Date: Fri, 03 Jul 2020 17:17:26 +0000
From: jordanproject@protonmail.com
Subject: Prison Correction Chapter 3

This story is fiction. Any resemblance to real people is purely
coincidental. It's copyrighted 2020 by The Jordan Project, all rights
reserved outside of Nifty. The reader comes first, so I live for
feedback. Please take some time to provide it to
JordanProject@protonmail.com. What worked? What didn't work?

Keep this great site going and donate to
http://donate.nifty.org.html

* * * *

Randy basked in the warm glow of the younger officer's affectionate praise,
but began to worry about the senior officer's whispered promise. He briefly
became lost in thought, but was brought back to the present by the junior
officer's voice.

"Time to put ya to work," he said. "Come follow me, and I'll show ya what
you'll be doin' around here."

It suddenly occurred to the young inmate that, until now, he had either
been incarcerated in his cell, sleeping, or just lately, being sexually
used. He had not experienced any kind of daily work routine.

The corrections officer walked the boy down the corridor, and led him to
another cell. It was filthy from top to bottom. Every square inch seemed
covered in grime. The toilet stank from across the room. The walls were
covered with peeling paint. Luckily, there was no mattress, blanket,
sheets, or pillows. Just metal and concrete. It seemed unlikely that he'd
be forced to live here.

"When ya go upstairs, yer gonna have a job in the laundry room most
likely," the officer said, in a rather metallic way. "But yer also gonna be
taking care of the Man you'll cell with. The cell and everything in it,
including you, will be his property. Clear?"

"Yes sir," the boy said, worry creeping across his face.

"Ya just got a taste of some of what Men expect," he continued. "But
there's more. Ya will keep yer Man's cell clean. Ya will start with this
one. Ya will make this cell clean. Do ya understand?"

"Yes sir," the boy answered. He looked at the walls. "But what about the
paint?"

"First ya clean everything else," the corrections officer replied in a cool
tone. "Then ya will paint it. Now's when we find out if ya can do anything
for a Man other than suckin' his stiff dick. Wait here while I get yer
tools."

With that, any illusions died. The young inmate tasted the officer's cum in
his mouth, and remembered his throat being fucked over and over. Worse, he
remembered the stiffness of his erection, and his ecstasy while he was
being used.

As he waited for what seemed like forever, the scenes played over in his
mind, along with his emotions. How excited he'd been to open the officer's
fly. How thrilling it felt to blow on the officer's balls. The beauty of
the first squirt into his quivering throat. The joy of worshipping someone
that big and that strong, who was everything he once thought he could
be. And the shame and embarrassment that it all brought.

As on so many other occasions, the corrections officer's voice brought him
out of his mental tunnel.

"Here ya go," the officer said. "Bucket full of
water. Brush. Soap. Rag. Broom. Dust pan. Garbage can. Sweep the
floor. Dirt goes in the can. Then scrub by hand. Start over in the
corner. Go the width of yer arms stretched out in each direction. Spread
water. Squirt soap. Scrub floor. Spread more water. Use the rag to dry the
floor. When yer done with that corner, let me know."

The corrections officer turned on his heel and left, the cell door closing
with a loud "clank" behind him.

Back in the cell, the youngster worked furiously. The cell was hot, and
soon he was sweating. As time went by, he recounted recent events in his
mind. The men who guarded him had done a real number on his head, he
thought. He had begged to have his throat screwed, and eagerly swallowed
the one officer's cum. Even licked it off his hand. And it felt good,
seemed right. And here he was now, on his hands and knees, scrubbing the
floor hoping it would be good enough. He hoped his transgressions would be
overlooked. After a solid hour of scrubbing, he finished the section of
floor, and went to the cell door.

"Sir?" he called out. "I am finished with the part of the floor you told me
to scrub, sir."

He heard the click of the cell door's electronic lock. A voice called,
"Wait. Be there in a sec." Footsteps, and then the junior officer stood in
the door, his figure obscuring the light in the corridor. He opened the
door, strode into the cell, and looked at the floor. The officer was
holding something in one of hands, but the inmate couldn't make it out.

"Good job, Randy!" the corrections officer exclaimed warmly. He smiled and
held out a gift, a large cushioned pad. "This ought to make it easier on
yer knees when yer down there workin' on things."

The boy flushed briefly, thinking of the taste in his mouth. His
embarrassment quickly joined with pride that the officer had found him
worthy.

"Thanks, sir!" he said.

Over the next several days, the routine continued pretty much as it had
started. The senior corrections officer would repeat and reinforce the
hypnotic suggestions. The junior officer would use the boy's mouth, and
then he could clean the cell. At night, the light through the window in his
cell make the dark more tolerable.

On the fourth or fifth day of his cell-scrubbing duty, the senior officer
answered the youngster's declaration that he had completed his assigned
cleaning task. Randy could tell from the heavy, yet brisk and purposeful
walk, that the senior officer was coming toward his cell.

