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/
One day, after I had cleaned myself, done my chores, and settled into my homework, Tommy arrived. I jumped up and stood at attention.
"At ease," Captain Richards said. As I stood there, he walked around inspecting the premises, and the boots it was my job to shine. Finally, he was done.
"Good work, Jimmy," he said. "You're getting the hang of it."
"Thank you, sir," I said. "The Trainee ... "
"Jimmy, when it's just the two of us, you can relax a bit and use 'I' instead of 'The Trainee.' You've earned that," he said.
I was overjoyed.
"Thank you very much, sir," I said. "It means a lot, sir."
He put his arm around my shoulder and rubbed it affectionately, then gave me a candy bar.
"You've been a good boy," he said.
"I'm trying real hard, sir, I really am," I said, opening the candy and eating it eagerly. I was choking up at the first kind words I had heard for more than a week.
Then he dropped another bombshell.
"Come on over here with me," he said. I followed him to the bathroom, and watched him fish out the bulb I used to clean myself every morning and afternoon. He removed the tip, and reached in his shirt pocket.
"Use this one from now on," he said, handing me a different piece of rubber. The one I had been using was about three inches long and the width of a pencil. The replacement was twice as long and much thicker, the width of a thumb.
"Yes sir," I replied.
"Now go to the bedroom and strip off your clothes," he said. "I want to see if your bruises are healed, and I'll want to check to see if you've grown any hair."
"Yes sir!" I replied.
I went to the bedroom and carried out his order, and stood at attention. He entered the room and told me to lie on my stomach on my sleeping pad. I felt his hands checking me.
"Looks like you're healed up," he said. "You been doing those stretches I gave you?"
"Yes sir," I said.
"Good," he said. "Now turn over."
He clicked the razor on and I felt it in my armpits and on my chest, then lotion. He lingered a bit on my nipples, and as he did so I felt the beginnings of an erection. I fought it off, and then he moved below my waist. Again, he lingered a bit. It took maximum willpower to keep from getting hard.
"Elbows and knees," he said, cooly, and did the back of my thighs from my knees all the way up. I dreaded what would happen when he applied lotion. I started getting hard.
"Please sir," I whimpered. "Please don't!"
Once I had become fully erect he stopped.
"I should have known," he said coldly. "I should have known."
"Sir, I am not queer, I swear it!" I said, my voice rising.
A sharp slap to my balls, caused me to double over in pain.
"Twice a day you recite the rules, and then you get hard in my hand," he said, scornfully. "Goddamn queer."
"I ... I ... I'm sorry sir!" I said. I was squealing now.
"Get dressed, and go to dinner," he said, coldly. "While you're there, I suggest that you think about the rules."
As I returned to campus, I was panicked about what happened, but also excited. Off and on, I became erect, thinking about what had happened. When I reached the room off the dining hall where the other trainees and I ate, my heart froze. To make sure the trainees didn't talk to each other, a cadet supervisor was stationed in the room for each meal. Big Dog was on duty for this meal. I was nervous, and fidgeted. I couldn't look at him as I retrieved my bowl, and stared down as I ate, quietly hyperventilating.
In a few minutes, I heard him whisper in my ear.
"Jimmy's been a bad little squirt, hasn't he?" he said. I was shaking like a leaf, and sniffled.
"Little squirt's done something bad, I can tell," he whispered. "Little squirt's got something to tell me on the way back."
The meal ended shortly, and my mind was reeling. Big Dog was waiting outside, wearing a crooked, sadistic grin. As usual, I couldn't help stealing a glance at his crotch, and as always, he caught me and broke into a full smile.
We began walking toward the quarters, me following the prescribed half-step behind, on his left. We began in silence, but he broke it after a hundred yards.
"Okay, weakling, out with it," he said.
My voice quivered with fear as I told him what had happened.
"I swear to God I'm not ..." I stammered, only to be interrupted with a sharp rap on the head with his knuckles.
"The Trainee swears to God he's not queer, sir," I said, whimpering and rubbing my scalp.
"Remember when your father, Old Man Mayhem Stingler, visited last fall?" he said.
"Yes sir, the Trainee remembers," I answered. "He was highly complimentary of you and the others in the pod, sir."
"When he was here, he took me and Captain Richards aside and told me that he'd raised you to be a Man, but knew you weren't one," Big Dog said. "He asked us to see if we could help you along the way."
