Date: Sat, 15 Aug 2020 00:38:45 +0000
From: JordanProject <JordanProject@protonmail.com>
Subject: Military School Training & Management - 11

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 welcome
feedback. Please take some time to provide it to
JordanProject@protonmail.com. What works? What doesn't work?

* * * *

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

* * * *

After the door had slammed and the lights had been darkened, Yarrow fell
into a deep sleep. He didn't know how long it lasted, but he was hungry and
searched in the dark. He found the tray, wolfed down the mush that had been
left there and drank the water furiously. He shoved the tray back out the
slot, crawled back to where he had slept, and slept some more. When he
awoke, he searched for another tray and found it. He ate and drank again,
and slept some more.

Slowly his head cleared, and he began to think about what had happened. He
had been beaten and humiliated repeatedly throughout the week. The captains
were right. This place wasn't some fuck palace like he had thought. It was
much more than that, yet also less. He hadn't been screwed for fun like the
hillbillies back home had done. The Tops had done what they said they'd do,
for the reasons they had given. And the most recent ordeal had been the
worst of all.

It wasn't just the torture – the electrodes attached to the most
sensitive parts of his body. That had been horrifying, especially Tinley's
silence throughout, which had given him nowhere to hide. He couldn't tell
himself that it was a matter of someone just having fun. Maybe the captain
enjoyed himself, but he had shown no sign of it. This had been, like he'd
been told, something different. But what had really changed things was
death.

Tinley had restrained him in that chair, put a needle in his arm, and
dripped a poison into him that made him unable to breathe. He had been
taken to the edge of death, to a point where he could see a light coming
closer, and then receding as he was allowed to breathe. Back and forth it
had gone. Still, the captain had said nothing. He had only stared into his
eyes, coldly. This Man held the ultimate power of life and death. He
thought of the hole he'd been ordered to dig. It was his grave. This
captain wasn't some horny backwoods trash like back home. Captain Tinley
was the god who owned him. If he wanted out, death would be his only
release.

He realized that Tinley was in his thoughts now. It was he who had told him
about death, and that it would be he who'd deliver death if Yarrow chose
lies over life.

"The only choice you have is to be cleansed of your lies, or to die," the
captain had told him just before leaving the cell. "Either way, I will own
you. I will own you in life, or I will own you in death."

In the dark, time stretched, and life seemed to merge with death. It
terrified him. He began to hear his heart beat, and then the walls
breathed. His despair mounted, coming in waves of terror. The cell was his
coffin. And then he saw light. The god had allowed it to stream through the
feeding slit. He crawled not toward the tray, but toward the light, and
life.

"Sir, I want to live, sir!" he cried out. "Sir, the Trainee wants to live,
sir!"

* * * *

Back in the chair, bound tightly. His god, Captain Hank Tinley, stood in
front of him and off to one side. This time, he was dressed in his campus
uniform, the tight gray slacks stretched over the bulge in his crotch, his
shirt barely containing his muscles.

"Read the wall," he said. "Begin with 'sir' but then just read."

"Sir, I am not a Man," Yarrow said. "I am inferior to all Men. I will obey
Men. I will never lie again."

"Repeat the last line and keep saying it until I tell you to stop," the
captain-god said.

"I will never lie again," he said. "I will never lie again. I will never
lie again. I will never lie again ..."

As he read, Tinley reached somewhere that Yarrow couldn't see and retrieved
something.

"That's enough, then," Tinley said. "Now you will explain what I will show
you, and we will know whether you will live or die."

The captain slowly flipped through a series of Polaroid pictures, holding
each of them in front of Yarrow's face for a few seconds. One showed him on
his knees in front of someone wearing khakis. The fly was undone and Yarrow
was sucking his dick. Another showed him on his back being screwed. A
different picture showed him on his knees in front of a denim-clad Man,
with that Man's dick in his mouth.

