Picture it - you're a boy. You're a criminal. Everyone is DONE with you. The IO Rehab Facility owns you now. Your cell mates are various types of eunuchs. You're not. Yet. The guards are former inmates. There's no way out, you're lost inside the complex. All you have to do is be a good boy ... until you turn 18 and they MIGHT let you out.
A - E F - J K - O P - V W - Z Newest Files
Michael sat in his seat on the bus with his head pressed up
against the glass, watching the shoulder of the highway and the
brown, dead grass flying by in a blur. For him, it was not an
uncommon passtime. In all his years of riding the school bus, he
had done the same thing. Whenever the bus hit a bump, his head
would bang on the glass and his teeth would rattle. No one talked
to him then, just as no one was talking to him now. In fact, no
one on the bus was talking at all. It was not a happy group; of
course, they were not on a happy trip. Michael sighed. The boring
shoulder scenery blurred by.
He wasnt looking forward to the end of the journey, though.
As uncomfortable as the seat was, or as cold as the bus was, he was
in no hurry to disembark once they arrived. He also imagined that
no one else was either. Again, he sighed. This was no dumb field
trip for school. It wasnt even the same dull ride to his own
school. Michael and the others on the bus were all going to a new
school, and wouldnt be going home for quite some time. His heart
skipped a beat as he felt the driver let off the gas, but they
still had some way to go - it was merely a busy intersection and
red light. As the bus came to a stop, two men in uniform with
weapons stood up, as did two at the back. The stoplight turned
green, and Michael bent over to scratch at the manacle that was
chaffing his ankle.
He then turned back to his own melancholy thoughts, staring out
once more through the tight patterned chicken wire embedded in the
glass of the window.
He closed his eyes after the blurring view began to make him
nauseous. Thoughts of the fact that it might all be a bad dream
kept coming to mind, but he knew better. He had been caught once
too often - screwed up one too many times. He had run out of
warnings, and his parents had had it with him. At the seasoned old
age of 13, Michael was a convicted criminal. Its not like I
murdered anybody, he muttered under his breath, hoping that no one
else heard him. He had stolen a few glances around the bus from
time to time during the interminable ride, but had been met with
only frightening, leering stares in return. Michael couldnt help
but wonder - was the heavyset boy in the seat in front of him a
rapist? Was the dark Latino boy behind him a murdering gang-
banger? The looks inherent in those return stares spoke to him.
He was the smallest boy on the bus, sitting alone.
Michael had been brought up in a poor family, and his
upbringing had been a bit short on morals and ethics. He also
realized that a small built, blond haired, gray eyed boy that
hadnt even sprouted that first hair yet was a prime target -
especially at an all boys school. The stares from the other
riders confirmed it. While not overburdened with morals, he was
very well educated in street life. Those stares were telling him
that he was in for a very rough time of it. And they had told him
in court that it was all going to be for his own good
It started out as petty thefts, candy from the convenience
stores, then moved up to larger items like shoes, clothes, CDs and
the like. For a while, Michael had had a pretty good run at it.
The first time he had gotten caught, he had been let off with a
warning. The second time he had been given probation and a fine as
well. The fine had sent his father into a rage, and earned him an
extraordinary beating. His mother, as usual, didnt seem to care.
Over time, however, Michaels targets went from things he could
use, such as shoes and clothes and food, over the line into things
that he could sell. His friends, if one could call them that,
turned into something little more than the gang of street thieves
from a Dickensian novel. There were arrests and a few short stays
in juvenile hall, but none of it had amounted to much more than a
slap on the wrist. He didnt have any real friends, his parents
didnt seem to care, so Michael was pretty much left to his own
diversions and survival. Eventually, due to lack of interest on
his parents part, he had been taken into foster care. It was the
truck caper that had landed him where he was now - sitting on a
cold bus, in chains, on his way to his new school/home: The IO Long-
term Rehab Center for Boys. Michael thought back to his probation
officer, all of his warnings, and realized just a bit late that Mr.
Donovan had been right.
Again, he sighed as the bus took an off-ramp. What the hell
did IO mean anyway?
He could still hear Donovans soft voice, whispering at the
table in court, Youve run out of options, Mikey. He HATED to be
called Mikey, Youre in for it this time, little man. Ive done
all I can for you, and Ill be damned if I am going to stick my ass
out for your sake again. Heisting that truck damn near cost ME my
career, with you being out on MY word and all. Youre out of
appeals, youre out of time. Dont be surprised if that bitch on
the bench up there sends you to IO for this one. Your record
stretches back seven years, boy! This is it. I cant help you
anymore.
And indeed, he didnt. The Honorable Judge Ketty Garner had
read over Michaels record, sighed, and stared at him over the rims
of her glasses. Do you think Im stupid?
she had asked the boy. He hadnt answered. She had told him that
that was a wise choice. Michael could still see her, hear her
damning words. It is the decision of this court that Michael
Thomas Baines be taken from his foster home, the third one hes
been in, and placed in the custody of the State. He will be taken
to the IO center to be schooled and boarded there until the age
of 18, when at such time his progress and therapies will be
reviewed to see if he is fit to return to society as peaceful, law
respecting citizen. At such time, if he is found NOT to be, then
he will remain in the IO graduate ward and trained in a suitable
career for the State - to make up for his crimes and until his
salary pays off what he owes for his rehabilitation. His future
beyond that point will be left up to his counselors at IO. And
then she had glared at him. He still shivered when remembered that
harsh face. Itll be for your own, good Michael.
