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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."