Another showed him bent over the on his back being screwed by a denim-clad
Man in a cowboy hat, his face turned away from the camera. Yarrow's face
was turned toward the camera, his mouth wide open in ecstasy. Another
showed him in the back seat of a car, fondling a young Man wearing a suit,
with a newspaper hiding his face but not Yarrow's. Another showed him
giving the suited figure a blowjob. It was clear that Yarrow had been
younger when all of the photos were taken, but that he was in his middle
teenage years.

"Sir, please believe me, I ... the Trainee ... sir, the Trainee never
wanted to do any of those things!" Yarrow cried. "I ... sir, the Trainee
was forced! Y'all got to believe me!"

"Now Clifton," the captain-god said, speaking gently as if correcting a
child caugh in a fib, "if I have these pictures, don't you think I know the
whole story? Now collect your thoughts and tell me how this came to be."

Yarrow paused, and exhaled nervously.

"I want the whole truth, Clifton," the captain-god said. "You told me that
you want to live. If you want to live, you will have to learn not to lie."

"I ... I ... sir, the Trainee doesn't know where to start," Yarrow said,
overwhelmed by what he was being told to do.

"Alright, Clifton, then let's start with the fella in the car," Tinley
said.

"Sir, they made me do that," Yarrow said. "Sir, everyone knew he was a
queer. It was blackmail."

"Who blackmailed you, Clifton?" Tinley said.

"Sir, the sheriff and his son, and the son of an employee of my ... the
Trainee's father," Yarrow answered. "Sir, the sheriff's son and the
employee's son were on the football team, and they hated me for a long
time."

"Were they the ones who penetrated you in those pictures?" Tinley asked.

"Sir, one of them in one of the pictures, sir," Yarrow answered. "Sir, but
there were others, sir. I ... sir, the Trainee lost count, sir."

"You lost count of how many times you did what you say you never wanted to
do," Tinley said. "People say they don't want to do lots of things."

"Sir, this was different, sir!" Yarrow pleaded.

"Fine. So how did 'they' blackmail you into blowing the queer in the car,
then?" Tinley said.

"Sir, here's how it went, sir," Yarrow said. "Sir, first I was screwed and
forced to suck dick by the sheriff's son and his buddy on the football team
and they took pictures, sir. Sir, then they showed the pictures to some
cowboys at the junior rodeo, and they all ganged up on me, sir. Sir, then
the sheriff's son showed the pictures to the sheriff, sir. Sir, then they
did it to me, sir ..."

"Okay, Clifton," the captain replied, "so the young Men hated ya and
screwed ya, and took pictures. They showed 'em to cowboys, who screwed
ya. The sheriff's kid shows 'em to his daddy, and his daddy the sheriff
screws ya. Is that right?"

"Sir, yes, sir," Yarrow responded in a dejected tone. "Then the sheriff
made me do it in the car, and said if I didn't do everything he told me to
do he'd show those to my daddy. He hates queers, sir. He says that no queer
will ever be a Man, and that only Men have the right to live, sir."

"So ya were afraid that the sheriff would tell your daddy, so ya did what
he told ya to?" Tinley asked.

"Sir, yes, sir," Yarrow said. "He was the one who made me join the
cheerleaders and ride at games in my riding clothes, sir. He made me break
up with my girlfriend too, sir."

"Wanted ya all to himself, then," the captain said.

"And his deputy, and his son, sir, and the other football player who hated
me, sir," the Trainee said. "Sir, y'all got to believe I never wanted to do
it, sir!"

"I've read all the reports, Clifton," the captain said. "I know you didn't
want to do it. But I also know that you did do it."

"Sir, yes sir," Yarrow answered, softly. "I was afraid, sir."

"Now, this all started with those two players who hated you, correct?"
Tinley continued.

"Sir, yes sir," Yarrow replied.

"Why do you think they hated you?" he asked.

"Sir, the Trainee was small and easy to pick on," Yarrow answered.

"But there were other short kids on the team, weren't there?" the captain
asked.

"Sir, yes, sir," Yarrow answered.