"I ... the Trainee never knew, sir," I replied. "But the Trainee remembers him telling me to stick with you and Captain Richards and see what the Trainee could learn, sir."
"Right," he said, spitting the words out. "Then you try to tell me Richards is queer, and evade your responsibility for the towel. That's when I knew you were a hopeless piece of work."
I said nothing as we kept walking. We reached the forest and the gully. At the bottom, he stopped and leaned against a tree. The sun was setting. It was still in the fading light.
"Stand in front of me," he ordered. I did so, and he ordered me to come closer. I was almost close enough to touch him.
"On your knees, weakling," he said.
"Sir, the Trainee isn't queer!" I said.
He grabbed me by the front of my uniform, bunching up the loose fabric near the neck until I was choking.
"I gave you an order, squirt," he said, in a smooth, menacing voice.
"Y-y-yes sir," I replied, dropping to my knees.
"Unzip my fly, and take it out," he said.
"Yyyyyes, sir," I said, and fished out his member. It was longer than my hand, soft.
"Look at me, squirt," he said.
"You're going to tell me you haven't been wanting that down yer throat the whole time you've been here?" he said.
"No sir," I said, pleading. "The Trainee isn't queer, sir!"
"Good god damn good thing," he said. "I'd hate to have to write Old Man Mayhem and tell him that his son is not only a Trainee but a queer."
I panicked at the threat.
"Please sir!" I said, whimpering. "Please don't do that, sir!"
"Put it in your mouth, squirt," he said.
"But sir ..." I replied.
"Dear General Stingler," he said, "I regret to have to write this letter ..."
I put my mouth on his soft dick.
"Don't you ever get queer with us, ya little weakling," he said, as I looked up at him through teary eyes. "When I say 'go,' hold yer breath and count slowly to 30."
I felt a trickle in my mouth and heard him say 'go,' and held my breath. He pinched my nostrils shut with one hand, and looked at his watch.
"Now start swallowing for all yer worth, squirt," he said, and began pissing in my throat.
It seemed like an eternity, but I was able to comply. Suddenly, he stopped and released my nostrils. I breathed heavily through my nose, with his dick still in my mouth.
"Now hold it again when I say 'Go,' weakling," he repeated. "Yer gonna drink the rest."
The trickle, the word, the nostrils pinched. He released me, and pulled his flaccid member out of my mouth. At that moment, what I had just been forced to do hit me, and I turned and retched.
"If you ever puke up my piss again, you will regret it," he growled. "Now stand up and face me."
I stood up.
"Thank me, ya filthy little squirt," he said.
I paused, and felt a slap across the face.
"Are you deaf," he said, in a voice cold as ice.
"Thank you, sir," I told him.
Then I felt his hand in my crotch. He was probing to see if I was hard. I was.
"Spread your legs," he ordered.
I knew what was coming, but I did it anyway. Instantly, I fell to the ground, curled up in pain. He waited until my groans subsided, and ordered me to look up at him.
"Keep pulling your queer shit, and you'll be punished," he said, towering over me. "Understood? Don't make me have to tell your father what you are."
"Yes sir," I replied, still in pain.
"Now get up," he said. "Get up, ya filthy little squirt."
We resumed walking, and my pain receded as we neared the quarters.
"Sir may the Trainee speak?" I asked.
"What is it, squirt," he replied.
"The Trainee isn't queer, sir," I said. "The erections just happen."
It was almost completely dark as we approached the quarters. I could see a light on, and it filled me with dread. Tommy would be there. Big Dog opened the door, and I followed him. Tommy was sitting in the common area, reading. He looked up.
"Dog, we gotta talk," he said.
"I know what happened," Big Dog replied. "Filthy little squirt had a guilty look at dinner, and when I questioned him he confessed."
"Let's do this in your room," Tommy said.
"Sir ..." I began to say, desperately, looking toward Tommy.
"Shut up," he replied. "Go into Captain Tinley's room and wait."
"Yes sir," I said, and went inside. I stood at attention, waiting. I saw a strap, a gag, and leather restraints lying on the bed. I was becoming erect again, and fought it, to no avail. They waited a few minutes before coming in, and when they did so I hoped that my uniform would hide my hardon.
Tommy stood at the end of the bed., and pointed to the corner.
"Hold your wrists out in front," he said, coldly.
"Yes sir," I said. He attached the leather cuffs, and tightened them.
