Date: Fri, 03 Jul 2020 17:17:26 +0000 From: jordanproject@protonmail.com Subject: Prison Correction Chapter 5 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/donate.html * * * * The next days went by in a blur, dominated by chores. The corrections officers said little, Randy said less. They were letting him recover. Then the training resumed. One night, in his cell, the prisoner heard their voices carrying through the pipes again, and bent down to listen. The junior officer was talking. "Little fella took it pretty hard, boss," he said. "Wonder if he'll be goin' nuts on us." "Nah, I doubt it," the senior officer answered, casually. "Our Randy's a spunky one. Gotta remember, it's a big change for a little fella who's been tryin' his whole life to be somethin' he ain't. Seen it happen before. That breakdown a-his was a good thing." "I wonder," the younger officer said. "Not real sure the little fella gets it. Some a-the stuff on that video ..." "Yeah," the senior corrections officer answered, "there's some problems, but I think cobwebs got cleared." "Ya give any more thought about cutting his nuts off?" the junior officer asked. "Might calm him down." "Ya might well be right about that one, Deke," the senior officer answered. "I can tell ya I've been givin' it some serious attention, anyway. Ya know I've gelded a few before him." "That's what I heard," the junior officer said. "Ya took some guff for it too, or so I been told." "First time I gelded a prisoner eight years ago, the medical staff went crazy," he said. "Fella had raped a buncha girls, and then killed a boy and butchered him like some animal. Had him down here and it seemed real clear that lives were in danger upstairs unless I did it. "They said I had no right and all. Warden backed me up, but told me I better lay low. So when I wanted to geld another one a couple a-years later, I asked first and was told not to. Sent him upstairs, and the prisoners up there did it about six months later. Except with a dull dirty knife, and then feedin' the fella his own balls. He was dead a few hours later." The junior corrections officer whistled in amazement. "How come ya wanted to geld that second one?" he asked. "Ya know, Randy down here kinda reminds me of him in a way," the senior officer said. "A real lyin' weasel, tryin' to be somethin' he wasn't. I could tell the trainin' wasn't workin' and that he needed a geldin' or he'd be dead. Anyhow, after that happened I had me a sit-down with the warden and the head medic up there. Went through the cases. The one I gelded did calm down, and the one they wouldn't let me geld got it done anyway, but real nasty. Since then, I gelded one other fella, and he's doin' okay up there. So I got a free hand on the geldin' front." The corrections officers were well aware that their prisoner was listening in on their conversations, including this one. G block only looked ancient. In fact, it was the most modern part of the prison, constructed with the same federal grant money that paid for mind-altering drugs, advanced training for the officers, hypnosis techniques and equipment, and more. Each time Randy leaned down behind the toilet to "eavesdrop" in his cell, the officers observed him doing it. Everything they said during these moments was scripted. The reports, letters, videos, and diagnoses were real, but nothing happened by chance on G block. The plan was to hammer it home to this young inmate that he had nowhere to hide and nothing to hang onto. "As far as Matthews goes, normally I think I'd a-just thrown him up there and let him get gang fucked into behavin' as he ought to," the older officer continued. "But if we'd a-done that he'd a-been dead inside a week or two, maybe less. Maybe it happens anyhow, but I guess we're here to at least try 'n give the little fella a chance." The senior officer's voice softened to an affectionate tone. "I still think our little Randy boy could be a dang good little fella," the senior corrections officer said warmly, with real caring present in his words. "If he were around right now, I'd tell him 'Come up, little fella, it's okay.' He's just got to get over the hump, that's all. Hope he don't have to be gelded into it." Back in the cell, the naked young prisoner's dick hardened as his mind reeled. Once again, his fear and humiliation blended into his attraction to create an overwhelming sexual intoxication. He began stroking his little erection, his eyes closed, thinking of the officer. Just then, the door to his cell opened and the lights came on. The officer's voice clanged like metal. "Matthews, just