He entered quickly, and began inspecting the floor. The inmate had
painstakingly cleaned almost all of it. At most, a day's worth of scrubbing
remained. As the officer walked over the clean floor, the young inmate felt
a flash of resentment. It had taken him forever to scrub it, and here the
officer was tracking dirt all around. His irritation increased when the
officer crouched down and ran his finger in the corners, looking for dust.

"What's this?" the corrections officer asked, a sharp tone in his
voice. "Call this clean?"

"There's no way to keep all the dirt off, especially when it gets brought
in here," the inmate said, impatiently, as if he was a mother scolding a
child. Quickly, he recovered, and added, "... sir."

That only compounded his error. Whatever the youngster had intended, he
sounded insolent. The officer glowered in his direction.

"Sit on the bed and face me, Matthews," he commanded in a hard voice,
dropping the duffel bag on the floor near the door.

As the young prisoner complied, he heard a loud, dull thud. He hadn't
noticed the second, steel door to the cell. The officer then moved to the
cell window, and closed a steel panel over it. The only light came from a
dim lightbulb in the ceiling, surrounded by a mesh cage.

The tone of the massive corrections officer's voice, and his swift
movements, combined to fill the boy with fear.

"I am sorry ..." the boy started to say, but the officer interrupted.

"Shut up, Matthews," he said, before walking over to the boy and standing
in front of him. The officer's belt buckle was two inches from the inmate's
face.

"Look up and open yer mouth," the corrections officer said. The boy
complied, and watched as the officer unzipped his fly and reached
inside. His muscular thighs strained against the fabric of the uniform's
pants, tight gray with black stripes down the side. The officer's thick
forearms, covered with hair, connected to huge biceps that bulged in a
tight gray shirt. His square jaw showed a five o'clock shadow. The officer
brought his dick out: soft, yet much longer and thicker than the boy's puny
hardon ever was.

The corrections officer began to piss downward toward the boy's face.

"Ugh!" the boy shouted. "No fuckin' way!"

The officer directed the stream toward the boy's head, but he moved
away. The boy moved up onto the bed frame, huddling defiantly at the end
farthest from the officer. Wordlessly, the officer cut off the piss stream,
returned his dick inside his pants, and zipped himself up. He stood there,
not moving but simply staring at the boy, who grew more fearful by the
second. After what seemed like an eternity, the officer spoke.

"Just where do ya think yer gonna go?" he said.

"I'm not doing that!" the boy replied.

In a single, fluid motion, the powerful corrections officer reached down,
grabbed the end of the bed frame, and yanked the entire piece of metal
furniture from underneath him. The boy went flying, and landed in the
corner of the room, undefended. In another swift motion, the officer put
the rack against another wall, leaving only the toilet and the duffel bag
breaking the plane of the floor.

"Get over here," the corrections officer commanded.

The boy curled himself into a tight ball in the corner. The officer strode
over to the boy, who had begun to cry. Without a word, he grabbed the
collar of his jumpsuit, and lifted him up, and then dropped him to the
floor.

"It's about time fer this," the officer said.

With his booted foot, he kicked the boy roughly, square in the ass. And
then again, and again. The boy scrambled to avoid the officer, but could
not. The officer kicked and kicked, and the boy wailed. When the officer
was finished, the boy lay crumpled on the concrete floor.

"Ya will do what yer told, little half buck," the corrections officer
said. His tone was hard and derisive. "Ya do what a Man tells ya."

"Fuck you," the boy said, softly, through a whimper. "No way I'm drinkin'
your piss, asshole."

The officer drew himself up to his full size and looked down at the
youngster. To the boy cringing on the floor, it seemed like a mountain was
talking to him. The uniformed mountain laughed loudly and scornfully.

"Ya got to be kiddin' me," the senior corrections officer said, spitting
the words through his laughter. "What ya gonna do? Ya gonna beat on me?
Now's yer chance! Come on, little one! Get up 'n show me how tough ya
are. Now or never!"

The boy remained where he was, looking upward in fear, humiliation running
through every vein.

Still laughing, the corrections officer picked the boy up, this time by the
collar. With his free hand, he gut-punched him. When the boy tried to curl
up the officer held him up standing, and punched him again. The officer
dropped him on the floor, where the boy twisted in agony. As he recovered,
the officer began kicking the boy around the room again, this time toward
the toilet. Again, he hauled the boy up by the collar. This time, his feet
didn't touch the floor, making the youngster even more aware of the size
difference.

"What'll it be, little fella?" the officer said.

"I'm not ..."

The corrections officer didn't let the boy finish. He lowered the boy to
the toilet. It was filthy, and the boy had pissed there himself. He grabbed
a pair of handcuffs off his belt, fixed the restraints, and put the boy on
his knees in front of the bowl. Without a word, he dunked the boy's head in
the filthy water and held it there.

"Open yer mouth and drink," the officer commanded.

