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"I'll bet you won't," Steve said.
"You're right, I won't. Because this is the most baby-ass shit you ever thought up," Kyle retorted.
"You scared?"
"I'm not scared. It's just bullshit."
"I'm telling you, it's for real. My dad told me."
"Your dad, my dad, everybody's dad. They just don't want us playing around in abandoned buildings."
The two boys were sitting in a field, in a circle with three other teens, leisurely passing around a blunt, getting pleasantly baked. It was an early Autumn Saturday, and there was a comfortable nip in the air, though the sun was shining brightly. They were looking at an old, dilapidated one-story building; the boys were sitting about halfway between the weather-beaten structure and a sign at the edge of the field which faced the road. The sign read "No Trespassing!" in large, red, ominous letters.
"I'm telling you," Steve insisted. "My uncle told me about a guy..."
"...who went in and never came out," Kyle finished in a bored tone. "We've all heard the stories, asshole."
Everyone in New Brockton had heard the stories. About the school that had been shut down over 100 years ago for child endangerment, crimes that must have been unspeakable to cause such dramatic action in those far more permissive times. How the principal and the head teacher had died in disgrace shortly thereafter. And how the place had been boarded up ever since and was rumored to be so haunted that no one would even buy the land the school was sitting on. Stories about the Overton school had been a rite of passage at sleepovers and scouting trip bonfires for six generations since the place was shuttered in 1920.
"So, if it's all bullshit, why are you afraid to go in and get something?" Steve taunted.
"Dude, I'm not afraid! This is just grade school crap. Kids make these kind of dares when they're NINE. We're sixteen, for fuck's sake. Grow up." said Kyle dismissively.
Brad chimed in, "I don't know, Kyle. People seem awful serious when they talk about this place. My dad threatened to beat my ass if he ever heard I went in there, and you know he NEVER spanks us."
Dave nodded. "Yeah, I got the same talk from my mom. Not saying I believe it, but..." he trailed off awkwardly.
Kyle glanced around the circle. Four solemn faces stared back, even Splint (nee Splinter, so christened because he'd gotten a good one stuck in his balls back in fifth grade while sliding down a banister). "You guys are all buying this? Seriously?" he asked incredulously.
Dave replied, "Hey man, it's like I said...who really knows?"
Kyle exhaled forcefully. "Fine! But it doesn't matter if it's true or not, cause there's no reason to go in there anyway! Pass that spliff, Splint."
This cracked Brad up immensely, as it always did. But Splint just shook his head. "Cashed it, dude," he said with mock remorse, the clip still perched near his lips.
"Fucking Splint ALWAYS cashes it," fumed Kyle to himself. "Steve, you wanna roll another?" he said aloud.
Steve grinned. "Absolutely. Soon as someone brings me back something... from in there," he said, pointing to the derelict building.
"Fuck!" groaned Kyle inwardly. This was exactly the kind of juvenile shit Steve would pull. Once that brat had an idea in his head, he could throw a royal tantrum if he didn't get his way. Unfortunately, he was the only one carrying today.
"Fine," Kyle snapped. "Who's going?"
Brad said, "Sorry, dude... I'm not looking to get my ass beat."
Kyle glanced again around the circle. Steve's face, insufferably smug. Brad's, resolute. Dave's, eyes downcast. And Splint, serenely unaware.
Kyle swore to himself. He wasn't about to blow his first free Saturday in God knows how long over a suburban legend. But God DAMN did he hate giving in to Steve's petty crap.
"Fine," he said again, standing up. "Get to rolling," he barked at Steve. "Time's a'wasting, and I ain't got a half-decent buzz going yet."
He turned and marched toward the abandoned building. After about 10 yards, he became aware that no one was following him. He'd imagined that they would all approach the school together, and they'd watch while he went inside. But he turned around, and there they were, sitting placidly in a circle, nearly expressionless. Except Steve, who still had that same infuriating look on his face.
"Don't worry, Kyle! It's all bullshit, right?" Steve shouted obnoxiously.
Kyle turned angrily back to the school, and once more began marching. Approaching the structure, he was surprised to see that it didn't look as badly decomposed close up. Sure, most of the paint had long since peeled away, and the few remaining shutters were hanging on by an angel's breath. But nearly all the windows were intact, which was absurd for an abandoned building as old as this one. Even more ludicrous, how did this thing still have a roof after 100 years of Minnesota winters? It should be nothing more than four empty walls sporting a bunch of empty square holes, surrounding an open patch of grass by now. There couldn't possibly be anyone maintaining it.