what the heck's goin' on here?" he growled, placing his duffel bag on the bed next to the boy, who had been sprawled there, his hand on his dick. He had scrambled to change position, but it was too late. "Uh ... uh ..." "I asked ya what's goin' on," the corrections officer repeated, in a low and threatening tone. "Sir, I had a dream, sir," the boy stammered, as he sat up on the bed. "You ordered me to get a hardon, sir, and then I woke up like this." "With yer hand on yer little dick?" the officer said. "Little liar! Little half buck think a Man's stupid enough to believe ya woke up like that? Ya tell me the truth!" The boy grew panicked as the gigantic corrections officer slowly advanced toward him, his face hardened and fists clenched "I'm sorry, sir!" he said, pleading. "I ... I ... had the dream and woke up, and I was so hard, sir." "Yer not to touch yerself without a Man's permission," the officer said, coldly. "Ya know that, Matthews. Ya been told that, Matthews. Ain't yer dick, ain't yer balls." The boy looked at the corrections officer through watery eyes. "I couldn't help it, sir," he stammered. "I couldn't help it!" "Look inside, Matthews," the officer ordered, motioning toward the bag on the bed. "Yes sir," the prisoner replied, and unzipped the bag. He saw a butt plug, a plastic bottle, leather restraints, and some other containers. One was metal, painted white, with a red cross on the top. "Open the first aid kit," the officer said. "Yes sir," he replied, undoing the latch and opening the cover. "There's needles and anesthetic," the officer said. "Got a couple a knives, bunch-a gauze, a cautery device, surgical stitches, and of course the knife I'd be usin' to geld ya. Can do it right here and now if that's what ya want." The prisoner drew a deep, sharp, involuntary breath. He was terrified. "Please, sir, please ..." The corrections officer interrupted. "Ya better decide right here 'n now if yer gonna keep lyin' to me," he said. "None a-what ya just told me was the truth. Now's the time. Ya gonna keep bein' a little weasel or not? Yer choice, but yer gonna make it right now." "Sir ..." "Right now." The youngster paused, his mind racing. "I ... I ... I heard you through the walls, sir!" he said, blurting out the words as if a dam were bursting. "I got hard listening to you and I couldn't help beating off, sir." "There's a whole lot ya just can't help, ain't there, little fella?" the corrections officer replied. The boy gazed down at the floor. "Look at me," the officer snapped. "There's a whole lot ya just can't help, ain't that right, little half buck?" "Please don't call me that, sir!" the boy cried. "Please!" "It's what ya are," the officer replied, brutally. He was now standing tall, directly in front of the teary-eyed, upward-gazing prisoner seated on the edge of the bed. "Ya look like a boy, ya act like one too. Ain't gonna change none. Ain't gonna change. Yer always gonna be someone's little fella, someone's little half buck." The boy, who still had a rock-hard erection, began to cry. Soon, sobs wracked his body. He began to babble. "Please, sir ... I'm sorry, sir ... I can't help it, sir ... I can't help it, sir ... I don't know what to do, sir ... I ... I ... I can't stand it, sir ... Please sir!" Involuntarily, the boy grasped the standing officer's legs and buried his face into one of them, sobbing. "Please help me, sir!" The corrections officer stood over the sobbing prisoner for several minutes. At last, he sat on the bed and cradled the sobbing prisoner's head in his arms. "Little fella, little fella," he said, gently. The boy was shivering, not from cold but from the feelings and sensations coursing through his body. "Now look, the walls around here are old and the sounds carry sometimes. Can't really blame ya if ya listened, but that don't excuse all the lyin' to me." "I can't help it, sir!" the boy repeated, sobbing. "Please help me sir!" "Ya been lyin' and pretendin' yer whole life, haven't ya?" he said, reaching down between the shivering boy's legs, gently grasping his little hardon between his thumb and forefinger, and using a bead of precum that had formed as lubricant to rub around the head. "What am I going to do, sir? What am I going to do?" the boy said, whimpering and sighing, his grief, humiliation, and desire blending together. "I'm sorry ... what am I going to do, sir?" "Well, right now little half buck's gonna raise his little half-buck legs fer me and spread 'em out wide," the officer answered, softly. "Come on, little half buck. Time to shave ya down." "Yes sir," the boy