The boy kept his face screwed tight, so the officer plunged it into the
water again, and again. When the boy came up gasping, the officer returned
to his duffel bag and retrieved a clothes pin. He came over to the kneeling
boy and fixed the pin to his nose. The boy winced in pain, and his eyes
watered. He was left with no alternative but to open his mouth to breathe.

"Now drink," he told the boy.

When the youngster tried to hold his breath, the corrections officer
reached around and punched his gut, forcing his mouth open. Slowly, the
officer lowered the boy's head into the water.

"Drink," he commanded. The boy drank, and then retched back into the
bowl. The officer grabbed the boy, and spun him around so he was seated in
front of the bowl. He stood up, and began opening his fly.

"Now look up and open yer mouth," the corrections officer said.

The boy complied, and the officer pissed into the boy's open mouth.

"There ya go," the officer said, his voice suddenly turning gentle. After a
few seconds, the officer stopped his flow and returned to the duffel bag,
reaching down to withdrew a large plastic cup. Invisible to the boy, the
cup contained a large dose of Correctol. The officer brought the cup back
to the toilet, and pissed into it as the boy watched.

When he was finished, he crouched down and put the cup up to the boy's
mouth.

"Drink," he commanded, tilting the cup. This time, the boy obeyed. The
bitter taste was familiar. The boy obeyed, as the corrections officer
chuckled gently.

"Now when a Man tells ya to do somethin', ya best hop to it."

He uncuffed the boy, letting his arms free. He was breathing heavily. His
stomach ached, and his butt hurt from the officer's kicks. The rest of his
body hurt too. The officer turned to leave.

"Put the bed frame back where it was," he ordered.

"Yes sir," the devastated boy replied softly.

The corrections officer unlocked the cell's inner door, opened the barred
door, and returned to the office where the junior officer sat. He placed
his hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"Taught the little fella half his lesson anyway," he said, with a
chuckle. "Give it some time for the drug to kick in, then ya can go pick it
up again."

The young officer smiled broadly, and looked up.

"Sure thing!" he replied.

Randy put the bed frame back in its place, feeling his muscles ache as he
did so. He sat on it and waited, and thought about the chaotic events. They
had been in total control from the start, hadn't they? Everything that's
been happening is all about letting me know that I am nothing compared to
them, he thought. "I am not one of them, and I'm never going to be," he
told himself.

He thought about the senior corrections officer, who, as he beat him up,
called him "little half buck," and eventually made him obey. Treated me
just like a little kid, the young inmate thought. It's just not all that
easy to get used to it when you find out that it includes opening your
mouth and drinking someone's piss.

As he pondered, his regret and embarrassment deepened, yet he also grew
more serene and accepting of his fate. He almost failed to notice the cell
door open. He looked up, and saw the younger corrections officer standing
over him, almost as tall and almost as big as his older partner. He was
holding a pail of water and the same duffel bag that his partner had
brought earlier in the week. He entered the cell, and put the items on the
floor in a corner of the cell.

"Sir, I am so sorry ..."

"You've embarrassed me, Matthews," the younger officer said, coldly. "Ya
been treated good up 'til just lately, and I'm why. Thought ya could
behave, but now I ain't so sure."

The young inmate looked up, his eyes filling with tears, pleading for
mercy. He had come to believe that he shared something special with the Man
whose pecker he had been sucking every day that week. The younger officer
unzipped his fly, and brought out his dick. Soft, it was five inches long.

"Open yer mouth," he commanded.

The boy did so, and the officer inserted his member there.

"Look me in the eye while ya swallow," he said. "Whatever ya miss, ya'll be
lickin' off the floor. Don't stop for air. Easier that way."

The corrections officer let his stream flow, and the boy gulped
furiously. Tears streamed down his face, partly from the strain of
swallowing, but also from humiliation and regret at having disappointed the
Man who stood over him. The junior officer had seemed gentler, and more
understanding, than his older and rougher partner. After a while, the
officer told the boy to close his mouth. He squirted a bit of urine onto
the boy's upturned face, which burned with shame. The officer chuckled
derisively, and zipped himself up.

"Leave it there on yer face, Matthews," he told the boy, seated on the edge
of the bedframe. "We gotta get ya to understand what yer place is, 'cause I
don't think ya got a clue."

The urine crept down his face, and some of it made its way into his
mouth. Involuntarily, he licked his lips, and the corrections officer
smiled.

"Around here, the Man owns everything. Every single thing," he said,
pausing between the final words to drive home the point.

"Look me in the eye, little fella," the officer said, his tone
softening. The boy looked into the handsome officer's eyes and felt an
overwhelming desire to satisfy him. The officer ran his finger along the
boy's lips.

"Man owns yer mouth," he told the boy gently. "All the way down yer
throat. Yer outsides, yer insides. Yer arms, yer legs, yer fingers, yer
toes. It's all the Man's property. Don't belong to ya. Belongs to him."

"Yes, sir," the boy said.