Curious despite himself, he approached the front door. It had been quite thoroughly boarded up. He gave a board a tug, to see if time had been less kind to this wood than it had been to the rest of the structure, but it budged not at all in his strong grip. He'd need a crowbar to get in that way.
He became aware of a growing sense of unease. Touching the door had given him the shivers for some reason. He had half a mind to say "screw it” and go back and tell Steve to fuck himself. But he still wanted that joint.
Walking around the side, he studied the windows. They all appeared locked, but one of the few missing panes would allow him to unlatch one of the windows from the inside. He only hoped that the window itself would still be able to open; he didn't want to have to smash one and climb in over broken glass.
The latch on the window was rusted, and didn't seem inclined to give, and he was just about to look for a new place to try, when the latch suddenly gave way with almost no resistance, throwing him off balance and almost sending his head through the glass. He pulled out his arm, then tried to force open the window from the outside.
Like the latch, the window seemed determined not to move. Unlike the latch, it did not give miraculously after a few seconds of effort. Unable to get a good grip on the window from the outside, Kyle struggled fruitlessly before giving up with a curse.
Switching tactics, he reached back through the missing pane and grabbed the lower sash, while he worked on the other side with his left hand.
After about 30 seconds or so, the window gave a tortured shriek and rose about three inches. Exuberant, Kyle retrieved his arm, put both hands under the window, and shoved. The window slid another few inches, then a few more, then about a foot, and then stopped. No amount of pushing could raise the thing any higher. It was stuck about halfway open. Not enough room for him to swing a leg over and duck his head through, but probably enough to crawl through headfirst.
The sense of unease returned, stronger than before. He looked back at his boys. They had not moved, far as he could tell. Assholes. They must have seen him struggling, but not one of them had come over to give him a hand.
Determined, he again faced the window. Putting his arms inside, he placed a hand on the wall on either side of the opening and began to shove himself through the hole.
All was going fine, until he hit an impasse. Like most Minnesota boys, Kyle had grown up on skates, and he had the hockey butt to show for it. The irresistible force of his massive, muscular ass had collided solidly with the immovable object that was the time-weathered window, and Kyle found himself profoundly stuck.
He shoved with all his might for several minutes, to no avail. He couldn't even back up to build momentum, or worst-case scenario, try again at another window. His huge rear was well and truly wedged under the solid frame, and worse, each move he made to extricate himself either forwards or backwards was killing his balls, crushed as they were against the wooden window bottom.
Swallowing his pride, he tried yelling out to his friends for aid. His words echoed eerily in the dark and dingy classroom into which his top half was protruding. As his eyes adjusted to the significantly dimmer light of the structure's interior, he saw meticulous rows of dusty, old-fashioned cast iron desks with wooden tops and seats, each seemingly of exact distance from its neighbors. The room was dominated by a huge desk up front, also covered in a thick layer of dust. Next to the door sat a gray, spherical object in a sturdy wooden base, which puzzled Kyle until he realized there was a globe beneath the opaque shroud. A forlorn American flag with a surely incorrect amount of stars adorning it stood in the corner. Behind the desk was a blackboard, cracked and dirty. On the ledge beneath it were several gray lumps that Kyle took to be erasers and chalk, and a long thin object that was likely a pointer.
Written on the blackboard, seemingly as fresh as if they had been drawn an hour instead of over a century ago, were two words:
ABANDON HOPE
Kyle's unease boiled over, and he called out again for his friends, in something like genuine panic. Again and again he yelled, his own amplified voice contributing exponentially to his fear, as he waited for his buddies to come help him. For long minutes, he waited.
But no one came.
Unable to bear confinement any longer, Kyle willed his meaty cheeks into as soft a state as possible, and gave a final, mighty heave. His crushed nuts screamed in protest as he suddenly found himself vaulted into the room, accompanied by a loud ripping sound. Kyle's reflexes were barely quick enough to catch himself with his hands on the floor, seconds before his head would have made contact. Putting his weight on his two strong arms, he drew the lower half of his body through the window, placed his feet on the floor, and shakily stood erect.