whimpered. He had been through the routine before, but this shaving felt more thorough, and more loving, than the others. The officer lingered in spots, allowing the shaver's vibration to send waves of pleasure through his body. At the end, the officer reached between the prisoner's legs and grasped his balls between his thumb and forefinger, just as he'd been doing with the boy's erection. It made the boy feel small, vulnerable, and humiliated. "Are you going to cut them off, sir?" he asked, breathlessly, fear dominating his voice. "If they get in the way of yer behavin' the way ya need to," the corrections officer answered gently but firmly, as he began to massage the boy's balls. "But I think yer comin' along. Ya ain't ever gonna be a Man, but I don't see no reason ya can't be a boy." The young prisoner stammered through his tears. "But ... but ... then I'm just some faggot, sir," he said. "I'm nothing, sir!" The officer removed his hand from the boy's genitals. "Look at me, little guy," he said, softly, hypnotically. The boy looked at him through watery eyes, and the officer wiped away his tears with his thumbs. "I told ya before about them faggots upstairs," the corrections officer said. "They's girls. Ya ain't gonna be a girl here, at least if I can help it. Ya can keep them balls and be a boy, but yer gonna have to know yer place." "But I'll still be doing these ... things!" the boy said. The officer reached back down to the boy's erection and resumed rubbing the tip as he'd done before. "What things?" he asked gently, while locking his eyes with the boy's. "Them things is what ya always wanted. Ya just been afraid of what ya are. Ain't that right, little half buck?" The boy was breathing hard, and shifting in ecstasy as the officer continued to massage his erection. "Ain't that right, little fella?" the corrections officer said, smiling. "Now ain't that right? Don't ya lie to me, little guy." The boy could barely contain himself. "Yes sir," he said, barely audible. "I couldn't quite hear that," the officer answered. "Yes sir," the boy said, louder. "Yes sir what?" the officer asked. "It's what I always wanted, sir," the boy said. "I've been scared, sir." "That's right," the corrections officer replied. "Ya been a scared, lyin' little half buck fella. But here ya are, on yer back with yer little half-buck dick stiffer 'n heck and yer little half-buck legs spread wide open. Ya think a Man'd ever do that?" "No sir," the boy said. "Would a Man ever beg to lick piss off a floor like ya did before?" "No sir," the boy answered. The officer had moved a finger to his butthole, and was massaging it. "Would a Man be cryin' like ya been cryin' here?" the officer asked. "Would a boy gettin' ready to be a Man have done all them things ya done with yer brothers and that gal? Would a Man have lied to everyone like ya done?" "No sir," the boy said, feeling the officer's finger massaging his hole. "Would a Man have his little legs up in the air and a stiff little squirt gun waitin' fer the Man to screw him?" the officer asked, his voice at once gentle, firm, and mocking. "No sir," the boy answered. "Would a Man want a Man's stiff dick squirtin' in his throat like ya want?" the officer asked. "No sir," the boy answered. "Not in a million years would a Man do what ya been doin' here," the corrections officer said. "Not in a million years. You ain't no Man, little half buck." He grasped the boy's balls between his thumb and forefinger and shook them slightly before moving to his dickhead and doing the same. "Are them little things a Man's balls?" he asked, smiling into the boy's eyes. "Is this little squirt gun a Man's dick?" "No sir," the boy answered, tears of shame welling up again, yet feeling an indescribable lust. "Ya knew all that a long time ago, didn't ya?" the corrections officer said, gently. "Ain't that why ya called yerself them names?" "Yes sir," the boy said, breathlessly. "What are them names?" the officer asked. "I want ya to look me straight in the eye and tell me what ya are." "Little fella and little half buck, sir," the boy said, consumed with lust, humiliation, and love for the corrections officer. "Little fella and little half buck," the officer said with a tender yet firm mockery, in a way that conveyed the full impact. "Now little fella and little half buck, why don't ya tell me what ya ain't." The boy paused, not comprehending. "Ya know what ya ain't ever gonna he," the corrections officer repeated, gently and firmly. "Tell me what ya ain't." "I'm not a Man, sir," he replied. "That's right, Randy," the officer