Date: Fri, 05 Feb 2021 03:34:36 +0000
From: JordanProject <JordanProject@protonmail.com>
Subject: Texas 1956 - 22

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
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TEXAS 1956 Vol. 1 – Chapter 22

Hank wrote out an overnight pass, and handed it to Clayton at lunch on
Saturday.

"Yer gonna be spendin' the weekend at Jake's place," he said. "Some new
things to learn out there."

"Sir, I'm sorry I went out of control," Clayton said. "When Deputy Jake
said it would be the hardest part of all this, I didn't really believe
it. But he was right, and I'm trying as hard as I can, sir. It's not easy,
sir."

"We'll talk more about that next week," Hank said. "I don't want to have to
be stringin' ya up like that all the time. By the way, there's no need to
mention any of it out there."

Hank had slipped the Supervision formula into Clayton's coffee, and it was
taking effect.

"Thanks, sir," he said.

* * * *

"Yer gonna meet yerself a certain kinda full-time queer faggot today, and
the Man who runs him," Jake said after Clayton arrived. "Yer not to tell
that Man that yer a queer. For today, yer name is Tom. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," "Tom" said, confusion registering in his voice. "Can I ask why,
sir?"

"Yer gonna find out everything in time," the deputy replied. "Tomorrow,
it'll be back to yer place. Yer gonna meet the Man who'll be runnin' ya
while yer up in Oklahoma. Yer gonna see it from both sides this weekend,
and yer gonna hear an idea that you and me are gonna be talkin' about."

"Yes, sir," he replied.

"Somethin' else," Jake said. "Mike'll have ya use that fella's throat, but
don't forget it's 'cause I want ya to. The minute they's gone, yer back to
what ya are. Yer to stay under control, which means keepin' yer hand off
yerself. Remember that."

"Yes, sir," he said. "I will, sir."

"Oh yeah, and where are them notebooks?" the deputy asked. "If they's in
yer car, go fetch 'em and throw 'em on the front seat a-my patrol car so I
can have a look later on."

* * * *

Shane Jordan – "Mike" for the day – was the first to arrive. He'd
gotten to Jake's at 3 p.m., just as the deputy was leaving for a duty shift
that would end at 8 p.m. He parked his car and bounded out, wearing his
military police uniform: crisply pressed blue trousers, with a bright red
stripe up the side, "bloused" into mirror-shined black boots. There was an
extra duty belt made of white patent leather, with a .45 caliber pistol on
one side and a short billy club on the other.

"Howdy! Mike here," he called out in a boisterous voice, his square jaw
creased into a tight, aggressive smile. "Jake says yer a cadet at the
academy. We see some of 'em out there, but I've never run into ya. What did
ya say yer name is?"

"Tom here, sir," he answered. As he stood up, he saw that the M.P. had 4 or
5 inches and 20 pounds of muscle over him. His shirt was tailored to
accommodate his wide torso and thinner midsection, and his biceps strained
against the sleeves of a heavily-starched tan shirts, which bore a bright
red armband with "MP" in bright yellow.

"None a-that 'sir' shit with me," he said with a laugh. "My boy Kenny calls
me that, but I'm just a sergeant. It's Mike to you."

"Yeah, sorry about that one," "Tom" replied. "When you're only a cadet
corporal, you get used to calling everyone 'sir.' Anyway, Jake said we can
raid his fridge for beers. Want one? I can go get a couple."

"I'll go with ya," he said. "No need to wait on me."

As they walked toward the house, "Mike" started into the purpose of the
meeting.

"Jake says they's got some queer faggots they're training at yer school and
that I ought to show ya the one I got trained so ya get a feel for it," he
said. "He also wants me to tell ya about a change we're thinkin' about out
there, 'cause it might get done at your place."

"Yeah, that's about right," "Tom" said, feeling the effect of the
Supervision formula. "He also told me I'll be able to screw the guy's mouth
but not his ass. He said something about you running the queer. That right?
How'd that happen?"