Almost immediately, he felt something odd at his rear, and feeling his backside with both hands, found that his back pockets had snagged on the window, and had ripped the entire seat of his pants down, flapping against his legs, leaving his undies-covered rump exposed. His face darkened. His favorite jeans! The boys were going to have a lot of fun with this. But he was at least going to make that asshole Steve pay for a new pair (and good luck finding them in his size!)
He surveyed the room. It felt strangely...obscene that this place that was once full of children, laughing and writing and reading and reciting, should be so desolate. Not to mention spooky as fuck. He had never been in a place so devoid of life, and yet... he nonetheless couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, a feeling of dozens of eyes on him as he moved about the room. Silent. Judging. Reproving.
Shaking his head, he moved over to the dusty globe, and gave it a quick spin, then jumped back as a furious gray cloud erupted from the whirling sphere. "Bet there are a lot of missing countries on that thing," Kyle thought wryly. He walked over to the desk, which aside from its pale coat, was barren. He opened a few drawers and found the customary writing implements, and a few teacher's copies of various schoolbooks.
He turned to the blackboard, studiously avoiding the warning emblazoned in stark white at eye level, and examined the items on the ledge. He picked up two of the erasers and. extending his arms with a grin, clapped them soundly together, sending both chalk and more conventional dust flying. He'd never held an actual chalk eraser before; all the classrooms he'd ever attended had had white boards with markers, but his mother had told him stories of hoping to be the one the teacher picked to clap erasers after school, usually considered a chore or even a punishment by most, but very satisfying to Kyle's mom.
Coughing slightly in a room now full of particles glinting in the scant light from the outside, Kyle put the erasers on the desk, then examined the long thin object he'd seen previously from the window. It was indeed a pointer, a wooden stick about two feet long, with the business end topped by a red rubber nub. This would do as an offering to Steve's inner toddler.
Kyle picked up the stick and was suddenly struck by a flash of pain and terror that convulsed his entire body, causing his knees to buckle and nearly sending him to the floor. He immediately dropped the pointer and flexed his hand compulsively, as the dread and agony slowly dissipated.
"What the unholy FUCK!" he said aloud, his voice shaking. He eyed the stick on the floor, half expecting it to suddenly coil and strike at him. But it remained still.
Kyle decided he'd had enough. Fuck this entire pointless expedition. He snatched an eraser from the desk, and headed back towards the window, seat remnant flapping with each step, fully intending to get some help from his shitty friends this time in quitting this horrible place.
He actually had a hand on the sill when he suddenly froze. He had just heard his name, from somewhere BEHIND him. He spun around to face the empty classroom. He listened intently. Nothing.
The thought crossed his mind that one of his buddies could have gotten into the school some other way, and was hiding somewhere, trying to spook him. This was by FAR the most likely scenario, even more likely than that he'd simply imagined hearing anything at all. But it had been a WOMAN'S voice that he'd heard, an elderly woman's voice, commanding and creaking with rage. It was not something he could dream of any of his friends pulling off, and he was sure it was not something he had imagined.
At this point, he knew, it would be crazy to stay here. He had everything he needed, had seen and felt and heard more than he wanted, and there was no good earthly reason to remain. He would lean out the window, and demand that his friends come pull him out of this godforsaken hellhole.
Instead, he crossed the room to the classroom door and opened it. Stepping through, he found himself in the middle of a broad hallway that spanned the length of the building. An undisturbed layer of dust caked the floor. On each side of the hallway were closed wooden doors, most of which had classroom numbers stenciled above them. Looking behind him, Kyle saw that the classroom he had just exited was No. 6.
He turned to his right and padded softly down the hall, the torn seat of his jeans flapping annoyingly. He passed classroom No. 4 and classroom No 2. Looking inside each, he found them as empty as No. 6.
The next door he approached was labeled Boys. He opened the door and stepped inside. The tiled floor of the restroom was cracked and dingy. On one wall, he found a row of porcelain sinks, each with a central dull metal faucet between two equally dull four-spoked knobs. On the other was a row of four toilets, lacking stalls or dividers of any kind. Above each, nearly at the ceiling, was an absurdly large tank, from which dangled a long rusty chain with a wooden handle on the end. Against the wall facing him, below a narrow window a good eight feet from the floor, was one long urinal trough, drains stained green with mold.
A slight breeze tickled his ass through the gaping hole in his pants. He shivered.
