Registered Sex Offender Part 8: Chip's Sex Therapy

"I didn't know what to do with these letters," Dennis said nervously, "but I knew you cared, so I'm giving them to you. If Chip knew, he'd kill me!"
"Why?" Dr. Murdock queried. "If they shed new light on his case, why would he object?"
"Cause he's protecting them, Doctor. He would rather do his ten years than cause that little Kim any embarrassment. And his sister, she's one twisted witch! Wait'll you read her letter!"
"I'll read 'em tonight. And don't worry, I'll find a way to tell Chip I got 'em so it won't involve you. You've really become attached to him, haven't you?"
"Sure have. He's the little brother, almost the son I never had. And I can tell you something else about our star boarder, too."
"Oh? And what might that be?"

Dennis looked around the room as if to be sure they were alone. "That baby?" he confided, "the one he says is his? Well, it's not."
"How the hell do you know that?"
"I got eyes, doc! I've studied a little about genetics, and I know that two blonde, blue-eyed kids, especially brother and sister, don't have a kid with brown eyes and black hair! If you ask me, that baby looks like his father has very dark skin, and maybe some African features to go with it."
"They're siblings, Dennis! With siblings, all sorts of mutations are possible."
"Mutations, yes. But foreign characteristics, never! Truth is, their parents and grandparents are all blonde too."
"How do you know that?"
"Chip told me. He thinks it's cute that his son is the first in three generations to have black hair."

"Did you tell him what you suspect?"
"Nope, not me. I seriously doubt that he'd believe me anyway. He's convinced his sister is sitting at home with her legs crossed waiting for him. But read that letter. It'll show you what we're dealing with here."
"I'm very much afraid that WE aren't dealing with it any more," Murdock stated firmly. Dennis eyed him sharply.

"You're kicking me out?” Dennis said with no shortage of surprise. “You think I've been messing with him, don't you?"
"If I thought that, Dennis, I'd have your ass in solitary so fast you'd think you'd been born there. No, I've just stalled as long as I can. I got two wardens and a social worker screaming at me to either release him back to his dorm, or tell them why not. I just can't hold them off any longer."
"Wh-when is he leaving?"
"Tomorrow morning."
"Shit!" Dennis said as he fought tears. "Shit! Fuckin' shit! I knew it was gonna happen, but I'd hoped for just a little longer..."

"Dennis," Murdock said much more tenderly, "are you... are you in love with him?"
"No, Doc, I told you, I ain't touched him."
"He says he's gay. Did you know that?"
"Course I knew it! But he's not. He’s so fucked up he doesn’t know what he is. Oh, he has sex with guys all right, because that's the only way he's comfortable about showing how he feels. He's my little brother, doc; my buddy; maybe even my son. I love that little guy, but not the way you think. Did you know his mom and dad had abandoned him?"
"I knew," Murdock said through clenched teeth.

"Christ, doc, I'm a fuckin' murderer, and my mom still visits me. Dad would too if he were alive. The poor little guy! All I want to do is be his friend. It seems he doesn't have very many."
"No, Dennis, he doesn't. But he's picking up a few. And you're one of 'em."
"Fuckin' lot of good I am to him!"
"More good than you think, Dennis. You've been more good for him than you'll ever know."

"Thanks, doc. But there's one thing more we can do for him, maybe. Please get him outta here! He doesn't belong here, doc! Read those letters, then do what you have to with them. And if he has to know I betrayed him by giving 'em to ya, so be it! Just so long as he gets some justice."

Murdock looked at his inmate assistant curiously. "Dennis," he said, "whatever happened to 'make things softer for me and to hell with everyone else'? Do you know you're sticking your neck out for that kid?"
"I dunno, doc. I guess Chip happened to me, same as he did you. That kid's special; and if I can do something to help him, I'm gonna do it. In here we don't find someone to love, I mean really love, very often. It feels really good, doc. I mean, really good!"
"But chances are you'll never see him again."
"Don't matter. I have loved and been loved in return. There's been no sex, none of what we usually expect from love in here. There's just been friendship and sharing, crying on each other’s shoulder and supporting each other. I'm gonna miss him like hell, but no one can take away what we've shared. Get him outta here, doc, before the system destroys him!"

"Thanks for everything, Dennis," Chip said as he got out of bed. "I've had fun here."
"Me too, kid. You're awful hard on my cigarette supply, but I guess I'll get over it."

