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Soon, the boy could hear people being greeted. Hearty male voices echoed down the corridor into his cell. He tried to count them. And then he froze. One of them belonged to his half-brother. It was a voice he could never forget: The one brother who had tormented him the most, who had always told him he'd never be a Man, was here! He could barely breathe as he went through his preparations.
Glasses were clinking, bets being made, chips being thrown. They were playing cards. The boy cleaned himself out, knowing that he would be checked thoroughly. Then he found a fresh T-shirt. Then he re-checked his cell, and the bed.
"Sir!" he yelled, "Everything's clean, sir!"
"Ya sure a-that?" he heard in reply.
"Yes sir!" he shouted. "Everything's clean, sir!"
"Okey doke, Matthews! It better be!"
The junior corrections officer's footsteps came toward the cell. The usual routine. The cell was inspected, and checked out. He was told to grab the edge of the toilet while the officer donned a glove and felt inside. Then, on command, he licked it off.
"Follow me, Matthews," the officer said, coldly.
He entered the room through a door near one end. He saw a couple of chairs, a stool, and a couch, and a low table near the entrance. There was a card table in the middle, where the Men were seated with their chips, their drinks, and their food. On a wall, there was a row of hooks holding their jackets. At the far end of the room, a counter with a sink and faucets. Cabinets were attached to the wall above the counter, and liquor and soda bottles, and glasses, and an open bag of ice in the sink, made for a makeshift bar. Off to one side, a couch, end tables with lamps, a couple of chairs, and a low foot stool.
The junior corrections officer paraded the half-naked boy into the room, stopping about six feet from the table. "Here he is!" he said brightly to the senior officer, who was seated at the table with three other men. They were all smiling, and one was softly guffawing. The senior officer, dressed in a gray uniform like his partner, spoke.
"Matthews here is in trainin' with us," he said, in a tone dripping with cordial contempt. "Then upstairs fer the next 15 years, to apply the lessons he's learned down here. Ain't that right?"
"Yes sir," the boy replied, softly.
"Now each Man in this room is to be obeyed just the same, ya got it?" the corrections officer asked.
"Yes sir!" the boy replied.
"Little fella here just can't help bein' stiff when Men are around," the senior officer said, mockingly. "Just can't help bein' stiff. Can't help being stiff."
In a moment, the boy had a throbbing erection, all of three and a half inches long. The two officers began to laugh, and the others followed.
"What kind of Man has a dick that small?" said one of the Men at the table. The boy recognized him as the sheriff's deputy that had arrested him in the park. He was wearing the same uniform: Dark blue pants with a wide yellow side stripe, a short-sleeved gunmetal blue shirt, a Sam Browne belt with a shoulder strap, brightly shined shoes.
His muscles strained the fabric of his uniform, and chest hair poked out of his open collar. His square jaw had a shaving shadow. As Jason, the inmate had once berated the handsome deputy, using his father's name as a weapon. Now he was defenseless against the lawman.
"I've never seen a Man with a dick as small as yours," the sheriff's deputy said, mockingly. "You don't even got any hair, and your balls are tiny. Say Deke, how old did you say this one is, anyway?"
"Twenty two," the senior corrections officer answered. The crowd laughed uproariously.
"If that one's 22, then I'm the King of Jupiter!" the deputy replied, laughing. "Okay, little gunman, go get me some chips and half a glass of bourbon on the rocks."
"Yes sir," the boy said, moving to comply.
The game began, and the boy brought the deputy's order. Others gave orders, and the boy filled them, his little dick rock hard all the time.
"Makes a little fella all excited to do a Man's biddin' it would seem," said one of the Men –- his half-brother, a state trooper. "Little fella just can't help being stiff for a Man he'll never be, can he?"
"No sir," the boy replied, as the Man smirked.
The trooper, a motorcycle patrolman, wore tight tan pants with a brown stripe, tucked into high black boots, and a tan long-sleeved shirt so tight it looked painted on over his muscular torso. His handsome face bore the same crooked grin that had intimidated and humiliated him as a youth. But now it was much worse, with his embarrassment on display in front of everyone, and no exit or back-talk possible. He would just have to take it.
"My boots are dirty, half buck," the Man said, roughly. "Take 'em off and shine 'em. There's polish and a cloth up in my jacket. It's the dark brown one."
"Yes sir," the boy replied, moving to fetch the items from a slick nylon jacket hanging from a hook on the wall.
