“What do you think the problem is, Mr. Ward”? Dickbreath said, pausing to pop another breath mint into his mouth. His name is Mr. Howard but his habit of constantly eating breath mints to remove what is probably the aftertaste of cum has earned him the nickname Dickbreath.

“Uh, I don’t know, Mr. Howard, sir,” I answered. “Jason, I mean Mr. Horton, started it. He called me a bad name.” My name is Jonas Jerald Ward. They make us to refer to each other by our last names and Mister, but my friends call me J.J. I’ll also let then call me Jonas, but don’t ever do like Jason did and draw it out to sound like Joan-ass and don’t try referring to me as Joanie or I’ll kick your ass, just like I did Jason’s.

“Well, I appreciate the fact that you may be sensitive about your name, Mr. Ward, but that certainly doesn’t justify your kicking Mr. Horton in the, ah, crotch, does it?”

He was probably right about that and I normally wouldn’t have kicked Jerkoff Jason in the nuts, but in addition to referring to me by one of my least favorite names he also suggested that I blow him. That wouldn’t make any points with Dickbreath, however. “No sir,” I stammered, lowering my eyes in what I hoped was an adequate display of submission. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, Mr. Ward, sorry just doesn’t quite cut it this time. I’ve told you before that we here at Riverview are like a ship at sea and must work together. Mr. Horton isn’t seriously injured and he will recover, but in the meantime his work still has to be done, doesn’t it?” Dickbreath lectured, and then picked up the week’s duty roster. “I see that you are scheduled in the kitchen this week and that Mr. Horton was to work in the laundry. In addition to working in the kitchen you will also work Mr. Horton’s job in the laundry until he able to return to work. Is that clear?”

Shit! The last time I saw Jerkoff his nuts were the size of lemons and he couldn’t even stand up straight. It might be a month before he could get back to work, and doing his job in addition to my own and going to classes would leave little time for me to do anything but sleep. “Yes sir,” I said. I had been at Riverview Education and Rehabilitation for two months and had heard that you had to steer clear of Dickbreath or he’d take you into his private office for some Special Counseling and then suck you off. The last foster mother I’d had did that to me and I liked it a lot, but I wasn’t about to let Dickbreath do that to me or I might end up queer too.

“Yes sir,” Jonas Ward said. I planned on letting him sit there and sweat for a few minutes before dismissing him, and I took the time to review his records. He was fourteen and had been in and out of foster homes for most of his life. He father had gone missing when Jonas was still an infant, and at age seven Children’s Services had removed him from his mother’s care after her third conviction for prostitution and drug possession. His rap sheet started with shoplifting at age eight and progressed up through other petty thefts and acts of vandalism until three months ago when he had attempted to rape his foster mother. He has been sentenced to Riverview, a medium security reform school until his nineteenth birthday at which time he will either be paroled or forwarded to the prison system. I am the Director at Riverview and although I have numerous assistants I sort of function as principal, dean, and warden. I have no illusions about our role; number one is keep the little bastards off the streets and out of trouble, education and correction are both optional.

Back to Jonas Ward: His tests indicate that he is of normal intelligence, and physically he is about average for a young teen. At five-two and a hundred and five pounds he still has some growing to do, but his husky voice and the shadow of hair on his upper lip indicates that his growth spurt will occur before long. I have also seen him naked, both during his arrival search and physical and also several times as he showers and partakes of other adolescent activities. Like most sex offenders his cock is a little on the small side but he has a set of balls on him that any grown man would be proud to own. They hang so low in his nearly hairless sac that they almost touch the floor when he squats for his body cavity searches. He is either naturally modest or embarrassed by their size and he usually keeps them concealed by his hands or faces the wall as he dresses and showers, but the walls in this place have eyes and there is no concealing them from me.

I say his cock is on the small side, but it might just look small in proportion to his nuts. He swings about three inches soft and isn’t over five inches hard. You might wonder how I know this. Well, this place was built as a juvenile detention facility and the designers were well aware that juvenile males have personal needs. Policy prohibits masturbation in the showers or in the dormitories, and even though most all of the areas are covered by the numerous video monitors the architects designed several little nooks and crannies that were supposed to be out of sight from the guards and the video monitors. I have found most of these by now and have installed my own system of hidden cameras, and Jonas uses one of these presumably private spaces once or twice a week to jack off. He is a vigorous little turd and he pumps out quantities of semen that old farts like me can only dream about, and to his credit, he always does so alone. Not all of his companions are as discrete and many are the recipients of each other’s sperm, although in a place like this with several hundred teenagers denied normal relationships some behavior like this is to be expected.

