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TEXAS 1956 Vol. 1 – Chapter 6
When the boots had faded to nothing, the captain resumed counting off seconds to keep his bearings. Somewhere at the thousand mark, the silent background to the humming lights became hypnotic, and he lost track. Then voices from far down the corridor jarred him awake. He judged that they originated in a room off the hallway. He recognized one of then as Staff Sergeant Jensen, who by now he regarded as the embodiment of pure hostility, just this side of murder. Unless he was given the chance.
"Prisoner, what the FUCK were you told about touchin' yer dick?" the voice he identified as Jensen's shouted. "What the FUCK were you told?"
Jensen was known in the big brig for catching prisoners masturbating in violation of regulations. He would routinely spend hours spying on their cells, then humiliating them for the violation. The other guards thought it was more than a little over-zealous, but they found the game amusing.
"Sir, the prisoner was told not to do it except to wash it or void the prisoner's bladder, sir!" a terrified voice called back.
"Prisoner, are you hard of hearing?" the interrogator shouted.
"Sir, no sir!" the voice called back.
"Prisoner, was the order not clear?" Staff Sergeant Jensen shouted.
"Sir, the order was clear, sir!" the voice called back.
"Prisoner, do you think you can ignore an order here?" the staff sergeant shouted.
"Sir, no sir!" the voice replied.
"Prisoner, how long have you been in my brig?" the staff sergeant shouted.
"Sir, the prisoner has been in the staff sergeant's brig for two months, four days, sir!" the voice called back.
"Prisoner, are ya a queer?" the staff sergeant shouted.
"Sir, no sir!" the voice called back.
"Prisoner, there are nothing but males in my brig. I think ya been dreamin' of my stiff dick!" the staff sergeant shouted. "Ain't that right?"
"Sir, no sir!" the voice called back, much louder.
"Prisoner, ya wanna hold a stiff dick in my brig, then I'm gonna give ya a stiff dick to hold!" the staff sergeant said.
"Sir, no sir!" the voice called out, panicked.
"Prisoner, ya got 'til the count a-three to grab hold a-my dick, or I'm gonna break both yer hands!" the staff sergeant shouted.
"Sir, please don't make the prisoner ..." the voice called out, breaking.
"One!"
The voice was sobbing.
"Sir, please don't ..."
"Two!"
A pause, and no sound. Two second later, the staff sergeant's voice.
"That's right, prisoner, ya feel that," it said. "Come on, give that a good hard squeeze, both hands. Ya wanna hold a stiff dick, so now ya got one to hold!"
"Sir, the prisoner swears the prisoner is not a queer, sir!" the voice called out. "Sir, please, sir. I-I-the prisoner is begging you sir!"
"I bet you want a stiff dick in yer mouth so bad ya can taste it. Touch yer stiff dick again in here and what yer holdin' onto will be so far down yer throat ya will feel it in yer stomach!" the staff sergeant barked. "Is that clear?"
"Sir, yes sir!" the voice called out.
"Yer not hard a-hearin' this time?"
"Sir, no sir!"
"Prisoner's ready to follow orders now?"
"Sir, yes sir!"
"Prisoner, take yer queer hands off my pecker before I shove it down yer queer throat and give ya a taste of a big Man's stiff meat!"
"Sir, yes sir!" the voice shouted. "Sir, thank you, sir!"
"Prisoner, don't ya fuckin' thank me," the staff sergeant yelled. "Ya better remember what I just told ya, 'cause once ya lose yer Manhood ya ain't gettin' it back! Is that understood?"
"Sir, yes sir!"
"Now get up off yer knees and stand with nose 'n toes to the wall over there, parade rest, until I come back and get ya!"
"Sir, yes sir!"
A metal door clanked shut. Fear grew, but so did his excitement. The captain clenched his buttocks together, and squeezed his rectum as the boots drew closer. He felt the staff sergeant's presence behind him. A baton aimed in between and pressed inward below his hands. Breath in his ear.
"Ya grab that with both hands 'n squeeze good 'n hard," the voice whispered, and he complied, his shaking hands unable to wrap themselves all the way around the stiff steel rod.
"I'm gonna shove that fuckstick a-mine in ya til' yer eyes are buggin' out," the whisper said. "I'm gonna fuck ya over and over, and yer gonna learn what a queer gets in my brig."
The staff sergeant took a step back.
"Left face!" he barked.
"Sir, yes sir!" the captain shouted.
"March!"
When they reached the intersecting corridor, the staff sergeant shouted another "left face" and "march," and Ridgeton complied, squaring off the corner and lifting his feet. The plug's movement combined with everything else – his fear, his excitement, his urge to please, the staff sergeant's whispered promises – to keep his erection at a maximum state as they moved down the corridor.
"Prisoner, halt!" the staff sergeant barked. "Right face! Parade rest!"