"Yer little dick is his, and so's yer little butthole that Officer Sanders
is gonna work on in a little while," the officer said. "Yer brain too. Ya
think what a Man tells ya to think. He owns everything in there, right down
to yer dreams."

The boy was dazzled. He could tell they were inside his head, and had been
for a long time. It was disturbing and humiliating, but oddly comforting.

"Man controls when ya get hard and when ya don't," he said. "Ya ain't been
stiff for a week without me telling ya. Yer whatever I tell ya to be."

The kneeling boy realized it was true. It was beginning to dawn on him
that, to be here was to be completely controlled in every way. The
corrections officer went to the duffel bag that his partner had brought
earlier, and withdrew a rubber bulb and a tube with a cap on it.

"From now on, yer gonna wash out yer insides every day," the officer
said. "Officer Sanders likes a clean back hole, and so does the Man
upstairs who'll be runnin' ya. Now take the suit off and get started."

"Yes sir," the boy replied, his quavering voice showing fear.

The officer gave the naked boy the bulb, and told him to fill it from the
pail he'd brought with him. He gave him the tube of cream, and told him to
grease up the tip and squirt water in his rectum by squeezing the bulb.

"Ya do that until yer shittin' clear water back into the toilet bowl," the
officer said. "As soon as yer good 'n clean, let me know."

The corrections officer turned and left the cell, the door clanging behind
him. He walked back to the office, where the senior officer was sitting.

"Kid's cleanin' his hole," he said. "He'll be ready in a while, I
suppose. Always takes a while the first time."

His partner laughed.

"Oh yeah, seen it a million times," he said.

Back in the cell, the young inmate struggled with the mechanics of reaching
backwards, and the uncomfortable sensations of inserting water in his
rectum, and expelling it. After a half-hour or so, his growing desire to
please helped him get the hang of it, and the corrections officers could
hear the toilet flushing repeatedly.

"He's not a dumb one," the older officer remarked. "A little willful, but I
always liked that in a boy." He reached over and rubbed his partner's head
affectionately with his knuckles.

"Crime 'n punishment's a good teacher," the young officer answered, with a
chuckle. "So's a pair a-stiff dicks. Bladder fulla piss don't hurt either."

"Sir, I am clean," the boy shouted from the other end of the corridor.

"Ya go prep him," the senior officer told his partner. "Give me a shout
when he's ready."

"Sure thing!" the younger corrections officer said brightly, and left to
attend to the prisoner. He grabbed a thick, rolled-up rubber mat that stood
in the corner of the office, and walked down the corridor. He unlocked the
cell door, and entered to find the naked boy standing in front of the
toilet.

"I think I'm clean, sir," the boy said.

"You'd better be," the officer replied, coldly. He looked the boy in the
eye and gave him a trigger. "Little fella just can't help bein' stiff when
a Man's around. Just can't help bein' stiff. Just can't help bein' stiff."

This was a variation on the usual hard-on trigger, designed both to arouse
and humiliate. When told that he "can't help bein' stiff," he would focus
on his shame, both at being small and at being aroused by a Man. He would
try to resist but find himself unable, and feel utterly humiliated and
embarrassed as a result.

On cue, to his amazement and distress he felt the blood rushing
downward. Soon, he was rock hard, and the officer was smiling and chuckling
at him. He brought the duffel bag over to the bed, and stood on the
mattress. While the boy watched, he removed several chains and leather
cuffs, making attachments in hooks in the ceiling and on the bed frame that
the boy hadn't noticed until now.

Soon, chains hung from the ceiling, with a leather belt attached to one of
them. Leather wrist restraints were attached to the end of the bed, with
other restraints anchored at the sides. The corrections officer approached
the boy, and gave his hard little dick, barely more than a few inches long,
a playful bat.

"Look at that," he said in a mocking tone. "The average 12 year-old got
more than that. What did yer brothers call ya? Little half buck? Far as I
can tell, they were bein' pretty generous."

The embarrassed boy blushed visibly and his eyes glazed.

"Knees on the floor, elbows on the bed," he commanded. "Now."

The boy rushed to assume the position, while the officer reached over him
to the bag and withdrew a rubber glove. He glanced back at the toilet, and
saw the enema bulb and the tube of lubricant lying on the floor. He picked
up the lubricant and put the glove on, and then smeared lubricant on the
fingers.

"Spread them little legs a-yers," he told the boy. "Move it."

The boy did as he was told, and soon he felt the officer dabbing lubricant
on his asshole. One finger went in.

"Nice 'n tight," the corrections officer said. "Better hope it's clean,
'cause ya'll be lickin' this off."

The boy froze.

"Please sir," he whimpered. "Please don't sir!"

The officer said nothing. He withdrew his finger and saw that it was
clean. Then he inserted two fingers and probed deeply. Gradually, he
stretched the hole, and the boy began to whimper.

"Oww! That hurts, sir!" he said.

The officer kept it up, withdrawing his fingers to give the virgin muscle
time to get used to the assault, and then returning. He inspected his hand,
and saw that it had remained clean.