asked. "Ya ever been one?" "No sir," the boy replied. "But ya been pretendin' to be a Man, haven't ya?" the officer asked. "Yes sir," he said. "What ain't ya never been?" the corrections officer asked, his finger and thumb massaging precum over the boy's dickhead. "I've never been a Man," the boy answered. "And what ain't ya ever gonna be?" the officer asked. "I'll never be a Man, sir," the boy said. "Now tell me again what ya are," the officer asked, softly, keeping his eyes locked on the boy's. "I'm just a little fella, little half buck, sir" the boy answered. "That's right, Randy boy," the corrections officer said, with a smile. "Now tell me what ya ain't, and tell me what ya are." "I'm not a Man, sir" the boy replied, breathing heavily. "I'm just a little fella, little half buck, sir." "Ya lied about the girl," the officer said. "Didn't ya?" "Y-y-yes sir, I lied, sir," he stammered. "Ya lied to Men," the officer said. "Ya lie to a Man upstairs, and it'll get ya killed. Now ya better stop bein' a little liar, or I'll geld ya before I send ya up there, ya understand?" "Y-y-y-yes sir," he said. "Ya can never lie to the Man. Boy can never do that around here," the officer said. "Ya called yerself a Man here, and that was a lie." "Yes sir," the boy answered. "Yeah?" the officer said, gently and mockingly. "Why don't ya tell me why that was a lie." "It was a lie because I'm not a Man, sir," he said. "Ya ever gonna be one?" the corrections officer asked. "Tell me." "I'm never gonna be a Man, sir," the boy replied. "But ya lied about it, didn't ya?" "I couldn't help it, sir," the boy said softly, as tears once again began streaming down his face. "Now tell me that ya ain't a Man, and that yer never gonna be a Man, and that yer never gonna lie about that or anything else again," the officer said, softly. "Tell me, little fella. Tell me, little half buck." The boy was sobbing. The corrections officer put his arm around his shoulders. "Tell me," he said. "I am not a Man, sir," he said. "I was never a Man, and will never be a Man, sir. I'm nothin' but a little fella, a little half buck, sir. I'll never lie to a Man again, sir!" The officer fixed his gaze into the boy's eyes, keeping up the stimulation of his erection. "Ya lied about the girl, didn't ya?" he continued. "Yes sir," the boy answered. "She was never yer girl, and ya never did nothin' with her," the officer said. "But ya told us that ya did, 'cause little half-buck wanted us to think he was a Man, ain't that right?" "Y-y-yes sir," the boy answered. "That girl deserves to have a Man, not you, ain't that right?" he asked. "Much better that she found a real Man with a big stiff dick than a pretendin' little half-buck like you, ain't it?" "Y-y-yes sir," he stammered, breaking down again. "Ain't it what?" he asked, his voice hard. "Ain't it what?" "It's better that a real Man had her, sir!" he replied. "Better a Man with a big stiff dick than a little half-buck like me, sir!" "Now tell me what ya told me before about not bein' a Man," the officer said, firmly yet gently. "I am not a Man, sir," he said. "I was never a Man, and will never be a Man, sir. I'm nothing but a little fella, a little half buck, sir." The corrections officer looked at him. "And she deserved a real Man with a big stiff dick, not you." "Yes sir," he said, tears streaming down his face, choking back sobs. "I'm not a Man, and she deserves a real Man and his big stiff dick, not me, sir!" "That's dang right, little half buck," he said. "Just think a-her takin' a real Man's big stiff dick instead a yer little ol' squirt gun, smilin' all the way because she finally got what she needed. And ya tell me it was right, little fella." "Yes, sir, it was right, sir!" he replied. "She deserved a real Man's stiff dick, sir!" "If I told ya to suck on the big stiff dick that fucked yer girlfriend, you'd do it in a heartbeat and thank me for givin' ya the chance, wouldn't ya?" "Yes sir," he answered. "In fact, you'd wanna suck that Man's dick, I bet, wouldn't ya?" "Yes sir, I would, sir," he replied. "Big stiff Man's dick in yer mouth, puttin' ya in yer place." "Yes sir!" "And when he got done?" "I would thank him, sir." "Because he's a Man and ya ain't?" "Yes sir!" The corrections officer fixed his gaze intently. "Yer not a Man, but ya still got a chance to be a boy around here," he said. "I ain't gelded ya yet. But unless you convince me that yer gonna be a good little fella, that's what I'll do." "I want to be a boy, sir!" the teary-eyed prisoner said, his eyes pleading. "Please, sir! I swear I'll be the best boy there