Michael had heard rumors about IO. He had talked with
his friends about it more than once, but what they had all heard
was the stuff that urban legends were made of. Rumors of physical
torture, mind control, and coming out like a zombie were only the
finer points of the discussions. He could feel the bus slowing,
and he raised his scruffy looking blonde head to see the fences
rolling by. He watched in stunned amazement for a long time. The
fences were silver and shiny, and stretched for miles. Behind the
first tall fence was a strip of broken glass, glittering in the
cold winter sunlight like some small river from a crazy nightmare -
as if daring someone to imitate Jesus and to just try and walk
across it. Beyond the glass was another fence, topped in curls of
razor wire. There was a neatly mowed bit of lawn behind that
fence, and behind the lawn was another fence. It had heavy looking
insulators at each wooden post and a sign here and there that
read DANGER - HIGH VOLTAGE - DONT ASK HOW HIGH.
Punishment that fits the crime, huh? he thought to
himself, Looks like a federal pen to me. God, all I did was steal
a truck.
And then the sign came into view - tall and imposing, its
letter painted dark red. Michael noted that there was run in the
paint of the I, and it looked as if the I were bleeding. A
chill passed through his slight frame as the bus stopped at the
front gate. A rather burly looking black man in a gray uniform
stepped out from the guard shack to meet the bus. He was carrying
a large gun and wore polished black leather boots that shone. His
step was confident, almost military. He also wore a headset of
some type, and a knit cap of the same shade of gray on his head.
He touched the earpiece and nodded, speaking into the mic. Then he
approached the bus. The driver handed him a clipboard, and one of
the guards at the front of the bus got off. They spoke for a bit,
then the bus pulled on in. More of the huge men came out from a
building behind a high watchtower. All of them were dressed alike,
in perfect uniform and armed to the teeth.
Michael began to get the feeling that this was no prison for
little kids. He had visited an uncle in federal lockup once, and
this place reminded him of that very well. He realized that he was
sweating. He stole a quick glance around him, and the return leer
fom the heavyset youth across the aisle made him quickly turn his
head back to the line-up of guards. One of them was boarding the
bus.
OK kiddies, listen up, the muscular man shouted, Welcome to
your new home at IO. You will quietly, and in an ORDERLY fashion
get off this limo and line up next to it. No talking. No
leaning. No rubber-necking. You will face me at all times as I
call out your names. When you recognize your own name, you will
follow the guard who comes to you into the building just over
there. He pointed across the parking lot. You will listen, but
not talk. You will conduct yourselves as gentlemen. Your escort
will have you checked in, and then a Staff member will take you
from there. Any deviation from this practice will result in swift
kicks, hard slaps, and overall beatings. Any questions?
Michael shook his head vigoruosly, beginning to tremble.
And as a side light there, Mr. Goldylocks, the large black
guard smiled, You will all be given haircuts. I am sure youll
all grow to adore them. At that point, the guard touched his
headset again and said, New prisoners disembarking.
Behind him, someone laughed a short snicker.
Michael felt his stomach turn.
The guard moved faster than anyone he had ever seen before,
especially for someone so big. He literally flew down the aisle of
the bus. He stopped a few seats back from Michael and with one
massive arm, lifted the boy who had laughed out of his seat. The
boys chained legs dangled underneath of him as the guard shook
him. What IS so funny, son? he demanded.
The boy, obviously thinking that this was just another
judicial system joke, sneered at the guard. What? I laughed. So
what? It was funny. Whatcha gonna do, kill me for it? he asked
defiantly.
The black man stared at the boy for a moment, then calmly
replied, No, white boy, I am not gonna kill you. You be wishin I
did when I get done, but I wont. And with that remark and one
fluid and graceful movement of his shoulder, he brought the butt of
his gun straight up into the boys crotch. There was a terrible
thudding sound and a muffled pop, and the guard unceremoniously
dropped the gasping and choking boy to the floor of the bus. He
promptly curled up into a ball and continued to gasp and sob.
Now THAT be funny, the guard announced, And all sighs and
groans of compassion are hereby excused. His grammar seemed to
swing from perfect English to street talk at the drop of a hat.
Michael watched him, watched his bulk move smoothly, and thought of
his own scrawny frame.
Wish I was that big, he thought silently.
They all disembarked slowly and lined up as told. No one
wanted a repeat performance of the lead guards neat nut cracking
trick. Two of the other guards carried the boy, who had passed
out, off of the bus and into a side building. The ankle chains
made it a bit hard for them all to walk, and Michael had to take
very small steps. The guards didnt seem to mind. When his name
was called, Michael stepped forward, with his head down, and
followed the guard who gestured to him. The man was also black, as
most of the perimeter guards seem to be. He was also built,
Michael thought, like a brick wall. His slow pace didnt seem to
bother the guard, who followed along beside him patiently. Whatd
YOU do, Golden boy? the guard asked, tousseling Michaels unruly
hair. Michael didnt answer.
You have my permission, little boy, the mountain of a man
replied in a rumbling baritone that spoke volumes.
Stole a truck with my friends. Wrecked it. Hit a car. Hurt
some lady real bad.
Michael was amazed at how fast it came out. He also found himself
thinking that since the lady had NOT been killed, that he didnt
deserve this kind of treatment. The guard laughed.
You must have a record a mile long, boy, to wind up here.
Theft, curfew violations, and stuff, he murmured.
The guard nodded and laid a large, calloused hand on the boys
shoulder. Michael flinched, but kept walking.
Jumpy, huh? the guard asked, Well you got reason to be.