"They didn't send over any underwear!" Chip said as he pawed through the clothes he'd been provided.
"Wear the boxers," Dennis instructed. "And take a spare pair too."
"But they're yours."
"They fit you better."
"Are you nuts? I gotta pin 'em at the waist just to keep 'em on!"
"Remember what I said about boxers. Trust me, they fit you better."

The two convicts stood, one wearing a pair of undershorts that were far too big for him, facing each other. They embraced. "Dammit," Chip moaned. "And I wasn't gonna cry! Jesus, I hate saying good-bye!"
"You go ahead and cry, little buddy. That way maybe they won't notice me so much."
"Fuckin' pansy!" Chip tried to laugh.
"If you're an example of what a pansy is," Dennis said, "then I want to be one too. You take care, y'hear?"

“Good morning, ladies,” a balding man of about 40 said to the small gathering. “I see we have a one hundred percent turnout today. Well good for you all! I’m really pleased you all accepted the invitation to my little party. I’m sure you’re gonna enjoy it immensely. If I had my way we would just cut your balls off, maybe your cocks too, and then there’d be no risk at all that you’d rape some poor little girl or boy. But the bleeding hearts of this state would be all over us, crying cruel and unusual punishment, so if you have a problem with all this high tech mumbo jumbo, you can blame them, not me.”

Chip sat in the third row and looked around. There were about a dozen men surrounding him, and every one frightened the daylights out of him. They were all rapists, predators, all convicted of various sexual crimes. Just like me, he thought as a shiver went up and down his back.

When Chip boarded the prison van, wrists and ankles chained tightly, he, Dennis, Dr. Murdock and Ed all thought he was headed back to the youth prison; but the driver’s orders said something entirely different. Instead of turning west at the front of the prison, the van turned east and headed out of town, to a very high security, little known facility in the middle of nowhere about fifty miles east of town. As soon as they arrived at the facility, which was a very small concrete building with no windows, few lights and no dining facilities, Chip was ushered into a tiny cell with a single naked lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. As if some unseen force had read Chip’s mind in advance, the lightbulb and its cord ended about nine feet from the floor, far too high for anyone to reach and grab the cord to use as a hanging noose.

The cell was spartan at best, more or less like the ones one would see in an old movie depicting the deplorable conditions prisoners endured fifty years ago. There was a toilet with no seat, a small sink with only cold water, one small shelf for toiletries, a tiny cot with one blanket, and nothing more. This, the guard told the frightened youngster, would be his home for the next few days. When he left here, he was told, even the thought of sex with anyone but an older man would leave him so nauseated he would hardly be able to breathe, let alone perform. “You might as well go to bed,” the guard said with a sneer. “You’ve missed supper, and breakfast isn’t until five in the morning. You get room service here, on a tray pushed under the door. But I advise you to eat it quickly when it comes at 5 AM or the rats will beat you to it.”

So Chip had stripped to his too-large boxers and gone to bed. Understandably he didn’t sleep very well, wondering exactly what this place was and how they were going to change his sexual orientation. As he lay on his cot and thought about it, he came to the conclusion that if they could accomplish what the guard had promised, it would be worth almost any price. To be set free from his sexual addiction, which is how he regarded his behavior now, would be worth almost anything.

“My name is Bruce French,” the gloating man at the front of the room said. It was now six AM and the men in the room, including Chip, had enjoyed a cold breakfast of scrambled eggs and biscuits brought in from a local fast food joint, and were now assembled in the small auditorium. “You all don’t know it yet,” Bruce continued, “but I am the best friend you have ever had! But before you say good-bye to this place, you will learn to hate me worse than death. I am going to set you free from your terrible affliction, and I’m gonna do it the hard way. A simple castration would be far easier, but I’m not allowed to do that, so you get to go through a high tech process that is approved by this State. Now that you know me, it’s time that I got to know all of you. While I’m going over all these charts and records, I would like you gentlemen to strip for me, then sit down in your assigned seats.”

Chip did as he was told. Unlike his tiny cell, this room was warm and comfortable. The floor was carpeted and sloped toward the front like a small theater. The chairs, about 15 of them, were soft and comfortable. There were five rows of three, with plenty of empty space surrounding each of them. In spite of the heat in the room, the young teen shivered nervously as he placed his clothes in a neat pile on the floor and sat back down.

“Which one of you is Stockdale?” Bruce said when his students were all naked and seated.
“I am, sir,” Chip answered as he raised his hand.
“Stand up when you address me, you pervert!” Bruce roared. Chip stood up, trembling visibly now.