"As soon as you've got the first one done, you show me," the trooper said.
"Yes sir," the boy said.
"And go grab that stool and sit next to me while you do it," he said.
"Yes sir," the boy answered.
The game continued, and in between their banter about winning and losing hands, they insulted the boy.
"Bet he thought he was real tough before getting here," said one of the Men, who'd been a corrections officer at the minimum security institution where the prisoner had done time as Jason, always under his father's protection. "He was a real pain in the ass in our joint, I can tell ya that."
The officer described Jason as a whining boy, respected by no one. The entire institution feared his father, but there had never been any illusions about the son.
"Weak little boy trying to be a man. I can't tell you how often I wanted to slap the little brat to his senses," the officer said. Not only that, he added, but it was obvious to everyone there that he was queer.
"Little fella was always stiff when Men were around," the corrections officer said. "Little fella couldn't help but being stiff for Men."
As he worked on his half-brother's boot, his erection raged, but he knew better than to touch it.
The junior corrections officer at Banner Creek chimed in.
"Oh yeah, he got hisself stiff the second day he was here," he said, with a chuckle. He called over to the boy. "Remember that, little fella? Remember when ya rubbed yerself on me here?"
"Yes sir," the boy answered, softly.
"I'd say he's done a fair amount a-learnin' since he's been here," the junior officer continued. "He knows who's a Man and who ain't a Man, and what his job is. Anyone 'round here need anything taken care of and our boy'll be more 'n happy to take care a-ya. Ain't that right, little fella?"
"Yes sir," the boy answered.
"Say it like ya mean it, little fella."
"Yes sir!" he said, louder. "I'll be happy to take care of anyone here, sir!"
"And how come that is?" the junior officer asked.
"It's because I am not a Man, sir," the young inmate answered. "I was never a Man, and will never be a Man, sir. I'm nothin' but a little fella, a little half buck, sir!"
The words hung in silence as the card game continued. Another hand was dealt, as the boy kept shining the boot. Finally, the patrolman who'd once been the boy's brother spoke.
"Good trainin' program ya got here, Jake," he said.
Just then, the boy looked up at the highway trooper and announced that he was finished with the one boot.
"Are you sure this is what it ought to be?" the patrolman asked, as he examined it carefully. "Are you sure a Man would be proud to have this on his foot?"
"Yes sir," the boy said, looking into cold eyes.
"Then what's this stone doing here?" the patrolman said, pulling an almost invisible pebble from just above the sole. "This is good enough for a Man, you think?"
"No sir," the boy answered, dejected. "I'm sorry, sir. Please let me fix it, sir."
The patrolman slapped his face hard on one side, then hard on the other.
"Goddamned right you will," the patrolman said.
The boy, now whimpering, quickly fixed the spot, and offered the boot back for the trooper's inspection.
"Okay, let's put it back on my foot, and then you shine it," he said. The boy moved quickly. The patrolman put his foot on the stool where the boy had been sitting, while the boy occupied the floor and shined the boot.
"Boy that is one small little dick of yours," the trooper said. "How long is that, anyway?"
"Three and a half inches, sir," the boy answered, softly.
"Hmm, that's barely half the length of a dollar bill," the trooper answered, with a chuckle, repeating a routine they both knew by heart. "Looks to me like you are still a little half buck."
"Yes sir!" the boy answered, quickly. "I am not a Man. I was never a Man, and will never be a Man, sir. I'm nothin' but a little half buck, sir. I'll always be a little boy, sir."
"Maybe if you'd listened to the Men who told you that a long time ago, you wouldn't be here," the trooper said.
"Yes sir," the boy said.
"Now, for the next 15 years, you'll be sucking a Man's dick and getting screwed," the trooper said. "That's what happens when you're not a Man in a place like this."
"Yes sir!" the boy said, as he worked. "I hope I can make a Man happy, sir! That's my job, sir. I'm not a Man, sir."
The card game continued, as the half-naked boy shined the trooper-half brother's other boot. From time to time, he was interrupted to fetch more drinks and food. The night wore on, and the lawmen loosened up, laughing at the to-and-fro of the game, and at their young charge.
"You've got him working hard, Jake," the one corrections officer said. "How'd you fix that with the old man, anyway?"
The senior officer explained that it was the father's doing, telling the story about how the prisoner had originally been adopted, and then disowned, and now had a new name.