"See, everyone talked to friends of the Academy, Clifton, and there are
reports," the captain said. "Those reports say it started much earlier when
you made a habit of ratting out your friends to your teachers, and setting
them up for punishments, and lying about not being involved."

"I ... I ... the Trainee ..." he stammered.

"By the time they made you do all those things, it was a matter of teaching
you a lesson about what happens to lyin' little weasels, wasn't it?" Tinley
said.

The bound Trainee's eyes were downcast, and he said nothing.

"Look at me, Clifton!" the captain said, harshly. "I asked you a question."

"Sir ... sir, yes sir," he said, weakly. "When they did those things, they
would tell me that, sir."

"But you told yourself it was because they were a bunch of big hillbillies
and you were small," Tinley said.

"Sir, I was four-foot ten inches when they first did this to me," Yarrow
said. "They were much bigger and stronger than I was."

"And ya kept doing it with them and the others all the way through high
school," the captain replied. "Ya told all kind-a of lies all the way
along, and when ya got here ya kept lyin' every chance ya got. Ya even
tried to get a Candidate to do what ya had done because ya were too much of
a coward to stop it."

The revelation that Tinley knew about his scheme to compel Cadet Matthews
to suck dick hit the Trainee like a bomb.

"Ya wanted to be able to tell yerself that anyone would've done what ya did
if the heat was on, didn't ya?" the captain asked. "Ya wanted to tell
yerself that you were a Man, when ya knew otherwise."

* * * *

"Sirs, the head is clean and ready for inspection, sirs!" Yarrow said to
the two captains sitting on the deck. He had served breakfast and cleaned
the kitchen, and now was finished with the bathroom. Now he stood at
attention, clad in nothing but a white T-shirt, stenciled with a large "T"
on the back to mark his new status, white socks, and a pair of
sneakers. They were not the same as the ones he'd originally worn; treads
were marked with "T" rather than a sergeant's chevrons. The Trainee was
naked below the waist, and shaved smooth. This was his new daytime inside
"uniform," with the jumpsuit reserved for wear outside, to exercise and to
chores.

Thomas and Tinley had been hunched over military manuals when Yarrow called
to them. They had changed from their utility uniforms into the standard
campus uniform: tight gray slacks with their black stripe, crisp gray
shirt. They dispensed with their hats, going bare-headed. Thomas glanced
over toward the Trainee. His blond flat-top and soft blue eyes, and
relatively even manner had cemented the impression with Yarrow that he was
somehow more sympathetic, and could be trusted more than Tinley, who was
bigger, rougher and more fearsome.

Thomas rose from the table and walked toward the Trainee.

"At ease," he said, flatly. "Let's go have a look."

The captain led the way back into the cabin. As they passed through the
porch, he gestured toward the washing machine.

"When were finished with the head, you'll start laundry," Thomas
said. "While it's going, clean the bedrooms, make the beds. And mop all the
floors. You'll make sure to transfer everything to the dryer, and then
you'll iron and starch the utilities and our shirts, and you will press our
uniform pants."

"Sir, yes sir," Yarrow replied.

When they reached the bathroom, Thomas ordered the Trainee to stand against
the wall opposite the toilet, sink, and urinal.  The captain inspected
carefully, using the mirror and the toothbrush. Then he stood at the urinal
with his back to Yarrow and took a long piss while the Trainee stood
waiting. Once Thomas was finished, he stepped back, turned sideways, and
pointed to where he had just relieved himself.

"Get down on your knees and clean it with your mouth," he said,
matter-of-factly, as if he was telling Yarrow to fetch his shoes.

The Trainee didn't hesitate, and began lapping at the porcelain as the
captain stood above him, watching. As he worked, Yarrow heard a zipper and
the rustling of fabric, but knew better than to look as what the captain
was doing. He had reached inside of his shorts and hauled out his hardening
dick. Working quickly, Thomas rubbed it to life and widened his stance, his
hips moving in and out as he coaxed himself closer and closer at the sight
of the submissive Trainee doing his task.