Michael kept his head down and shrugged. His escort opened
the door when they came to it, and pushed the boy through
it. Welcome to IO, Golden boy. Enjoy your stay. Im sure
somebody is gonna enjoy it! And with that, he slammed the door.
Michael heard the lock tumblers roll over, and the lights went dim.
MICHAEL BAINES? a voice called out in the dim
light, Proceed down the hall and turn left at the first open
door. Do not look around, just go in and sit and wait. He did
just that. The room was the only one open and lit. There was a
small chair in the center of the room, and another closed door.
The first door had an automated closer, and it closed behind the
frightened boy and locked. REMOVE YOUR CLOTHES AND SIT IN THE
CHAIR, the disembodied voice ordered. Michael popped the snaps of
his breakaway pants up the legs and removed them. He pulled his T-
shirt off and kicked off his shoes. He then pulled his socks off
and sat. The room was chilly. EVERYTHING, the voice ordered.
Michael looked around, and hesitated. Slowly, he pulled off
his briefs and sat, naked and humiliated, in the chair. He waited,
staring at the short-chained manacles that bound his legs. And he
waited.
The room was only about nine feet by nine feet, and the walls
were plain and gray. The floor and ceiling matched, with only the
lines of the doorframes and the flat ceiling light for
differences. There were no sounds, no drafts, but the room seemed
to be getting colder. Michael put his hands over his small,
undeveloped genitals and pulled his legs up under him. He flinched
as the cold metal of the chain touched his skin, and he could feel
his balls pulling up, seeking warmth. He waited. At some point,
frightened and shivering, he fell asleep.
When he awoke, it was to a real voice that came from right
behind him. Startled, he fell out his chair and landed in a heap
on the plain, hard floor. The voice belonged to a man of average
size, white, with a flattop haircut and wearing a set of green
medical scrubs. He looked at his watch, then at his clipboard, and
then at Michael. The boy, embarrassed at being frightened and at
being seen naked, blushed to this hairline. The stranger paused
and looked down at him. Well, arent you a scrawny one? he asked.
Michael stared back, then remembering the insolent boy on the bus,
looked away. The stranger laughed, and bent down to offer his
hand. Michael got up slowly and clasped his hands behind his back,
refusing to meet the strangers gaze. Come now, Michael - it says
here - Im not going to hurt you. Well, at least not yet until we
examine you and the shots are going to hurt, but, in the meantime,
if youll follow me, please.
And with that, the stranger in the scrubs turned and opened
the opposite door. He waited. Michael, still embarrassed, made
his way slowly to the door and stepped through into a room that was
much warmer and well lit. It looked like an ordinary doctors
office, complete with toilet facilities and a shower, all out in
plain sight. Michael wondered at the lack of guard, after the
ordeal on the bus. This man wasnt half as big as the guards had
all been. He wondered if the other boys were in similar
circumstances, and how the boy with the busted balls was doing. He
was too afraid to ask, however.
OK, Mikey, can I call you Mikey? the man asked.
The boy hid his anger and shrugged. He hated that name.
All right, my reticent young friend, let me inform you of
some things before we start. My name is Ned. I am a physicians
assistant, very nearly a real doctor, and Ill be examining and
prepping you for your stay here. As you know by now, you are a
ward of the State. For all practical purposes, IO owns you. I
dont know what youve heard on the outside, but its probably all
true - maybe even worse. But for now, were going to take off
those manacles and you are going to take a shower.
Michael didnt move. Ned sighed and unlocked the chains,
tossed them aside, and pushed the boy into the shower area. Wash
thoroughly, please. My, you ARE puny, arent you? he observed,
making a few notes.
Michael continued to scrub himself, soaking up the hot water
and steam. He slowly began to relax. He had his eyes closed
washing his hair when he felt a sting in his butt.
Owww! he yelled.
He heard Ned laugh as the soap stung his eyes. The PA, as his
scrubs indicated, was standing just out of the reach of the water
spray and holding a spent needle. You were overdue for a tetanus
booster, it says here, he said urbanely.
Michael grunted and continued to wash his hair. He also
realized that he was under threat of a haircut and that he also had
to pee very badly. As if sensing this fact, or perhaps it was from
experience, Ned threw him a towel and a cup. Pee in the cup, you
know the drill, finish your business in the drain hole. Dry off
and hop up on the table. Oh, please, Ned continued in a lilting
and pained voice, Im a doctor, or will be, and its a routine
exam, for Christss sake. The horrific tortures dont start until
much later and then only IF youre a bad boy. I HAVE to examine
you and this is no time for modesty.
The boy sighed and did as he was told. Ned took his vitals,
made notes, poked and felt here and there, checked for hernias,
etc. Just as he had said, it was a routine exam. Michael began to
relax a bit as Ned scribbled notes. He murmured to himself, Boy
seems to be a mute as well.
I am not, Michael blurted without thinking, immediately
looking around and tensing up in fear of reprisal.
My God, it speaks, Ned observed. Mikey, you can talk to
me. Youre going to be seeing a lot of me, and you have to talk in
your classes and to your counselors. The front gate thing is
different, chance of escape and all. The guards love to scare the
new boys and rough them up a bit, but they havent killed anyone
yet, nor cut his tongue out, you know.
They hit this boy in the balls, Michael replied in a whisper.
Ned nodded. Yep. Had to castrate the poor kid a few hours
ago. Thats why I was late getting to you, sorry. Busted both of
them, bloody mess. I hate castrations, he stated with a strange
look on his face. He glanced at Michael, who had begun to get hard
at the word castration. Ned grinned. Michael blushed again. He
then realized that he had been totally naked in front of this
fellow, and Doctor or not, it bothered him.