“One other thing before you go, Mr. Ward,” I say, picking up a pen from the desk. “This will go down in your record as being strike two.”

“Strike two, sir?” I answer. What the fuck is Dickbreath talking about now? This tactic of making me wait and presumably sweat and stew while he makes his final decision is an old one and other assholes have tried it on me before.

“You heard me, Mr. Ward, this will be strike two for you. I would advise you to avoid getting a third strike on your record,” Dickbreath lectured.

“I don’t understand, sir. I was told that staying here until I’m nineteen would both clear and seal my record.”

“It may clear your record with the State, but not me. You were sent here for rape, a sex crime, and now you kick a male in his sexual organs. I see a pattern developing here,” Dickbreath said.

“I didn’t rape anyone!” I began before he cut me off.

“I know, I know. Nobody here did what they were convicted for or confessed to. I hear it all of the time,” he said.

I guess he’s right about that; all the guys here claim they got a raw deal. But I really did get fucked over. I went to live with my last foster parents just about the time I got hair, you know? Anyway, my foster mom was all over me. She used to come in the bathroom when I was showering and look at me and she even came into my room once when I was beating off. I yanked the covers over me but she came up to the bed and pulled them down and played with me until I popped. A little after that she came in about midnight, woke me up, and sucked me off. A month later she came into the bedroom and said that she wanted me to fuck her. She was old, I guess about thirty or so and pretty saggy, you know, but as soon as I saw her naked I got hard. She helped undress me and got on the bed and I was just about to fuck her when her husband came home. As soon as she heard him she started screaming, and he ran in and grabbed me by my balls and started trying to open his pocketknife with his teeth. I thought that he was going to tear my sack off before he finally chilled and called the cops. That’s why I’m here and not in another foster home.

“Uh, yes sir,” I replied meekly. All Dickbreath wanted was to shoot his mouth off, and the more I pretended to give a shit about what he said the sooner he’d be done.

He stopped talking long enough to grab a couple of large walnuts out of the bowl he kept on the corner of his desk. “Anyway,” he said, rolling the nuts around in his hand, “ I’m only going to give you one more chance. You get caught on one more crime involving any kind of sex and I’m going to take you over to the infirmary, tie you to a table, pull down your pants, and…..” I tried to keep my cool, but I involuntarily jumped as he crushed the two walnuts in his hand, scattering the kernels and shells over his desk. “Tomorrow morning when you go to that little hidey hole of yours between the woodshop and the sawdust bin, grab hold of those sweet young balls of yours and roll them around as you pound your meat, and think of what it would be like not having them. Now get the fuck out of here!”

My heart was pounding and I felt my face get red. How the hell did he know about that little hole in the wall and what I did there? There weren’t any cameras around and some of the other guys also used it and nobody ever got caught. How did he know? I could barely talk, but I finally managed to stammer, “Yes sir,” before stumbling to the door. Jesus, what the hell was that thing with the walnuts about? Is this guy a psycho or what?

“Yes sir.” He could hardly get the words out and he fled out of my door like a dog with his tail between his legs. The walnut trick was fake but at least I had managed to get the little fuck’s attention. The two nuts that I had so casually selected from the bowl had already been fractured and in fact were as fragile as eggshells.

The dorms are locked down at night and closely monitored, so most of the masturbation occurs during the day. From previous observations I knew that Jonas Ward like to do his early in the morning, so around noon the next morning I ran the tapes from all of the hidden surveillance cameras. He had evidently spread the word. No freshmen or sophomores used his customary spot but the upper classmen hadn’t gotten the word yet and a half a dozen juniors and seniors had slipped in during the morning to seek relief. I scanned the tapes of the other supposedly secret spots until I found him. He slipped in and spent two minutes searching for the camera before dropping his pants. He usually masturbated quickly, pumping away and shooting off as fast as he could, but this time he seemed to be doing as I had suggested. He spent a lot of time rolling his magnificent nuts around and even stopped stroking himself long enough to squeeze them hard enough to buckle his legs, as if trying to imagine the force needed to crush the walnuts, before getting back to business. His orgasm was even more forceful than usual and it looked like he shot five ropes of sperm onto the concrete wall of the cranny. He turned his head as he was wiping up and said, “Just a minute, damn it,” then pulled up his pants, stuck his head out to look around, then left. I had my own pants down and was hard, but hadn’t yet came so I ran the tape again and fondled my own nuts and when I finally came it was the best one I’d experienced in months.