"Open yer mouth," he told the boy. "Now."

"Please, sir ..."

"Open yer mouth or ya'll have my whole hand up there, Matthews," the
corrections officer said, in a low and threatening voice. The boy opened
his mouth, and the officer put the lubricant-smeared fingers inside.

"Lick 'em off," the officer commanded, and soon he felt the boy's tongue
obeying. "All yer tastin' is the grease. Good thing ya cleaned out."

The boy was relieved, humiliated, sore, and fatigued, all at once. And
stimulated beyond belief.

"Ya will always be clean fer a Man if ya know what's good for ya," the
officer said.

"Yes, sir," the boy said, breathing hard.

The officer reached over to the duffel once again, and withdraw a piece of
rubber that looked like a long, round triangle. The officer spread
lubricant on the butt plug. In one motion, he inserted it in the boy's
anus, picked him up and sat him on the floor next to the bed. The young
officer wedged his boot under the plug and put his hands on the boy's
shoulders, pressing him down. The boy writhed in agony, his erection
pointing straight toward the ceiling. Slowly, the corrections officer began
moving his foot up and down.

"Look at me, Matthews," he commanded.

"Owwwww!" the boy whimpered, twisting under the pressure of the officer's
hands on his shoulders, pressing him down onto the bullplug.

"Open my fly and take my dick out," he said. "Now."

His face twisted in agony, his little dick pointing skyward, the boy moved
to comply. Soon, the corrections officer's semi-hard dick dangled out of
his uniform trousers.

"Open yer little mouth."

The boy did as told, and the officer guided his dick inside.

"Start swallowin' and don't ya miss a drop," he said. His piss flowed once
more, and the boy gulped furiously, moaning as he did so. The officer ended
as he had before, by squirting some urine on the boy's face.

"Okay, now stand up," the corrections officer told the seated boy. As he
did so, the plug came out. The officer picked it up, and, as with his
fingers before, held it to the boy's mouth and commanded him to lick it
clean.

"Get on yer back on the bed," the officer told the boy.

Once the boy was laying on his back, the officer went back to the duffel
bag and removed an electric shaver. When he returned his attention to the
boy, he laughed.

"Not much to shave off, is there, little fella?" he said. He had him raise
his arms so his pits could be shaved, and then removed his pubic hair.

"Nothin' on yer little legs," the officer said. "Now raise 'em up so I can
see what else is down there."

The corrections officer found a few hairs on the boy's little balls. Behind
them, he found a few more, and then pressed the buzzing razor into the
boy's skin. It acted like a vibrator, making the boy's dick dance and the
officer chuckle, his voice dripping with playful mockery.

"Heh heh, little fella's dick gets all stiff, now don't it?" the officer
said.

The boy said nothing. The officer squeezed the balls, hard, and the boy
yelped.

"Don't it?" the corrections officer growled. "Little fella like it when a
Man get him good 'n stiff, don't he?"

"Yes sir," the boy whimpered.

The officer stroked the boy's balls gently. With his thumb and forefinger,
he gently grasped the head of the boy's stiff dick. A bead of precum
appeared on the boy's dick, and the officer gently rubbed it around the
head, causing the boy to move his hips and breathe heavily.

"Little half buck can't help bein' stiff," the corrections officer said,
his voice conveying gentle mockery.

Randy was crazy with lust, yet humiliated to the very depths.

"Yes sir," he answered, breathing heavily.

"Now get limp," the officer said suddenly, his voice turning cold. It was
the "come down" command, but intended to match the derisive impact of its
cousin: He would remember his arousal, his lack of control, his shame, and
carry it with him. Almost immediately, the boy's erection softened. His
balls ached, and his asshole's muscles throbbed from the officer's earlier
manipulation.

"Get up on yer knees and yer elbows up here on the bed," the officer
said. He skipped a beat, smiled, flicked the boy's now-soft and tiny dick
and added, "... little fella."

The dejected boy did as he was told. The corrections officer's harshness
numbed him, yet he felt no resentment. Only regret at having displeased
him, and shame for what he was. He was relieved that his asshole had gotten
a break.

The officer fastened the restraints at the head of the bed around the boy's
wrists. A chain ran to the head of the bed, another to the foot of the bed,
and two others to each side. The officer then maneuvered the belt hanging
from one of the ceiling chains and fastened it tightly around the boy's
lower belly, between his navel and his hips. Next, the boy's forearms,
knees, legs, and ankles were attached with straps anchored by chains
attached to several points on the bed frame. Everything fit loosely, but
the boy knew that wouldn't last long.

"Yer gonna need to piss," the officer told the boy, as he reached into the
duffel nearby for the cup that the officer had pissed into. Out of the
boy's field of vision, he added some more Correctol, and then returned to
the bed and placed the cup between his legs.

"Urinate into the cup," the corrections officer commanded. The boy complied
on cue, and filled the cup with the piss he had drunk, mixing it with the
drug. The officer attached a lid with a straw, went to the head of the bed,
placed the straw to the boy's lips, and ordered him to drink.