He got his balls cut off? Michael asked in a choked voice.
Ned nodded. Not the first, wont be the last. There wasnt
much choice though, and really in the end it will be for his own
good. Simple, routine procedure actually.
Are we almost done, sir? the boy asked, placing his hands
over his crotch.
No, Mikey, were not. In fact, were just getting started.
This is the part you arent going to like, Im afraid, Ned replied
in that same soft, flowing voice. He also scribbled some more
notes. He then rolled his chair over to the desk area, and pulled
out a small wristband of some type with coded data all over it.
There was even a large UPC-type code on it, for scanning Michael
assumed. Hold out your arm, he said. Michael did that. The ID
bracelet snapped onto his wrist, and fit snuggly. He couldnt make
sense of what it said, all except for the letters MICHAELB_E-t-
13pp. The rest looked like gibberish. The bracelet felt heavy,
and it was cold. It was obviously made out of metal inside and
sealed over in some sort of clear shell.
What does all this mean? he asked, looking it all over and
trying to read it.
Ill explain it later, Mikey. Right now, we have to tend to
the more unpleasant parts of your exam. Have you even had a rectal
temp or exam, or an enema?
The boy shook his head, his thick blonde hair falling damply
in his eyes.
You know what they are? Ned asked.
Michael nodded and looked down. Yea, he murmured, Do we
have to?
Ned nodded back. Yes, Mikey, we do. IO procedure.
Everything checked. For what its worth, Im sorry. But, its
nothing we all havent had done before. Now, roll over on your
stomach, Ned ordered, putting on a pair of rubber gloves.
Youre not gonna castrate ME are you? Michael asked, his
voice pleading.
No, Mikey, now roll over.
The thermometer, Michael thought, wasnt too bad. It felt
cold and strange going in, but it didnt hurt. He was advised that
his temperature was 97.3 degress. He agreed that it was cold. Ned
turned the heat up. When he came back, he picked up a tube of
lubricant and spread it over two of the fingers of his gloved left
hand. Michael watched him, unsure of what to expect. Ned seemed
to notice it.
What I am going to do next is, well, to be blunt, I am going
to stick a finger up your ass and check out whats in there. It
wont feel too good, but it wont hurt, so to speak, but it WILL be
uncomfortable. If it does hurt HURT, like really sharp pain, then
let me know. Thats a sign somethings wrong. All right?
Michael took a deep breath and nodded, tensing up.
Dont DO that. Relax.
Michael tried, and failed. He gasped as Ned inserted a
finger, and began to move it around. As he had said, it didnt
hurt like a cut or a hit would, but it definitely didnt feel
good. Michael groaned. Just a bit more, Ned offered, almost
there. Everything feels normal, nothing missing, no blood, thats
good
and then his finger hit the boys prostate. He paused. He
moved it around a bit and pressed.
The boy closed his eyes tightly, not understanding thesudden
surge of pleasure he felt. He felt his penis getting hard, and
didnt understand why. Of course he knew what an ass-fuck was, but
hed never had it done before. Hed also never understood why
anyone would want one. Until then. Whatever Ned was touching felt
good, in a strange way. And whatever it was, Ned seemed to be
paying a great deal of attention to it.
You OK? he asked the boy.
No, Michael whined softly, afraid to answer truthfully, and
still not understanding.
Liar, Ned replied, pulling out his finger. The sensation
stopped, fading off slowly. Well, feels normal to me.
Fortunately for you, you only have to endure that every six
months. And with that, he pulled his gloves off and began
assaulting his computer. After a few minutes, as Michael watched
him enter this and that at amazing speed, the computer beeped and
shot out a print. Ned read over it and smiled. Congratulations,
Mikey, other than being a bit undernourished - which Im sure you
blood test will confirm - youre in perfect health. A bit small,
but healthy. Have to make sure you get some extra vitamins and
some HGH I think.
Whats that? the boy asked timidly, unsure of what to expect
next.
Human growth hormone, perfectly safe. You just need a kick
in the butt, so to say, I think. Speaking of which, head on over
to the shower again. I hate to do this, but exam procedure says
you have to be clean inside AND out before we proceed.
Michael sighed and got up and did as he was told. Ned seemed
nice enough, and very professional, but he still remembered the
guards, the bus, and the leering looks he had gotten. After the
exam, however, he wasnt quite as scared as he had been of what
might happen. That in itself scared him more, though. He had
somewhat enjoyed what Ned had done to him, and he didnt understand
why. As far as he knew, taking something up the ass and liking it
made you gay, and he didnt want to be gay. Or at least he didnt
think he did.
When he reached the shower area again, Ned told him to pull on
the two black handles that were sticking out of the wall below the
towel rack. He did that, and a waist level padded bench slid out
from a slot in the wall. The legs folded down and it looked sturdy
enough. Lie down on your back and relax, Ned told him, rummaging
through a cabinet. He did that. The bench was padded and quite
comfortable. The heat was also rising, and felt better than he had
since he had boarded the cold bus. He watched as Ned rooted around
in the cabinet. Eventually he produced a bottle of something
white, a box of salt, and two bright red rubber bags. He also had
a length of plastic tubing.
Make yourself useful and pull UP on the knob at the foot of
the bench, Ned asked.
Michael sat up and did as he was told. The knob extended, in
segments, into a metal pole that rose up about three feet above the
bench. There was a small notch in the pole as well near the
top. You know what were going to do? Ned asked. The boy nodded.
Although he had never had an enema, he knew what they
were. Well? Ned asked.