“Quite the record you’ve got for yourself, Stockdale,” Bruce said with a nasty grin. “I hope you enjoyed yourself because when I get through with you, you’ll never rape another little girl. Tell your colleagues here what you did, Stockdale.”

I... uhhh... I was found guilty of rape, sir,” Chip said almost in a whisper.
“Louder, Stockdale,” Bruce ordered. “I thought you’d be proud of having knocked up four teenage girls, one of them only 12 years old. Maybe you’ll get some respect from these other perverts. You sure won’t get any from me!”
“I’m not proud of it, sir,” Chip said, trying unsuccessfully to make his voice sound clear and strong.
“Sit down, you nasty little pervert!” Bruce ordered.

He went around the room then, having each student stand and relate the horrible sins against mankind they’d committed. Some of them were indeed horrible. With the notable exception of Chip, each man stated that he had agreed to take this therapy in exchange for a reduced sentence. Chip had no way of knowing, but it was illegal for anyone to be given this therapy against his will; indeed, the Department of Correction rules specifically stated that no one under the age of 18 should be subjected to the abuse in this class under any circumstances. Nevertheless here he was.

“How many of you have ever been raped?” Bruce asked after he had finished humiliating everyone. Nine of the 13, including Chip, raised their hands. “Stand up, Stockdale!” he ordered when he saw the tremulous small hand in the air. Chip obeyed. “So you’ve been raped, Stockdale?”
“Yes, sir,” Chip replied.
“How many times?”
“Three, sir.”
“Where?”
“Twice in the county jail while I was waiting for my trial, and once in the Youth Prison, sir.”

“Did you enjoy it, Stockdale?”
“No, sir.”
“You didn’t? Why not?”
“It was very painful, sir, and... and kinda humiliating.”
“Did you think of that little 11 year old girl you raped when those big cocks were plowing into your ass?”
“N-no, sir.”
“Why the hell not? Don’t you suppose it was painful and humiliating for her?”
“N-no, sir.”
“So you think she enjoyed it? You think it didn’t hurt her? You think it was perfectly all right for you to rape her, but God forbid that anyone rape you. Is that what you think, Stockdale?”

“Sir, she told me she enjoyed it. I know now it wasn’t right, but... but at the time...”
“Sit down, you nasty piece of shit!”

After he had asked a few more students about their rape experience, Bruce asked another question. “How many of you have had anal sex, not counting rape?” he asked. Four men, plus Chip, raised their hands.

“Stand up, Stockdale!” Bruce ordered. A little more slowly this time, Chip again stood up.

“Mr. Stockdale!” Bruce exclaimed. “Quite the randy little fucking machine, aren’t you?”
“I... I guess so, sir,” Chip answered.
“YOU GUESS SO?” Bruce roared. “You’ve knocked up four teenage girls and fucked God knows how many more; you’ve been raped three times, which you claim you didn’t enjoy; and now you’re telling us you’ve been fucked up the ass willingly, and you GUESS you’re randy? How old are you, Stockdale?”
“Fourteen, sir.”
“And when did you start fucking your sister?”
“Wh-when I was nine, sir.” Chip could feel twelve pairs of eyes on him, and he was pretty sure the looks he was getting were not looks of admiration.

“Come down here, Stockdale,” Bruce ordered. “You’re quite the poster boy for deviate sexual behavior, so you’re gonna be my demonstration model. Is that all right with you, Stockdale?”
“Y-yes, sir,” Chip answered as he walked past the two rows in front of him and up on the small platform where Bruce was digging in a box, producing a leather harness looking device. Chip thought it looked something like a Speedo bathing suit, except that it was made of leather and there were some electrical cords, straps and buckles hanging from it. There was also a large hole in the rear, and Chip couldn’t help smiling in spite of his nervousness, thinking it looked as if someone had farted and blown a hole in the garment, whatever it was.

“What we’re going to do, poster boy, is we’re going to model this contraption for our fellow slime out there. You have all proven that you have no morals, don’t know how to use the wonderful gift of sex God has given each of us, so this little contraption is going to take away that gift. Quite a marvelous little device, this. Before you leave here in a week or so, this little device will have made every one of you impotent. It will help you to learn that the only good sex, if such a thing exists for perverts like you all, is a cock up the ass. Now Stockdale, if you would just put your legs in the openings and pull the apparatus on like a pair of shorts, we’ll get to the REAL fun.”