He was about to leave the room when he felt something shift in his head. almost like a snap. The restroom shimmered and suddenly looked brand new: the tiled floor gleamed pristinely, the faucets and knobs shone brightly, the toilet chains were free of rust, and the urinal free of mold. Yet, somehow the restroom felt BLEAKER than before. There was a subliminal feeling of dread in the air, of some menace hidden and waiting.
The half-forgotten eraser he'd been carrying dropped to the floor. Kyle closed his eyes, and when he opened them, the room was back to its previous dilapidated condition. He closed them again, and reopened them, twice. No change in the condition of the restroom. He struggled with his concept of reality for a moment before deciding that the weed had finally kicked in. That would explain a few things.
Feeling a bit more in control of himself, Kyle exited the lavatory and began to make his way back to No. 6. However, he found himself inexplicably stopping about halfway there, before a door on the side of the hallway he hadn't yet visited. The painted stencil above the door read PRINCIPAL.
The unease that had settled upon Kyle throughout his time in the building seemed to double. He very much did not want to know what was on the other side of this door. Nonetheless, he found himself grasping the knob and turning it. With much trepidation, he pushed the door open.
He was looking into an office dominated by a huge desk made from very dark wood, which sat on a rug that looked a vibrant red beneath its coat of grime. Behind the desk was a high-backed chair, which was turned away from the door. On the wall behind the desk was a long row of bookshelves, crammed full of books with titles too dusty to read. And on the wall to the right of the desk hung an astonishing assortment of paddles. Paddles tall and short, paddles thick and thin. Some of them had holes bored through the blade, and some did not. Some featured intricate carved designs, and some were featureless and workmanlike. All of them gave the impression of being very old, and very well used.
The menace in this room was palpable, and Kyle's panic rose sharply. He was about to bolt, when the chair turned to face the door.
His terror momentarily banished by astonishment, Kyle stared at the chair. It was empty.
He could not bring himself to approach the desk and see if there was someone hiding there, someone who had turned the chair from below. In any case, he knew there was not. He felt another presence in the room, as he'd had in the classroom. Just one presence this time, not dozens of eyes, but two. Authoritative. Demanding. Dominating.
His terror abruptly returned, but he found himself rooted to the floor.
Suddenly, he felt the "snap" inside his head again, and the room swam before his eyes. As he regained his focus, he saw that the blood-red carpet was immaculately clean, the book's titles were clearly legible, and the paddles were all frighteningly new. And the chair was no longer empty.
Sitting behind the desk was a tall, barrel-chested man with a bald head ringed by unkempt gray hair. His features were sharp, with a mouth that looked as though it had never entertained a smile, and two piercing black eyes magnified behind a pair of round spectacles tightly gripping the bridge of his nose.
The man radiated cruelty.
He spoke suddenly and commandingly, making Kyle jump. "Which one sent you?"
Kyle gaped like a fish, too terrified to speak, even had he understood the question. This was not the weed, not unless Steve had laced it with something else. But he knew Steve had not. Whatever was going on here was beyond his imagining, no matter what drugs he could have taken.
The terrible man's brow furrowed. "Speak, boy! Who sent you to me, and why?" he demanded.
Compelled to answer by the sheer command of the man's voice, Kyle stammered out, "St-St-St-Steve."
"Who the sam hill is 'Steve'?" the man thundered in reply. "You'd better start making sense right now, boy, or you'll get double what you've already got coming!"
At a complete loss, Kyle could only moan, "I-I'm sorry, sir, please, I'm sorry."
"You certainly are, boy, but a damned sight less sorry right now than you soon will be. I'll wager you're one of Spalding's. Let's go."
With that, the man stood up and the room abruptly reverted to its previous state. Kyle stared at the empty space behind the desk, when he suddenly felt a painful tug on his ear.
"I said, let's go, boy!" a voice in his ear bellowed, and he found himself pulled out into the hall.
Terror-stricken, Kyle twisted as well as he was able in the iron grip but could see no one. Both the office and the hallway were empty. Still the unseen presence continued to tug him down the hall by the ear.
"Wait! Stay right there!" the voice commanded, and the vice left his ear. Every impulse, every instinct within him was commanding him to run, but he found he couldn't move a muscle. He stood there, trembling, until something emerged from the room.
It was not the tall man, however. It was one of the paddles from the wall, a particularly thick one, with a vicious series of holes drilled throughout. The paddle hung in mid-air, suspended seemingly from nothing, as it moved toward the shuddering teenager.