"Mike" laughed.

"Long story. For now let's say that I bet ya haven't met too many Men who
screwed a guy's wife and then screwed the guy, and the guy thanked him for
all of it."

"Tom" chuckled and told himself that he might as well enjoy himself that
day. The fake name helped.

"I bet it is a long story!" he said. "We'll have the time for you to tell
me if you feel like it."

"Anyhow, I'm a reservist in a sorta secret brig they got out there where
they send military perverts to be studied," "Mike" said. "Most of 'em are
faggots, and the very first thing I learned is there's lots of kinds of
'em."

"Is that right?" "Tom" replied, opening a long-neck he'd taken out of the
fridge. "I always figured they were the same, sir ... god damn it, I mean
Mike."

"Not hardly," he said. "There's yer part-timers with wives and girlfriends,
and they can be hard to pick out. Yer full-timers are easier to spot, but
not always. And they're all different except that they like takin' a stiff
dick. Most of 'em want to disappear into the woodwork. But ya got some who
want to be girls. Ya got some other ones that don't want to be a Man at all
but just a little boy."

"What?!" "Tom" said.

"Oh yeah, they's out there," Shane said with a laugh, drinking a
beer. "Just wait until ya get a load a-Kenny. He's gonna be here in half an
hour or so. 28 years old goin' on 10. Just wait until ya see him, and wait
to hear what he says when I ask him if he's a Man."

The sergeant explained that Kenny Ridgeton, a reserve captain, had been
caught in the past year diddling a retarded girl with a mental age of
10. After investigation, it emerged that he'd been queer in high school and
thought he'd put it all behind him when he joined the Marines. Not only was
Kenny a queer, as it turned out, but his secret dream was being treated as
much younger than he is.

"His hitch is up in a couple a-months and then he'll be outta the Corps,"
"Mike" said. "Works at the lumber plant, but got busted from general
manager to bookkeeper. Split with his wife and gave up his big house and
car. Lives on my ranch and does the handyman work and takes my dick when I
feel like it."

"Wow, that's pretty rough!" "Tom" said.

"Not for him," "Mike" replied, chuckling. "That boy is happier than a pig
in shit. He's a good little fella, so be nice to him. Who knows, maybe ya
will get some ideas for how to treat them queer faggots at that school. I
bet there's a few just like Kenny out there."

They were interrupted by a knock on the front door.

"Speak a-the devil!" Shane said as he opened the door. "Hiya, Kenny! Come
on in! Got someone for ya to meet."

A slight figure walked inside and gave a salute with two fingers. Ken
Ridgeton was dressed in a crisply starched Cub Scout uniform, navy blue top
and bottom with a yellow neckerchief and a brass metal slide, topped with a
beanie cap. Merit badges were sewn to his shirt. Both Men towered over him.

"Hello, sir!" he said, all smiles.

"This is a cadet from the military academy, Corporal Tom," he said. "Tom,
this is Kenny, the fella I been tellin' ya about."

"Howdy there, Kenny," the cadet said. "Good to meet ya. Nice little uniform
you're wearing there."

"Thanks, sir!" the "scout" replied. "I'm pleased to meet you, sir!"

Kenny turned to "Mike" and spoke.

"Sir, I noticed that your truck picked up some dust," he said. "I can wash
that off if you would like, sir."

"In a while," "Mike" said, straightening Kenny's neckerchief. "For now, why
don't ya get yerself a Coke out of the fridge and a couple beers for us,
then join us in the living room."

"Sure thing, sir!" he said.

As he turned toward the refrigerator, "Mike" gave him an affectionate pat
on the rear end.

"After that, go get the shoe-shine stuff outta the front closet. I think
Tom's boots could use a touch-up."

* * * *

"Kenny, why don't ya tell Tom what ya ain't and what ya are," "Mike" said
as he worked on the boots.