"I coulda just tossed him upstairs to the wolves, but the warden thought he'd been a good candidate for the orientation we got here," he said. "I said okey-doke, as long as the old Man won't interfere. Answer back was the old Man would just as soon see the kid dead. So there ya got it. Been a spunky little fella, but seems to be workin' out fine."
The senior corrections officer paused to watch the youngster polishing his former brother's motorcycle boot.
"It's mostly been a matter a getting' him to see what he really is," he said. "Not a Man, just a little fella who's always been wantin' to be with Men. Look at him right now. Little fella just can't help bein' stiff for a Man. Just can't help it at all. Little fella just can't help himself, can he?"
"No sir," the boy answered, as he polished. "I am not a Man. I was never a Man, and will never be a Man, sir. I'm nothin' but a little half buck, sir."
The senior corrections officer smiled and chuckled.
"Little fella," he mocked, "once yer done with that Man's boot then ya come over here so we can talk a bit more."
"Yes sir," the boy said, his little pecker harder than ever. He didn't make any mistakes with the second boot, and was done quickly. It passed inspection, and as before, he put it back onto the trooper's foot, and shined until it was bright.
"I am finished with your boots, sir," he said, standing in front of the trooper, his little dick standing stiff.
"Okay," the trooper said, turning to his cards. "I think your superior wanted to see you. Right, Jake?"
"Yep," the senior corrections officer answered. "Get on over here."
"Yes sir," the boy answered, moving to the officer's side. He tapped the edge of his cards on the table to get everyone's attention.
"Now we all know this ain't any kinda Man standin' here," the officer said. "The reports say he might as well be nine or 10 years old. He ain't even five and a half feet. His hard dick's no bigger than a Man's little finger, and his balls are maybe the size of big cherries."
He turned to the boy and said, "Ya know that, don't ya?"
"Yes sir," the boy answered.
"But there ya are, yer little dick hard," the corrections officer said. "Ya been hard for the better part of an hour now. Little one just can't help bein' stiff for a Man. Just can't help it, can ya little fella? Just can't help it?"
"No sir," he answered, rock hard and breathless. "I can't help being erect around Men, sir."
"That's right," the senior officer said, mockingly to his colleagues. "Trust me, whatever ya might want this one to do for ya, he'll enjoy doin' it. One of his favorites is drinkin' a full load of a Man's piss. Gets the little fella stiffer 'n heck. Just can't help it."
He stood up, towering over the excited boy.
"Why don't ya show 'em what I'm talkin' about" he said. "Go get yer little stool bring it back here and go to work."
"Yes sir," the boy said, retrieving his stool from next to the trooper, bringing it around the table, and positioning it between the standing corrections officer's legs.
"Sit on down there and open my my fly," the officer said, as the others at the table stared.
"You've got to be kidding!" the sheriff's deputy exclaimed. "You're really gonna take a leak in his mouth?"
"Damned right I am," the officer replied, standing tall.
The youngster sat down, as ordered, and lowered the zipper on the officer's gray pants. The officer reached inside and retrieved his dick, and showed everyone that it was soft. Thick and long, but not erect.
"Put it in your mouth and look up at me," the corrections officer commanded, resting his hands on his belt.
The boy did as told, and soon he was swallowing rapidly, the sounds audible throughout the room. There was no mistake about what was happening.
"Holy shit!" the sheriff's deputy said.
When he was finished, the officer pulled his still-soft penis from the boy's throat.
"Keep yer mouth open wide," he commanded, and then delivered a final squirt of urine into the opening for the boy to swallow.
"Thank you sir!" the boy said.
The corrections officer chuckled.
"A Man would never do what you just did," he said to the boy.
"I am not a Man, sir," he responded. "I was never a Man, and will never be a Man, sir."
The sheriff's deputy could barely contain himself.
"I can't tell ya how much I wanted to fuck that little brat's mouth," he said. "Little piece of shit could do anything 'cause of his family name. Now he's drinking piss. Now that's justice!"
The senior officer smiled.
"His throat's all yers, Jimbo," he said to the sheriff's deputy, handsome and tall in his sharp blue uniform, with sandy, short-cropped hair. "His ass is reserved for the night, but ya got the rest."
The deputy eagerly accepted, first pissing down the kid's throat and then screwing his mouth roughly. He ended with a loud "pop," and squirted the last part of his load on the boy's face.
"Wear it, little gunman," he said. "And let me hear that little speech about not being a Man. I liked that one."