Suddenly, whatever spell he was under broke, and Kyle spun quickly, ready to make a mad leap out the window, or through the wall, if necessary. Before he could take a single step, however, the vice returned to his ear, jarring him painfully, and stopping him cold. He turned and swung a fist at his unseen assailant but connected with nothing. The next thing he knew was an explosion of pain from his buttocks, as the freely-swinging paddle smashed into them with paralyzing force. Kyle howled.
"Here, now!" the voice thundered, flabbergasted and outraged by Kyle's naked defiance. "You just settle yourself down right now, child, or I swear before God I'll beat your ass bloody!"
As Kyle's hands flew to rub the inferno from his blazing rear, the vice once more began yanking him down the hall.
"And what's happened to your trousers, boy? Did Spalding do that, or is that why she sent you to me?"
Kyle had no answer to that, and the voice seemed to expect none for once, as it finished marching him across the hall to No. 6.
The door swung wide of its own accord, and Kyle felt another "snap". Suddenly, the room was full of people. A teenaged child sat at every desk, staring with rapt attention at an elderly woman with the largest bosom Kyle had ever seen. She turned with annoyance at the interruption to her lesson, but her expression quickly softened when she saw the tall man, who had just as suddenly reappeared, his plainly visible hand still gripping Kyle's ear between his thumb and forefinger.
"Principal Whitcomb!" she said obsequiously. "How nice to see you. What can I do for you?"
"Afternoon, Miss Spalding," the man replied. "This young half-wit just showed up in my office unannounced, unable to give an account of himself. Is he one of yours?"
The women turned to face the terrified youth. "Why, yes sir," she said, and then dumbfounded the boy by adding, "This is Kyle. He was touching things that did not belong to him. I thought it best to have him see you." The smile she gave Kyle was so cruel it made his stomach churn.
"Just so, Miss Spalding, just so. I could tell right from the look of him that he was a bad one. And what about these cowboy trousers he’s wearing? Did you leave them in this condition, or is it something the boy did?" The man spun Kyle around, so his ventilated jeans were facing the woman...and the class, which provoked a wave of tittering.
The woman silenced the room immediately with a glower, then turned respectfully to the man. "No, sir," she said brightly. "It was nothing I did. I'm afraid he came to class that way."
"I see, I see," the man responded. "So here we have a thieving pervert, with apparently half the wits God gave a goose. I think this will require some effort from both of us, Miss Spalding. Would you like to go first?"
"Why, that's very gracious of you, Principal Whitcomb. I should be happy to take first crack, as it were," the woman said with delight.
She retrieved the unblemished pointer from the floor and moved to the front of the desk. "Take your position, Kyle," she said firmly.
The man released his ear, but Kyle just stood there... he wasn't clear what his "position" was, and he was, understandably, having plenty of trouble just dealing with the concept of who and where he was at the moment. However, he moved very quickly indeed when the woman unexpectedly bellowed, "Over the desk, boy! Now!” and gave his hindquarters a stinging THWACK! with the pointer.
Kyle scrambled over to the desk and pressed his chest against it, presenting his underwear-clad rear directly to the classroom, which erupted in mild titters yet again. Besides the condition of his trousers, Kyle’s uncommonly large and muscular rump made for quite a spectacle even amongst this jaded group of students, who were not at all strangers to backsides being displayed for punishment.
Another glower from the woman quieted the room, as she raised her arm like a conductor about to begin a symphony. "Who would like to keep count?" she asked the class.
Kyle heard a musical voice from behind his behind say, "May I keep count, Miss Spalding?"
"Certainly, Anna. Please come stand behind the desk." the woman replied.
A few seconds latter, a pretty girl about his own age with blond hair appeared before Kyle's eyes, wearing a gingham dress tied at the waist with a white band.
"Anna, please pull Kyle's shirt and...er, outer garment out of the way," the woman requested.
"Certainly, Miss Spalding," the girl replied. Looking Kyle directly in the eyes, and with a lascivious grin on her face, she reached down Kyle's back and pulled his t-shirt and windbreaker up to his chest, raking her nails gently but firmly across his skin as she did so. Absurdly, an erotic jolt went through the boy, and he gave an involuntary shudder.
"Thank you, dear. We will now begin." From the corner of his eye, Kyle saw the woman's arm descend, and he shut his eyes tightly.
