The Fat Farm

"Where the fuck are we?" Asked one of the passengers, a foul-mouthed lad fifteen years old, "This doesn't look like any shitting summer camp to me."

The other fifteen passengers were also teenagers, all guys, and all at least thirty pounds overweight. All had been sent to a special 'dietary summer camp' by their parents. The advertising literature for the camp showed healthy teens swimming and riding horses in the mountains. This place looked like a prison. There was nothing but a fenced enclosure and a dismal looking concrete building with bars on the windows.

The door opened and a large, fit man entered the bus.

"Okay, you fat fucks!" He commanded, "Get your lard asses off the bus and into the barracks, NOW!"

The boys, goaded by the large man and his four assisants, complied and entered the building. The room was long and narrow, and held twenty bunks. One end of the room opened into a military style lavatory and shower room, which had open urinals and toilets without stalls or doors. The other end of the room held stationary bikes, treadmills, and other fitness machines as well as a scale. A doorway opened into a dining area with refrigerators, cooking facilities, and dishwashing sinks.

"Welcome to your new home for the next twelve weeks." The trainer in charge said. "You won't be comfortable here, but you'll get by. You can eat anything you want from the kitchen, and you will do your own cooking and clean-up. You will find a large selection of regular and low calorie food and drink, as well as frozen heat to eat foods. You will also find lots of fruit and vegetables. One of the reasons you are so out of shape is that you don't know how to eat right. We will teach you to count calories and you will soon know how much exersise you need to keep fit, once we get rid of the fat.

"You will each be weighed, and a computer program will determine your ideal weight. Your weekly weight loss goals will be charted and you will weigh in each Saturday. Those of you who meet or exceed the goals will be rewarded, and those who fail will be penalized. On the wall you can see before and after pictures of our graduates. It worked for them and it will work for you. Any questions?" He gestured towards the series of pictures which showed the previous classes. All of the guys in the pictures were naked, their genitals so obscured in the 'before' pictures by layers of fat that they seemed sexless or infantile. The 'after' photos showed healthy, normal adolescents, some of who were impressivly well hung.

"Why are there two 'after pictures missing?" Akid asked pointing to a group picture.

"Not all graduate, some drop out." Was the answer.

"Well, I'm fucking dropping out right now. To hell with this shit!" The foul-mouthed kid said as he pulled out his cell phone. "Shit. There's no signal here."

"Now that you all know the program, let's get started. Strip down and put your clothes in the boxes by your bunk. You won't need them here, and they will be shipped home for you. They won't fit in a couple of weeks, anyway. Then we weigh in, establish your goals, and start your exersise regimen."

"What do we wear? I don't see any clothes in the boxes." A fat youngster who was ashamed to be seen naked posed the question.

"Nothing. The facility is kept at ninety-three degrees to speed weight loss, so clothes are not needed. Seeing each other as others see you helps to motivate you to stay on your diets."

"Fuck this," The loudmouthed kid announced, "I'm not spending the next three months with a bunch of bare-assed faggots staring at my balls."

The large trainer referred to his clipbord, which held pictures and medical data for each of the boys, and walked up to the youth, who was larger and more developed than most of the others.

"John Ascot." The trainer pronounced the name Ass-cot, "If you don't shut up and and strip you won't have any balls to stare at." He then grabbed the boy's shirt and ripped it from his fat body before doing the same with his pants and underwear.

Each weight was recorded, and each guy was introduced to an exercise machine. At the end of the day they all showered, and were allowed to eat. Most chose low fat meals, but Ascot opted for pizza, with ice cream for dessert. Ater dinner they were allowed to watch the overhead TV for two hours before bedtime. This routine continued through the week, and on Saturday they weighed in. All had lost weight except Ascot, who had gained a pound. The trainer gave them a pep talk and presented the youngster who had done the best with a key to the 'honeymoon suite', which contained a pile of playboy magazines amd offered complete privacy.

"You have thirty minutes," He told the grinning youth. "Have fun, but don't strain your wrist. The trainer then approached Ascot, who was scarfing down a candy bar.

"You fat fuck, you are a disgrace to the human race." The trainer then kneed the unfortunate slob in the nuts, causing him to fall to the floor and puke.

The next week saw an improvment in Ascot, and although he didn't gain weight he was still far below his expectations. The trainer and his assisants took Ascot to a room for some additional training. This room contained a treadmill that was over ten feet wide and twenty feet long. Ascot was told to get on and run. He did, for about a minute, then got off, winded. The four assistants held Ascot to the floor while the trainert fastened an padlock and chain around his balls. this chain was then secured to the head of the treadmill and the machine was started.

"Have fun, Ass-cot," The trainer said before leaving the room, "we'll be back in two hours."

The third week weigh-in indicated that Ascot had improved. The fourth week revealed a decline in his performance. That evening the top performer in the group and Ascot were escorted from the room. The TV program was interupted to show the first youth enter a room with a bed and a naked young lady. The TV screen showed the prostitute kneeling in front of the lad and opening her mouth to accept him, and then switched to another camera which showed Ascot and a large, hairy, tattooed convict about to engage in the same activity, with Ascot on his knees. The regular programming then returned, with the sound volume turned up to allow the show to be heard over Ascot's occasional srceams. The two boys returned to the barracks later, with one holding his head high, smiling, while the other, walking stiffly, went straight into the shower.

"Hey, Ass-candy," One of the boys called out just after lights-out, "if your still hungry you can have some of mine , too."

The weeks slowly passed, and the boys, with the exception of Ascot, all continued to meet or exceed their goals, and most had been rewarded with visits to the bedroom. Ascot's visitation with his 'personal trainer' had improved his performance, but it was clear by the eleventh week that he would never come close to meeting his goal, and unlike the others he had never earned the privilege of a visit to the 'honeymoon suite'. His only relief from his adolescent hormones came at night, when he was sleeping. The bunks had no bedding, just matress covers that were washed weekly. His cover was often decorated with maps of Africa, Australia, and other landmasses with irregular shaped coastlines.

Two days before graduation another class picture was taken. This one showed fifteen healthy, hard-bodied young men in the prime of their lives. Ascot's picture was not included, as he had been removed from the program a few days ago. On the eve of their departure for home the trainer addressed them as a group and complimented them on their performance. He reminded them that they were in charge of their bodies and that being fat or fit was a choice, not a genetically required condition.

"What about Ascot?" One of the boys asked. "Could he have ever contolled his weight?"

"Most likely not. Some people can never be fit. They are a burden to the health care system, and are just plain disgusting to look at. If I had my way they would all be shot. We can't do that, of course, but we can take measures to prevent them from passing their defective genes along." The trainer said before turning the TV monitor on.

This time the scene was a surgical room in the complex. Strapped to a table, with his legs splayed apart, was Ascot. A nurse shaved his crotch and stretched a long rubber tourniquet around his balls. Fifteen teenage cocks rose to attention as a gloved hand appeared with a scalpel and eliminated John Ascot from the breeding pool.