Just as Yarrow finished cleaning the urinal he turned his head backwards
and upwards, at Thomas, who stood tall, working his enormous dick. The head
had turned deep red, and the slit on the front glistened with pre-cum. In
an instant, the captain's dick began to spurt, and the semen landed in gobs
against the urinal's porcelain. He squeezed the last of the semen from his
dickhead onto his palm, and then wiped his hand on the shoulder of the
kneeling Trainee's T-shirt.

"Now finish the job," the captain said, pointing back the urinal. His voice
was cold. "Lick it clean."

"Sir, yes sir," the Trainee replied. His voice was soft, his expression
dejected. He went to work, diligently lapping up the squirt, tasting the
thick, salty sweetness on his tongue.

"That's right, you do that," Thomas said, as he put his dick back into his
shorts. "You'll do what a Man tells you to do."

Yarrow said nothing as he licked up the last of the Man's cum.

"Won't you?" the captain demanded, his voice turning icy.

"Sir, yes sir!" the Trainee replied.

"And don't you forget it," the captain said. "Ever."

"Sir, no sir!" Yarrow said. "Sir, the Trainee won't forget it, sir!"

* * * *

He was back in the chair.

"You haven't yet gotten it through yer head how much I know," the captain
said. "Let's start with with the son of yer daddy's employee. The one who
was yer first friend."

"Sir, you ..."

"Yep, I know," Tinley said. "Ya were best friends growin' up. He fought yer
battles, and ya screwed him every chance ya got. But he stuck by ya anyway,
so ya figured him fer a fool and took advantage."

"Sir ..."

"But he stuck by ya anyway. Ya jacked off together like little kids will
do. Ya traded blowjobs until yer daddy caught ya and told ya that ya can
never be a Man if ya do that," the captain said. "Just like he tried to
tell ya that a liar or a thief or a cheat would never be a Man. Ain't that
right?"

The words hit home, deep.

"Sir, yes sir," the Trainee answered, quietly.

"Took a lot a-doin' for you to turn yer best friend against ya, now didn't
it?" the captain contniued. "After yer daddy caught ya giving him a
blowjob, ya stopped doin' it, but ya didn't stop the rest. Ya ratted him
out whenever ya could. That's why he wound up hatin' ya, and once he hated
ya there was no turnin' back."

"Sir, yes sir," Yarrow replied, downcast.

"He finally figured ya for the squirrel ya were," the captain said. "That's
when he and the other one decided they'd teach ya a lesson."

Yarrow didn't answer, lost in thought.

"So the two of 'em did what they did," Tinley said. "And kept ya off their
football team. Ya see, Clifton, I know the whole the story here. I know
things about you and where ya came from that you don't even know."

"Sir?" Yarrow asked, his eyes wide.

"I'll bet ya didn't know that the sheriff who fucked ya regular went to
Covington," Tinley said. "Bet ya didn't know that he was a captain. Bet ya
didn't know that yer daddy was a Trainee like you. Bet ya didn't know that
the sheriff fucked yer daddy regular too."

"No!" Yarrow said, in a cracking voice. "Sir, that can't be ..."

"Oh yeah, Clifton, it's true," Tinley said, his voice vicious and
triumphant. "Ya done picked the wrong quarterback to piss off. Eventually,
he showed them pictures to his daddy. And to them cowboys at the junior
rodeo who gave ya yer first fuckin' and sent ya packin' to the equestrian
team at yer daddy's country club."

The Trainee's mind reeled, as things fell into place. It explained why the
sheriff began showing up at the country club when he was competing, and why
his father had allowed the sheriff to take him on periodic "fishing trips"
where the sheriff, his deputy, and the sheriff's son would spend a weekend
screwing him in both ends. It explained his high school "job" washing the
sheriff's patrol car and sweeping up at the jail, and taking care of his
hard-on afterwards. Yarrow hated all of it, but he was trapped.

"Yep, yer daddy knew all about it," Tinley said. "He tried to warn ya away
from lyin' and cheatin' and suckin' dick and all the rest. All he ever told
ya is that if you do them things, ya can't be a Man. But ya thought ya knew
better."

