DISCLAIMER: This story is for entertainment purposes only. It depicts acts of a homosexual nature and includes frank descriptions of raunchy sexual behavior. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. If you are under age or offended by this type of behavior, please do not read any further.
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This story is directly inspired by the pioneering work of dale10/maipenraikhap who has spent the last two decades keeping our cocks hard and our imaginations expanded. In particular this is an offshoot of the Lakeland Lads series.
(raunch, high school, ws, scat)
Further Tales from Lakeland: Chapter 2 Bobby's Disgrace
Bobby was picked up that morning by a trustee named Len, a corn-fed, blue-eyed Midwestern kid with a blond high and tight haircut. Len, who was used to all sorts of weird smells found himself wincing at the stink that clung to Bobby. "Jesus Christ, kid, have you not taken a bath in what, two years? You're fucking stinking up my car, Bobby."
Bobby allowed himself a small victory by mentally responding, "It isn't your fucking car, you glorified errand boy."
On the car ride back, the trustee cracked himself up with a string of insults directed at Bobby. "So, looks like you found the perfect boyfriend, you little twat. Go figure. The only person who cares about you is some filthy drunken hobo. That is so awesome! Your life couldn't be more perfect. SOOO romantic! Maybe when you get out you can live with him on the streets. It's not like your parents want your juvenile delinquent ass back. He can be the daddy you never had and pimp you out to all of his homeless friends."
The boy couldn't hold it in anymore, and he burst into tears. The driver turned around to look at Bobby and smirked, "Screw you, you little boytwat, if your parents cared about you, you wouldn't be stuck here at Lakeland. At least someone likes you, even if he is a worthless drunk."
The trustee then opened the backseat door and told Bobby to get out. "Get off, you lazy sack of shit. Now. Get cleaned up before dinner."
Bobby was allowed to wash by himself in the cunt's bathroom and made his way back uneventfully to the dorm. Dinner was unusually quiet that evening, and Bobby looked forward to an early rest.
The next morning, Bobby awoke to find an unusual stickiness in his underwear but didn't think anything of it, as he frequently had wet dreams. He quickly stuffed the briefs behind his pillow and put on a new pair, relieved that he would pass the morning inspection. His dorm captain ragged some of the other students but Bobby escaped his ire. The boys were then marched off to their morning shit break. The cunt room was a large, white tiled room with two squat trenches where the boys could relieve themselves. The boys lined up to take their morning dumps, which were broadcast in humiliating, intricate detail on montiors around the room. In the corner of the room, a few men quietly watched, and sometimes pointed at a boy and whispered something to a trustee. Bobby had been confused for months about the presence of the men, until he realized that these were friends and donors of Lakeland who had paid handsomely for the privilege of watching boys piss and shit, and if they ponied up enough cash, could arrange a private session with a student.
In front of Bobby was his classmate Mark, a younger, bespectacled and thin boy with a raffish haircut. He was a fastidious kid, and being an only child, especially dreaded the lack of privacy around his body functions. He always looked ashamed and scrunched up in discomfort when nature called, unlike some of the other, more masculine boys who shamelessly went about business in full view of their peers.
Bobby scrunched up his nose as Mark expelled a yellowish, semi-liquid load that was typical for the anxious lad, whose stomach was always in knots. Bobby found Mark rather cute, and the boy never joined in the lewd jokes or bragged about the various girls he "courted" or about his various conquests, like some of the jock types at the school. Unfortunately, Bobby never liked being behind Mark during the shit period as he ended up using more than his allotted sheets of toilet paper. When Mark had finished, Bobby cleaned the boys hole the best he could and threw the paper into the trench alongside Mark's watery excrement.
Bobby took his place and squatted aside the trench. As he began to empty his bowels, his bladder also loosened. Then suddenly, Bobby let out a scream that could shatter glass. He felt like lava was pouring out of his cock instead of urine, or that a razor had been drawn across his pisshole. Even the trustees and donors looked startled. The room was filled with absolute silence. The trustees were a sadistic lot, but they weren't stupid. Something like this could kill the mood and ruin the experience the donors had paid for. One of the senior trustees gave a reassuring look to the two men in the corner of the room and drew Bobby into the hallway, who was still shrieking in agony. Bobby was a prime piece of boycunt, and for all of the abuse he had endured at the hands of the school, they weren't going to let the goods get damaged.