Chip discovered to his dismay that the device was a lot more complicated than it had first looked. Inside there was some sort of thick condom-like device, which Bruce inserted roughly and without apology over Chip’s prick, which thankfully had remained quite flaccid so far. He tightened the straps so that the device was tight, but not uncomfortable. There was a pouch further down, into which Bruce inserted Chip’s balls and pulled a strap tight around the neck, trapping the growing orbs inside. He then had each of the men, one at a time, come down to see how the garment was set up, then handed them each one and instructed them to put it on. He then tightened straps around the waist and legs, making sure the hole in the back was aligned with Chip’s anus.

That done, Bruce again dug in a box and came up with a very long, thin cylindrical object that looked roughly like a very long black rubber penis. He snapped a rubber glove on his right hand, lubricated the dildo with some sort of jelly and had Chip bend over slightly, then unceremoniously shoved it up the mortified teen’s anus. “That’s twelve inches of cock in your filthy butt,” he commented as he attached some sort of snap device that held the dildo in place and connected it to the harness. “How does it feel, pervert?”
“Kinda strange,” Chip replied. He was actually surprised to realize that it hadn’t felt that bad at all, compared to what he’d been expecting.

“Now go sit down, Stockdale,” he ordered. “You will find connectors in the left arm of your chair. Plug these three cords into the proper receptacles: red to red, black to black, yellow to yellow, then just sit there and wait for me to come strap you in.”

Bruce then went from one to another, checking each device to make sure it was on right and the buckles all cinched firmly, then he went up and down the rows, inserting the dildos and strapping each wrist, elbow, chest, waist, knee and ankle securely. The only part of Chip’s body he could move was his head, until Bruce pulled a headrest up from the back of the chair and ran a strap around each forehead; now each of the 13 inmates was completely motionless, their head and eyes looking straight ahead.

“Now for a little demonstration of my marvelous device,” Bruce said with a sneer. “This thing is going to help you all learn that erections are simply not an option for perverts like you. There are sensors to detect when you start to get hard, which will trigger this every time you start to become aroused.” He pushed a button on a small control panel, and almost instantly Chip felt a searing heat, almost scalding, around his cock; the walls of the bag containing his balls began to expand, squeezing them mercilessly until he wanted to scream, in fact three of the men did. There was a pulsing, increasingly intense electrical current all over his genitals to add to the torture. Then as suddenly as it had begun, everything stopped.

“That, you will learn, ladies, was a very mild shot of what your hardon will produce for you,” Bruce smirked. “That was the negative feedback. You will enjoy that until your cock learns not to get hard, no matter what. Now for the good news. Every cloud has a silver lining, right Stockdale?”

Without waiting for an answer, Chip and all the men in the room simultaneously felt the dildo in their butts begin to expand. There had been little pain going in because the devices were quite small in diameter. But suddenly thirteen dildos in thirteen anuses began to expand and vibrate, causing quite pleasant sensations until they got so big thirteen sphincters began to stretch and ache. Still, as those huge things vibrated against their prostates, the inmates were feeling rather pleasurable sensations along with the pain. All would have been fine except that there were also vibrators surrounding their entire groin area. As soon as they were activated the obvious happened, and now all 13 students were screaming. Again, all activity stopped and the dildo contracted to its former small state.

“Now you all get the idea what’s expected, I’ll just start the first show, then go for coffee,” Bruce stated as he walked up and down the rows of seats, placing earphones on all the inmates. Their hands were strapped down, so they couldn’t remove the phones even if they’d wanted to. “Incidentally,” he added, his voice being carried through their earphones, “you might have noticed the lights over each chair. Whenever you start to get hard, there’s a red light over your chair showing everyone in the room your sick, perverted state. There are mirrors on the walls so you can see behind you as well. This show will run until it automatically shuts down, after you have all gone 20 minutes without a hardon. Have fun, girls. I’ll see y’all in a little bit.”

“You did WHAT?” Ed screamed at his boss.
“I don’t think I stuttered,” Howard Benning said with a satisfied smirk on his face. “I just added a note to the van driver’s orders, instructing him to take the Stockdale kid directly to the facility. He’s probably undergoing therapy right now.”
“You’re gonna be sorry,” Ed said in frustration as he pounded Howard’s desk. “He’s underage, you know, and that treatment is not recommended for kids. You could break him so bad...”
“Would you rather he spend the rest of his life in prison?” Howard gloated. “I was getting tired of waiting to see results from your methods. The last thing we need is that little pervert falling in love again. I want to see him completely impotent, and so hungry for a cock up his ass he’ll beg for it. I want him to feel so guilty he won’t even want to touch his dick to take a leak! Then maybe, in a few years, we can talk about his release. That is of course if he doesn’t get AIDS from all the ass-fucking he’s gonna get when he goes back to general population.”