"On your belly, at the corner," he said. I laid down as ordered, and Tommy attached the cuffs to the bedframe.
"Open your mouth," he said. When I did so, the gag was shoved into my mouth, and secured behind my head. My hardon was pressed against the corner of the mattress. I was sure they hadn't seen it, but I was wrong.
"Little boy has another hard-on," Tommy said. "Beat it out of him, Dog."
Just like in the Commandant's office a while back, Big Dog started off with some warmups.
"Filthy, lyin' little squirt, here's number one," he said, hitting hard. It hurt, and I groaned. He waited, and the seconds ticked off.
"Filthy, lyin' little squirt knows hard-ons are off-limits," he said, coldly. "Here's number two." He hit harder. And he waited.
"Filthy, lyin' little squirt's a queer," he said. "Number three." Harder still. I felt blood rushing, both to my ass and my dick. And he waited.
"Filthy, lyin' little squirt's not allowed to be queer," he said. "Number four." Wham! And he waited.
"Filthy, lyin' little squirt got queer in a Man's hand!" he yelled. "Number five!" Even harder. I groaned and in pain and rubbed against the mattress. He waited, and I dreaded the next, but my dick welcomed it.
"Little squirt, yer hardons are against the rules. Queer!" he yelled again. "Number six!" I was groaning and rubbing, involuntarily. After the seventh, I was rubbing the bed all the time. The eighth was harder yet, and so was the ninth. I was humping the bed frantically by then, and groaning. After the tenth hit, I could feel myself coming.
"Queer little squirt wants his hardons?" Big Dog said, violently. "This is how he'll get 'em, then." An eleventh hit. On the twelfth, I passed out. I don't know for how long, or whether there were more hits. All I remember is waking up, moaning and naked. Big Dog had stripped my pants and my undershorts off, and had them in front of my mouth.
"Look at the mess you made, ya filthy little queer!" he said. "Now lick it up."
When I hesitated, he rapped my head with his knuckles. I lapped up my own cum, my head aching, my ass torn up. And then it was over. Tommy removed the wrist cuffs, and I rolled onto the floor, moaning.
"Your bedroll is in here now," he said. "You will stay with Captain Tinley until further notice."
The two cadets walked out and closed the door. I rolled myself over to the bedroll, and curled up beneath the covers, shivering with pain, fear, and humiliation. A half-hour later, Big Dog opened the door a bit.
"Better do those stretches that Captain Richards gave you last time," he said. "You're still running tomorrow. Half a mile. Lights out in an hour."
"Yes sir," I replied, weakly.
unday couldn't come soon enough. I had limped through Friday, but recovered quite a bit on Saturday. Tommy and Big Dog pretty much disappeared for the day, except when Big Dog appeared late in the afternoon and made me drink his piss from his limp dick. He had made me strip, and tried to coax an erection, but after Thursday's events I had come up with a mental device: arithmetic. In my head, I did multiplication tables, long division, and calculated the diameter and area of circles.
It worked, and I stayed soft. Of course, this prompted its own ridicule, but it was better than a punch in the balls and another beating. I was looking forward to Sunday, when I'd get to sleep late, go to chapel (sitting all the way in the back), and see if I could make amends with Tommy.
Things were going well that afternoon. He praised my cleaning job on Saturday, calling me a "good boy" and giving me a candy bar, and permitting me to use "I" instead of "the Trainee." Our conversation was friendly, or the closest it got to that. Eventually, it came around to the events of the prior week.
"Sir, I think Captain Tinley is trying to make me queer," I told him. "I don't want to be queer. It's wrong, sir. It's the worst thing in the world, sir!"
The sermon that morning had been about the grave sin of lusting after a member of the same sex. A healthy Man could be forgiven for many things, but never for allowing a Man to put his member inside of him, or for having thoughts of that nature, or for seeking out such activities. To allow one's self to be used in such a shameful manner was a betrayal of God's plan for Men, and especially for cadets, the minister said.
As the minister spoke, I thought about myself, and what I had allowed Big Dog to do. They were right, I am not a Man, I told myself, and whatever I was, I needed to redouble my resistance against my thoughts.
"You're wrong about Captain Tinley," he replied, snapping me out of my ruminations about the sermon.
"But sir, he ..." I began to say.
Tommy interrupted.
"I know what he has done," he said. "He's actually trying to keep you away from being queer."
"How can that be?" I asked, plaintively. "How can putting his dick ..."