To drink his own piss felt even worse than drinking someone
else's. Somehow, it emphasized how completely he was in someone else's
control. When the boy was finished, the officer circled the bed,
inspecting. Randy had resumed his whimpering. At various moments, he saw
the officer looking carefully at him, as if to evaluate angles. Then the
officer tidied up the room, placing the butt plug and cup back into the
duffel, and carefully placing the lubricant, another plastic glove, and a
towel from inside the bag on the floor next to the bed.

Then the corrections officer tightened all of the chains, rendering the boy
motionless on his forearms and knees. He checked his handiwork by roughly
shoving him in different directions. The boy barely budged.

"That'll do it. This one ain't goin' anywhere," the officer said. He spoke
to himself, but his words were audible to the youngster.

The young corrections officer walked to the door of the cell and called out
down the hall to the senior officer. "Ready whenever ya are!"

"He shaved down?" the voice called back.

"Yep!"

"Chained up?"

"You bet!" the junior officer called back. "Oh yeah, forgot to ask! Ya want
him hard or not?"

"Just as soon not," the voice returned.

"Figured as much!" the junior officer answered. "All set!"

"Okey-doke," the voice returned. "Gotta finish up a few things. Maybe 10
minutes."

"Sure thing!" the junior officer shouted.

He stepped back toward the bed and stood over the boy. The corrections
officer crouched down, and brought his face near the fearful boy's, which
was turned toward his. The young officer reached his long arm down between
the boy's legs and cupped his balls in his big hand.

"Now ya look at me and listen good. Nothing says ya get to keep them little
things," he said, speaking softly and gently, just above a whisper. "If ya
can't learn to behave, Men might decide that there's no need for ya to be a
boy at all. It's happened before around here."

"Please sir ..." the boy pleaded.

"You'd best pay close attention to what's expected here, Matthews," the
officer replied.

"I'll try to be good, sir," the boy whimpered. "I really will, sir!"

The corrections officer chuckled, his mockery unmistakable. He leaned
forward and put his mouth an inch from the boy's ear. He squeezed the boy's
balls hard, as the boy's face twisted in pain.

"Ya ain't foolin' us with yer beggin' act," he whispered. "The more ya try
to tell either of us what to do, the bigger the chance ya lose 'em!"

Footsteps grew louder in the hallway, as the senior corrections officer
approached the cell door. He entered, and was met by his junior partner. He
looked around the room, and saw everything in order. He whistled with
approval.

"Good work, Deke!" the senior partner said. "Everything's lookin'
shipshape."

Just as the younger officer had done, he walked around the trussed-up
boy. There was hardly any play in the restraints. He looked from one angle,
and then another, and turned to younger officer.

"Hmm, why don't ya get the boy's knees spread maybe a foot wider," he
said. "You'll need to lower his butt just a bit when ya do it."

"Sure thing, boss!" the younger corrections officer answered brightly, as
he moved to adjust the chains. A minute or two later, he was finished.

"This good?" he asked.

"Yep, just right."

"I left a glove and a towel and some grease next to the bed," the younger
officer said. "Need anything else?"

"Where's the strap?" the older officer asked. "Can't screw him without
first beatin' his ass."

"Oh yeah, forgot about that," the younger corrections officer answered. He
reached down into the duffel and felt for the thick strap there. "Want me
to oil 'er up for ya?"

"Yeah, that'd be good," the older officer replied. His partner found a
washcloth and some leather conditioner in the bag, and began applying it to
the strap. They chatted as he did so, talking casually as if the bound boy
wasn't even in the room.

"We could remove the little one's balls if he won't behave," the younger
officer said. "Remember that boy a while back? What was his name, Kelly or
something? Seemed to calm him down right good, didn't it?"

The older corrections officer glanced over at the boy.

"Ya got a point," he said, thoughtfully. "Give it some thought, anyway."

The junior officer finished oiling the strap, and handed it to his partner.

"Ya want any company here?" he asked.

"Sure, why not?" the older corrections officer answered. "Besides, this
little fella might need yer boot in his mouth after a while."

The younger officer chuckled.

"True enough. Dick a-yer size, and he'll probably want a distraction."

"Ha!" the senior officer laughed. "But the whippin' comes first."

Slowly, he began strapping the boy's ass softly to get the skin
conditioned. Bit by bit, he applied more force, and the boy began to grunt
with each blow. The corrections officer paused to inspect the youngster's
reddening butt in detail, rubbing his hand lightly over the smooth skin.

"Got that rubbing alcohol?" he asked his partner. The junior officer
quickly fished it out of the bag and handed it to the senior officer. He
squirted some onto the boy's skin and rubbed it.

"Oww!" the boy called out, in pain.

The corrections officer reared back and delivered a very hard blow. The
serious beating had begun. The boy screamed and bucked, but was unable to
move more than a half an inch.