"But sir, I never wanted it, sir!" the Trainee pleaded. "They made me do
it, sir."

"Clifton, no one ever blackmailed ya," Tinley replied,
dismissively. "That's somethin' ya made up. In fact, that sheriff told ya
that he'd never show them pictures around town. Same for the
quarterback. Didn't they?"

Yarrow felt dizzy as he tried to remember. Finally, he recalled one of the
fishing trips, and what he was told.

"Y-y-yes sir," he said, quietly. "They showed me the pictures and said it
was what I am, sir."

Silence hung in the air. Finally, Tinley spoke.

"No one blackmailed ya last summer," he said. "I know all about it."

When he had gone home for the summer, the newly minted cadet sergeant had
cut an imposing figure. He'd received a warm welcome in shops on Main
Street, second looks from the local girls, and jealous admiration from the
young males. But his swagger had been cut short one night at his father's
country club. He had given an exhibition equestrian ride, and had gone back
into the stable to attend to his horse.

"Why don't you look fine," a deep voice said softly. "Real fine. Real, real
fine in them tight little britches."

Yarrow froze at the sound of the sheriff's voice, knowing what would come
next.

* * *

The sheriff was tall and lean, but not scrawny or thin. His crewcut was
graying at the temples, befitting his age. For a Man of 49, he was in
terrific shape. His uniform consisted of light gray trousers with a black
stripe, a light blue shirt with black and gold patches and a silver badge,
a gray "Smokey Bear" campaign hat with a large diamond badge in the center
and a gleaming brass hat cord where the body of the hat met the brim.

The shirt was impeccably pressed and starched, and tailored to fit
closely. It was securely tucked into the sheriff's trousers, which fit
tightly enough for Yarrow to know that the lawman was hung on the right
side, same as the bulky sidearm that hung from his thick, black "Sam
Browne" style belt. Joined by a gleaming silver buckle in front above his
fly and held up by a leather strap that attached at the front, it went over
his shoulder and attached again at the rear of his belt, just above his
meaty butt. The sheriff wore tall black boots, shined to perfection, but
the trousers were not tucked in.

Yarrow was dressed in the English equestrian outfit he had worn ever since
being chased away from the junior rodeo. The formality of the clothing
verged on the ridiculous: a skin tight white shirt with a white bow tie,
tucked into equally tight white riding breeches fastened with a white
belt. The beeches were in turn tucked into high, black boots shined to a
mirror finish. The costume was completed by a waist-length blue riding
coat. He looked like a cartoon, and none too masculine. He was aware of how
others, especially his peers and older Men, regarded him, and it deepened
his embarrassment and humiliation.

"Here, let me help y'all with that saddle," the sheriff said, striking a
friendly tone. Yarrow was surprised.

"Thanks, sir," he replied.

They made small talk as they removed the saddle and prepared the horse for
the night in the stables, and for a brief while Yarrow figured the past
might finally be forgotten.

"Come on up to the clubhouse with me, Clifton," the sheriff said, his
manner turning condescending and a bit mocking. "Got a surprise waitin' for
you."

"Yes sir," he replied, noticing the change in tone.

As they left the stables, the sheriff ran his hand along the back of
Yarrow's breeches. The foreboding returned with a vengeance as they walked
toward the clubhouse. When they arrived, they were ushered into the dining
room and Yarrow saw his parents and his brother Caleb seated at a
table. Zeke Franklin, the football quarterback who was also the sheriff's
son, was sitting next to his brother, and they were engaged in friendly
conversation. Zeke was dressed in a deputy's uniform identical to his
father's. He had grown taller and more muscular, and Yarrow was struck by
the resemblance to his brother, who had sprouted by a couple inches in the
year he'd been gone.

"Hey, Cliff!" the sheriff's son called out. "That was some good ridin'
y'all did! Slick ol' suit you got on there too!"