"Thank you, sir!" the boy told the sheriff, as he was zipping himself up. "I am not a Man. I was never a Man, and will never be a Man, sir. I'm nothin' but a little fella, a little half buck, sir."
While all of that was happening, the junior corrections officer had stood up, walked over to the counter and gotten a beer mug. He had put some more Correctol inside, and now he was standing up and filling the mug with his urine. He finished pissing, and called over to the boy. His flaccid pecker was long and thick, and hung out of the fly of his gray uniform pants.
"Got somethin' here for ya, Matthews," he said, mockingly. "I know how much ya love drinkin' my whizz. Why don't ya come on over and get it?"
"Yes sir," the boy replied, rising to comply.
"Stay on yer hands 'n knees," the officer said. "Ya crawl over here."
The boy did as told, and was soon at the junior officer's feet.
"Look up and open yer mouth," the corrections officer told him.
The boy did so, and the officer squirted a stream of urine that he'd saved straight into the boy's mouth. Then he lowered the glass to the boy's lips and began feeding him.
"That's right," he said. "Ya drink it now."
By the time the boy was finished, the young officer's dick was at attention.
"Open up yer mouth, little fella," he said, and when the boy did so he began to slowly screw it. As he built up momentum, the boy massaged the back of his legs, making it clear he was accustomed to the routine. When the officer came, he squirted his last into his palm, and held it out toward the boy, who lapped it up. Finally, the officer rubbed his palm over the boy's head, leaving his mark.
"Thank you, sir!" the boy said.
The corrections officer then sat down in his chair, his legs spread. He pointed toward the trooper, the boy's half-brother.
"He might want something," the officer said. "Go over there and see to the Man. Hands and knees."
"Yes sir!" he answered, crawling over to the trooper/brother who had tormented him for years. He turned his chair away from the table, extended one of his legs outward and smiled.
"Rub yer little self up against my boot, half-buck," he said, chuckling. "I bet that's what ya like best."
"Yes sir!" the boy replied, as he began humping the trooper's boot.
"Man'd never do that, now would he?" the trooper said, looking down at the young inmate straddling his boot, his butt going up and down.
"No sir," the boy answered. "I'm not a Man, sir. I'll never be a Man, sir. I'm nothin' but a little half buck, sir."
"A queer little half buck, ain't that right?" the trooper asked.
"Yes sir, a queer ..."
He didn't finish his sentence, as he tightened around the boot, groaning and squirting.
"Thank you, sir," the boy said, out of breath.
"Get limp, Matthews," the officer said cooly from the next table over. Almost instantly, the young inmate felt the blood drain from between his legs. There was a sense of relief – he had been erect for almost two hours – but with the excitement gone, the humiliation of his position and the reality of what he had been doing, flooded in upon him.
"Fellas, can ya believe the mess the little half buck made?" the officer said to the others in the room. His tone was incredulous, mocking, and triumphant, all all once. The others began to laugh, and the boy struggled to retain his composure.
"Lick it up, Matthews," the corrections officer said, chuckling loudly. "Yer squirt's all over that trooper's boot and my floor. Clean it off with yer faggot little mouth. Move it before I kick yer sorry ass across this room!"
As the Men laughed at him, the boy raced to do as he was told. When he was finished, he was ordered to clean the boots off with a rag, and mop the floor.
"Better take a piss in the toilet of one a-the other cells when ya get the mop bucket," the officer added. "Ya ain't close to bein' done here, and yer probably getting' a full belly."
"Yes sir," the youngster replied. "Thank you, sir."
The card game continued. The Men, now loosened up by the liquor and their impunity, spoke freely about the boy who had been serving them, as he cleaned up after himself and re-shined the boot of the trooper after removing what he had ejaculated there.
"Well, well, well, so we meet again."
In a room full of tall, strong, handsome Men, the minimum-security corrections officer stood out in every respect. At 6'5", he was a few inches taller than even the senior Banner Creek officer, and in his size 14 boots he stood more than a foot taller than the half-naked boy.
He was built like a heavyweight boxer: thick in the middle, solid and stocky, carrying a lot of weight. His crisp brown uniform trousers strained, especially in back, where his broad and muscular ass stretched the fabric. His tan shirt encased an impossibly wide chest, and the sleeves barely contained his biceps. Blond, with a flat-top crewcut and close-cropped sidewalls, the officer had a square jaw, a cleft in his chin, and piercing blue eyes right out of some Hollywood movie.