As an afterthought I pulled up the next week’s duty roster on my screen, and then modified it to place both Ward and Horton on special cleaning duty. Horton wouldn’t be able to work so Ward could spend eight hours a day for a week wiping his own and two hundred other boys’ cum off of the walls and floors of their supposedly secret jerk off cubicles.

Given the size of the boy’s nuts and his proclivity for sexual abuse I was sure that he would eventually commit another offense, but it was three years before he again faced me in my office. It was a boy that had stood before me then, now it was more of a man fidgeting on my carpet. That wasn’t any surprise, of course. I had watched him grow almost a foot during the last three years and I’d also seen the downy hair of pubescence thicken and coalesce to cover his belly and thighs, and I’d also seen his already formidable balls grow even larger and his once diminutive cock lengthen to be more in proportion to the rest of his body.

“Well, Mr. Ward, I seem to recall you being here in my office once before. Is that correct?” I decided to put him on the defensive.

“Uh, yes sir,” he replied. His voice was much deeper than the last time I’d spoken to him.

“It says here that you got caught forcing yourself on another boy.” I emphasized ‘boy’ so as further belittle him.

“Uh, no sir. It was, uh, consexual. You know, he wanted me to do it.” Yeah right. You get caught buttfucking a younger boy, sixty pounds lighter than yourself and barely pubescent and you immediately try to pass it off as being the younger boy’s idea.

“I see,” I said, scanning his paperwork. “So you admit to a violation of Article Thirteen, which specifically prohibits homosexual activity?” Several hundred adolescents locked together without avenues of normal sexual relief will always create some liaisons, but no way in hell could his forceful coupling with a screaming younger kid be considered consensual. His face reddened at he realized that I’d just called him a fag.

“No!” He blurted out, then caught himself. “I mean, he saw me in the shower, came over and sort of uh, you know, touched me and said he really wanted me to do it because some of the other guys told him it would make his hair grow and his balls get big. If I wouldn’t have done it he would have just got some one else to do it to him.”

“It says here that when apprehended he was crying and begging you to stop. What did he do, change his mind?” I challenged. Instead of responding he just stood there staring at the floor. I though about chewing him out or pulling the old nut trick again, but instead lowered my voice until he had to strain to hear me.

“You are a fucking little pervert and I want you out of my facility. You have two years to go on your referral and you’ll be spending them at Halton. Now get out of here and get your shit packed, you leave in an hour.”

“Yes sir,” he finally replied.

“Yes sir,” I finally replied and then got the hell out of his office. Fucking pervert, huh. Fucking Dickbreath ought to know a pervert when he sees one. I’d like to seem him locked up in this funny farm without any women. He can go home every night and fuck his wife or his sister or whatever, and still come back and take kids in his office and blow them. Let him walk around with a hard on all day and then try to resist when he sees some smooth hairless ass that’s looks like it’s just begging for it. He’d change his tune pretty damned quick.

I’ve heard about Halton. It’s where they send the hard-core types, ones who have beaten the shit out of or even killed other kids while in the other reform schools. There’re supposed to be a lot of real hard asses there and I’ll have to watch it for a while, but what the fuck, I’m as tough as they come and it shouldn’t take me too long to find a little boy-bitch there. I packed my comb and toothbrush and writing shit and reported as ordered to the infirmary for my separation physical. Another fucking nut check where I have to lift my cock and bag and show them there’s nothing hidden there, and then squat down so the fag can run his finger up my ass and check for whatever’s there besides shit. After that I get on the MR size bus for the half hour ride across town.