You fill the bag full of hot soapy water and stick the tube
up my butt. The water goes in me and makes me go, the boy replied.
Right you are. As before, it isnt really painful. A few
cramps maybe, but nothing too severe. You know this is going to
take a while, right?
The boy nodded and lay back down on the padded bench with a
sigh. He wasnt looking forward to it, but he also remembered the
prostate check. He didnt know what to expect. Ned had put on
fresh gloves and had filled both bags with water. To one he added
soap, to the other he added salt. He attached the tubing and hung
the bag with the soap up on the pole. Then he carefully lubricated
the nozzle, which Michael thought to be a bit large, and the boys
anus as well. He let a bit of water out of the tube, then clamped
it shut again. Roll over onto your left side, he said. Michael
obeyed, and felt the nozzle being pushed against, and then into
him. It didnt hurt as hed expected. It felt slick and warm.
Gently, Ned continued to insert it until it felt like it had fit
into place. He then clicked the clamp open. Here is comes, he
said.
Michael was not ready for the sensation of being filled with
warm water. At first it just felt like water, but then he felt
like he had to go badly. He held it. Good, hold it in, Ned
said, pushing the tubing in a bit farther. Michael felt like he
was blowing up like a balloon. He looked up and saw the bag
flattening at the top. The warm, soapy water was filling him, and
he found that it wasnt too unpleasant. He closed his eyes and
tried his best to hold it. He didnt want it to last too long,
though. Almost halfway there, he hear Ned say. THAT got his
attention.
Halfway? he asked in shock.
Ned laughed. Yes, Mikey, halfway. Thats a two-quart bag.
And when its all inside of you, you have to hold it for as long as
you can. Then you can go, IF you make it for at least five
minutes. The bag continued to flatten out. Then, Ned
continued, you get a salt water rinse. Then another, then
another. Until youre clean. This could have to be done up to
five or six times, since its your first. The bag was almost
empty, and the first cramp hit him. Michael cried out and began to
double up, but Ned pushed him back down and began to massage his
distended stomach. The cramp subsided. Just a bit longer, he
said, pulling out the nozzle.
I cant, the boy replied, I have to go NOW!
Ned sighed. OK, ok, go. Well just soap you again, I
guess.
Michael just made it to the commode before he lost it. The
cramps had hit again. But the relief he felt was wonderful. Then
he thought of going through it again, five or six times as Ned had
said. He sighed, explosively.
As he had promised, Ned repeated the procedure over and over.
Each time, it became easier. Michael also found that it wasnt
totally unpleasant. The sensation of that nozzle against his
prostate and the warm water actually felt good. Finally, after his
sixth salt-water fill, Ned pronounced the procedure done. Michael
was made to shower again while Ned spoke to someone on the phone.
He couldnt hear what Ned was saying over the sound of the running
water, though. When he was done and dried off, Ned looked him
over. Puny, he muttered, All right, lets go. Follow me. No
chains this time.
Uh, where we goin? Michael asked nervously, looking down at
his small naked form.
Out where we came in and across the hall to get you some
clothes. Dont worry, no one will see you. Everyone else is
probably busy undergoing the same thing you are, more or less, Ned
replied. Michael wondered where the laughing boy who had gotten
his balls busted was, but he assumed the boy was in the infirmary
out cold. He didnt mention it though. The thought of having his
balls cut off as well was still fresh in his mind. Ned was still
talking as they exited the exam room and the waiting area. They
crossed the hall and entered another room, somewhat larger than the
first.
This room was also gray all around, but it had cabinet doors
in one wall and a small bench. It also had a counter and a
comptuer terminal. Ned motioned the naked boy to have a seat, and
began rummaging through a cabinet. He produced a white T-shirt, a
pair of ankle length white socks, and a white sweatsuit. The
sweatshirt was hooded, with no string, and had a red IO emblem on
the back. It also said Mikey in red letters over the left
breast. Michael cringed. Ned handed him the clothing, piece by
piece, scanning a UPC code not unlike the one on his bracelet.
Then Ned scanned the bracelet. Michael dressed and sat back down,
feeling much better to be clothed again.
Welcome to IO, MICHAELB_E-t-13pp, a mechanical sounding
voice said, once the bracelet was scanned. Please proceed to the
door in this room marked G1 and wait there.
Michael looked around and at the door. Then he looked at Ned
and shook his head.
Ned led him through the door marked G-1, pushing just a bit. What
about shoes? Michael asked, and underwear?
You dont need either one, Mikey. Especially not shoes.
You wont be going outside for a very long time.
So what now? he asked, suddenly afraid to be left alone
again.
Ned laughed. You get a haircut, taken to your room, meet
your roommates, AND, after what youve been through all day, youll
probably want to go to bed and sleep. Right?
The boy nodded, still apprehensive as Ned sat him in the only
chair in the room. It looked like a barber chair, but not quite.
When do I see you again? Michael asked quietly, trying to
get comfortable in the strange chair.
Ned laughed, and somehow, that laugh made Michael feel
better. Every week, like clockwork, Mikey. It wont be as
intense as it was today, but you get checked over and out every
week. We record your stats and make observations, recommendations,
etc. Every to keep you healthy and as happy as you can be in
here. Its all for your own good you know. And with that, Ned
exitted the room. Michael heard the lock tumblers click over.
He sat in the chair and waited.
Michael awoke with a start to find himself still in the
chair. The room was warm enough, and wearing a sweatsuit helped.