The senior trustee, in an unusually level voice, said to Bobby, "Ok. What the hell is going on with you?"
Bobby blubbered, "My pisshole....feels like its on fire....oh my god, I think I'm dying."
"You aren't dying, bitch. Just calm the fuck down and be quiet until I can get Trotter to look at you."
The trustee got on his walkie-talkie and before long, Dr. Trotter came down the hall with two student assistants who were carrying a stretcher. Bobby was rushed into Trotter's clinic and the normally garrulous doctor remained quiet as Bobby continued to whimper. Bobby didn't even resist when Trotter injected him and said, "Bobby, count backward to 1."
Bobby weakly muttered 9 before he fell into a now painless rest.
A few hours later, Burke summoned Trotter up to his office for a full report. Burke looked unusually concerned and was fidgeting with a pen as Dr. Trotter walked in.
"What the fuck is going on with that twat? That was the governor's best friend and the head of a Fortune 500 company in the shit room today. I've been doing damage control all morning, and have had to comp them a demonstration at the stables with Caleb, who has been training for months to take his first horse cock. It isn't even 2 and I'm down 40k. It's bad enough when the donors and board members hear about this bullshit, but if the press gets ahold of this and they all come knocking on my door..."
Dr. Trotter interjected, "I'm not going to lie. We've got a serious situation on our hands, but it isn't permanent. I've run a culture and the kid's got the fucking clap."
Burke responded, "You've got to be fucking kidding me. How the hell did that happen."
Trotter whined, "I told you that the homeless outreach program was a bad idea, but no, you said it was worth the risk for the photos and videos you'd sell and it would look good on the website, but no, you never listen, and now Bobby's got a drippy dick. How much is him being out of commission going to cost?"
Burke snapped, "I don't NEED a fucking lecture! FIX THIS! NOW!"
Trotter sighed, "It isn't that simple. He's going to need a course of antibiotics and rest, then we will have to be 100% sure he's cured before he can return to classes and...extracurricular activities."
Burke snapped his pen in two and closed his eyes. Trotter knew better than to say anything when his boss was in a mood like this. Burke leaned back in his chair and inhaled deeply. Almost like clockwork, one of Burke's student assistants, a beautiful boy with Asian features, quietly brought Burke a pack of cigarettes in an art deco case, a silver ashtray, and a lighter. The boy gently placed a cigarette in Burke's mouth, lit it and retreated back into a side office.
Burke took a lengthy puff on his cigarette while Trotter stood awkwardly in front of his desk. Burke then opened his eyes and motioned for Trotter to sit down on the couch against the wall in his office. Burke stood up, walked over, and sat down across from Trotter in an overstuffed chair. Once more, Burke's assistant glided into the room with a chilled carafe of iced spring water, crystal glasses, and two lemon scented hot towels. As Burke and Trotter refreshed their hands and faces with the hot towels, the boy returned with a tray of snacks. Trotter noticed an assortment of small tea sandwiches, petit fours, and fresh fruit. Burke silently poured himself a glass of water and picked up a strawberry. Trotter, observing his boss's body language, started to feel less tense and reached for a tea sandwich. While the two men quietly snacked, the young Asian boy brought out another tray with a beautiful ceramic teapot, starched napkins and two matching tea cups. After placing them gently on the coffee table, he put his hands together and bowed respectfully to the two men.
Burke broke the silence and spoke in an unusually gentle voice, "A moment, Boon-Mee. What have you brought us today?" Burke gestured towards the tea pot. "Khun Burke, it is my honor to present you and Khun Trotter with a rare varietal of Bai Hao Yinzhen from Fujian province. I hope that you find it nothing short of exquisite and that it..." Boon-Mee paused.
"Please continue, Boon-Mee." Burke said in what Trotter found to be a genuinely inquisitive tone.