Ed seethed as he drove the few blocks back to the Youth Center. He couldn’t understand for the life of him why Benning hated the kid so much. He thought seriously of defying the man and going to pull Chip out of therapy, but he knew that would get him fired. He could always make a big stink about sending a kid into a therapy intended and approved only for hardened sex offenders, predators, habitual pedophiles, but he wasn’t at all sure that strategy would work. And if he lost his job, Chip and hundreds of other kids who he thought had a real chance of rehabilitation would have no one.

Howard Benning was a charter member of the “old boy” network that was so rampant in State Government. To take on Howard Benning meant he would be taking on half the high ranking government officials, both elected and appointed. Ed had seen people challenge authority like that before, but he’d never seen anyone survive. So he would just have to pray for the kid and hope there were enough recognizable pieces to put back together after Chip was released from the facility. After he got back to his office he fired up his computer and pulled up some data to study precisely what his young friend was facing.

Chip watched appalled as the most graphic, explicit porn he had ever seen appeared on the large screen in front of the room. First there was a movie showing a man with a teenage girl. What he didn’t do to that girl simply hadn’t been invented yet. To Chip’s great surprise and relief, he felt nothing in his groin. He saw four red lights flash on, then soon heard the shrieks of four men as their hard penises got an unexpected steam bath while their balls were being compressed by the sacks that surrounded them. The show lasted for perhaps ten minutes; when it was over all the red lights were out and the room was again quiet.

In their earphones, the men and boy heard the audio of the film. It consisted mostly of the female, the younger of the two, begging for mercy while the man, the perpetrator, laughed cruelly. Then of course there were the sounds of sex, portrayed very clearly and graphically on the screen. What none of the audience realized was that they were also hearing, subliminally, messages about how disgusting male/female sex was, indeed how completely disagreeable all sex was for lowlifes like themselves except a penis in the anus - the penis of someone else. There was also the repeated message that the hearer was among the lowest scum of the earth, and the only way possible to redeem themselves would be to provide a willing anal orifice for those who needed it: older gay men. The messages also suggested over and over that such filthy perverts as they would do all of mankind a huge favor if they were to simply dispense of their genitals entirely, that they had proved by their actions that they had forfeited their right to breed as normal human beings.

The messages were soothing and kindly, and were reinforced by the following vignette which showed two men, a younger one and an older one, having anal sex. As the older man entered the younger, thirteen crotches began to vibrate gently, resulting in thirteen penises becoming instantly hard, then all were being fried by the incredible heat as 26 balls were squeezed mercilessly.

As soon as each penis began to soften, the small diameter, well lubricated dildo in their butts vibrated gently, somehow giving the impression of sliding in and out and expanding slowly, gently, while the subliminal message suggested that the listener put himself in the place of the recipient on the screen. “Imagine the thing in your anus is the penis of a 55 year old man,” the undetectable voice soothed. “Doesn’t that feel incredible? Isn’t that better than working so hard and getting yourself all sweaty, doing all the work?”

The reciprocating dildo did indeed feel good to Chip as it softly, gently, slowly brushed his young prostrate. As one might expect, his always ready teen penis again began to rise. The soothing messages were instantly replaced by an ear splitting screech, the steam again began to boil his penis as his balls were again compressed to half their normal size. The dildo in his anus expanded to incredibly painful proportions and Chip shrieked loudly from the pain, which enveloped his entire groin area: front, back, and inside.

“The kid seems to be enjoying himself,” Bruce said idly to one of the guards as he sipped his coffee in the next room, listening to the shrieks of pain over the small monitor speaker.
“Sounds like you’re killin’ him,” the guard commented. “Actually I was wondering about that kid. I thought this therapy was only for adults.”
“I thought so too,” Bruce said without emotion. “But if you could see his rap sheet I think you’d understand. Man, he fucked half the high school where his sister was a student, and he’s only 14! He was sent here by Manning himself.”
“All the same, I think it’s pretty severe treatment for a kid. I followed his case, you know, what I could get my hands on. It’s not clear to me that he’s guilty of anything except being incredibly naive.”
“All the same he’ll thank me some day. When we get through with him he’ll be able to take the biggest cock in the world up his ass, and he’ll enjoy it too. He’ll hate himself so fuckin’ bad he’ll never stick his dick in anything. Lots of graduates from this program end up castrating themselves, you know, they hate their sexuality so bad.”