My check-in procedure at Halton is just about like the check-out at Riverview. A guy led me into a small examining room and told me to strip down. He then lifted the hydraulic table and had me lay down so he could listen to my heart and lungs, then had me sit on the end of the table so he could tap my knees with his little rubber hammer. I never figured out what that was all about but all doctors seem to want to do it. Next he checked my blood pressure then slipped on a rubber glove and checked out my balls and cock. At least he wasn’t an asshole like some of the doctors, and he didn’t try to rack my balls or anything.

“Stand up on the table,” the guy commands, lowering the table to just a couple of feet off of the floor, “face the wall, and squat down.” Shit. Here it comes again. These fags get their rocks off rooting around in guys’ assholes. “Just stay right there,” he says, after I am down on my haunches, “I’ll be right back.” I hear the door open and feel the cool breeze on my bare ass, then hear it close again as he comes back in the room. I feel the customary hand on my shoulder pushing me down even farther, then the probing of his finger entering my asshole. I think they pick the guys with the fattest fingers for this job, and this shithead must think Jimmy Hoffa’s hiding there or something the way he’s rooting around, and then I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch if he didn’t pull it out and stick two fingers back in instead!

“What the fuck?” I start to say, and then my knees buckle and I fall forward as what feels like a giant sledgehammer slams into my balls!

“Well, Mr. Ward. Long time no see.”

It’s Dickbreath! What the fuck is he doing here? I try to roll over to face him but it feels like my balls are caught in a steel trap. My hands shoot down to grab them and it is only then that I realize that Dickbreath already has them in his powerful hand. Then my breath leaves me as I remember his previous threat and what he did to the walnuts.

“Please. Don’t!” I finally manage to say.

“Just lie down on the table,” he commands, and I instantly comply. I’ll get him for this someday. No doubt about it, Dickbreath’s gonna pay. “Now roll over on your back.” As if I have a choice. “Reach over your head to the end of the table.” I instantly feel the cold steel on my wrists and hear the familiar click that handcuffs make as they snap shut. “Okay, now spread your legs and drop them over the sides of the table.” I don’t like this and I hesitate.

“Stop!” I holler as he tightens his grip and gives my balls a yank. ”I’ll do it!”

“I know you will sooner or later,” he says. “Do it now.” The legs irons must have already been in place because in a manner of seconds my legs are also secured, and the cocksucker finally let go of my balls. “Do you remember what I told you three years ago I’d do to you if you got caught again?” He asked as he actuated the lift mechanism to raise the table to its highest position. I’d tried like hell to forget the sight of him crushing those two walnuts in his bare hand, but at odd times, such as this, it kept coming back to me.

“Yes sir,” I replied. About now I’d say anything to make him chill out.

“Good. This shouldn’t come as surprise then,” he said. I lifted my head as his hand disappeared between my legs and I could see the tendons on his wrist bulge out just before the pain that shot through my whole being become so intense that I had to close my eyes. It felt as if all of my guts were in some kind of press or vise, and that he was pulling them out through my crotch. I opened my eyes and looked, half expecting my nuts to be stretched down to my knees, but all he was doing was squeezing them in his hand, almost as if testing the freshness of a tomato.

I screamed and hollered until I was hoarse and the pain seemed like it went on for an hour until he finally stopped trying to crush my balls, but when I opened my eyes and looked at the clock only a few minutes had passed. I still ached so badly that I could just barely focus my eyes, and when I opened them he was unwinding a small coil of fine wire, almost like the smallest string on a guitar. “Well, I’ve decided not to pop your balls,” he said. “They might just heal back up and I want those babies gone.”

I started hollering again as he looped the wire around my nutsack and then around an overhead sprinkler pipe. “This isn’t going to hurt me nearly as much as it will you,” he said, cracking open the valve that lowered the table. Then he left. I tried hunching my shoulders and squeezing my legs together to raise my ass off the table, but it was no use. I saw the wire getting tighter and felt it bite into my bag, and then I saw my nuts separate from my body and drop to the table. I passed out when I realized that I had just been castrated.

I spent two weeks in the infirmary before being released to join the rest of the Halton population. Even though I thought I was pretty tough I was immediately claimed by a huge eighteen-year-old black to be his personal bitch. He says that he’ll be in here until he’s twenty, and It’s going to be a long two years.