"Sir, I ask for your pardon in advance if I presume too much, yet you seem most troubled. It is said that this tea quiets the mind and brings inspiration. It is my only hope that you find both today. Please let Boon-Mee know if I can be of any further service. Only if it please you sir, Boon-Mee would request to leave you to your work?"
Burke gave Boon-Mee a thin hint of a smile, "You have done well as usual and have anticipated my desires. That will be all for now. Come back in an hour once we have finished our discussion."
Boon-Mee bowed once more and still facing the men, walked backwards deferentially into a side office and closed the door.
Trotter subdued his normally lecherous thoughts and commented, "He's..."
"Off-limits. Boon-Mee is a gift from Mr. Black for my 40th birthday. Our friend knows that keeping our pricks hard isn't a problem for us here. But finding someone with that level of service...god, they train them well over there. It's like the kid is fucking telepathic. Always there when I need him, and never in the way when I'm busy. Mr. Black made it very clear, that even for me, Boon-Mee's not to be touched and that he's here to serve in other ways than what we are used to."
Trotter nodded, "A rare gift, and not one to be handled lightly. Mr. Black is a generous friend, but we know what happens to those who disregard instructions."
Burke returned the nod and changed the conversation back to the problem at hand. "Ok. I'm calm. I have an idea. One that solves our problem and could make up for today's losses."
Trotter leaned in, "I'm all ears"
Burke explained, "Ok, so the little cunt got himself knocked up with gono. That's treatable. You run the other tests?"
"All negative, except for a case of crabs. Again, easily treated by shaving his pubes and cleaning the area." "Good. How long can Bobby remain lugging around a drippy prick?"
Trotter looked confused, but before he could speak, Burke continued.
"I figure that we could leave the kid in agony for a few days and put on a special performance. Think about it, everyone in the school will know that Bobby got bugged up by his boyfriend. The humiliation will be legendary. I propose we have the kid go back to class with the knowledge that he's going to have a constant stain around his crotch that he can't hide."
Trotter looked intrigued, "I like the way this is going. How about he keep the same shorts for the entire week?"
Burke smiled, "Perfect, and that's not the end of it. Pissing and cumming will be pure torture for Bobby until you treat him. How about we IV him with saline for a while and then have him tied down and attached to the milking machine? It'll make for a great video feed."
"Genius. The kid will never want to cum again. Watching him moaning and thrashing as he constantly pisses and is forced to cum over and over again is going to make a lot of donors happy."
"Then," Burke continued, "for the grand finale, we put on a WWII style sex-ed film in front of all the boys, warning them about what happens to little whores who can't keep their dicks in their pants."
Trotter added, "Forget injections, let's go the old-fashioned treatment route where they shoved antiseptic up soldier's pissholes."
Burke looked gleeful, "And let's have the art department make propaganda posters."
Trotter laughed, "I can see it now, a poster of Bobby's with the words 'The Face of Carelessness" or something like that."
Burke stood up, "It'll be great, and we still have time to have him pull his regular weight around the school, with no one the wiser. We got lucky on that one."
Bobby's cock continued to spew yellowish-green discharge, soaking his briefs and shorts through with toxic fluids. The other boys at Lakeland gave him a wide berth, and Bobby was forced to sit on a special red chair at mealtimes and in class, like the old military toilets painted red for soldiers with VD. Bobby was forced to cart around an IV of saline solution all day, which led to him constantly needing to piss. Every time he relieved his bladder, he experienced a new round of searing, burning pain that traveled down the length of his urethra.
Bobby reported to Trotter's office after classes for his daily milking sessions. As he laid down on his back, trustees bound his hands, feet and heads, rendering the boy immobile. Then, one of the trustees began a loud machine and brought over a cylindrical device . Bobby knew what this was, and he held his breath, waiting for the first eruption. The milking machine latched on to Bobby's diseased, drippy cock, and began to pump out a thin line of precum and pus. The machine showed no mercy, relentlessly sucking everything out of the poor boy's cock and balls.