"Each Man has his own way," Tommy said. "Captain Tinley's trying to break you of it."
"By making me put my mouth ..." I said.
"By forbidding you to get hard when you do it," he said.
"But what about him, sir?" I asked. "Isn't it queer to ..."
"To put it inside you?" Tommy asked. "If that's what a Man thinks you need, then that's what you'll get."
"Needs, sir?" I asked.
"Reminds a boy who's a Man and who's isn't," Tommy said. "No Man would ever have it done to him. But a boy does what a Man tells him to, any day of the week."
"Y-y-y-y-yes sir," I said, stammering.
"I can tell that you're good at following a Man's orders when you put your mind to it," Tommy said, in a gentler tone. "But you have a lot to learn."
"I suppose so, sir," I said.
"Hard-on is Man territory," Tommy said. "And you ain't a Man. Never will be one."
He leaned back in his chair, relaxed, spread his legs, and lit a cigar.
"Men like Captain Tinley, and the Commandant, and your father, they're harsh," Tommy said. "They see a queer little boy with a hard-on and they go a little crazy. I agree it's wrong, but I also know it's a fact of life."
"Yes, sir, sometimes I can't help it," I said, softly, looking at him.
"Your hard-ons are against the rules, and you'll be punished."
He had brought the bag that the Commandant had given them that day. He reached inside and brought out a leather belt.
"Take your pants and shorts down," Tommy said, "and put this belt around your waist. Cinch it tight."
"Yes sir," I replied, and did so.
He brought out another strip of leather, and a triangular piece of rubber. He held it in front of me, and showed how the rubber piece attached to the leather strip. Between the rubber, there was a small metal ring. Then he brought out a tube of K-Y jelly.
"Coat the rubber with this, just like with the tip of your bulb," he said.
"Yes sir," I said, with a worried look.
"Now put your little balls and your dick through that metal ring, and then put the rubber plug up inside of you."
"Yes sir," I replied. With difficulty, I followed his instructions, and he attached one piece of the strap to the front of my belt and the other to the back, and tightened it up. The plug was forced up against my prostate.
"Now look at me, Jimmy," he said gently. Then he flashed his grin, and I could feel myself getting stiff.
"Sir, I can't help it!" I said, as my eyes filled with tears.
"Pull up your pants, Jimmy," he said, roughly.
I complied, feeling rock hard.
"You can't help it, can you?" he said.
"No sir, I can't, sir!" I said, my voice rising into a whine.
"It's wrong, Jimmy, and you know that," he said, his voice turning colder. "Don't you?"
"Yes sir!" I said.
He sat back down in his chair and smiled. He spread his legs, holding one of them straight out, with the toe of his boot wedged up against the concrete border of the deck. I and my dick stood at attention.
"Sit down on my boot," he ordered.
I sat down slowly, and felt the plug pushing deep inside.
"Now rock yourself on my boot, Jimmy boy," he said, in a low growl.
I began doing so. The plug stimulated me deep inside as I rocked.
"Rub your little self against my leg, queer little boy," he ordered.
"Yes sir," I said, and did so, closing my eyes tight.
"Look at me, Jimmy," he said. "You're queer and you're hard and it's wrong. You know that, so tell me."
"Sir, it's wrong, sir," I said, panting and looking at him through tears. His face was hard and stern.
"You can't help your queer little self, can you?" he asked, mockingly.
"No sir, I can't help it, sir!" I cried, quickening the pace.
"You're not a Man, Jimmy," he said. "You can never be a Man. You know that."
"Yes sir, I can never be a Man, sir," I said.
"You're a little boy who can't help being queer," he said, his face hard, his eyes staring into mine. "You know it's wrong."
"Sir, I can't help being queer, sir," I moaned. "It's wrong sir! I'm sorry, sir!"
"That's right, Jimmy," he said, flashing another Tommy grin. "That's what you are. Keep on going little queer boy. Look me in the eye and tell me."
Over and over, for what seemed like forever, I told him queer and how wrong I was. I panted and whimpered and got harder as it continued. Agony, shame, and humiliation combined into one.
"Come on, little queer one," he said, smiling, as he puffed on his cigar. "You know what you are."