ever was, sir! Please sir!" "It's gonna take more trainin' to do that, y'know," the officer said. "Yer gonna have to want to behave fer a Man and his big stiff dick." "Please, sir, please, I want to be a boy," the youngster said. "Please sir! I'll behave sir!" The officer removed his shoes and stood up. He looked down at the boy with his legs raised in the air. To the young prisoner, the corrections officer seemed to fill the whole room. The boy's gaze quickly wandered to its most familiar spot. This time, rather than a hint of a bulge, a log strained against the fabric of the officer's tight gray pants. He saw the boy looking, and smirked knowingly. He peeled off his shirt, and hung it carefully on a hook that the boy had never noticed. He stood, shirtless, his hardon extending sideways all the way to his hip, the lump huge in his pants. "Yer gonna have this up in ya," the officer said, gently, as he unbuckled his belt and took off his pants. Soon, he stood in front of the boy, clad only in his black officer socks and his white boxer briefs. His massive hardon was outlined. Above the waistband, and below the leg holes, a forest of hair. The officer moved toward the boy, and positioned himself between his legs. He beckoned the boy to sit up. His hardon, still inside his briefs, jutted up next to the boy's erection, dwarfing it. "Look, little fella," the corrections officer said, his voice firm, gentle, taunting. "Look at what a Man's got. Look at it, little half buck. Ya ain't ever gonna have anything like what a Man's got. Never in a million years, little fella." The boy did so, a look of awe and humiliation on his face. "Put yer little half-buck hand on it," the officer said. The boy reached out toward the cloth-covered baseball bat, and stroked it tentatively. "Come on, half buck, squeeze it. Feel a real Man's big stiff dick." The boy grabbed at the officer's erection, but found he couldn't get his hands all the way around it. "Reach inside and squeeze my stiff dick," the corrections officer said, remaining gentle, but commanding. The boy did as he was told, pulling the officer's elastic waistband outward and clutching the enormous, hard member. "That's right," the officer said, taking off his shorts. "Now put yers up against it." The boy twisted himself into position, grabbing onto the officer to avoid falling. His little erection barely registered against the officer's. "See that, little half-buck?" the officer said, in a tone that was both mocking and loving. "That's what I mean about ya never bein' a Man. Ya ain't even a third a-my size. Yer 22 years old and yer just a little fella. It's what yer always gonna be." The boy gazed at the difference, his lust and humiliation blending together. "Tell me again what ya ain't and what ya are," the corrections officer ordered. "I am not a Man, sir," he said. "I was never a Man, and will never be a Man, sir. I'm nothin' but a little fella, a little half buck, sir!" "That's right, little Randy," the officer said, his voice seductive and mocking. "Yer little squirtgun's hard, thinkin' about the Man he ain't gonna be. Man's doin' ya a favor, ain't he now?" "Yes sir!" he said, breathlessly. "Thank you, sir!" The corrections officer, huge, naked, furry, and erect, reached inside the duffel bag and found the lubricant. He squeezed some onto a finger, and began greasing up the boy's hole. The prior regimen of daily screwings had accustomed the prisoner to anal assault, so his hole opened more readily. The officer squeezed lubricant onto the top of his enormous cock. "Grease up this Man's pole, half buck," he ordered. "That's a little half buck's job," said, sweet, mocking, and firm. "Little half buck likes his job, now don't he? Best thing in the world to be holdin' onto the Boss Man's stiff dick, ain't it, little fella?" "Yes sir!" the intoxicated boy replied, slathering the lubricant all over the officer's rod. "Thank you, sir!" "Big Boss Man's got what ya ain't ever gonna have, but what ya want." "Yes sir!" he said. "Because yer a little half buck boy who can't stop thinkin' about Boss Man's stiff dick inside him." "Yes sir!" he replied. "It's all I can think about, sir! All I want is the Man's stiff dick, sir! Please, sir!" The Man smiled and straddled the boy. For the first time since he had entered the prison, the prisoner found himself being penetrated while the corrections officer looked directly into his eyes, his arms pinned by the Man's strong, enormous hands. The officer slowly eased himself into the boy, who while accustomed to being screwed, still groaned from the