For four hours, Bobby was subjected to what felt like an endless series of forced orgasms, that became increasingly painful. Everytime he came, his body was consumed with a shearing, firey agony, and he screamed, begged and begged again for mercy.
Meanwhile, across the world, some of Lakeland's wealthiest donors jacked their pricks to the sight and sounds of Bobby's torment that were livestreamed to their computers. Many of them had become jaded and desensitized to the normal perversities that took place at Lakeland, but Burke had a way of luring them back in. Most donors had simple tastes, with only a select few having interest in toilet games. This was another level of depravity for Burke, and he relished every moment of it. But even for Burke, there were some limits. One donor had learned this the hard way by stealthing a boy with his highly charged strain of poz cum. There were some things that Burke wouldn't do, even for all of the money in the world. He'd torment the little cunts within an inch of their lives, but having dead or disabled students was of no use to him or Lakeland. With the help of Mr. Black, Burke had to stage an "accident" on the donor's private plane. While no one could prove anything, the donors got the message that while money could buy practically anything they dreamed of, they couldn't destroy the merchandise. The unlucky student, while carrying the disease for the rest of his life, was functionally cured, and declared "reformed." Before returning him to his grateful parents, Burke threatened to release photos and videos to everyone the kid knew if he ever dared to talk. The unfortunate lad was put under the medical care of a friend of Lakeland Academy, who kept a close watch on the boy's activities.
He knew that all of those online loved watching a beautiful boy like Bobby be brought down so low, to make him feel like a worthless, disgusting and diseased "piece of trash." And the best thing was that after a course of treatment, Bobby would be back to normal.
A few days later, all of the students, staff and faculty were summoned to the auditorium for a very special educational lecture and demonstration. The theater department had created a rather convincing stage that looked like a war-era prophylaxis station, complete with a specially shaped sink, frightening looking syringes, and posters declaring "PURITY VIOLATIONS!"
"Today, we're going to demonstrate what happens to some boys who cannot control their sinful urges, much like the boy we're about to bring to the stage.
Burke then turned on the control panel, and all of the lights in the auditorium dimmed, except for a single spotlight. Bobby walked, teary-eyed into the spotlight. He was wearing a WWII era GI uniform that had been customized to his size and his hair had been cut to regulations.
"Here we have what appears to be a healthy young man, in fighting trim, ready to serve his country ," Burke said in a grave voice, walking towards the back of the stage. "Except that he's carrying a weapon inside of him. A weapon deadlier than any bomb, more frightful than any bullet. That disease is GONORRHEA!" The word was emphasized by ominous-sounding trumpets.
One of the members of the theater department stood up, and said loudly, "Gee Mr. Burke, that is a big word. What does it mean?"
"It means there's a deadly bacteria inside of Bobby. It's very contagious. Raising his voice, Burke pronounced, "EACH ONE OF YOU COULD GET IT!" There were audible voices of shock from the assembled boys.
Burke lowered his voice, "But smart chaps know how to keep themselves and their honor clean, by taking precautions. If they succumb to temptation, be safe rather than sorry and visit your nearest prophylactic station."
Burke pointed to Bobby, "Promiscuous boys like Bobby bring shame upon their nation and betray their country worse than any spy. But for them, there is no court of law, no brig, no execution at dawn. Only lasting guilt, and the knowledge that his friends, parents and potential spouse will carry this shame for the rest of their lives."
"And those left untreated", Burke thundered, "wear this shame in plain sight." At this prompt, close up photos of Bobby's stained, discharged-filled shorts were shown to the audience. There were sounds of revulsion and shock from the boys.
"So", Burke said, "And where does this shame come from?! It comes from the filthy, diseased member of this boy, which spreads illness everywhere he goes." At this point, the boys were shown close up photos of Bobby's cock oozing a thick, yellow-green liquid. They could be heard gasping and groaning in disgust.
Burke continued, "God gave our cocks their special virtue. They are made for the sole purpose of satisfying a young woman's carnal desire and giving birth to a new generation of fighting men. They are not to be used for selfish acts of pleasure."