I tightened against Tommy's leg, gazing up at his handsome, mocking smile. As I squeezed harder and harder, the rhythmic movement of the plug inside me moved in and out by his boot, merged with my shame and humiliation to form an indescribable ecstasy. As I declared my perversion and confirmed how it rendered me permanently a non-man, I felt myself coming, just as I had done when Big Dog was beating my ass the other night. As the spurts and spasms tailed off, I felt my asshole aching.
"Poor little queer one couldn't control himself," Tommy said, with a smirk. "You'll never be anything but a queer little boy, no matter how hard you try."
"No sir," I said, whimpering through tears. "I couldn't help my queer self, sir!"
I buried my face against his thigh and cried. I could hear him chuckling softly, and feel him stroking my head. I could also feel a puddle inside my shorts, and my dick still hard, the blood held there by the apparatus I was wearing.
"Stay where you are," he said. For what seemed like forever, he kept raising and lowering his boot. I could feel more liquid being forced through my dick. Finally, he let up.
"Take your pants and shorts off," he said, "and lick up the queer mess you made."
"Yes sir," I said.
Whimpering and humiliated, I did what he had ordered. Each move caused the plug to move again, with more liquid squeezed through my dick. I licked everything up, as told.
"Go inside, remove your plug, and clean it off, and then clean yourself," he said. "Then bring it all back to me so I can put it away until the next time you need it."
"Yes sir," I said, mentally and physically exhausted by the ordeal.
I returned a half hour later. Tommy was sitting where he had been, and I handed him the things.
"Your hard-ons are wrong," Tommy said. "You will never be a Man, and don't you forget it!"
"No sir," I said. "I will try as hard as I can to remember, sir!"
Another Tommy grin.
"Yeah, you try," he said. "Unless you like those beatings."
I was getting good at keeping soft. A couple days later, on the way home from dinner, Big Dog pissed in my mouth again, and tried to get me hard, with no result. On Thursday, he stepped it up. In the afternoon, just after I had finished cleaning myself out, I heard the door open. I was still naked, and I sprang to attention.
"Well, what do we have here?" he said, with a broad smile. "Little squirt don't have a stitch on him."
I started doing my mental arithmetic while he smiled.
"Come on, little fella, you go over here and sit down," he said, guiding me into the common area. I sat in my low chair, while he towered over me. I was expecting to drink his piss again, but this time he was erect inside of his uniform. Eight inches were clearly outlined against the fabric.
"Rub it, queer little squirt," he said. "You know how much ya want to."
"Sir, the Trainee's not queer!" I said, looking up into his face and squealing.
"We'll see about that, squirt," he said. "You undo my fly and take it out."
I frantically performed mental operations. What's 43,212 divided by eight, I asked myself, while telling him "Yes, sir," and taking it out. I felt his boot rubbing my privates, but I stayed limp.
"Please sir," I said. "Please don't ..."
His stiff dick was in my mouth. 5,401.5, I thought. Times 14!
"Keep your mouth still and look up at me," he said, with a sadistic grin on his face.
75,621, I thought, as he began screwing my mouth.
"Nice and limp, like a pussy," he said, building up a rhythm.
Divided by 23 ...
On and on ...
3,288 ...
"Rub the backs of my legs."
Area of a circle 42 miles in diameter ...
"Here it comes, now swallow ..."
Him throbbing, me swallowing. 1,385 miles ...
"Come on, suck out the rest ..."
Divided by 16 ...
"There ya go. Now put it back in and zip up my fly, queer little squirt."
87 miles, and I'm curled up crying from the effort of staying soft and the shame of wanting not to.
"Get up and get dressed, squirt," Big Dog said. "You got work to do around here."
"Yes sir," I replied, weakly. I grabbed at the chance to think about cleaning up the quarters as I heard the door slam behind him.
The next day, Tommy congratulated me on my progress, handing me a candy bar.
"Thank you, sir!" I said.
When he shaved me that day, I used the same technique I had used with Big Dog, and it worked. There were no assaults the following week, and I felt like I had passed some sort of test. The pressure eased. I was relieved to not be getting erections or even much wanting to. I threw myself into the routine, and looked forward to Sunday afternoons.
The following weekend, Tommy shaved me again, and I stayed soft. It wasn't easy, but I made it. Slowly, I could feel desire for them building, but I was still able to channel it into doing the best job I could in quarters. It helped that Tommy allowed me back into his bedroom, to sleep under the window.