pressure. The officer pulled out, to give the boy more time to become acclimated to his member. "A boy never touches himself without the Man's permission," the officer said to the prone inmate. "Every single part a-ya belongs to the Man. Ya don't use nothin' without the Man's say-so. Ya understand, little fella? Little squirt gun's attached to ya, but don't belong to ya. Belongs to me." "Yes sir!" the boy replied, as the officer moved back inside. He quickly returned to where he had been, his dick halfway buried, and then kept going as the boy grimaced and groaned. "That's a good little fella, Randy," the corrections officer said, gently. "Little half buck spreads his little legs wide as he can fer Boss Man, don't he? Little Randy half buck ain't a Man, and he ain't never gonna be one. That's why he spreads his legs for the Man, now ain't it?" "Yes sir!" the groaning prisoner replied. Hearing himself called Randy triggered a realization that the officer was pleased. Joy began to flood him. "Little boy Randy boy ain't any kind a Man now, is he? Little fella don't ever want to be a Man, ain't that about right?" "Yes sir!" the youngster replied, breathlessly. The massage of his prostate by the officer's enormous dick, and the joy triggered by the officer's words and hypnotic voice, blended to render the humiliation of the moment almost unbearably sweet. "I'm not a Man, sir! I'll never be a Man, sir! I don't want to be a Man, sir! I'm just a little boy, sir! Thank you, sir!" "That's a good little fella," the corrections officer said. "Good little Randy boy. Good little Randy half buck boy ain't no Man. Good little Randy boy belongs to Boss Man. That's a little fella. Ain't but one Man here, and it ain't little Randy. Good little fella ..." He spoke with a gentle but firm intensity as he rhythmically screwed the boy. He looked deep into the boy's eyes and spoke softly. "Good little Randy likes it when the Man's screwin' him, now don't he?" the officer saying, his voice smooth, mocking, seductive. "Boss Man's big stiff dick shows him who's boss. Little boy Randy needs himself the big stiff Boss Man, don't he?" "Yes sir!" the boy answered. "Thank you sir! I'm not a Man sir! Please, sir! Thank you sir!" "Shows little Randy his place, and little Randy likes that way down deep, now don't he? Little fella likes bein' Boss Man's good little dick-takin' little boy, don't he now? Ya need Boss Man's stiff dick, don't ya?" "Yes sir! I'll never be a Man sir! Please sir! Thank you sir!" "Little fella ain't never been a Man, and don't ever want to be. Just a good little half buck Randy boy, pleasin' the Boss Man. Little half-buck likes Boss Man's stiff dick up inside of him, don't he now?" "Yes sir! I don't ever want to be a Man sir!" "Okay there, little fella, shoot off," the officer said, jackhammering now. "Shoot off for Boss Man, little half buck. Shoot off." Within seconds the boy began dribbling a stream of liquid from the head of his erection, onto his stomach. The officer felt the spasms in the boy's rectum tightening around his dick, and began squirting his load inside the hot, tight little hole as it squeezed. "Good little Randy fella ain't never gonna be Man," he said, smiling in triumph while looking straight at the boy's face, twisted in erotic agony and ecstasy as the corrections officer pushed in has far as he could go and held it there while he squirted his load inside. "That's a good little half buck boy. Good little Randy boy squirmin' with the Boss Man's stiff dick way up in him. Nice 'n tight little fella, good little half buck. Just a tight little boy, takin' the Boss Man's dick way up in him. Way up in him, where the Boss Man belongs." The corrections officer held himself in place, rock hard, smiling downward. "Look at little Randy boy, stuck on the end of the Boss Man's stiff dick," he said, rocking his steel hard erection as far inside as it would go. "Big ol' Boss Man inside the little fella, giving him what he needs. Ain't that right, little half buck?" "Yes sir!" the boy said, his face twisted in erotic agony. "I'm not a Man, sir! Thank you sir!" "Big stiff dick just what ya need, now, ain't it?" the officer said, taunting, mocking, smiling, conquering. "Yes sir," Randy replied, intoxicated. "Thank you, sir! It's what I need, because I'm not a Man, sir! I'm just a little boy, sir! Thank you, sir!" At last, the officer slowly eased out of the inmate's rectum, smiling at the conquered boy. He reached his fingers down into the small puddle on the boy's stomach and gathered the juice. He rubbed it on the boy's head, and then