and challenge the homeowner by offering to dump dirt on her carpet and then clean it up. The only big difference was the product and the waiting period. I always tried to close the deal that same day, and I spent several afternoons in bed with horny housewives completing the transactions.

“Okay,” I relented. “Let’s see what your program can do.” I picked up the phone and called the Principal of the high school.

“Don, I have some people here who claim they can work miracles with any discipline-challenged kid. They want to give a demonstration. How about looking through your records and finding someone who’s particularly problematic. Call me back, okay?”

“I don’t need to call you back,” the Principal said immediately. “His name is Casey Coleman. He’s a freshman and he’s waiting for me in the outer office. Disciplinary action.”

“Okay, send him on over. In fact, why don’t you escort him? That way you can see how there program works too.” It was only a ten-minute walk from the high school to the district headquarters, which are located in a closed down elementary school, and as I waited I pulled up the kid on my computer.

Casey Coleman was a real piece of work. His father was unknown, his mother was incarcerated for selling drugs, and he lived with an aunt. He was failing or near failing in all subjects and had an extremely poor attendance record. He had a long history of petty vandalism, fighting, and disrupting class. He had been diagnosed at one time or another with just about every known two or three letter syndrome except Erectile Dysfunction. His latest infraction had involved kicking another boy in the genitals. He’s the kind of kid that inspires teachers to inflate grades so they won’t have to deal with him another year. Pass him on and let the next grade’s teachers worry about him.

“We require a somewhat larger and hopefully soundproofed room for the demonstration,” Mr. Williams finally said, looking around my office. “This was obviously a school, perhaps there’s another room we could use?” I told my secretary where to send the Principal and his charge there when they arrived, and then I escorted Mr. Williams through the unused gymnasium to the boys’ locker room.

The boy was small, not more than five and a half feet tall and weighed not much more than a hundred pounds. He had dark hair that was a little on the long side, and his immature chin showed no trace of a beard. He looked bored with whatever was going on; just another bunch of bullshit that he’d have to endure before he could go to lunch. He had been through every form of diversion and none had made the slightest difference in his attitude or behavior. “You I like,” he said, looking at Marcie. He slowly licked his lips, and to make sure she got the message he also grabbed his crotch.

“You think you can handle it, Sport? Get rid of those clothes and show me what you have in your pants.” He looked at her with utter surprise. This was probably the first time his line had gotten him anything other than a “Fuck off”.

“Than wasn’t a suggestion, Coleman. Like the lady said, strip,” Mr. Williams ordered.

“Fu….” was all the boy could manage. He’d been subjected to the old Good Cop-Bad Cop routine numerous times, and had also had to endure a couple of Scared Straight sessions where seasoned cons graphically explained what all was going to happen to his tender young ass as soon as he got to prison, but he’d never been ordered to strip down in front of adults.

“Darrin, would you and Marcie please assist Mr. Coleman in the removal of his clothing?” Mr. Williams casually asked, and a few minutes later an extremely embarrassed fourteen-year-old boy stood nervously before us, trying his best to hide behind his hands.

“You were going to do me with that little thing?” Marcie asked, mocking both his nakedness and his lack of dimension. I hadn’t seen a boy naked since I had been his age, but it was obvious that although capable of reproduction he was a long ways from being a man. Thin bony limbs and a child’s body devoid of hair except for the smattering hiding behind the hand that covered his crotch.

“This is what ranchers and farmers use to turn bull calves into steers,” Mr. Williams announced, placing a small green donut on the end of a tool that he’d removed from his attaché case. “You’ll know a lot more about that by tomorrow morning. Marcie, would you and Darrin please help?” Marcie looked rather frail, but she was incredibly strong and within a few seconds they had the boy pinioned to the floor, legs spread. Mr. Williams knelt between the boy’s legs and worked the handle on the tool to expand the rubber donut into a large ring, through which he forced each of the boy’s testicles. He then helped Marcie and Darrin handcuff the boy’s arms behind his back and secure them to manacles around his ankles.

The boy lay on his side, facing us, struggling against his bonds. The constrictor band had confined his gonads into a lump the size of an apricot, and they were darkening right before our eyes. He was sobbing and cursing us as he struggled, using language I hadn’t heard since my Army days. I was about ready to end his torment when Mr. Williams motioned to the Principal and I that everything was okay, and that we should remain silent.

“Well, I think we’re done here,” Mr. Williams said, heading for the door. “He’ll be okay like he is until tomorrow morning. You can take the cuffs off at that time. By then it won’t matter what he does about the band.” Marcie and Darrin followed him halfway to the door, and the Principal and I had just started after them.

“Please!” The boy cried plaintively. “Please!”

“Well, Mr. Watson,” Mr. Williams asked as we reached the door. Do you sense an improvement in his attitude?” He gave me a subtle wink.

“Yes, there is perhaps a slight improvement. Time will tell, of course, but by tomorrow we should see a vast improvement.”

“Please?” The boy implored. Today was probably the first time in years that he’d ever said ‘please’ to anyone.

“Sometimes they deserve another chance,” Mr. Williams said, eyeing the boy. “What do you think?”

“It’s your decision,” I answered.

“Marcie, maybe you and Darrin can determine if the boy now has the proper attitude.” Marcie gently placed the toe of her shoe against the sobbing boy’s scrotum and pushed his captive balls from side to side a few times before abruptly bending over and hauling his upright to his knees. Darrin casually walked up to the boy and without hesitation pulled his sweatpants and underwear down. I hadn’t seen another man naked since my Army days, but it was obvious that Darrin was a man and a half. Each of his sagging testicles appeared larger than the single darkening lump between the boy’s thighs, and his flaccid dick hung down like a ripe banana from the forest of hair on his crotch.

“Suck it,” he told the boy. The boy’s eyes grew wide with the newest insult, and I could plainly see the muscles in his jaw strain as he clenched his mouth tightly shut.

“Open wide, Boy,” Marcie said, then reached down to grasp the boy’s scrotum. “They’re getting cold. That means you don’t have much time left.” He flinched as she gave his balls a few gentle taps.

Darrin edged even closer until his dick was only a few inches from the boy’s mouth, and Marcie increased her grip until finally, with tears running down his cheeks, the boy and opened his mouth in acceptance of the inevitable. Darrin suddenly backed up, stuffed his manhood back into his sweatpants, and watched as Marcie released the boy’s handcuffs and manacles.

The boy’s hands flew to his crotch and his fingernails frantically clawed at the constricting band. “Take it off! Get it off me!” He begged. Mr. Williams threw a pair of cutting pliers on the floor beside the boy, who let out a sharp cry of pain as the band parted.

“Get dressed and get your butt back to class,” Mr. Williams ordered. “We’ll be back in six weeks to assess your attitude improvement. Next time we play for keeps.”

The Principal went back to his duties; we would confer later, but my mind was made up. “This is a very interesting program you have, Mr. Williams. How much will it cost?”

“Let’s wait until after the follow up visit,” he replied. “We may need to fine tune the program a bit to your individual needs, and we won’t for sure until we determine if Mr. Coleman requires, uh, shall we say, remedial treatment.”

As an administrator, my job is to make sure that things run smoothly, and easing our discipline and attendance problems would not only make my job much easier but also make me shine when it comes time to renew my contract. Still, part of me wanted to see Casey Coleman’s attitude remain unchanged so I could bear witness to his remedial treatment.