When the day was finally over, at something like nine that night, the therapy participants had endured four sessions of alternate stimulus and punishment, along with the relentless subliminal messages in their ears suggesting that they were the scum of the earth, that their sex organs were nothing more than weapons that caused incredible hardships to all they touched, that their only useful function on this earth was to provide their butts for the enjoyment of others. Chip was so exhausted he could hardly stand on his own two feet, and his companions were no better off. They had managed to work their way up to 35 minutes without an erection; in all four sessions it had been Chip’s teenage prick that had held them back from progressing to the next level. He was getting some pretty frightening looks from his fellow convicts as the head braces were removed and the restraints released.

To assure that everyone knew how each individual had scored, Bruce put a score card up on the screen. “Looks like our young stud has a long way to go,” Bruce commented as he reviewed the results. Chip’s score was less than half his nearest rival. “This session might take a while,” Bruce added with a smirk. “Don’t get too high and mighty thinking 35 minutes without a hardon is an accomplishment. You have to complete three consecutive sessions of 4 hours each before you can be sent back to general population. And please, ladies, don’t hold it against our young breeder here if he holds you back. He can’t help it if he’s the horniest dude in the class. During the night I suggest you think about how long it’s going to take for Stockdale to work up to four hours without a hardon. The rest of you guys are not going anywhere until he does.”

Back in their cells the inmates were allowed to toilet and wash, then huge butt plugs were inserted painfully and they were told to go to bed as soon as they had eaten. Each cell was equipped with a small speaker on the ceiling that played soft, soothing music designed to facilitate sleep; the subliminal messages in the music continued its constant message designed to destroy each recipient’s self esteem.

Day two was pretty much a repeat of day one except that there were no introductions, no formalities. “We’re gonna get right into it today,” Bruce said as soon as all his charges were assembled at 6 AM. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today and a lot of therapy to finish. Is that all right with you, Poster Boy?”

“What the fuck does it matter?” Chip mumbled more to himself than to his tormentor.
“What did you say, Stockdale?”
“Sorry, sir, I didn’t sleep very well. I said that’s fine with me. Let’s just get it over with.”
“That’s not what you said, you nasty little predator. So you’re a lousy liar too! But I’m gonna cut you some slack and let it go. Just remember, Stockdale, you’ve got to live with these other perverts for the rest of your sentence. You’re not always gonna be under the protection of the Youth facility, you know. And it’s YOU who’s holding the rest of the class from progressing to the next level. YOU, Stockdale! You horny little pervert! You need your nuts cut off so bad it shows all over your face. Maybe some of your other pervert colleagues will oblige you and do the human race a favor and cut off everything you’ve got. The only way you’re ever going to be worth a fuck in this world is to become a eunuch. Even then I’m not so sure.”

Without warning, Chip was hit with the most excruciating jolt of pain and heat he’d yet endured. He screamed as Bruce smiled viciously while the rest of the inmates looked on, thankful that they weren’t the ones who’d been zapped this time. And then the movies started while Chip continued to shriek in agony.

Ed Barker found it really difficult to get information about the therapy Chip was taking. Ed worked with teenagers, not adults, so he really had no need to know the details. He did find a few web sites dealing with the process though, and what he found there was very disturbing. He learned that the process had been adopted by six states besides his own, all of which had reported a success rate of approximately 65%. That meant, he learned, that 65% of the therapy participants did not have a repeat incident of sexual abuse for at least two years after their release. But in North Carolina, at the facility that was now treating Chip, the claimed success rate was 98%. Why the difference, Ed wondered. Not being able to access any more information on the web, and being locked out of the information within the State’s database, Ed picked up the phone and began calling some of his friends.

The first thing he learned was that Bruce French was not well liked in the department. The man was heavily into mind altering procedures, brainwashing, and subliminal suggestions. He was a highly qualified audiophile, Ed was told, and was quite capable of modifying music or speech to add whatever message he wanted to convey. He had worked in TV advertising before getting discouraged by the various laws preventing him from applying his skills, but the powers that be were so impressed by the results he produced at his therapy clinic they really didn’t care how he had achieved those results. “And how did he achieve them?” Ed asked.

The answer to Ed’s question was not immediately obvious. But having been asked, his friend Dr. Brent Hathaway began delving into the high security databases of the Department of Correction. Four hours later he called back, and what he had to say made Ed’s blood run cold.