He looked around, saw no one else, and then suddenly realized that
he couldnt get up. There was something holding him down to the
chair. He glanced down to see padded restraints over his wrists
and ankles, and a padded, thick strap at his waist. He could also
feel a padded collar around his neck. He struggled a bit, but
found that he was not going to get loose. Idiot, he muttered to
himself, feeling betrayed by Ned. He was also still grappling with
the new feelings that Neds exam had caused him. This is nuts,
he muttered, Its not like I killed anyone.
NO, but youve been a bad boy, havent you Michael? the
automated voice said from everywhere. The boy flinched in his
restraints. He also noted that he had a dull pain behind his eyes,
like a headache coming on. If you werent a social misfit, and a
danger to yourself and others, you wouldnt be here at IO, now,
would you?
Michael felt a sudden surge of defiance welling up within
him. Since his arrival, he had been chained, terrorized, poked,
prodded and violated in ways that he hadnt even imagined. He was
alone, frightened, and helpless. The seeming injustice of it all
made it suddenly explode. He began screaming and struggling,
desperately trying to get out of the chair. He cursed and cried
until his throat was hoarse. All the time, the pain behind his
eyes grew worse. But the voice continued. Well cure you OR kill
you, one or the other, Michael. Youre going to be here for at
least five years. You cant get out. You dont know where you
are. You dont even know what time of day it is. It would be in
your best interest to be a good boy and just do as you are told,
follow the rules, and hope to graduate from IO as a fully
rehabilitated member of society. Wont that be nice?
He continued to struggle. There HAD to be a way out, there
HAD to be. LET ME UP! he choked, tears streaming down his face.
The pain in his head was growing worse. Finally, his vision began
to blur. Make it stop, he whimpered.
Say please, the automated voice replied.
Please, the boy whispered.
Disengaging ULF wave generator, the voice responded. The
pain stopped.
Michael breathed an explosive sigh of relief as the pain
suddenly ceased to exist.
Pain is only one of the many ways to make you submit,
Michael. You dont want to see the rest, now do you?
Despite his collar, Michael shook his head. The voice could
obviously see as well as hear him. Good boy, it replied. Then
the opposite door opened.
The man that entered was portly, to say the least. More
likely, he was as round as he was tall. He was bald, and wore
glasses. He smiled at Michael and opened a small drawer in the
recessed cabinet that the boy had overlooked. Are you quite
finished now? he asked. Obviously he had heard it all.
Yes sir, the boy whispered, half-afraid of what was going to
be done to him next. He found that he couldnt take his mind off
of the exam, and the boy whom he had told had been castrated. The
boy who had laughed at him on the bus. He also realized that he
had to urinate - badly.
Youre pale, Michael, the rotund gentleman said, Relax.
Everyone was telling him to relax. He couldnt do it.
W-what are y-y-YOU gonna do to m-m-m-me? the boy stammered,
trying to sink back into the increasingly comfortable chair.
My, ULF worked fast on you didnt it, son? Most boys are
still struggling when it comes time for the initiative haircut.
Michael then noticed that the man was holding only a set of
rechargeable hair shears. He also noted that they didnt have a
depth guide attached to them. Haircuts dont hurt, boy, the man
said.
He watched the man approach him with the clippers. Im
sorry! he blurted. The portly man smiled. No offense taken, he
replied, reaching back to get a cape from the drawer. He threw it
over Michaels restrained body and smoothed it out.
And with that, he ran a thick-fingered hand through Michaels
mass of dense, unruly blonde hair. Wow, this is going to take a
while, boy. How longs it been? he asked, switching the clippers
on. The buzzing sent a chill through Michael.
Dunno, Michael replied as the clippers made their first
pass. He could feel the bare metal blades on his scalp, and
watched as clump after clump of his hair fell into his lap. He had
never had a buzzcut before, but he had seen boys who had. He had
felt the scalp of one boy he used to steal with, when he had had it
shaved. The smooth and warm feel of the other boys scalp he still
remembered, and he was embarrassed and confused to feel himself
getting erect again. That was becoming a problem. Still, the
barber continued to mow his hair off, right down to the
skin. Please hurry, he suggested.
The barber paused, switching off the clippers. Why? he
asked in a voice that was not unpleasant. His voice sounded a bit
like Neds had.
Flushing, Michael looked away. He still had long fringes at
the sides of his head. I have to GO, sir, BAD! The barber
laughed. He switched the clippers back on and quickly finished.
He then put down the shears and hit a level at the base of the
chair with his foot. The restraints all released, and Michael
jumped up quickly, only to realize that he had no where to go. He
held himself helplessly. The barber laughed.
Sorry for the restraints, son, some boys flip out over the
haircut. Nice 00000 job if I do say so myself. Follow me.
They exitted the opposited door through which the barber had
come and started down another long hallway which seemed to slope
down. When they reached the first door on Michaels right, he saw
that it said BOYS. He rushed in. The barber laughed. By the way
you held it, you must still have one down there, he murmured to
himself, his grin broad. Behind him, across the narrow hallway,
was another door that Michael had not seen. It was labelled OTHERS.
He peed for what felt like forever. Then he turned and saw
his reflection in the mirror. Michael stood with jaw hanging and
ran a hand tentatively over his shaven scalp. The stubble, what he
could feel of it, was very slight. He felt his eyes tear up
again. No, he said to himself, no more crying. They like
that. No more. He stared at his reflection for a long time. His
head was, however, pleasantly round. He had the head for the bald
look at least. He washed his hands, dried them with the electric
blower, and returned to the hall. He certainly didnt want anyone
looking for him. When he arrived, he saw the barber coming out of
the door across the hallway. Ready? the fat man asked.