Sunday started off well enough. There was chapel, and then lunch. Tommy was the attendant for the trainees that day, so we walked back to quarters together. Spring had arrived, and the warmth and the new growth had relaxed me. We chatted amiably, and every so often Tommy would give my shoulder an encouraging squeeze and tell me that I seemed to be getting into the swing of things.
As he inspected my cleaning from the day before, I even showed off the boots, including the six-inch shine I had put on Tommy's pair.
"Atta boy!" he said. "I didn't even ask you to do that, but you did it anyway. Good job!"
His encouragement made me smile, and I must have ignored the stirring I was feeling. The talk moved toward more dangerous territory, but I ignored the risk. I was intoxicated by Tommy, I suppose. He looked especially attractive, his tight gray academy uniform fitting like a glove. His blond flattop haircut was fresh, and his eyes were warm. There was a kind of romance in the air.
"What Captain Tinley does is good for you, Jimmy," he said. "As long as you don't get hard, you're perfectly free to look up to a Man. Boys do that all the time."
"It's unnerving when he has me rub him and then has an orgasm in my mouth, sir," I said, hesitantly. "I feel like it's wrong, sir."
"Only if you lose control," he answered. "If you concentrate on serving him, you're fine. He's satisfying his needs while training you to stay away from any queer thoughts."
"Yes sir," I said. "But it's confusing, sir."
He smiled and rubbed the back of my neck, looking into my eyes.
"Hard-ons are always wrong for you, Jimmy," he said. "Your queer thoughts are wrong. I know you have 'em, but they're wrong."
I must have looked glum, because he rubbed my neck again.
"Well, enough of that, junior," he said. "Go get yourself cleaned out, and then I'll shave you."
"Yes sir," I said. As I stood up, I could feel myself starting to get hard, and fought it. I went to the bathroom and did the cleaning, and took a shower, then emerged naked. As always, I laid down on my sleeping pad and prepared for him to go to work on me. I was worried, but kept myself soft.
He started on my armpits, first shaving and then rubbing with lotion.
"All smooth there," he said, warmly, and then moved to my chest. He lingered on my nipples, as if checking for stray hairs. Then he used the lotion, and softly pinched them. The buzzing got stronger, and I started doing math in my head. I did more math when he shaved my dick and balls and thighs, but it didn't seem to be working too well.
Then it was on my elbows and knees. He shaved, and held the electric razor longer against my balls. I concentrated, but could feel myself on the edge. Then the lotion, and I felt like I was losing control, but stayed limp.
Then I felt his finger rubbing against my hole.
"Did you get good and clean, Jimmy boy?" he asked gently.
"Yes, sir!" I replied, getting more worried.
"Did you get good and clean, Jimmy?" he asked again. His voice had turned seductive, yet menacing, as if to dare to me to get hard and see what would happen.
"Yes sir," I said.
"Get your pillows and put them on the corner of my bed, and then sit on them," he commanded.
"Yes sir," I answered, and then complied.
I heard him leave the room, and return with the bag that held the strap, restraints, and gag.
Tommy walked over and stood in front of me. His erection pressed against his slacks and formed an outline. His uniform shirt clung to his body, showing his muscularity. He reached inside his fly, and out came an enormous weapon. It had to have been 9 inches long, maybe bigger. It was thick, and the head looked almost like a lightbulb.
He handed me a tube of K-Y jelly.
"Grease it up, Jimmy," he told me. "Then your butthole, 'cause that's where this will be going."
"Yes sir," I said. I was terrified.
When I was through, he ordered me to put my wrists out to receive the cuffs, and then to lie face down on his bed. He attached my wrists to the bedframe, just as when I had been strapped in Big Dog's room a few weeks ago.
I felt him attach another set of leather cuffs just below the knees. He attached those to the bedframe, forcing my crotch and rock hard dick onto the pillows, with my legs wide apart and my ass in the air. Then he pushed inside, and I felt a dull pain and stretching. I tried to move away, but the restraints wouldn't allow it.
"Please, please!" I cried. "Please don't, sir!"
Tommy didn't say a thing. He kept pushing inward. Then I felt him withdrawing, just as slowly as he had entered. I was relieved, and then I felt him rubbing the small of my back.
"I own you," he whispered, his lips so close to my ear that I could feel his breath. "I own your queer little life."
He was entering again. Not as difficult at first, but then he pushed even deeper. The fullness scared me. Would I be ripped apart?
"I own your queer little ass," he whispered, rubbing my back. "For the rest of your life, I own every part of you, inside and out."