"Count 'em off, Matthews," the officer growled. "First the number, then
'Sir!' Yer getting' 10 of 'em, but if ya don't count 'em they won't count."

'Yes sir," the boy replied, weakly.

"I can't hear ya, Matthews!"

"Yes sir!"

Ten seconds passed, each seeming like a minute.

"Here it comes."

Another second.

Whoosh! Crack!

"One, sir!"

Ten seconds.

"Here it comes."

Another second.

Whoosh! Crack!

"Two, sir!"

With each blow, the corrections officer was applying more force. By the
fifth, he had begin to sweat in the hot room.

"Gonna take this shirt off," he told the junior partner. "Hang it over the
cell bars for me, would ya?"

"Sure thing," the junior partner said. The senior officer peeled off his
shirt to reveal a massive torso, covered in thick hair from neck to belt
line. His biceps were thick and muscular. Forearms, wrists, and hands
covered with hair. Below his buckle, a thick bulge was pressing against his
tight gray uniform trousers.

The officer picked up the towel from the floor, wiped himself off, and
threw it near the head of the bed. Through his pain, the boy could smell
the corrections officer's maleness coming off the towel, and was
intoxicated by it.

"Here it comes."

The boy was panic struck. What's the number?

Whoosh! Crack!

"Five ... I mean six ... sir!"

"That'll be five," the officer said. "Better pay attention, Matthews."

The boy groaned, realizing that he'd wind up getting an extra stroke.

Ten seconds.

"Here it comes ..."

Bruises were starting to form. After the eighth stroke, the officer paused
again and applied more alcohol, causing the boy to scream.

"That's right, little fella, ya cry," he said, scornfully.

The heaviest blow yet.

"Nine, sir!"

The prisoner was weeping continuously. The officer applied more alcohol,
and now Randy was crying. The officer waited ten seconds.

"Here it comes."

The tone told the boy this would be the worst yet. The massive, powerful
corrections officer put his full weight into the stoke.

"Whoosh! Crack!"

The sound of the boy's agony filled the room. The officer stepped back,
breathing heavily. He went to the head of the bed to snatch the towel, and
used it to wipe the tears from the boy's face. He opened his eyes and could
see the officer's enormous dick outlined in his trousers, rock hard.

The corrections officer wiped himself again, finishing with his
underarms. He spread the towel under the boy's face. It was turned to one
side, and the officer moved backward so the boy could see him stand
straight up. Slowly, he unzipped his pants, and withdrew his dick.

The boy, positioned on his elbows with his legs spread and his raw ass
sticking up into the air, was terrified. The senior's officer's hard-on,
which jutted straight out of his uniform, reminded the young prisoner of a
souvenir he'd gotten at a baseball game on "Bat Day."

"He's getting ready to kill me," the boy thought to himself.

The senior corrections officer saw the boy's distress and smiled slightly.

"Man's gonna show ya a thing or two," he said. Then he turned to the junior
officer.

"Wanna give me a bit a help here, Deke?" he said.

"Sure thing!" the eager partner chirped.

The junior corrections officer reached to the floor and put the glove on as
the boy watched. He squeezed some lubricant onto his partner's dick, and
applied it carefully. The one officer applying the grease onto the other
officer didn't seem queer at all. It was as if the senior was some sort of
fucking machine that needed an attendant, and it raised the boy's fear even
further than the beating had.

"Grease the little fella up," the senior officer said. The junior officer
disappeared from the boy's vision, and he felt cool lubricant, intruding
fingers, and pressure on his prostate.

"I think everything's ready to go," the junior officer said.

"Okey-doke," the senior officer replied, while glancing over the boy and
giving him a wink.

"See ya in a while," he said.

The massive corrections officer straddled the bed, his powerful legs
shaking the frame as he did so, making the young prisoner feel like some
wild animal or big machine was back there. As he felt the Man's stiff rod
enter his rectum, he instinctively tried to move away. But the restraints
that held him in place during the beating did the same job now, and the
young inmate cried out in pain.

"Owwwww! Argggggh!" he shouted, breathing hard.

"That's right," the senior officer said. His soothing tone was intended to
mock the boy. "That's real good fer ya. It'll be even better once I get the
next nine inches inside."

He pushed farther, and the boy bucked against the chains, his face red, in
agony.

"Gettin' on toward halfway in," the officer said, giving the boy's bruised
ass a playful swat. "Mmm, nice tight fit."

Then the officer slowly withdrew. He had reached the boy's inner
ring. Experience had taught him to fuck in stages, to give the victim's
muscles a chance to loosen up. His dick could do some real damage; the
officers were content to use the boy's fear of injury for their purposes,
but actually took considerable care to avoid it. Plenty of odd things
happened at Banner Creek, but it wouldn't be easy to explain how the only
inmate in their custody had been fucked to death.

The boy was glad to be free from the corrections officer's assault. As his
anal muscle relaxed, the relief reminded him of intervals between rounds
during a boxing match. He also felt the officer's hand resting casually on
his lower back, reminding him that he was the Man's property.