The lack of respect in his tone made Yarrow wondered what his brother
knew. They had drifted apart as Yarrow grew older, and by the time he'd
left for Covington they barely talked any more.

The sheriff sat down at the table, and Yarrow sat between him and his
parents. In the Southern style, the conversation started off slowly and
meandered politely and meaninglessly. The cadet grew ever more nervous
inside, waiting for whatever disaster was sure to come.

"Son," his father said at long last, "your mother and I, and Caleb here,
we're going to take a car trip. The house is a wreck, and while we're gone
it's going to be reconstructed. So Sheriff Franklin and I got to talking,
and we've worked out an arrangement that will benefit you both."

Yarrow's heart sank as his father outlined the plan. While they were out of
town, Clifton would move into the family's lake house. As it turned out,
the sheriff's house was also being re-done, and his wife and two daughters
would be vacating for the summer as well. But the sheriff and his son, who
was now a deputy, would need a place to stay. They would all occupy the
house together for the summer while the two families were gone.

"Seeing as how Caleb will be following you to Jackson Military, we thought
we'd drive out there to show him around," Colonel Yarrow said. "See some
other sights too, like Mount Rushmore and the Grand Canyon. The sheriff
here has offered to hire you on at the jail like before, but at a 50
percent raise because you're in college now."

Both his father and mother were smiling, having delivered the good news.
Out of the corner of his eye, Yarrow noticed an exchange of smirks between
his younger but now taller brother and the sheriff's son.

"Now sheriff, y'all make sure my Clifton doesn't get in any trouble," his
mother said brightly. "I've seen the way the girls have looked at him since
he's been back. You put my boy to work and keep him away from the girls,
y'hear?"

"Don't worry, Melinda," the sheriff said, pausing to wink slightly at the
crestfallen cadet. "He'll be working hard all summer! And I promise, no
girls. Just workin' with the fellas."

"Ought to be good for you, son," his father said. "It'll get you away from
us all summer, and you'll earn some good money."

There was no arguing. The arrangements had already been made. While he had
been giving his equestrian demonstration, the sheriff's other deputy had
taken his things out to the cabin.

"The truck is out at the cabin, too," his father said, handing his son a
set of keys. "Yours for the summer. I had the gasoline tank out there
filled up, so there'll be plenty to get y'all around. And sheriff,
regardless of what my overprotective wife just said, try to see that Cliff
gets a little time to have some fun."

"Oh, he'll get his chances," the sheriff replied with a chuckle.

The rest of the dinner was a fog. He'd have to spend the whole summer
getting screwed. As the party broke up and everyone stood up to leave, he
glanced at the sheriff's son. He was as tall as his father now, and looked
as if he could barely contain his excitement as he ran his thumbs rapidly
along the waistband of his trousers. His eyes glistened like a wolf's, his
lips slightly parted in barely concealed lust.

"My street clothes are back at the stable," Yarrow said, barely getting the
words out. "I ought to change into 'em before we go."

"No need," the sheriff said. "Zeke, how about y'all run down to the stable
and grab Clifton's clothes. They're on a hook just outside stall number
three. Meet up back at the squad car in 10 minutes."

"You bet, pa!" the newest deputy said. "I'll get right on it."

The rest of them strolled outside in the warm Arkansas evening as the last
bits of twilight were turning to darkness. The stars had some out, and the
air was fragrant.

"Now don't you think it would be appropriate to thank Sheriff Franklin for
the opportunity this summer, son?" his father said to his son, either
ignoring or not noticing his consternation.

"What?" Yarrow said with a start. "Uh ... yes sir ... thank you, Sheriff
Franklin. I appreciate it, sir."

As they walked toward the sheriff's squad car, Yarrow saw the son standing
with his clothes.

"Put these in the trunk, pa?" the younger one called out.

"Front seat'll do, Zeke," the sheriff added easily. "Why don't the two of
you ride in back? I'm sure you got plenty to talk about."