Ridgeton complied, and Staff Sergeant Jensen walked a circle around him, having unholstered the billy club on his belt. He smacked the captain's buttocks lightly, then walked to the front, and chuckled as he poked at the lump Ridgeton's erection was making in his uniform.
"Prisoner, drop and give me a hundred pushups!" he barked. "Count 'em off!"
"Sir, yes sir," he called, silently smug. Ridgeton's gymnastic ability had made him a pushup champion at the officer training program. He'd once won a contest by doing 270 of them at a stretch.
"Sir, one, sir!" he began, feeling the plug and his erection touching the floor along with his chest on each repetition. While he was counting, he heard the key ring again. The staff sergeant was unlocking a thick metal door. As it swung open, he could hear the voices of Sergeant Jordan and Gunny Gilroy talking loudly and laughing. The room was thoroughly soundproofed, but when the door swung wide open, the voices came booming outward.
"Remove everything but yer t-shirt," Staff Sergeant Jensen said, pointing toward a wall where a hanger hung from a hook. "Uniform on the hook, the rest on the floor underneath."
"Sir, yes sir!" the captain replied, marching to the hanger. Removing his clothing caused the plug to tug to and fro inside, and he felt a drop of liquid leak out of his erection. When he was finished, he stood at attention and looked at the room. It was a larger version of the corridors outside, about 20 feet square, with the same shiny linoleum floor, the same two-toned walls, the same harsh fluorescent lighting. There was a sink in one corner; a tall, wide metal cabinet; a padded table with wheels and levers; and an assortment of chairs.
Three guards were present: Jensen, Brick, and another who he'd never seen before. Staff Sergeant. Jensen moved to the table.
"Come over here, captain," he said. "Stand with yer waist at the edge."
"Sir, yes sir!" Ridgeton replied, self conscious at being half-naked in the presence of the fully clothed guards, and moving to the table.
"Spread yer legs and bend over," Jensen said. "Stretch yer arms out."
"Sir, yes sir!" he replied, complying. He felt leather restraints being attached, with his ankles bound tightly and his wrists bound loosely.
Then he felt his rectum being stretched. He panicked, wondering whether the baseball bat he'd seen in the picture a while back was being inserted. Through the terror and pain, he realized that he could feel the body attached to the battering ram. It was Staff Sergeant Gilroy's voice.
"Ya wanna be a faggot in my Marine Corps, do ya?" he heard the staff sergeant say, his voice brutal and cold. "Then this is what ya get, ya little queer piece a shit."
Gilroy fucked him, slowly at first, then harder. He heard Jensen talking.
"Yeah, give it to him good, Brick," he said. "Bet that feels real damn good. Faggots love takin' a stiff dick, alright."
The third guard stood in front of him.
"Open yer mouth," he said.
Ridgeton's most important duty at the yard was to pay the workers. This happened every Friday at quitting time. He would call the foremen into his office and hand them the pay envelopes, which they would distribute. To insure security, he'd follow one of several procedures to retrieve the money from the bank. This day, he was met at the bank by John Cramer, and they walked into an office together.
He was shocked and irritated to see Deputy Brick sitting in a chair in his law enforcement uniform. His hands were clasped behind his head, legs extended and spread far apart, the tan fabric gathered tightly around his legs and the formidable bulge below the belt.
"Howdy, John!" he said, brightly, extending his thick hand the shake the owner's. "Hey there, captain!"
"I – I can't say I expected to see you here, Deputy Gilroy," Ridgeton replied, suppressing his irritation, before shaking the lawman's hand.
"Brick and I are acquainted," the owner said. "No secrets about the lumber yard."
"Anyway, I've got good news," Cramer said, smiling broadly as he took one of the chairs in the room. "We've landed important new contracts, so everyone's getting raises. Common labor goes from $30 a week to $40. Special labor from $60 to $80. Foremen from $120 to $160. You from $210 to $280. There's an extra flyer inside explaining each employee's raise. The raises are retroactive to Monday. It'll be a good day at the yard today."
"Yes sir, it sure will!" Ridgeton replied, the good news overwhelming his discomfort. "Thank you, sir."
"I have some other news that's not as good," Cramer continued. "Bill Johnson hasn't been sick or on vacation. Deputy Gilroy arrested him on Monday for molesting boys at his Scout camp. The authorities have handled it discreetly. He has already pleaded guilty in a court in Wickham County, and he began serving 50 years in the state penitentiary yesterday. He's granted his wife a divorce, and signed over everything to her. Sad case."
Ridgeton drew a sharp breath. He had known about his foreman's inclinations, and had repeatedly urged him to be more careful.