prodded him to open his mouth and lick them off. The boy was still erect, and finally the officer released him. "Come down," he said, looking into the boy's eyes. As his erection softened, the corrections officer spoke. "Ya done real good, Randy boy," he said, his voice affectionate in the way a parent's would be when praising a child. "Now there's a washcloth on the basin. Soap it up and then wash off my dick. When yer done, rinse the cloth out and come back and get all the soap off. And remember what ya do, 'cause it's what ya do every time the Man screws ya." "Yes sir!" the boy answered, and moved to comply. As he was rubbing the soaped-up washcloth on the officer's dick. "Thank you, sir!" The corrections officer smiled broadly. He began to dress himself, starting with his socks, then his uniform pants, and then his boots. He picked up his t-shirt, looked at it, and decided not to put it back on, and then donned his shirt. He tucked it into his pants, buttoned up, zipped up, and cinched his belt. Still smiling, he rubbed the young prisoner's head affectionately. "Yer learnin' real good there, little fella," he said, tenderly, his voice bright. "Randy boy, ya done real dang good." The boy had been drinking in the sight of the officer as he dressed, and out of habit scanned for what might lurk below his belt. He saw a familiar lump, and quickly glanced away, and then upward to check whether the officer had noticed. The officer smiled and winked. The boy had been caught. The corrections officer, holding his t-shirt, approached the boy and put the shirt up to his nose. "Smell what a Man smells like," he said, playfully rubbing the boy's head with his knuckles and rubbing the sweat-drenched armpit of the shirt in his nose. "Thank you, sir!" the boy said, breathlessly. "That's a-little fella, Randy," the officer said, affectionately. "Randy's a Man's little half buck. That's what little Randy is. Little fella likes everything the Man gives him, don't he?" The boy gazed upward at the smiling officer. "Yes sir!" he said. "Thank you sir!" The officer sat down again and became serious. "Ya done good, but there plenty left to do," he said, firmly. "Ya begged me fer help, and yer gonna be takin' the help I give ya." The boy gave the corrections officer a quizzical look. "Couple weeks ago, ya sucked Officer Meehan's dick and everything ended all warm 'n fuzzy just like it is now," he said. "Next day, ya were thinkin' ya owned this joint. Remember that?" Randy looked down at the floor. "Yes, sir, I remember," he said, softly. "Can't have none a-that again, little fella," the officer said, as if talking to a child. "When yer told ya done good, it don't mean ya can lose yer place. Ya ain't never gonna be one a-us." "Yes sir," the young inmate answered, softly. "So now tell me what ya ain't, and what ya are," the officer said. "And ya look straight in my eyes when ya do it." "I am not a Man, sir," the boy said. "I was never a Man, and will never be a Man, sir. I'm nothin' but a little fella, a little half buck, sir." The corrections officer put his finger on the boy's lips, and traced along them. "Who owns that mouth?" he asked. "You do, sir," the boy replied. "Oh yeah?" the officer asked. "How come?" "Because I am not a Man, sir," he said. "I was never a Man, and will never be a Man, sir. I'm nothin' but a little fella, a little half buck, sir." The officer went through a long list of body parts, and then onto everything in the room, and the room itself, with the boy giving the same answer. "Yer doin' good, little Randy fella, but yer gonna need to let that set down inside ya," he said. "Time's comin' real quick where failin' to remember yer place could get them little nuts cut off, or worse." "Yes, sir, I will try harder, sir," the boy answered. The corrections officer stood up in front of the boy and drew himself to his full height and bulk. "Sit on the edge of the bed, undo my fly, find my dick and take it on out," he said. "Yes sir," the boy replied, going to work. The officer's dick, mostly flaccid, was soon in the inmate's hand, being carefully pulled through the fly of the officer's trousers. "Ya see that even soft I'm twice as big as ya are hard, little fella," the officer said. "Yer own little dick is barely as big as my little finger." "Yes sir!" the boy said, breathing harder, his humiliation once again blending with his desire. "Ya know why that is, don't ya?" the officer asked. "It's because I am not a Man, sir," the boy said. "I was never a Man, and will never be a Man, sir. I'm nothin' but a little fella, a little half