"Yes sir," I said, whimpering.
"Tell me your place, Jimmy," he whispered.
"I am not a Man, sir. I was never a Man, sir. I will never be a Man, sir. Every Man is my superior, sir. I will spend my life in the service to the Men whose ranks I will never join, sir. I will honor and obey Men, without question or reservation, in any manner that they might require, sir," I said, whimpering through the pain.
"Tell me the second part, Jimmy," he said.
"Sir, I am a weak, cowardly, lying, conniving, disobedient little boy."
He entered me again for the third time. He pushed even farther. It felt like a baseball bat shoved up into my stomach. I wasn't hard.
"Tell me the second part, Jimmy," he said.
"Sir, I am a weak, cowardly, lying, conniving, disobedient little boy," I said, whining. As I recited, he began to move in and out.
"I own you, queer little Jimmy boy," he said. "This is what happens to little queers, Jimmy."
His pace steadily increased, and I felt him pushing against my insides.
"I'm gonna make sure I own a well-behaved, obedient little boy, Jimmy," he said, as he squeezed all of his length into me and then held himself there.
"From now on, you will behave," he said, his voice firm and confident. "Do you understand now? You are a boy and not a Man, and you will do and not do exactly what I say. Forever."
"Yes sir!" I replied, groaning.
He rocked my whole body with his gigantic dick rammed to the hilt. Even though I remained soft, I could feel cum streaming out of me. There was no pleasure, only pain and humiliation. But also something else. I couldn't put a name on it while it was happening. I still can't. Maybe devotion, but that's not it. Maybe the subjugation of a slave. I no longer existed. Whatever I had been was gone. I was something on the end of a Man's dick, under the total control of the Man who owned me.
After it was over, Tommy had me lick up my mess and clean myself. I got dressed, and came back out. He was sitting on the deck, smoking a cigar, his legs spread wide. He pointed to my usual spot. As I sat down, he handed me a candy bar.
"You stayed soft, Jimmy," he said, gently, with an owner's confidence. "You done good there."
I sniffled, still feeling the pain of his assault.
"Thank you, sir," I replied softly.
"Every hard-on you've ever had was about a Man, wasn't it?" he asked.
"Yes sir," I said, barely whispering, staring at the ground.
"Look at me, Jimmy," Tommy said, firmly. "I didn't hear you."
"Yes sir," I replied as I looked upward into his eyes.
"After you accepted Trainee status, your father called and he told me everything," Tommy said.
As I sat there, I wondered whether I would ever hit bottom. Every time I thought I had, there was a new humiliation to reduce me even further. Would it never end?
"He told you about that, sir?" I asked, breathlessly, hoping that somehow I had heard Tommy wrong.
"Yeah, your father told me, Jimmy," he said. "Made your story even clearer."
My mind reeled. I reached back for the memory I had stifled for years. When I was 11 or 12, my father had walked in on me while I was masturbating. I was holding a picture of one of his outdoor magazines, staring at a handsome Man holding a rifle. When he saw it, my father took his belt off and laid into me for a half an hour. The cuts and welts took weeks to heal, but that was nothing compared to what he did next.
"So you want to be a queer?" he had asked, spitting out the word like a spoiled piece of meat. "Is that what you are, a queer? Now I got a queer son?"
Over and over I denied it, and over and over he accused me of it, shoving the magazine in my face to prove the point. My crying and frantic denials only made it worse. My father disappeared for a minutes, and then returned holding a towel and a jar of Vaseline.
"I'm going to show you what happens to queers," he said. "Bend over at the edge of that bed, face down."
I heard him unbuckle his pants, and then I heard the top coming off the jar. A few seconds later, a finger roughly spread something slippery on my asshole, and then my father's hard dick was inside. When I started wailing in agony, he grabbed my pillow and shoved it up against my mouth.
"Bite on this until I'm done," he said, in a voice hard and hateful.
For the next 10 minutes he screwed me deep and hard as I screamed into my pillow.
"This is what happens to queers, Jimmy boy," my father said in a whisper, his lips against my ear. "Is this what you want?"
He must have asked me 20 times if that's what I wanted. I kept screaming and shaking my head "no," but he wasn't buying it. Eventually he was finished, and I heard him replace the lid on the Vaseline jar and zip up.
"Here's what's left for a god damn queer," he said, throwing the stinking towel on the bed.