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/
NOTE: This is the final chapter
Tom had looked forward to the weekend, and finally it was here. His father would be out of town from Saturday until Monday, and he would have Clifton Yarrow all to himself. He pulled the squad car that the deputy had given him into the sheriff's driveway. It was 10 a.m., and Yarrow was waiting, primed for agreeability by the "management" drug in his toothpaste. Tom rolled the window down and called out.
"Hiya, Clifty!" he shouted, brightly. "Throw your stuff in back and hop in front!"
The cadet opened the rear door and set his suitcase on the seat, then opened the front door and sat down.
"Real good to see ya," the younger one said cheerfully. "Got a fair amount a-work today and tomorrow, but we'll get through it!"
"Yes sir!" he replied, feeling both optimistic and humiliated at the same time. "I'm ready to work, sir!"
"There ya go, then," the younger one said. "Pa said ya did good with the lawn before, so ya can do that today. Gettin' long again. I'll be chopping wood."
They were at the house in a flash, and Tom put Yarrow to work.
"I'll be out back," he said. "Come on back and let me know when it's done out there so I can look it over."
"Yes sir!" Yarrow answered, feeling a flush of humiliation and excitement at receiving orders from the teenager. As he worked, he thought about the deputy's son and couldn't help but feel drawn to him. Over the summer since the fateful camping trip, Tom had come to work at the jail and had frequently been Yarrow's supervisor. He had developed a confident swagger and command presence, no doubt accentuated by his mastery of the older cadet who was required to eagerly do his bidding.
Clifton found himself wanting to do the best he could for the younger master, "Deputy Tom," and came to regard the regular assaults by Tom's dick as the young Man's natural right. At times, he would get erect while being penetrated -- not as a matter of desire but as the result of a kind of worship of the younger Man's masculine power. And he would find himself longing for even the slightest praise from Deputy Tom – a smile, a gesture, a friendly word.
It didn't matter – no, it was even better, truth be told – that these things came in the most humiliating form, that the young Man's smile was often a smirk, that he delivered praise in a tone typically reserved for a child. Clifton Yarrow was aware that he was being mocked, and after a time, the teasing made the praise even sweeter, burning it into his essence that, even compared to a teenager, he was not a Man.
At times, he would feel irritation and resentment, but the punishments he'd received for displaying even the slightest insolence had reinforced his regression. As strange as it seemed to being humiliated and assaulted by a much younger Man, Yarrow recognized the naturalness of it – that Men rule those who aren't Men, up to and including the requirement to provide sexual service. Once he was back to the academy, he told himself, he would rule others the way he was being ruled. He would get revenge.
But that summer, he became a student of his own humiliation, chronicling it in the smallest forms – an inflection, a particular command, a superior grin, an intruding touch, a tone of voice that conveyed the message that he was little Clifty Yarrow, inferior even to a teenaged boy. The subtler it was, and the friendlier on the surface, the deeper he felt it – and the more intoxicating it was, as if it were opium. In small ways, he maneuvered himself in ways that drew such humiliation, reinforcing his inferiority and his worship of superiors, even the teenaged Deputy Tom.
His erections were deeply embarrassing but irresistible for their danger, their excitement, their humiliation. He told himself that they weren't a matter of sexual desire on his part, but of excitement from the danger, worship, justice, and submission. As the reality sank in, his deepening need for humiliation and the removal of any claim he might've had to Manhood in the way he had been raised to understand it came to dominate his thinking. His high school experience had been more purely victimization by Men. It had been only rape, and it had allowed him to separate himself from what was happening at the time.
Now, he was being given an identity in relation to the Men around him. He was being shown correct behavior, and over the summer it had turned into correct thinking when reinforced with condescending praise. It was a kind of seduction into humiliation, regression, and submission, and it grew every hour of every day, and every day of every week, until the sexual and non-sexual began to merge in such a way that the line was blurred to the vanishing point.
After an hour and a half in the front yard, he was finished, and went to the back. Deputy Tom was stripped to the waist, covered with sweat, chopping wood.
"Sir, I'm finished out front," Yarrow said, noticing the spreading growth of hair on the teenager's chest and torso, in contrast to his own body that remained as smooth as a young boy's. His throat was dry, and he was breathing heavily as he glanced at a quart-sized beer bottle sitting on a stump near when the young Man had been chopping. Tom split one more log, flashed half a smile, and drained the beer with a satisfied sigh.
"Ya look thirsty, Clifton," he said.
"Yes sir," he said, sensing what was about to happen. The young deputy motioned him toward a low stump in the shade.
"Have a seat," he said. "Let's give Clifty boy somethin' to drink."
He stood in front of the seated cadet, his legs wide, and hands on his hips. Yarrow looked up, and their eyes met. Deputy Tom grinned with satisfaction.
"Y'all know what to do, Clifty," he said. "Ain't that right? Y'all know what to do now?"
"Yes sir!" Yarrow replied, reaching for the fly of Deputy Tom's dark blue work pants. They no longer hung loosely – the young Man had filled out considerably, and between the sweat and the muscularity of his thighs, the trousers outlined his body. Yarrow unzipped the trousers and reached inside Deputy Tom's boxer shorts to fish out his long, thick, mostly flaccid dick, looking upward all the while as the teenager smirked.
"Put it in yer mouth, little fella," Tom said. "Don't wanna keep a thirsty little Clifty boy waitin' fer his drink."
Yarrow put the hose in his mouth and waited. There was little delay before his throat filled up, and he was gulping and swallowing quickly. By training, Yarrow kept his eyes locked on the young deputy's eyes.
"That a-boy," Tom said affectionately, rubbing his knuckles across the cadet's crewcut in the manner he'd seen his father do. He studied Yarrow's lips as they gripped his dick, diligently making sure that no piss leaked out, and watched the muscles in Clifton's throat working overtime to swallow, even as he smiled wider and pissed harder to maximize the effort required below. He reveled in his absolute power, contrasted with the humiliation of the cadet several years his senior who was not only doing what he was told in the yard, but displaying the servility expected of a country club waiter.
He stopped just short of completion, withdrew from Yarrow's mouth, and squirted the reminder onto his head. Then he put himself back inside and zipped up.
"That'll take care a-y'all for a while," he said. "Won't it now?"
"Yes sir," Clifton said, the liquid dripping onto his shirt. He knew better than to wipe it off. "Thank you, sir."
"Maybe I'll let ya'll suck my dick," Tom said, his tone a sweet taunt. "Bet little Clifty'd like it if I stiffened up and gave him a squirt, wouldn't ya?"
"Anything you'd like, sir!" Clifton answered, still seated on the stump, engulfed in the exciting humiliation of the moment.
"Y'all like doin' things for me, don't ya?" the young Man asked. "Clifty likes doin' whatever he's told."
"I sure do, sir!" he answered. "Anything you say, sir!"
"Military school cadet's just a little dick suckin' boy," Tom said, his tone syrupy and sweet. "Little dick sucker needs to ask me nice and polite, now."
Clifton looked upward, and spoke to the high school kid whose piss he'd just swallowed.
"Sir, could I please suck your dick?"