"The temporary foremanship for Mr. Jordan will become permanent, and is disclosed in the flyer that announces the pay raises," the owner said. "It says that Mr. Johnson decided to move to Pennsylvania to be with his ailing parents. His wife has already left town, and because Mr. Jordan's crime has been handled discreetly, there will be no need to say more. Mr. Jordan will be moving into her house, and I have loaned him the necessary funds to buy it."
"He's on the young side for that position," Ridgeton said, before catching himself. "But he's well respected among the Men so I'm sure it'll go over well, especially with these raises."
"Deputy Gilroy, if you'd be so kind as to accompany Mr. Ridgeton back to the yard, I'd ever so much appreciate it," Cramer said to the lawman, who rose and took the satchel full of pay envelopes.
"Sure thing, John," the deputy said. "Captain, I'll give ya a ride back to the yard in the squad car, and we can come back to fetch yer car later on."
"Sounds good, sergeant," he replied, worrying as they walked out of the bank. Back in the car, the deputy handed the captain a Sprite and confirmed his fears.
"The captain has some good news for ya, Shane," the deputy said. "I'll let him tell ya what he knows of it."
Deputy Gilroy, in uniform, had picked up Ridgeton at quitting time and driven him to Three-Finger Buck's place. Sergeant Jordan had joined them, arriving in the old foreman's brand-new pickup truck. The foreman's wife had given it to him in trade for his well-used sedan, in a sign of appreciation to the sheriff's department for the quick and quiet arrangements made earlier in the week. The captain was in the dark civilian suit he wore as the yard's manager, while Sergeant Jordan was dressed in tight fitting dark blue work clothes that clung to every part of him.
"Hard to imagine the news could get much better," he said, smiling as he drank from the bottle of beer that the deputy had handed him, "but shoot."
The captain reached in his pocket and withdrew three $20 bills and a five, and handed it to the sergeant-foreman.
"This is yours, sir," he said. "Every Friday, you'll get the same from me, along with a freshly shined pair of boots if you want them, sir."
"What the ..." the sergeant began, when the deputy interrupted.
"The captain here got the same one-third raise that everyone else did," Gilroy said. "But we can't have a queer faggot takin' home more than the Man whose dick he sucks, now can we, captain?"
"No sir," Ridgeton replied, earnestly. "It wouldn't be right, sir."
The sergeant-foreman smirked and rubbed his chin in a mocking way.
"Ya know, gunny," he said, "ya got a point there. Boys shouldn't really be earnin' more than the Men."
"Let's just say that the owner of Clinton Lumber is well known to our office, so we had a talk about the future," Deputy Gilroy said. "The yard's gonna be expandin' with a bunch more military business, and by the end of the year they'll be needin' an assistant manager. As long as ya don't mess up as a foreman, yer gonna be in that job. The captain here will be showin' ya the ropes from now until then.
"When it's all said and done, our captain here will be makin' less than any foreman and half what you do, and he will be takin' his orders from ya. The titles will be fer show. Can't have a little fella pullin' in more than the foremen neither. Can we, Kenny?"
"No sir," Ridgeton replied. "This is the way it ought to be, sir. Thank you for fixing it up this way, sir."
"I knew ya would see it that way," the deputy said, his tone friendly. "So Shane, has the captain been behavin' himself this week?"
"Oh yeah, gunny, I'd say so," the young sergeant replied. "We got us a Coca-Cola machine on the loadin' dock yesterday. Plenty a-Sprite in there. He's been tyin' himself up good 'n tight too."
"Plug him up yet?" the deputy asked.
"Yep, on Wednesday afternoon," Sergeant Jordan replied, smiling. "Had a good ol' time that night."
"Little fella givin' ya any backtalk or dirty looks?" Deputy Gilroy asked. "Gotta watch him fer that. This one gets cranky from time to time, y'know."
"So far so good, gunny," Sergeant Jordan said. "I think he learned his lessons at the brig."
"Real good to hear that," the deputy said. "But yer gonna need to keep a close eye on him. Don't want to let him get outta line, now!"
"I hear ya, gunny!" Sergeant Jordan said, chuckling. "I'll make sure of it."
The deputy turned to Ridgeton.
"This workin' out for ya, little fella?" he asked.
"Yes sir," he answered.
"Plug helps, don't it?" the deputy asked. "Reminds ya of yer place."
"Yes sir," he replied.
"I didn't hear ya thank Sergeant Jordan."
"Thank you for plugging me, sir," he said. "And thank you for the Sprites, sir. They are just what I need, sir!"
A Man in a suit and tie was a Man of authority, power, and influence in West Texas in 1956. But not Ridgeton. He was filled with an intoxicating mixture of excitement and humiliation, especially when combined with the emasculating position he had been placed relative to the younger Sergeant Jordan. The effect was to generate an overwhelming desire to please him, and to wear his "little boy" clothing.
But he knew he couldn't ask. The sergeant had made it clear that he would have to earn his retreat from Manhood, not request it. He would have to show himself worthy through obedience and attitude.
