Marcel was fifteen when he was sent to the School, in punishment for breaking the Mestrians' curfew rules and disappearing for three days. The authorities knew he had left his country, but had no way of proving it. Under interrogation, Marcel refused to divulge where he'd been, knowing that he couldn't implicate his cousin. Eventually, he told them he'd gone to the mountains.

"Why?"

He shrugged. "I wanted to."

They kept him awake for two days with no food or water, but he wouldn't break. He laughed at them through his pain, spat blood in their faces, and fed off his scalding anger. He hated them for what they'd done to his country, his family and his life. He had no hope, no idea of how to fight back. All he could do was resist them.

After three eternal days, they dragged him out of the police station and deposited him at the School. Marcel was numb by then, from pain and helplessness, unable to do anything but keep himself together and functioning. The first thing he did was collapse into bed and sleep for eighteen hours, until his roommate woke him up.

"Out of bed, Chavez. It's role call."

Marcel moved. Big mistake. Every cell in his body screamed in protest, and his eyes squeezed shut in denial of the pain. "_f_u_c_k_ off."

"You got one minute. Move it." The guy jerked off his covers. "Otherwise we're both in _s_h_i_t_."

"Whatsa time?"

"Almost six."

"Morning?"

"Evening. Now get up."

"Why?"

"Role call, every twelve hours."

"So?"

"So you're not there, we're both in _s_h_i_t_."

Grudgingly, hearing the real desperation in his voice, Marcel dragged himself off the bed and gripped the wall until he could stand straight. "What kinda _s_h_i_t_?" he asked as they hurried through the teeming halls.

"You don't wanna know."

He'd soon find out, Marcel reflected indifferently.

They were jostled into rigid lines in the wet courtyard, while older boys in blazers checked off names, corresponding them with faces. A tall, broad redhead jerked Marcel's head up.

"Name?" he barked.

"Who're you missing?" Marcel asked insolently.

There were gasps around him, and the redhead cracked his hand across Marcel's face. "I said, name?"

Hatred twisted Marcel's features at the Mestrian's snarl. "Go _f_u_c_k_ yourself," he muttered in Julgarian.

The redhead's eyes narrowed. "After dinner, Chavez," he said, confirming that he knew exactly who Marcel was. "In the den."

When they broke ranks, Marcel's roommate turned to him with wide eyes. "Now you've done it."

Marcel merely shrugged, uncaring. He was looking forward to the confrontation, craving the violence he knew would come. He'd never been afraid in his life, didn't comprehend the emotion. His roommate, Kenny, was pale during dinner, and Marcel forced himself to eat a bit, knowing his dizziness was caused by hunger. His mind registered the likely futility of putting food in his stomach, but he figured he may as well try.

He straightened his shoulders and strutted into the den, black head held high. The prefects were waiting, smug satisfaction on their faces. Marcel didn't know what he was going to do, if he was going to cooperate or fight with them. He couldn't decide which he felt like doing. He'd already shown them he wasn't afraid. It might be amusing to let them think they'd managed to cow him for the moment. He smiled at the thought as he came to a stop in front of them.

"On your knees, Chavez." The redhead from earlier cuffed him forward, forcing him down. Obligingly he stayed there. "What the _f_u_c_k_ did you think you were doing out there?"

Marcel remained silent.

"He obviously needs help talking. Jenkins?"

A gangly blonde boy unbuckled his belt. Two others hauled Marcel forward and up, pulling his arms across a table. Marcel knew what was going to happen, and a part of him scoffed. Did they really think they could hurt him?

Jenkins was surprisingly strong for one so skinny, and Marcel had to force himself not to wince at each lash of the belt across his backside. It did hurt a bit, and the longer it went on, the worse it got. He was trapped and helpless under the steady thrashing, forced to accept the fiery pain simply because they were prefects and had power over him.

His backside began to throb under the belt's lashes, and all he could think was how it would be worse if they'd made him take his pants down and bare his flesh to their abuse. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, knowing they expected him to break and plead for them to stop, promising them anything. That, he would not do.

Eventually they stopped lashing his ass, when Cliff, the redhead and the head prefect, realized he was not going to break. Against Marcel was forced to his knees, and Cliff pulled his head up by his hair. "You're new here," he snarled, "so perhaps you don't understand. Here, we are the law. We run the place, and every single one of you are our subordinates. That means you do what we say. Understand?" A twist of Marcel's hair. "And you obey every bloody order we give. I give. Now suck me."