THWACK! he heard a split second later, followed by a fresh sizzling across his bum. He thrashed on the desk, and the girl struggled to hold him still as she called out, "One!"
Another stroke quickly followed, and Kyle spasmed again, his ass on fire, as the girl called out, "Two!" She was pressing on his back with all her might. He could smell whatever she was using for soap, or perhaps just her natural scent, quite close to his face. Incredibly, he felt another sexual shock course through him. Against his will, he opened his eyes.
The room was empty once more. He was lying across the desk, caked in dust, staring at the blackboard with its woeful message of despair. He had a quick moment to wonder if his ordeal was over before he realized he could still fell the girl's weight on his back, still smell her directly in front of him and,
THWACK!
"Three!" came the disembodied voice from above him, as fire streaked his buns once more, and he yelled out for the first time. "God DAMN it!", he swore fervently, his eyes watering.
THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! came three more in rapid succession, and Kyle was momentarily blinded by pain as he shrieked incoherently. "We'll have no blasphemy out of you, boy!" the woman's voice snapped. "Do not count those, Anna."
"Yes 'em" came the reply from just overhead. He could hear the barely concealed thrill in her voice. She was enjoying watching his ass get spanked, it was turning her on...
THWACK!
Another slash of fire seared his rear. He bit his lip so hard to keep from cursing that he drew blood. "Four!"
THWACK!
Fresh agony. Kyle began weeping; he couldn't remember the last time he'd cried, surely not for the last six years, at least. "Five!"
THWACK!
Another explosion, and Kyle broke down, sobbing openly, and begging, "Please! Please, stop!" From above, a lewd voice called, "Six!"
From somewhere to his right, he heard the man clear his throat. "Thank you, Miss Spalding. I believe that will do."
Kyle's sobbing turned to tears of relief. Finally, it was over, finally he was done...
"Yes, I'll have my turn now."
Kyle bolted upright; the girl's spectral arms offered no resistance in his frenzied state. "Please, no more, I can't, please, please, PLEASE!" he begged
A much stronger hand shoved him back down onto the hard, pitiless wooden plane, now swept nearly clean of dust due to his thrashing about. "I'll decide when you've had enough, boy." the man's voice said with unmistakable relish. "Miss Spalding, I think we'll need stronger support for this next part." A disappointed murmur came from above him, and the man's voice said, "Don't worry Anna, you can still keep the count. You've been very helpful. In fact, why don't you prepare the boy for the next phase of his punishment?"
A delighted squeal from above, and Kyle sensed the girl was leaving her position in front of him. as the woman called out, "Luke? Joseph? Will you assist us up here please?"
Kyle heard the sharp squeal of metal as somebody large (undoubtedly Luke and/or Joseph) rose from their seat. Moments later, he felt two sets of VERY sturdy hands from either side of the desk pressing his chest firmly against the wooden plane.
Seconds after that, he was shocked to feel fumbling at his belt. "You sure are cute," the girl's voice whispered quietly into his ear. "I'd love to meet up with you...after," she said, as he felt his jeans unbuttoned and his zipper slid down.
More titters from the room as his pants were shoved down his thighs, revealing his Calvin Klein briefs completely to the class. "Those sure are some funny drawers' the sultry voice whispered. "Where'd you get 'em? It’s almost like you ain’t wearing nothing," it teased breathlessly, as a hand cold as the grave reached down the front of his skivvies.
Kyle immediately sprang a boner. Despite the unbearable pain in his ass, despite the humiliation he was suffering, despite the fact that he was surrounded on all sides by fucking GHOSTS, the spectral girl's lust was highly contagious, and Kyle couldn't keep his body from responding.
A soft giggling in his ear as he felt an icy palm rub the length of his shaft. "Hope I get to use this later," the voice murmured...then the hand left his prick, and his tighty-whities were slid off his aching ass to join his pants at his ankles.
There was a collective "Ooooooh!" at the sight of Kyle's massive, naked butt, lined with over half a dozen scorching red stripes. Kyle blazed with embarrassment as he felt countless unseen eyes riveted on his bare, broad booty, as well as the low-hanging nuts dangling between his spread legs.
He could smell the girl resume her place in front of him. He closed his eyes, trying desperately to prepare for the blow he was about to receive.
SMACK!