"I'll do my best, sir!" he heard himself say, looking first at one Man and then the other, with eager and pleading eyes, his dick hard as he spoke. "Anything I can do, sir!"
The gunny-deputy stood up and looked at his watch.
"Hell, I got time before I gotta be back on duty," Brick said in his gravelly voice, standing up and walking over to where Ridgeton was seated, the leather on his uniform squeaking as ho moved. The deputy loomed large over the seated captain, his boot heels adding height, and his duty belt and sidearm adding width. His tan shirt stretched to accommodate his chest.
"Nice little suit a-yers there," he said, smiling as he reached down and adjusted the captain's tie, like a father would straighten his son's. "Ya almost look like a little Man. Probably fool 'em down at the mill, anyway, don't ya?"
"I suppose so, sir," Ridgeton said, reveling in his humiliation. "It's what I've got to do, sir."
"They all think yer a Man, but we know better, now, don't we?" Sergeant Jordan asked, taunting and sweet.
"Yes sir," he said, short of breath, dizzy and intoxicated. The sergeant-foreman held his middle finger upward in an obscene gesture.
"Why don't ya show all of us just how queer ya get, then," Jordan said. "Show us what little Kenny in his suit does fer a Man, why don't ya."
Ridgeton opened his lips and sucked on the finger, and then another, swirling his tongue around the young sergeant's fingers, alternately licking, swirling, and sucking, breathing heavily.
"That a little fella," Jordan said, his gentleness mocking all the time. "Little faggot knows just what to do on a Man's stiff crank, don't he now."
The deputy stood smiling, his legs spread wide and his hands on his hips, chuckling softly along with the others in the room.
"How's he doin' there, Shane?" Deputy Gilroy said. "Looks like yer getting' him trained to ya."
"Oh yeah, gunny," the sergeant answered, exuding casual authority. "Little fella's behavin' himself, I'd say. This one likes doin' what a Man tells him."
"Kenny, as soon as Sergeant Jordan says ya can, go grab that stool over by the wall and bring it over here so ya can sit on down and suck my dick before I go," Brick said.
"Yes sir!" Ridgeton replied, his voice muffled around the sergeant's fingers.
"Okay, captain," Sergeant Jordan said, "ya can go get yer stool now."
He stood up, and a small bump showed in his trousers, his erection raging from the combination of the treatment he was getting and the harness that was pressing the bump against his rectum. By the time he returned, Deputy Gilroy's dick was hanging out of his trousers, mostly soft but thick and 6 inches long.
"Sit on down there and put that in yer mouth 'n wait," Brick said, folding his arms across his chest. "Look up at me while yer doin' it."
"Yes sir!" the captain replied, preparing himself.
Soon, the stream of urine was pouring down Ridgeton's upturned throat. He held his breath and swallowed, taking short and quick breaths through his nose when he could. The deputy deliberately pissed hard, forcing the captain to work furiously to keep the stream from overwhelming his ability to swallow it. Brick playfully rubbed Ridgeton's scalp with his knuckles as he worked.
"You have him drink straight from the hose yet, Shane?" Deputy Gilroy said while the captain was swallowing. "Nothin' quite says, 'I'm queer and I'm workin' on ya' like that does. Feels damn good up here with that dang queer drinkin my piss and lookin straight up into my eyes, I'll tell ya."
Sergeant Jordan chuckled.
"Oh yeah, he drinks from the tap, but I kinda like it when the captain's drinkin' a bottle a-Sprite at the plant with the Men watchin'," the sergeant said. "Kenny smiles and thanks me for the Sprite, right there in front of the Men, knowin' he ain't a Man but just a little boy who'll do what he's told."
Brick finished pissing in the captain's throat, and had grabbed hold of his head, starting to move his hips in and out.
"Damn, I'm a horny goat today," he said as the sergeant watched. "Had to run down some kid today, and it got me goin'. Kinda like a workout, I guess. I'm all jammed up."
The deputy growled as he pumped, working much faster than he did the prior weekend when he'd taken his time.
"Take that whole goddamn thing," he said, roughly. "Come on, open up yer queer throat there."
Ridgeton's gulps were audible in the room, and the deputy's thick dick made his victim's throat bulge like a snake that had just swallowed a squirrel. He pumped hard and fast, and soon the captain felt liquid gushing into his throat. He swallowed furiously, and when he was finished the deputy withdrew, leaving Ridgeton gasping for air. He wiped his dick on the captain's head, stuffed it back into his pants, and zipped up.
"Thank you, sir!" Ridgeton said, rubbing his eyes and still breathing heavily from the assault, which left him dazed and shaken.
"Better get movin' on," Brick said to Sergeant Jordan, ignoring Ridgeton's distress. "I'll leave ya to do what ya will."