What stood out most, though, was his anger. The officer had been known for going strictly by the book: fair, but very firm. When he was Jason, the inmate standing there had once deeply offended the Man. And now that Man would get his revenge.
"Yep, this one told me to fuck off after I ordered him to turn off the lamp his daddy ordered for him," the officer said to the others in the room, spitting out the words. "So he's Randy now? Well, little Randy's father had connections, so the warden made us lay off. Guess what? I didn't forget what the little squirrel did."
He turned toward Randy and spoke.
"Remember the night yer girlfriend came to visit?" he asked.
"Yes sir," the boy replied softly.
"I remember it too," the officer said, grinning wickedly. "It was a Thursday before a holiday weekend. I had the next day off, so I spent the next four days screwing yer little Angel. Prolly came a dozen times. Fucked both holes and her mouth. That one sure liked havin' a Man's dick inside her, I'll tell ya!"
The boy continued cleaning, silently. The new dose of Correctol kicked in, heightening his perceptions, and his sense of humiliation and shame along with his eagerness for it.
"Come over here, ya little shithead," the officer said, curling his index finger toward himself. "Come on over. Come on, now."
The young inmate moved over toward the officer's chair, his eyes down.
"Look at me, little boy," he ordered. The young inmate looked into the officer's grin, his own eyes clouded by tears of humiliation and yet his brain craving more.
"Daddy ain't protectin' ya anymore," the corrections officer said, coiling his middle finger behind his thumb and casually flicking the young inmate's genitals. The boy winced in pain, and a tear rolled down his cheek.
"That hurt, little fella?" the laughing officer said, taunting the boy and flicking again.
"Yes sir, it hurts, sir!" the boy answered.
"Maybe ya should-a thought about what might happen when ya were such a pain in the ass back then," the officer said. "But at least I got to screw yer so-called girlfriend. She just loved swingin' on my stiff dick. Told me it was good to be with a Man for once in her life."
The boy's tears flowed more freely, as the officer kept flicking his finger.
"Tell me, little fella, don't ya think it was good that yer Angel finally got herself what she needed?" the officer taunted. "Didn't I do a good turn? Didn't I?"
"I suppose so, sir," the boy answered, his voice quivering.
The corrections officer's smile broadened, and he flicked the boy's balls harder.
"I ain't heard a 'Thank you, sir' yet," he said. "Come on, little fella, I want ya to thank me for fuckin' yer Angel. I want to hear ya thank me for bein' the Man you were only pretendin' to be fer her. Come on, let me hear it."
The boy hesitated, and the officer flicked his finger even harder. He scored a direct hit on his balls, and the young inmate fell to the floor, moaning and sobbing uncontrollably, less from the pain than from the shock of having the remains of his heterosexuality visibly shredded in front of a group of Men who knew him.
"I'm sorry for being such a jerk, sir," he cried, his voice a whine and a screech. "I never should have been that way, sir!"
The corrections officer stood up. His uniform clung to his muscular frame, a gigantic erection outlined in his trousers. He tapped sharply at the sobbing boy's head with his patent-leather shoe.
"I don't give a damn how sorry you are," the officer said, coldly. "Now you get up on yer knees, look up into my eyes, and you thank me for showin' that girl real Manhood!"
Without thinking, as if by instinct, the young inmate looked toward the senior officer who was supervising his training. Catching Jake Sanders' eye, he pleaded wordlessly for relief, but found none.
"I told ya that ya would be payin' for yer lies," the Banner Creek officer said sternly, stroking his brush cut as he spoke. The boy took note of the thick hand, the hairy forearm, the muscular torso, and the bulge in the pants of the gray uniform at the juncture of the seated officer's widely spread legs. He spoke in an even tone, almost judicial in nature. "I suggest ya get on with what the Man standin' in front of ya is tellin' ya."
The boy saw the others around the table nodding in agreement, and noticed a smirk on the face of the sheriff's deputy who had urinated and ejaculated in his mouth. Slowly, the boy rose to his knees. After making note of the erection directly in front of his face, he looked up through teary eyes at the corrections officer from the other prison.
"Th-th-th-thank you for what you did with her, sir," he said, softly. "She needed it, sir."
"Exactly what did she need, little fella?" the officer asked, his voice taunting.
"She needed a real Man, sir," the kneeling boy answered.
"Not you," the officer said. "She didn't need you, did she?"
"No sir," the boy answered.