"Just like the plague, you can contain this disease by taking special precautionary measures. This disease is highly contagious. Someone has to be exposed before the disease can spread to the rest of us. So, every man who shames himself must immediately visit a doctor to rid himself of this abominable affliction. Please watch the scene closely."
The lights then expanded to reveal the clinic on stage. Dr. Trotter, who was wearing an old fashioned mirror on his head and a lab coat, stumbled in. "So, what have we here today, solider?"
Bobby choked out the words he had memorized, "Doc, I need you to take a look at something."
Trotter replied, "I assume, young man, you are referring to exclusively male issues?"
"Yes sir, I think it is best that you take a look yourself."
Dr. Trotter snapped on a pair of gloves and a mask, "Alright solider, drop trou."
Bobby reluctantly dropped his drawers. Dr. Trotter made exaggerated humming noises as he analyzed Bobby's cock. "Hmm, have you been frequenting houses of ill repute?"
"Ah, no sir...um..."
"Spit it out boy!"
"I didn't get this from...from a woman."
"WHAT?", Trotter said in a melodramatic manner, "You mean to tell me you are a...sodomite!? Did you corrupt one of our brave servicemen with your unnatural lifestyle?"
"No sir, I didn't get it from a solider."
"Then from who?"
Bobby gasped and choked out the words, "From Stinky Pete!"
At this, Trotter threw up his hands in dismay and the audience broke out into hysterical laughter.
"Sorry, I couldn't control it," Trotter said between fits of laughter, "you have got to understand, I've seen many fine specimens of young male Americanhood." Dr. Trotter motioned Bobby to come closer, "But, what do have we here? A young, healthy, virile young man who gives himself to lousy street trash ! He's obviously not too concerned with the quality of his partners, he's just trying to get laid as quickly as possible. In all my years I have never heard of a more debased and repulsive specimen. It's almost enough to make me throw up in my own mouth."
Dr. Trotter smirked, "It looks like your lover gave you some new friends as an additional gift. You've got crabs. We're going to have to shave all of your nasty pubic hair off. If you can't be responsible, you don't get to have a nice bush of manly pubes, you get to look like a sissy!
Dr. Trotter, still laughing, returned to examining Bobby's genitals. He then instructed Bobby to remain calm as he inserted a long q-tip into Bobby's sore urethra.
The lights dimmed. Burke then narrated, "At this point, the good doctor takes a sample from this filthy young man and cultures it. If the culture is positive, then treatment must begin immediately. We return a few hours later."
Dr. Trotter began the next scene, "So, solider, it is as I predicted. You have tested positive for what soldiers call the clap. Thanks to your negligence, the Axis will continue their reign of tyranny for another day. But lucky for you, this horrid malady is treatable."
Bobby replied, "Will it hurt?"
"That isn't my concern. You brought this on yourself. Now step up to the sink and disinfect your genital region."
Bobby went over to the sink, turned on the water, and began to wash his cock and balls with a thick, red soap with a strong chemical odor. When he had finished, Burke instructed him, "Now, take the shaving cream and razor and carefully remove all of the hair from the region. This is to prevent infection and rid yourself of your boyfriend's little pests."
Bobby felt further humiliated as his pubic hair, the sign of his manhood washed down the drain. "Wash your genitals once more." Bobby complied.
Then, with a quick smile at the audience, Trotter brought over a large syringe that looked more like a turkey baster.
Burke narrated, "In modern times, this treatment is done by injection, but in keeping with historical accuracy, we want to demonstrate the methods of the past."
Bobby nearly lost his vocal cords as Trotter worked the thick tip of the syringe into Bobby's already sore pisstube. The antibiotic ointment stung even worse than taking a piss.
Trotter, looking somewhat triumphant, then withdrew the syringe.
"Now sir, place the bandage over the end of your penis and keep the ointment inside for two hours."
"Oooooooh God," Bobby wailed, "It burns!"
The audience was on their feet, applauding at this highly dramatic display of sexual education. For the boys, this was as much entertainment they would get, but for Bobby, this was among the lowest moments of his life.