"Sir, I was never a Man," he said to the cadet who was almost a decade
younger than he was. "I tried to be one because it's what everyone expects,
but I was always just a little boy down deep. Now I'm allowed to be what I
really am, sir."

"I guess I can't say I'm surprised from looking at you," "Tom" said. "What
are you, maybe five and a half feet tall? Mike here says you're 28 going on
10. That about right, then?"

"Yes sir," Kenny answered. "I'm still a reserve captain out at the base,
but sometimes I'm allowed to wear my Scout clothes, sir."

"Why don't ya stand up and show Tom what ya wear under 'em?" "Mike"
said. "Tom, he wears it every day."

Kenny stood up and dropped his pants and his undershorts, revealing a
harness. In front, there was a strap running to a metal rim that ran around
the base of his genitals. A locking mechanism attached the rim to an open
metal cage that enclosed his penis, with a hole in front to let urine
out. A narrow strap ran from the bottom of the metal rim backward through
the cleft of his rear end – widening slightly where it passed over his
rectum and fastened to the belt of the harness. Straps ran upward from the
belt, under his T-shirt and over his shoulders.

"That thing in front keeps him from touchin' his dick but still lets him
piss," "Mike" explained. "The strap underneath holds a bump against his
butthole, which I sometimes have him replace with somethin' longer."

Kenny smiled widely, pulling up his pants.

"It reminds me of who I am, sir," he said. "I wear it under my captain's
uniform and in my civilian job, sir."

"Ya see, Tom," "Mike" said, "Kenny here don't ever want to confuse himself
with a Man ever again. Ain't that right, buddy boy?"

"Yes sir!" he replied, enthusiastically.

"See, Tom, every queer needs to know his place," "Mike" said. "Kenny just
wanted to find himself a Man to take care of. He was a stubborn rascal at
first, but once it all got worked out, it's been just fine.

"He didn't start out wearin' that cage, until one day when I asked him what
he'd wish for if a genie popped out of a bottle and gave him three
wishes. Turned out one of 'em would be that his dick would be as small as
it was when he was 10 years old. That's when I got him into the shrinker. I
keep him between 2 and 2-1/2 inches now."

Kenny was finished with the boots, and they gleamed. He looked up.

"Sir, I think they're done," he said. "I edged the sides of the soles
too. sir."

"Mike" interjected.

"When ya come back from washing my truck, make sure to bring a rag so ya
can clean off the bottoms."

"Will do, sir!"

"Mike" looked over at "Tom" and spoke.

"One of us gets to give him a squirt, and the other can empty his beer down
his throat," he said. "What's yer pleasure, corporal?"

He thought fast, and remembered what Trevor Black had said while he was
pissing into his throat.

"Nothin' like pissin' in a queer's throat I hear, so if it's all the same
to you I'll do that," "Tom" said.

"Okey-doke then," "Mike" replied, leaning back into his easy chair. "Kenny,
ya come on over 'n work on me first, then "Tom" will finish up.

"Yes sir!" Kenny replied, kneeling between the MP's legs and looking up.

"Mike" unzipped his uniform trousers, fished inside and brought out a long,
thick erection.

"Go to it, little fella," he said. "Use yer hand."

In no time flat, "Mike" was groaning and spurting. Right at the end, he
stood up and pulled out of Kenny's mouth, removed the cap on the boy's head
and squirted onto his crewcut. He spit on it, and rubbed the mixture into
his hair, and replaced the cap.

"Man marks his territory," he said with a grin.

"Thank you, sir!" Kenny said. "Is there anything else I can do for you,
sir?"

"Yep, you can go sit back on yer shoe-shine stool 'n wait for Corporal
Tom."

It was time for the cadet to take his turn, and he moved into position in
front of Kenny.

"Undo my fly and take it on outta there," he said. "Put it in your mouth
and wait."

Soon, "Tom" was pissing hard into Kenny's throat as he swallowed furiously,
not spilling a drop.