Yarrow said goodbye to his parents, and to his brother, and watched as they
departed, chatting happily. They got into their car and left, and the
sheriff and his son stood with the cadet, who by now was quivering in fear.

* * * *

"That's right, y'all put your tight little mouth on my stick," the
sheriff's son said, in voice filled with lust, condescension, and
impunity. The sheriff had parked the squad car in a clearing, lit only by
the moon.

"Little Clifty sure ain't forgotten how to suck on my stiffness," he
said. "Oh yeah, little fella, that's right. Oh yeah, little Clifty gonna do
just what he's told and take care-a Zeke's stiff dick now!"

He remembered everything about Zeke Franklin. His smell, the length and
thickness of his dick, the gigantic mushroom head, the sharp thrusts, the
rough hands jamming his mouth ever farther, and especially what he liked.

"That's right, little 'ol Clifty boy, y'all twirl your tongue and suck on
me like a calf," the young man said, his lust and the sweet smell filling
the back seat. "Come on, little fella, just like it always was. You know
what your job is here."

Without even being asked, he interrupted the sucking and switched to the
young lawman's crotch, blowing his warm, humid breath through the fabric
into the young Man balls.

"Oh yeah, y'all got it. That a Clifty boy."

The sheriff had turned around to watch, and as if on cue, he opened the car
door and got out. Yarrow heard the trunk open, and some rustling
outside. Then the back door opened and Zeke got out.

"Sit on down," the sheriff's son said. Clifton Yarrow got out of the back
seat and sat on a low stool while Zeke Franklin took his stance. He stood
tall and wide, his engorged penis sticking straight out of his unzipped
uniform trousers. It glistened in the moonlight, precum oozing from the
slit.

"Lick it off nice and slow," the young deputy ordered. The cadet complied,
lathering the head with his tongue, waiting for what he knew came next. The
stiffness worked its way between his lips, past his teeth, into his
throat. The pace began slowly, and the rhythm built.

"That's right, little ol' Clifty boy, y'all do your job," the deputy said,
as he stroked the sucking cadet's head. "Now rub my legs like you know how
to do. Come on now, y'all take care-a me."

Yarrow stroked the back of the Man's legs, at first lightly and then
harder. The fucking of his mouth built, and became relentless, and the
precum leaked enough to require Clifton to begin swallowing.

"Uhhh, uhhh, uhhh," the deputy said, grunting in an animal voice. "Now
tight like y'all know ..."

Clifton tightened the grip of his mouth, awaiting the finale. The young Man
pulled his dick out until only the tip was remaining inside, with Yarrow
sucking hard and working his tongue furiously. He felt the first squirt hit
hard against the back of his throat, and knew to swallow quickly.

"Uhhhh, uhhhh, uhhhh, oh yeah, oh yeah," the young Man said, his liquid
coming fast and thick in spurts. Yarrow swallowed and swallowed, feeling
the hands press hard against his head until it was over.

The young deputy pulled his engorged dick, still hard, out of the boy's
throat and aimed. The final squirt hit Clifton's lips, and drooled down his
chin. Then, as always, the deputy above him, now a Man, caught the excess
with his thumb and guided it into his mouth. Yarrow licked and sucked what
was left, not wasting a drop, as the sheriff's son breathed heavily.

He stood over his victim, panting.

"Put it back in, and zip me up," he said.

Yarrow did so, once again remembering the drill. Knuckles rubbed roughly
against his scalp were the signal to stand up.

Back in the car, Yarrow sat next to his tormenter as the sheriff steered
the squad car back toward the main road.

"What do you say to my son?" he heard the sheriff call out from the front
seat. "I didn't hear a 'thank you' out of you, Clifton."

He had forgotten about that particular humiliation.

"Thank you," he said, reluctantly.

"You're real welcome, Clifty," the young deputy replied, as he reached over
and gave the young cadet's neck a proprietary squeeze, followed by a couple
of pats. "I'll be giving y'all plenty to be thankful for this summer....
Oh yeah, and by the way, where are them truck keys? Y'all give 'em to me
for safekeeping."