The two invisible pistons holding him down were hard-pressed to perform their duty, as Kyle bucked violently against the explosion of pain in his backside. The pointer had been nothing compared to this.
"One!" the girl's voice called out triumphantly from above him.
Spasming wildly, Kyle suddenly realized he was thrusting his rock hard cock against the desk with obscene abandon. The turbulence in his groin was as yet no match for the agony in his ass, but as he squirmed and grinded, he was alarmed to feel the two sensations begin to somehow overlap.
SMACK!
Fireworks erupted behind Kyle's eyes, as the paddle collided with his rear end again. The two phantom jocks above him were forced to grab handfuls of his clothes to maintain a grip on the wildly bucking teen. "Two!" yelled the girl.
SMACK!
The third paddle stroke landed with bombastic force, and Kyle felt the "snap" in his head once again, as the room swam and righted itself so that he could see the woman out of the corner of his left eye, the man out of the corner of his right, the two burly clodhoppers hanging onto his shirt and jacket for dear life, and, right in front of him, the girl, watching him in rapturous delight, leering at him as he thrust helplessly against the desk, oblivious to all things but the blazing fire in his rear, the utter urgency of his erection, and the heaving breasts of the girl, as she lustfully watched him shamelessly hump the desk in front of her, gyrating his bare, blistered ass in front of the whole class…
The assemblage behind him watched the unmistakable tightening of the tortured teen’s ball sack as his cock erupted, firing jet after jet of spunk across the desk, drenching his chest and belly, leaving him sliding his torso through a pond of his own jizz as he continued his indecent dance of lust and pain.
"Three!" shouted the girl breathlessly.
Both mortified and horrified by what he'd just done. Kyle kicked forcefully backward, snaking out of his jacket and t-shirt, and catching the two lummoxes off guard, leaving them holding nothing but empty clothes. Kyle landed punishingly on his bare, battered bottom in front of the mass of students, just narrowly missing the next swing of the paddle, as it sailed past the empty space where his ass had been scant seconds before and finished its arc in either Luke or Joseph's unfortunate crotch. Luke-or-Joseph crumpled to the ground, and the man actually dropped the paddle in shock.
Kyle got painfully to his feet, and began a mad dash for the window, only to nearly fall flat on his face, hobbled by the jeans and underwear around his ankles. Desperate to be free of this encumbrance, he kicked off his sneakers, pants, and briefs, and ran wildly for the window. The woman attempted to block his path, but she herself tripped on his discarded jeans, and nearly went sprawling.
Kyle made it to the window and practically dove through the narrow opening, but once again, even without his jeans and Calvins, his ass was too big to fit. He wracked his cock and balls brutally on the bottom of the window, scraped his blistered bum on the top, and hung there helplessly, as hungry hands began slapping and pinching and groping his defenseless backside.
Gazing out at the field, Kyle saw his friends and waved frantically. "Help! You guys, help!" he yelled. Relieved, he saw them startle at the sound of his voice and then begin running to his aid.
That's when the hands pawing at his rump were suddenly knocked away, and he heard a harsh voice behind him snarl, "Just where do you think YOU'RE going, you little shit?" Once again, he heard a loud SMACK! a split second before his ass exploded in fresh torment.
Through his tears, he saw his friends run up to the window. "Please, pull me out of here! Please!" he shrieked.
His buddies looked through the window, then at each other, confused. There was nothing in the room besides Kyle's discarded clothing. What was he so frantic about? And why was he naked?
Kyle moaned at the hesitation from his boys as another loud SMACK! lit up his rump, followed almost immediately by another fiery THWACK! from the pointer. "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST YOU GUYS PULL ME OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW!" he bawled.
Hands reached out to lock arms with the trapped teen, and the boys gave a mighty tug. Kyle's tortured tail slid about an inch further out the window, then stopped once more. "Again!' He groaned, over the furnace of pain in ass and the dull, thudding ache in his balls. "Hurry!"
Another mighty tug, and this time Kyle sailed through the window, colliding with Splint, smearing his tacky, cum-slathered torso against Splint’s shirt, and knocking the other boy off his feet.
Above the prone teens, Brad and Dave watched as the window slammed itself shut. They both agreed later that the window had fallen naturally on its own, and neither would ever admit to the other that they had clearly seen the latch lock itself back into place.
Steve looked down at the naked, cum-streaked, scarlet-assed body of his panting, sobbing friend, and said simply, "Told ya."