"Damn, I was told right," "Tom" said to "Mike."

When he was finished, Kenny looked into his eyes.

"Thank you, sir!" he said, beaming. "Is there anything more I can do for
you?"

"Tom" grinned, feeling the full effect of the Supervision formula.

"Not for now, Kenny," he said. "You did a good job there."

"Thank you, sir!" he answered.

"Kenny, why don't ya tell Tom what ya would think if I didn't have ya in
that cage any more," "Mike" said.

"I would wonder what I was doing wrong, sir," he said.

* * * *

"Let me tell ya about the queer faggots ya will be dealin' with if ya get
into controllin' 'em at yer academy," "Mike" said after Kenny left to take
care of his truck. "First thing ya got to know is most queers know their
place and control themselves. Jake thinks that out of the 500 in yer school
there are 20 or 30 of 'em, but yer only gonna catch a few. There'll be some
others who can't control it, but they's so far under the radar that no one
will ever really know.

"Queers who go into the military, includin' yer school, are either ones who
were queer before they got there but wanted to put it behind 'em, or they
didn't know until they got to the military started lookin' around at the
Men. But like I say, it's just the ones who can't control it that got to be
told their place and kept there. Yer common queer don't got to be told."

"Tom" nodded his head in agreement.

"I had a teacher in high school who was a queer faggot and he wasn't in
control of himself," he said. "I know there was more than one queer
teacher, but he was the only one had to tell to stay away from me and to
watch out because he might wind up dead if the wrong people found out."

"Out at the base, we tell the out-of-control queers what their place is,
which in so many words is that any regular Man is their boss and they got
to realize it, "Mike" said. "But that's just words. The way to make it
stick is to take away their balls, so they ain't allowed to do nothin' with
each other. Or with their own selves, because beatin' off is just another
way a-doin' it with a queer. But enforcement ain't easy."

"Why not just kill 'em or cut off their nuts?" "Tom" asked. "That's what a
lot of cadets at the academy think about 'em."

"That got looked into, but it turned out that some a-the most outta control
queer faggots are pretty smart," "Mike" said. "They's kinda like slaves in
Rome. A lot of 'em helped run the empire. Same now. Give ya an example: It
was an outta-control queer who cracked the German codes in World War II.

"Without that faggot, we'd have lost. Kenny's another example. He's a queer
faggot alright, but guess who tells me what stocks to buy? It goes on and
on. Kill off the queers and ya got a big problem. Ya just got to keep 'em
under control."

"How about castrating them?" "Tom" asked. "That would keep them alive but
under control."

"If ya castrate an adult male, he still gets hardons and beats off," "Mike"
replied. "But he gets depressed and might kill hisself. They tried drugs,
but that don't work neither. Ya gotta keep 'em alive with balls they can't
use."

"Why's that?" "Tom" asked. "Really, I don't get it."

"Their balls give 'em the will to live," "Mike" answered. "But if they
can't use 'em for themselves, they's the best servants. And ya can use it
as a reward too. A male pretty much has to squirt every so often or their
insides will be a problem. But there's different ways to get that done.

"A fella who gets screwed either with a dick or a billy club will squirt
whether he gets a hardon or not. And they found out that ya can put one
a-them barber scalp massagers on the back a-yer hand and hold yer fist up
in back of a faggot's balls and he'll squirt. Let me tell ya, he ain't
gonna like the club, and that barber thing is the next best deal to a
cattle prod.

"I screw Kenny's ass every month or two, and let him rub hisself against my
boots every six months or so, but he ain't ever allowed to use his
hand. The ones in the brig get a MP's dick up the ass if they's well
behaved, with a muscle relaxer, or the club or the barber thing if they
been bad. But none of 'em are allowed to use their hand, and it's never up
to them when it will happen."

"How can you make sure they won't beat off anyway?" "Tom" asked. "I know
it's a prison, but can you really watch 'em all the time?"