"Why's that?" officer asked.
"I am not a Man," he replied. "I was never a Man, and never will be a Man, sir. I'm just a little fella, sir. I'm a half buck who will never be a Man, sir."
"She needed a real Man's stiff dick," the corrections officer said. "Didn't she?"
"Yes sir," he answered.
"Not yours," the officer said, smiling downward.
"No sir, not mine sir." he replied.
"You were a boy," the officer said. "You were a queer little boy with a limp little dick. Ya were pretendin' the whole time, when in fact ya have never been anything other than a little faggot tryin' to act like a Man. Ain't that right?"
"Yes sir," the boy answered, softly.
"I did the right thing by screwin' her, didn't I?" the officer asked.
"Yes sir," he said. "Thank you for being the Man she needed, sir. Thank you for doing the right thing for her, sir!"
"Why's that again?" the officer asked, relishing the revenge. I want to hear you thank me for screwin' her," the officer said. "I want to hear you thank me for puttin' my stiff dick in her."
"Thank you for screwing her, sir," he said, tears now rolling down his face. "Thank you for putting you stiff dick in her, sir."
The corrections officer looked down, stroked the young inmate's cheek, and smiled.
"Yer Angel sucked my hard dick all night long. She couldn't get enough," the officer said. "Looked straight in my eyes and told me how good it was to be with a Man for once."
Matthews looked at the officer, in tears but breathless with humiliation and excitement.
"Time for a little faggot to kiss my hard ass," the officer said. "Ain't it?"
"Yes sir."
"I didn't quite hear ya ask me."
"Please let me kiss your ass, sir!" he replied.
The corrections officer turned around and stood straight, with his legs spread like Orion in the sky or the ancient Greek colossus.
"Get to it, little shithead," he said, his voice brutal. "Grab onto the back of my belt, and I want to hear 'Fuck off' every time you kiss my ass."
"F-f-f-fuck off, sir," Randy said, his voice quivering as he followed the order.
"I told ya to say 'Fuck off' not 'F-f-f-fuck off,' so do what yer told and don't stop until I tell ya to."
As the boy complied, the corrections officer smiled and laughed, joined by the other Men in the room. The colossus reached back with a free hand and guided the boy's hand to his erection.
"Take hold of the handlebar and keep on kissin' my ass," he officer said. "I want to hear the faggot say 'Fuck off' to the Man whose stiff dick screwed his girlfriend."
To ongoing laughter, he kept it up until the Man told him to stop, and then turned around.
"You wanna suck the dick that fucked yer little Angel, don't ya?" he said. "Look me in the eye and tell me, ya piece a-shit."
"Yes sir," he said, looking up through teary eyes. "I want to do that, sir."
"I didn't hear ya ask."
"Please let me suck your dick, sir!"
"Tell me why ya want it."
"I am not a Man," he replied. "I was never a Man, and never will be a Man, sir. I'm just a little fella, sir. I'm a half buck who will never be a Man, sir."
"Tell me the other reason," he said.
"I'm a limp dick queer, sir," he said, his voice breaking. "I was only pretending, sir."
"Look at these Men and tell them what ya just told me."
"I'm a limp-dick little queer," he said to them.
"Yer a limp-dick little queer and you'll never be a Man," the officer said. "Now tell 'em, and make sure they can hear it."
He stared out at the other Men, who were smiling and chuckling.
"I'm a limp-dicked little queer and I'll never be a Man!" he cried.
"That's right," the corrections officer said, his voice tender and mocking. "Little fella limp with the girls, but just can't help bein' stiff when Men are around. Can't help it. Ain't that about right?"
"Yes sir," he said softly through his sniffles. The officer unbuckled his belt and his pants and lowered his zipper, revealing a very thick erection encased in a slick, skin tight pair of boxer briefs, with his balls below, large, tight, and bulging. The young inmate gasped at the sight.
"There ya go," the officer said, chuckling along with the other Men in the room. "Take my dick out, little sword swallower."
As the Man's dick pushed into his throat, Randy realized that a part of him had been clinging to Angel, or at least the idea of her as a girlfriend. But not any more, and the end of that illusion couldn't have been any more brutal.
"Lick my balls and start in with the 'Fuck off' again," he command, standing tall over the cringing inmate. The absurdity of the insults –- being forced to say things they both knew weren't true, yet carried a truth of their own -- only underlined the boy's powerlessness, to the degree that the officer's massive ejaculation seemed almost beside the point.