“It’s no wonder the results have been so good,” Brent said. “We’ve had over 100 suicides, 250 have castrated themselves, and of those at least 40 have died as a result. Of the remainder, there are at least 200 that I’ve found so far who are totally out of it; I mean so screwed up mentally they can’t even feed themselves! I haven’t even begun to count the number of French’s graduates in various stages of AIDS. Shall I continue my digging?”
“Please do,” Ed said. “And thanks, Brent. I owe you big time on this one.”

“You ok?” Chip heard, albeit rather vaguely as he lay on his cot, naked, rapidly falling into a deep sleep. It was the end of the second day, and Chip knew he couldn’t take any more. He’d been broken and he knew it; still the torment wouldn’t stop.

“I just wanna die,” he moaned in the futile hope that whoever had spoken to him would just go away.
“Just wake up for a minute or two, then I’ll leave you alone,” the voice said. “Please, Chip?” As he waited for a response, the man noticed the tray with Chip’s supper, two baloney sandwiches and a small carton of milk, on the floor untouched. In his five years in this facility, he had never known that meagre ration to be ignored for more than ten seconds after it had been shoved through the crack under the door.

Chip knew instinctively that the voice he’d heard had not been that of his tormentor, Bruce French, because Bruce had never called him anything but “Stockdale” or “pervert.” If Bruce had come to see him in his cell, Chip would have had no time for him. Chip had only one thing to say to Bruce, and that was a plea to kill him and be done with it, and he was confident that Bruce would do it without blinking an eye. Chip didn’t have a muscle or a joint in his body that didn’t hurt; in his wildest dreams he hadn’t imagined that such agony was possible. And he hated himself beyond belief: Chip the sexual deviate, perverted son-of-a-bitch that he was, as much as he had hated anyone or anything in his entire life! So a voice asking for his welfare, inquiring for his well-being, was the last thing in the world Chip wanted or expected. Still, it was a friendly voice. As Chip recalled the past three weeks, under the watchful eye of Dennis the murderer, a sense of well-being came over him and he sat up to see who was there.

As soon as he saw the uniform, Chip recoiled into a ball, as far away from the figure as he could get. He was trembling violently, expecting at any moment to be zapped into oblivion by what he had come to consider his worst enemy: any man in a uniform. “Relax,” the man said. “My name is Sergeant Bill Lee. Bruce has gone home for the night and I’m not gonna hurt you. I just wanted to see that you were all right.”

“Please, no more!” Chip pleaded, oblivious to what had been said to him. “Please don’t hurt me any more. Please just kill me, ok? I don’t deserve to live after what I’ve done. I don’t want to be rehabilitated, I just wanna die and get my ugly ass outta everyone’s way. But PLEASE, don’t hurt me any more!”

Bill was reminded, as he looked at the cowering naked figure of what might have been a very handsome young teen, of a frightened, beaten and abused animal. This kid looked so frightened, so beaten and submissive, there was something inhuman about him. There was no talking to him, no reasoning or reassuring. The officer knew from all his dealings with inmates of all ages, all backgrounds, that there was no way he could ever communicate reassurance or anything else to the sniveling form staring at him with the largest, most terrified eyes Bill Lee had ever seen in his life.

“Jesus Christ!” the uniform exclaimed. “This is so far over my head I’m not even gonna deal with it! Hang in there, little buddy. I’m gonna get you outta here, and I don’t give a rat’s ass if it costs me my job! I knew you shouldn’t have been here when I saw you arrive. Stay right here, ok? I’ll be back before morning.”

Chip didn’t really hear what the man in the uniform had said, nor did he care. The only thing important to Chip was that the man had left him alone. So he slowly moved back down onto the surface of the bed, covered himself with the lone blanket, and went to sleep. The only thing important to Chip was that he be allowed to sleep, or die, and it didn’t matter in the least to him which one it was.

“You’re all finished here,” Ed screamed so loud everyone in the facility could hear him. “Have you no feeling, no intelligence at all? How the fuck could you have not only subjected that kid to your demented program, but actually singled him out and humiliated him, abused him more than all the others?”

“I was just doin’ my job,” Bruce French defended with an air of arrogance that drove Ed wild. It was 3 AM, and Ed had immediately got out of his bed and headed to the sex abuse facility as soon as he’d received the call from the concerned sergeant. He had instructed the kind sergeant to call Bruce and get him out of bed, no matter what he had to say to do it. “I thought maybe the kid was young enough to get some good outta this program,” Bruce went on defiantly. “We all know it doesn’t do any good for those older fuckups.”