For what? the boy replied.
Time for you to meet your floor attendant, or super, and your
new roomies in dorms.
For some reason, that sent a chill through Michael, but he
said nothing. He simply follwed the man who had shaved his head,
and thoroughly humiliated him, down the sloping hallway until they
reached the end. There were doors up and down both sides of this
hallway, and an increasing number of pipes hanging from the
ceiling. The light grew dimmer, and Michael was reminded of a
scene from a low budget slasher flick. They stopped at the
apparent of the hall in front of two sliding double doors. It was
an elevator. The doors popped open with no customary ding, nor
were there any buttons, inside or out. The rotund barber pushed
Michael in, rather hard, and the slight boy fell to the floor as
the doors slid shut.
Nothing happened.
He waited. After a few moments and a brief search that turned
up not even an emergency hatch, Michael heard the auto-voice, as he
had begun to call it. DESTINATION, MICHAELB? it asked. Somehow
it knew him. He didnt know what to do or say. Then he felt the
bracelet on his wrist. VERIFY, the auto-voice said calmly. He
jumped as a hidden panel opened to reveal a small laser-scanning
device. Nervously, he let it look over his
bracelet. DESTINATION, MICHAELB_E-t-13pp? it asked again.
Michael looked at the device, his bracelet, and the sealed doors.
At least the thing wasnt moving yet, but there was no apparent way
out. He waited for a few moments, until the auto-voice responded
with 3 SECONDS TO ULF THERAPY.
The barber said I was going to my new dorm room, he cried,
pressing himself into a corner and beginning to shiver. The last
time he had word ULF he had been subjected to the intense
headache. He didnt care to repeat it.
The elevator began to move, quickly. He felt his stomach
lurch, and assumed that he was going down - rapidly. Then the
descent slowed. He almost fell as the cab jerked sideways, several
times and plunged again. Then it stopped. The doors popped open
and the boy tentatively stuck his shaven head out to peer around
the corner. He was seriously thinking of getting back in when a
large black hand siezed him around the neck and pulled him the rest
of the way out into the hallway. The hell happened to yo nice
shaggy blonde doo, there Golden Boy? a rough voice asked.
It was the same guard who had brought him in. His grin was
broad, and he ran that large hand over Michael's shaven scalp with
some gusto. Now you just cmon wit me here, son, and well get
you fixed up at the desk and you can meet your new roomies. I
wouldnt call em friends - yet - but you gotta be checked in.
Dont want a headache do ya? He then put his huge arm about the
boys narrow shoulders and half dragged, half threw him towards a
desk where sat another scanning device. Fearing what might happen
if he stalled, Michael immediately let the machine read his ID
bracelet. WELCOME TO DORM neg23, the auto-voice
said, REGISTERING MICHAELB_E-t-13pp. Then a green light came on
next to the scanner.
Lets go, little Mr. Used-to-be-blonde boy, the guard said
jovially.
Michael decided that he did NOT like this man. Not in the
least. He led the boy down the hallway, which was very well lit
and had several plain white doors marked by a single letter. At
the end of the hallway was a door that said, simply, B. The
guard opened the door, which seemed to click and unlock at the
touch of his hand, and invited Michael to enter first. Warily, he
stepped in.
The first thing he noticed was soft carpetting under his
socks, since they had not given him shoes. The room was done in
white, and there were no windows. The walls and ceiling were solid
white, as was the rug. There were four beds, twin sized, two on
each side of the room. Three of them were occupied. Next to each
bed was a small nightstand, and on the far end of the room was a
doorway that led to the bathroom. It was also white, and had no
door. It looked like a public bathroom, from what part of it
Michael could see. The only break in the white décor was the
mirrored globe in the ceiling, which he assumed contained a
camera. In each occupied bed was a boy. All three of them looked
up as Michael entered, their eyes widening as the large black guard
followed him in. Meet yo new roomie, kiddies, he
bellowed, This is Mikey. Be nice. He just arrived too-day!
The three boys looked up in unison, each one lowering the book
he was reading to wave a brief to Michael. Then they all went back
to what they were doing. The first boy, and closest to the door
was black, although not as black as the guard. Michael guessed him
to be fourteen or fifteen. His eyes were jet black as well.
Having had somewhat of a racist upbringing, Michaels preset
notions of others defined the boy as what the rap stars referred to
in their albums, affectionately among themselves, as Niggaz. The
boy looked to be the oldest and largest. His all white attired
accentuated his dark skin even more, and his hood was pulled up.
Michael guessed that his head was smooth razor shaven. He later
found he was right. The boy in the bed opposite was white. Very
white.
He also wore the seeming white uniform, and seemed to be
struggling with whatever he was reading, taking notes with a small
tray over his lap for support of his pad. He looked like every
hoodlum Michael had ever hung out with. His hair was dark, and
buzzed closely, perhaps ¼, but not shaven. The bed next to him
was empty. Michael assumed that that one was his.
Next to the black boy was a boy who appeared to be of slight
Asian descent. His black hair was cut in a short flat top style,
with the center strip shaved out. His eyes were slanted and very
green. His face had a very pale yellow cast to it, and he read
whatever he was studying intently. He was the only one to give
Michael a second look, and he smiled. He then winced as he turned
his gaze back to his book, a hand going to his temple and rubbing
at it. That was it for the room.