"Bingo!" "Mike" said with a laugh that filled the living room. "Easy to
keep 'em away from each other, but not when it comes to themselves. We
thought that just warnin' 'em was enough for half, and then beatin' on 'em
was good for most a-the rest. But we took a closer look and it turns out
that most a-the queers have been beatin' off anyway. Sneaky faggots, let me
tell ya. They beat 'off just walkin' around.

"So we been thinkin' a-doin' what Kenny's been gettin' but to all of
'em. Turns out the Germans studied it long time ago. Stick a cage on 'em
and the beat-off rate goes to zero, and they are better behaved. Really
does solve the problem. They seem happier too. Takes a while but they wind
up better off. Jake's got a lotta pull out there, and I think he's comin'
around to it."

"They can't get out?" "Tom" asked?

"Real hard to. Shave 'em down and lock it around 'em," "Mike"
replied. "There's more than one kind. Start 'em out on the one and switch
'em to the one ya saw on Kenny after a month or so."

He reached into a pocket and produced one.

"We call this one a shrinker," he said. "See that tube? Goes into their
piss slit and they can't even get a hardon, but they can still piss
out. This one shrinks their dick a quarter-inch a month. Got another one
that goes a half-inch a month. Shrinks their balls too. Take it out and
everything starts growin' back at the same rate it shrunk."

"Damn!" "Tom" said. "I bet that gets them in line."

"Once they can't get stiff for a while, they get real danged cooperative,"
"Mike" said. "More 'n a few of 'em have thanked me. Kenny loves his. Shrink
him down an inch and a half, and he's in heaven. Went back to a standard
cage a few months ago, but promised him he'll won't get back to where he
was. He's due to go back onto his shrinker, so I brought it with me so ya
can see how it works.

"If I was runnin' the show I'd start every queer faggot on the shrinker,
not just the hard cases. I been doin' this a while, and I don't think can
can order 'em into it or even beat 'em into it. But ya can damn well lock
'em into it."

"Tom" smiled and noticed himself becoming erect, partly at the thought of
being subjected to the device and partly at the thought of being the Man
supervising someone locked into one.

"You know, Mike, I've never been talked out of a hardon and I doubt I'd
ever be beaten out of one for very long," he said. "But if I just couldn't
get one, well I guess that would be a different story. And you're telling
me the queer faggots like it?"

"Not at first," "Mike" said. "Scares 'em in the beginning, but they come
around pretty quick. They's happy not to be thinkin' a-themselves and their
dicks. If there's one thing every dick-suckin' queer faggot's got in
common, it's wantin' to be controlled. Like I told ya, we get thanked by
the ones we cage up."

"Yeah, I've heard that if they can't beat off they become much better
behaved," "Tom" said.

"It's a whole lot less work for us and it will be for ya out there if ya do
it that way," "Mike" said. "Worst duty at the brig is spyin' on 'em all
night. Matter-of-fact, we've figured out that a guard who likes that duty
is prolly a queer faggot himself. We've talked about keepin' some of 'em
uncaged and watched to see who likes the watchin'. Got one MP under review
right now over that."

"Well, a lot of this is new to me so I need to think about it, Mike," "Tom"
said. "But what you're talking about makes sense. Queer faggots who are out
of control have got to be put under control. They need to really know their
place and know who's boss. I agree that you can't just tell them to control
themselves, and I doubt you can beat it into them for very long. But hell,
maybe some of them want to get beaten on."

"Tom" didn't know that "Mike" was fully aware that he was queer, and had
been beaten and screwed a week before. He was also well-trained in the
various forms of Correctol, and had a good idea of the effect on the cadet.

"Ain't nothin' sayin' ya can't still beat on the ones that need it," "Mike"
said. "Even Kenny needs a whippin' every now 'n again. Ya figure all a-that
out, queer by queer. But cagin' 'em up don't mean ya never lay a hand on
'em. Yer right about some of 'em wantin' to get messed with. Enough a-that
still happens."