buck, sir. I'm just a little boy, sir!" The corrections officer nodded, and reached down to the boy's mouth and bid him with his finger to open it. Then he put himself in the boy's mouth. "Hold still, little fella" the officer ordered. "Ya drink what a Man's gives ya." The young inmate stayed rigid, and before too long was furiously swallowing. When the officer was finished, he didn't withdraw his dick as usual, but stayed in place. Soon, the boy could feel his mouth being stretched by the officer's expanding member. Slowly, the officer began to pump in and out, and the boy's jaws strained to accommodate him. The mouth screwing gradually picked up the pace, and went on forever. The boy's jaws ached to the point of numbness, but he stayed in place. "Rub my legs like ya did with Officer Meehan," the officer ordered. The boy complied, and soon his throat was filled with Man juice. The volume astonished him, and the smell and taste thrilled him. The Man's power awed him. Finally, the corrections officer pulled out of the boy's mouth. "Ya done good, little Randy fella," he said, zipping himself up. "But ya best remember what I just told ya. Yer life depends on it." "Yes sir!" the boy said, his words barely understandable on account of his overworked jaw. "Thank you sir. Your dick is good for me, sir. I'm grateful, sir. I really mean it, sir!" The officer grabbed the duffel bag, and turned to leave. Just before he reached the door, he stopped and turned back, with an afterthought. "By the way, yer gonna need to be punished fer them lies ya told early on," he said. "Yes sir," the boy replied, before he heard the clang of the cell door. He settled back onto the bed, rubbing his jaws that were aching from the workout they'd received. That night, the corrections officer left the lights on low. Randy barely even thought about the punishment. He basked in the memory of what had happened, and in how he had, at long last, made a Man truly happy. As he drifted off to sleep, he thought of a new life, one that he had never even dreamed possible. As long as he knew his place, he thought, he'd have a place. The next day, the routine continued as before. Get up, have mouth screwed by junior officer, clean himself out, eat breakfast. His main chore, the cleaning of the one cell, proceeded slowly, with his small brush. As always, he was hypnotized for an hour, the words repeated as before, with a new emphasis on his lack of Manhood, before a late-afternoon fucking by the senior officer. It went on like this for many days, and eventually he forgot about the senior officer's promise of punishment. One afternoon, he wasn't screwed as usual, but instead returned to his cell and told to wait for his dinner, then clean himself inside and out afterwards. Dinner was served soon, with an extra-heavy dose of Correctol included. Hours passed, during which he heard the sounds of furniture being moved in a cell down the hall. Eventually, the junior corrections officer opened his cell door and walked inside. The inmate was seated on the edge of his bed, and the officer stood close, his fly at eye level, looking downward. "There will be Men comin' here tonight, and ya will be takin' care of their needs whatever they are," he told the young inmate in a cold voice. "Ya will do what we and they tell ya to do. And ya know why, don't ya?" "Yes sir," the boy answered. "I am not a Man. I was never a Man, and will never be a Man, sir. I'm nothin' but a little fella, a little half buck, sir." "That's right," the officer said, cooly, as he opened his fly and extracted his soft, yet still enormous, member. "Put this in yer mouth and hold it there." "Yes sir," the boy replied, complying. Soon, the officer was urinating in his throat, as he had a hundred times before. The stream weakened, and squirted twice more, before it ended. The officer took it out and put it back inside his fly, zipped up, and waited. "Thank you, sir," the boy said. "Tonight yer gonna wear nothin' but a t-shirt and flip flops," the younger officer said. "Yer gonna see people ya recognize, but yer not gonna act like ya do. Yer job's gonna be to keep the room clean, make sure everyone's got food and drinks, and do whatever else yer told, ya hear?" "Yes sir," the inmate said. "Tonight's gonna be the consequence for lyin' to Officer Sanders and me, Matthews," the corrections officer added. "Yes sir," the inmate added. "First clean up yer own cell and make the bed. Then clean yerself out. Then put a fresh T-shirt on, and then yell when yer done," he said. "Yes sir," the boy said, as the officer left the room.