Michael looked up at the guard, who in turn gestured towards
the bed. OK, kiddies, bedtime in 5. Strip off, laundry in the
hall, then goodnight! Michael, who had been sleeping off and on
since his arrival, didnt feel at all tired. He nonetheless obeyed
and went to his bed and sat. He watched as each of the three boys
pulled his hooded shirt off and then stood up. Each in turn pulled
his white sweatpants off, and none of them - just as Michael
didnt - had underwear. Each then pulled his socks off and
gathered it all up. In turn, they stepped to the door and tossed
their garments, embroidered with their names, into the hall in a
heap. You too, Mr. Goldy-buzz, Michael heard the guard
bellow, Mr. Ames be in in just a few to tuck you in. He was
afraid to find out who Ames was, by this time. Obviously modesty
was NOT in high priority in his new home. Or perhaps it was to
further humiliate them. Michael opted for this reason. Afraid of
some punishment, however, he pulled his clothing off as well and
walked, naked, to the door. The guard laughed and rubbed his head
again. You soooooo puny, he said, laughing. Michael felt his
face flush. He was totally unprepared for what happened next,
though.
Each of the other boys, all naked by this time, had turned to
go back into the room. As they walked by him, out of instinct,
Michaels eyes went to the crotch of each one of them. He gasped.
The first to turn was the pale white boy, and Michael thought that
he was missing his balls, but he glanced away only to find his gaze
on the Asian boy. His heart began to pound.
There was no doubt of it - between the Asian boys legs, there
was nothing. No dick, no balls, nothing! Michael shook his head.
He looked again, and the Asian eunuch looked away from him. The
black boy was still in the hall, talking with the guard in a fast
chat that Michael recognized from the streets. He started back for
his own bed, but before he was halfway there, he heard, Hey, full-
boy! Michael froze. Yea, buzz boy, you wit all yo parts down
there still THERE! You dint give ME no look yet! It was the
black boy, and his voice was deep, fully changed. It was
commanding, and carried a threat. Michael slowly turned. His
white and Asian roomies had already gotten into bed and were
watching him. He felt suddenly very self-conscious, standing there
with his nudity in full view. His gaze met the black boys, but
instead of finding the look that told him to fight or run, as he
was used to, he saw general humor. He blinked. Standing before
him was a very well-muscled boy with dark skin. His shoulders were
well defined, and he held his head shiny bald head high. His eyes
and teeth literally glowed, and his smiled was even warm, not
malicious. Michael let his eyes wander down the boys sparsely
hairy chest, past his flat and hard-looking stomach to his groin.
There was hair there, tight, black and curly. His balls were large
and hung down a ways, his scrotum warm and loose. He looked every
inch a well-made young man, except for one thing: he had no penis.
Michael stared. His momentary flicker of jealously over the
boys nice body went out. All he could do was stare. The other
two boys said nothing, but the black boy broke the awkward
silence. You getting hard, newbie, he laughed. Michael looked
down at his own embarrassingly small penis and saw that he was
right. He then looked back at the black boy. Names Sam, he
began, pale one der is Joey and the Japs Cheng.
Im not Japanese, the Asian eunuch replied.
Joey snorted, a suppressed laugh. Sam was grinning
broadly. Samuel L. Prescott III, pistol whipper and former gang-
banger and future IO staff member Guard, at your service, he
stated with that same smile, holding out his hand for Michael to
shake. Michael did that, and Sams grip felt crushing. He
couldnt pull his eyes away from the black boys groin area,
however. He also desperately wished that Sam would release his
hand.
Let him go fo he creams on the rug, the guard advised,
laughing from the doorway.
You gonn do dat? Sam asked. Michael vigorously shook his
head, his eyes wide and his heart pounding. His throat was
dry. N-no, he squeaked.
They all laughed. Voice aint broke, the pale boy murmured,
in a voice that was also unbroken. Bald as a baby, Cheng piped
up. Sam released Michaels hand, and rubbed it with his
other. Nice grip, he choked.
Sams eyes sparkled with delight. Just remember who run da
room, BOY, he stressed, While you STILL a boy, dat is.
Then Michael remembered what Ned had said during his
exam. I hate castrations.
He couldnt help but look again. Sams dark skin was paler
where his penis should have been, and there was a thin pale line
running down his scrotum. There was no hole either, only smoothed
over skin. His hair looked trim, and his large balls looked very
out of place with no dick above them. Sam was still smiling as
Michael looked up. I also be in hyeer for rape, too, and boy, if
I had still had a dick, itd be up yo ass right NOW!
Michael shuddered and took a step back, unsure of what to do.
He sat down heavily on his bed, all eyes on him. Then they all
laughed again. It WAS fo yo own good, you know, Sam, the guard
said.
A momentary look of regret passed over Sams face as he leered
at Michael. Yea, I know. Im glad I had em cut it off. Got me
in trouble a lot, he admitted.
Im sorry, Michael whispered, looking down at his feet.
Although the room was warm, he had goosebumps all over.
Then something clicked over his mind. Future IO staff
member, he thought to himself, thats what he said. Hes
black. Hes built. He seems friends with the guard
and with
that Michael came to a conclusion that all of the black guards he
had seen and met were former IO inmates, now employees, and he was
certain that none of them had a penis. Balls, yes, and lots of
hormones running through them from their unused and unrelieved
balls, but no penis. The reality of it hit him hard. His own
small penis stiffened, and felt their gazes upon him. No jacking
off. No sex. No peeing while standing; in fact, how did Sam pee?
Michael found that he wanted to know. He was deep in this thought,
his brow creased, when a new voice spoke.
Hello boys, it said.
Hello Mr. Ames, the three of them said in unison.
Michael jerked his eyes up to see for the first time, the man
who was going to be running his life for the next five long years.