"Stay there and keep your mouth still," the Man said, as he began to urinate. "This is what happens when you say 'Fuck off' to a corrections officer."
Banner Creek's junior corrections officer had gotten up and left the room, and now returned with the familiar duffel bag. He reached inside and withdrew a butt plug and lubricant and spoke softly and gently.
"It's gonna be okay," he whispered to the boy, who still sniffling. "It's been rough, but I'm gonna take care a-ya, hear?"
"Yes sir," he said, staring upward into the Man's eyes. The officer had given him another dose of Correctol. There were different formulations, and this one was designed to cement the bond between them.
"Grease it up and put it inside ya," he said gently. "Then get on under the table."
Under the table, the officer maneuvered him so that he could move the plug with the toe of his boot. He straddled one of the officer's powerful legs, his erection pressed up against the slick fabric of the gray uniform pants, his head resting in the Man's ample crotch.
Randy had been shattered, and felt that he was being rearranged inside. His last hope, really a fantasy, was gone. In a flash, he realized what this program was about: Breaking him of his illusions so the truth could come through. He had been taking the Banner Creek officers' dicks from the beginning, and had given up many things already, but now there was a clarity he'd not felt before.
He had already been submitting to the demands, but now he understood that they weren't just Men whose orders he had to follow. The difference between him and them was vast. He thought about their bodies: not only their gigantic dicks, but their height, their strength, their legs, their arms, their chests, their uniforms, their faces, and more. Every single thing about them said they were Men, and he was not.
He felt comfort in the new clarity, but also feared the emptiness that had been revealed. He mind racing, he clung to the warmth of the junior officer's words, and the pledge to take care of him.
As the card game resumed, the corrections officer had moved toward the edge of his chair, unzipped his fly, taken his dick out of his pants, and guided the boy's mouth onto it. He patted the boy's cheeks softly to indicate that he should suck, and when the boy complied, the officer stroked his head softly with his hand whenever he wasn't using it to throw poker chips into the pot or arrange his cards.
All the while, he slowly pumped the butt plug with the boy's foot, causing him to grip the Man's leg tight. When the officer's bladder was full, he squeezed the boy's neck to get his attention, then stroked it. He let the stream flow, and the inmate swallowed it as the officer calmly examined his cards, showing no sign that anything unusual was happening.
The sheriff's deputy made derogatory comments about the boy under the table, but the state trooper brother came to his defense.
"Ya fellas know that I grew up with little half buck down there," he said, continuing into a shorter version of what he and his blood brother had talked about in the recorded interview.
"All that said, though, I've got to say that he lacked for adult guidance," the trooper said. "I think he felt quite a bit of pressure from my father to be a Man, to prove himself. He knew earlier than any of us that it wasn't going to be in the cards for him, but he didn't know what to do. Jake, I hope your training helps show him how to go from here. You know, beyond sucking dick and all the rest."
Banning Creek's senior corrections officer leaned back in his chair. From his position beneath the table, the young inmate heard something he had rarely, if ever, heard during his confinement: A deep belly laugh, almost a roar.
"Well, I do believe we have heard Mr. Gandhi and the voice of kindness! Testify, brother!" the officer exclaimed. The other card players joined in the laughter, and even the trooper cracked a smile as the junior officer softly stroked the boy's head.
"Don't get me wrong," the trooper brother answered. "He deserves everything he's gotten, and whatever's yet to come. But you know, you beat on a dog to teach him what not to do, and you feed a dog to teach him how to behave."
The senior corrections officer smiled and nodded in agreement.
"Yer right," he said to the trooper. "And we're workin' that side of it too. Not tonight, but we're workin' it, trust me."
And with that, the officer stood up, his gray uniform clinging to his muscularity, and indicated that the evening was drawing to a close.
"Time ta settle up," he said. Chips were counted, money was handed out, and the boy was retrieved from his spot under the table. The junior corrections officer who was being serviced stood, put his ample dick back into his pants, and zipped up.
"Deke, how about ya put the little fella to bed while the rest of us clean up here?" he said.
The junior officer led Randy away, while the senior officer and the other Men cleaned up and talked shop. One by one, they bid Jake, and each other, goodbye and walked away into the night. At last, only the two corrections officers, and the hapless young inmate remained in the facility.
"Ya done good, little Randy," the junior officer said softly as he led the boy to his cell for the night. "Yer gonna make it, little fella."