To Marcel's disgust, Cliff unbuttoned his pants to reveal a large, semi-hard _c_o_c_k_, which he thrust towards Marcel's mouth.

"You are going to arouse me, to suck me until I am hard and wet enough to slide up your asshole, between your burning ass cheeks. Are they hot? I like them hot, hot and red – welted by Jenkins' belt. He whips, and I _f_u_c_k_. And I'm gonna _f_u_c_k_ you, _f_u_c_k_ your asshole. Is it tight? Don't you want to feel me penetrating it, penetrating you – inside you? Hey, Chavez?" A manic gleam appeared in his eyes. "Ask me. Beg me to _f_u_c_k_ you."

Marcel felt an unexpected flicker of excitement at Cliff's words, felt himself begin to harden at the thought. His whipped ass throbbed with the expectation of invasion, and he longed to feel the belt on his bare skin. And to feel Cliff's _c_o_c_k_ _f_u_c_k_ing his asshole.

"_f_u_c_k_ me, please sir, _f_u_c_k_ me," he whispered.

Cliff grinned in triumph. "Take me into your mouth," he ordered, and Marcel closed his lips around Cliff's _c_o_c_k_, nearly gagging as Cliff thrust himself down his throat. He started to suck, reveling in the pulsating hardness that filled him. He sucked harder as Cliff thrust in and out of his mouth until he finally climaxed. His hands held Marcel's face pressed against his genitals, forcing Marcel to swallow his load.

With a curse of satisfaction, he pulled away. "Pull down his pants and spank him," he told Jenkins. "I want his ass hot and red, burning with pain. First spank him with your hand, then paddle him good and hard."

Marcel's pants were pulled down to his knees and he was forced Jenkins' lap. Jenkins began to spank him, his hand landing over and over against Marcel's bare ass – right cheek, left cheek, right cheek – smack, smack, smack!

"Give him a good spanking," called Cliff. "Are you sorry yet, Chavez?"

"Very sorry, sir," Marcel said obligingly.

Cliff heard the impudence in his tone. "Spank him harder."

Jenkins did, slamming his hand across Marcel's blazing ass.

"Does your punishment feel good?"

Strangely, it did. Cooperating was no longer a game for Marcel, but something he wanted to do. "Yes, sir. My punishment feels good."

"Why?"

"Because I deserved it, sir." But not for the reason they thought. "Please, punish me some more."

"Okay, paddle him. Make him cry with the pain of it, Jenkins. I want you to paddle him until his ass glows red."

Jenkins picked up the paddle and started to paddle Marcel as hard as he could. Marcel gasped with each blow, as it landed on his cheeks at the crest of his thighs. The paddling hurt like fire, and he wriggled across Jenkins' lap, not sure if it was to avoid the blows or to seek them out.

Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!

Gasps splintered his determined silence under the relentless application of pain to his bare ass.

Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! W hack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!

Suddenly the paddling ceased and harsh fingers separated his fiery ass cheeks. Cliff's _c_o_c_k_ probed at his tight, burning hole, then thrust hard, stretching and filling him. Marcel screamed with pain, then gasped as Cliff began to _f_u_c_k_ the opening in his spanked ass, penetrating further, stretching him wider, filling him more deeply.

"Do you like feeling me inside you, Chavez? Do you like having your asshole _f_u_c_k_ed by me? Do you like feeling me _f_u_c_k_ you?"

To Marcel's revulsion, he did. He closed his eyes and tried to bury the feeling, but nothing could deny the fact that he liked being _f_u_c_k_ed by the enemy.

Afterwards he lay slumped on the floor, dazed. The prefects laughed above him, joking about what had happened, but he heard nothing. He still hated them, still despised them with a ferocity he hadn't known possible before the Occupation. But he'd welcomed their punishment. Welcomed one of them inside his body.

Sent back to his room, Marcel barely felt the scraping of his pants against his burning ass. Kenny waited anxiously for him. "What did they do to you?" he burst out as soon as he saw Marcel.

Marcel shrugged. "Nothing interesting."

"Did they hit you? Did Jenkins use his belt on you?"

Lowering himself onto the bed, Marcel emptied his mind. "Like I said, nothing interesting."