"Goes better if ya push back out like yer takin' a dump," the officer
said. He began rubbing the boy's ass.

"Better give him some more grease," the officer said to his partner.

"Sure thing, boss!" the younger officer replied, brightly. He squirted some
more lube on the boy's hole, and reached inside his hole, this time with
three fingers.

A moment later, the senior officer's assault resumed. The massive Man was
back inside, pushing in and out, going farther each time. The young
prisoner's evasion blocked once again, he felt like he was going to be
split in two, and he moaned loudly.

"Awwwww! Owwwwww!"

The officer began slapping the boy's butt.

"Come on, son, open up," he said. "The best part's yet to come."

By now, the impaled boy's voice had changed to something between a groan, a
growl, and a grunt, all combined, his mind focused on nothing but the
battering ram. Every part of him felt invaded. There was no escape.

As the corrections officer pushed the remainder of himself inside, the boy
lost control, yelling like a wounded animal. "Arrggggggggggggh!" he
shouted, his voice rebounding off the walls of the cell, and even the
corridor outside. "Arrrgggggggggggh! Arrrrggggh!"

The older officer glanced at his law enforcement partner, muscular and
aroused, his erection outlined against the fabric of his gray
trousers. With his eyes he motioned him toward the front of the bed. The
younger officer smiled and nodded, walked to the other end, and put the toe
of his boot up next to the boy's open mouth and firmly put it inside.

"There ya go, little fella," he said, gently, mockingly. "Suck on that."

The senior corrections officer leaned over the grunting boy and pushed all
the way in. He began fucking in a steady rhythm. As he did so, he put
grabbed the boy's chest and put his lips up against the boy's ear.

"Man's gettin' what's his," he said, in a voice that was part whisper, part
endearment, part order. "Ya take it. That's what ya do, each and every
time."

In and out, in and out, relentlessly, the Man pushed his authority all the
way inside, then pulled back, then back in. Time after time after time. The
boy felt himself entering a different place, one that he couldn't
define. The pain was easing, replaced by a feeling of being stretched and
rearranged.

The corrections officer had gradually picked up his pace, and now he was
fucking the boy faster and faster. The other officer's boot was a
counterpoint. Pinned between the battering ram in his ass, the boot in his
mouth, the massive arms around his chest, and the chains and straps holding
him in place, he felt like a kind of thing, inanimate, existing for no
purpose other than whatever these Men demanded.

The senior officer's breathing became heavier, and his fucking rapid.

"That's right little half buck, ya take it," he said, in a voice low and
hard. "Take it, take it, take it ..."

Then the officer strained and pushed the farthest yet, with his full force,
seeming to go another foot. His fucking motion ceased, and he moaned. "Oh
yeah, take it, take it ..."

The boy felt his guts liquefy, and then the corrections officer slowly
pulled out, breathing heavily. He walked over to the head of the bed, where
the boy's mouth was still wrapped around the junior officer's boot, and
grabbed the towel from underneath the boy's head. The officer wiped his
dick off, and threw the towel on top of the boy's head.

"Ya can take care of the rest," he told the junior officer, as he put his
dick back into his pants and donning his shirt. "Get whatever ya need, then
get him fed and bedded down for the night."

"Sure thing!" the younger officer replied.

The senior officer turned and left the cell, leaving the boy chained and
strapped in place, head covered by the towel. The younger officer stood
over the boy, his hardon straining against the trousers of his uniform. The
boy was breathing heavily and moaning, nearly in a state of shock.

The young corrections officer began loosening the restraints.

"Stay on yer knees 'n elbows," the officer ordered.

The boy felt numb, both physically and mentally, but complied. When he was
fully freed. The officer pointed to a small puddle in the middle of the
bed.

"Lick up yer squirt, Matthews," he ordered, coldly.

The boy was unable to speak, and didn't move. The officer grabbed his neck
and shoved it into the pool.

"I said lick up yer squirt," the corrections officer repeated, roughly. The
boy's tongue emerged, and he did as told, beginning to lap up his own
cum. His asshole had closed, but to the boy it felt wide open. The junior
officer wiped it thoroughly with the towel, and when he was finished patted
it in the manner that a dog's owner might pat his dog's head.

"Man owns that," the junior officer said. "Man owns everything, inside 'n
out, and all around."

The boy breathed heavily. His ass had been pulverized inside and out, and
he was sore and exhausted. The young officer picked him up, and carried him
over to the toilet.

"I'm gonna clean ya out this time, 'cause I don't think yer able," he
said. "In the future, you'll do this yerself."

The corrections officer retrieved the bulb from the duffel bag, filled it
with water, lubed it up, and squirted water from the pail inside, and gave
the tired boy his enema.

"Every mornin' yer gonna clean yerself out, and yer gonna do the same every
time ya take a shit," the officer said. "Got it?"

"Yes sir," the exhausted prisoner replied, before he was led back to his
regular cell.