“And you couldn’t deal with that, could you?” Ed retorted. “You couldn’t deal with the fact that some upstart young kid might possibly be strong enough, intelligent enough, to handle all that you had to dish out. You had to destroy him, didn’t you, you piece of shit!”
“Hey, asshole, do you think this job is easy?” Bruce demanded.
“You don’t even want to hear what I think about this job,” Ed spat back. “It’s nothing but an academic way to abuse people. But kids! Fuckin’ CHILDREN! Get the hell off the property, you asshole, before I do something we’ll both regret a very great deal.”
“You can’t fire me,” Bruce defied. “You can get in a lotta trouble if the powers that be find out you showed up in the middle of the night and...”
“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY SIGHT!” Ed screamed. “You’re right, I can’t legally fire you. But what I can do is cite to the press how many laws you’ve broken, how callously you wrecked a young promising life. And I’ll just bet when I get these tapes analyzed that I took out of your control room I’m gonna find you’ve been doing things to all the inmates that are grossly illegal. If that’s what you want, motherfucker, just show up for work in the morning. I’ll handle the rest.”

“You can’t take those tapes,” Bruce argued. “That’s my personal property.”
“I see,” Ed said, now getting control of himself and putting on a menacing expression that would scare even the innocent. “So what you’re telling me is that you’ve been using your personal property to influence these state prison inmates. Would you care to elaborate exactly what’s on these tapes?”
“Figure it out for yourself,” French defied. “But before you make too many accusations, I suggest you check out the success rate since I took over this facility. You might find out I’ve got a lot more friends than you have.”
“I suggest you’d better leave,” Ed said calmly. “As for those tapes, you’ll get them back as soon as they’re analyzed; that is unless we need them for evidence.”

Chip lay almost comatose in the back seat of Ed’s little Honda Civic as the little car raced up Interstate 40, back to Central Prison. Ed had broken just about every rule in the Department of Correction’s book of procedures by the time he pulled up to the security gates at 5:30 AM. Chip Stockdale, a convicted felon, was lying in the back seat of his private car, unrestrained. He was dressed in civilian clothes the concerned Sergeant had provided, not prison uniform. There were no marks, no identifiable clothes, nothing of any kind to identify him as a prison inmate, should he suddenly decide to overpower his only custodian and bolt to freedom. But Ed knew there was no danger of Chip bolting; indeed it’s doubtful if he could walk more than three paces.

Ed had already called Dr. Murdock on his cell phone to alert the doctor about what had happened, so when the little brown Honda pulled to a stop in front of the gates, they opened without hesitation to admit the little car. Minutes later Chip was sleeping peacefully in the prison hospital, again being guarded by Dennis the murderer as Dr. Murdock removed the gigantic butt plug and began examining his young patient for physical damage. “Be sure you document everything including lots of pictures,” Ed directed. “I suspect all hell’s gonna break loose when Manning finds out what I’ve done.”

Chip spent another two weeks in the hospital in Central Prison. For a good part of the time he was completely out of it, his mind dulled by various drugs prescribed by Dr. Murdock while they tried to sort out the damage to his mind. Denis was frantic, very little use as a bodyguard because he wouldn’t let anyone near the comatose form on the bed, including the doctors and nurses whose duty it was to see to Chip’s physical well-being. But when Chip finally came around he seemed more or less unscathed by his experience. That he’d been traumatized beyond belief there was little doubt; but he was outwardly just as he’d always been.

Outwardly.

What Ed didn’t realize was that he had done his young friend no favor by rescuing him halfway through the program. Although not for kids, the process had been well designed and well thought out by a number of psychologists. They began by completely destroying the subject’s self esteem, what there was of it. The first two days or so were intricately designed to do precisely that; then the men were given increasing doses of positive feedback, making them feel extremely good both physically and mentally as they responded to the stimuli that suggested they were now gay men - gay men who had an attraction to other men older than themselves, in a submissive role, and nothing else. This process would have two benefits, in the eyes of the developers. It would cause the predators to feel extremely bad, even experience pain, whenever they were near children, younger women or men. Secondly it would prevent the men from marrying and procreating, in case their children were born with similar tendencies.

Chip had only had the first part of the program: the intense and brutal process of enhancing his already ample guilt feelings, destroying his self esteem, making him hate himself not only for what he’d done, but what he might do in the future. True, he hadn’t had that part of the therapy that would turn him into a young man whose only sexual interest was to be used by older men; but that left nothing at all. Chip Stockdale had had firmly implanted in his mind that he was no good for anything, and the reason he was such a useless article was his genitals.

To be continued...