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TEXAS 1956 Vol. 1 – Chapter 11
Fifteen minutes later, the cadet stood out back with the Men who were smoking on the patio, which was illuminated by a couple of flood lights. The night had turned cold, and he was glad he'd put his jacket on.
"Ya been tellin' quite a bunch a lies there, boy," Deputy Brick said. "Bein' a queer faggot means bein' a liar, and once ya get used to bein' a liar then all hell breaks loose, I reckon. That plus thinkin' about dick all the time."
"I-I-I don't know ..." he stammered, before Brick cut him off.
"The lyin' is gonna stop tonight, Clayton," he said, coldly. "Ya ain't ever gonna lie to Men again. And yer gonna start learnin' how to behave. Jake tried to warn ya, and so did the Man in them pictures. Things gonna change, startin' now."
The deputies turned and walked toward the garage, calling the cadet to follow. They opened a door and walked through, a flicked a switch. Harsh, bright fluorescent lights clicked on, and a blower started up, providing heat. The larger deputy walked to the middle of the empty two-car garage, reached up, and pulled a cord. It lowered a structure that looked like a large X to the floor. He strolled over to a cabinet, opened it and came back with a dozen long bolts, each with a washer, and a wrench.
"Here, Clayton, I want ya to attach the cross to the floor," Deputy Jake said. "Come on over, and I'll show ya."
He squatted down, fished a bolt through a metal plate at the foot of the X, and tightened it.
"Two bolts on each side of each end, and on the brace," he said. "Good 'n tight. Don't want this slippin' around none."
The cadet looked at the mysterious contraption. The bottom half of the X was made of metal, and the top half of thick wood, padded with leather. There was a padded cross beam low on the upper part of the X. The structure had a locked hinge in the middle, and angled somewhat off 90 degrees. It was braced with another metal beam that hinged downward to the floor from the middle, in back. There was a thick, leather-covered metal pad attached to the top of the bottom section, and there were eye bolts along the sides of all the beams, and at the sides of the horizontal pads.
As he tightened the bolts, the deputies walked around the garage, and he noticed that the sounds didn't echo. It was as if the room was wrapped inside of a couch. Just before he finished, he heard a radio click on. The same cowboy station, but now the music seemed less comforting than threatening. Something was going to happen to him. He didn't know what, but he did know he wasn't going to have a choice in the matter.
When he was finished securing the cross, he rose and stood up, glad to exercise his joints, and handed the wrench to Deputy Jake.
"Strip to the waist," Brick said, while Jake turned to take the wrench back to the cabinet.
"Wh-wh-what, sir?" he asked, worried now.
"Ya heard me," Deputy Brick answered. "Clean the shit outta yer ears and do what yer told, ya lyin' queer. Right now."
"Yes sir," he replied. His hands shaking, he removed his jacket and looked around for a spot to put it. The deputy put his hand out and took it. He removed his shirt, and then his t-shirt, handing them over. The deputy laid them on the garage floor, which was scrubbed clean.
"Go over to the cross and stand there," Deputy Brick ordered, and he complied, his worry turning to outright fear. He heard some clinking behind him, but didn't dare turn around. Then he felt leather cuffs attached to one ankle, and the next. It clicked: He was going to be tied to this cross and beaten.
"Put your feet in the holes," Deputy Jake ordered, and he complied, sensing doom. Deputy Brick secured the cuffs to the cross with clamps, and then attached cuffs to his wrists, one by one.
"Raise yer arms over yer head," Brick ordered. He did so, and felt the cuffs clipped to the beams, followed by a leather belt that secured his mid-section to the cross. The methodical, silent work by the deputies increased his fear.
Saying nothing, Deputy Jake went back to the cabinet and retrieved the whip. It consisted of a round handle and 25 or so strips of leather about two feet long. The cadet, secured tightly to the apparatus, heard only the clicking of Jake's heels on the concrete floor.
"Here ya go, Brick," he heard Jake say. "Don't be too hard on him. Sometimes ya don't know yer own strength."
At first, the strokes were gentle, almost comically so. If this was going to be a beating, he thought, it sure wasn't much of one. Like just about any boy growing up in rural Oklahoma, he'd known his share of spankings and even a whipping or two. They were always quick and painful, but this was completely different. Gradually, the intensity built, and he felt his back growing warmer. Nothing really hurt, but he knew it was going to.
The strokes began to alternate between softer and harder. Now it was hurting, and it wasn't stopping. And neither deputy was saying anything at all. The hard strokes became harder, and so did the soft ones. And they became unpredictable. The deputy, who he assumed was Deputy Brick, increased the waiting period between strokes, but varied that as well. His back was hot now. And then the deputy did something completely surprising: He rubbed his back. It was soothing, even gentle, but then he went back to work, starting softly, but not as soft as at first, and then building and varying, as before.
The pain was getting serious now, and the occasional interruptions for a rubdown seemed less like an act of mercy than a means of prolonging the torture. The strokes would start again, and the pain would return more swiftly. At last, the silence was broken.
"Ya think we didn't know about yer goin' to the highway pull-outs and suckin' dick," Deputy Brick said. "Ya think we didn't know what ya were doin'. Ya think we're idiots."
Now the hard strokes came swiftly, and stung hard.
"Ya never think about queers," Jake said. "Ya don't like 'em but ya don't care about 'em. Ya think we're idiots."
The blows were sharp and painful, and seemed to add to the base layer of pain.
"No sir!" the cadet said. "I don't think you are an idiot ..."
The blows came, even harder now.
"Shut the fuck up," Deputy Brick said, cold and calm. "Ya think we didn't know yer a queer. Ya think ya can lie to us. Ya think we're idiots."
There was no variation. Now all the blows were hard, and the cadet cried out in pain after each one.
"I'm sorry for lying, sir!" he shouted. "I didn't know what else ..."
More blows, more cries of pain.
"Tell me what ya are," the deputy said, striking more blows.
He was weeping now.
"I'm queer faggot, sir!" he shouted. "I'm a faggot, sir!"
Brick whispered into his ear.
"Now each time I strap ya, yer gonna count 'em off, and yer gonna tell me what ya are."
The next blow was the hardest yet.
"One!" the cadet cried. "I'm a queer, sir!"
The blows continued. After the fifth, the deputy leaned in and gave the same rubdown. "Now yer gonna tell me that a queer faggot needs to behave."
"Yes sir!" he said, "a queer faggot needs to behave, sir!"
The deputy hit him again, even harder. The cadet bucked against the straps, and moaned.
"Six!" he cried. "A queer faggot needs to behave, sir!
The blows continued, and by the ninth he was crying continuously.
The final blow was delivered with full force. The cadet screamed at the top of his lungs, feeling like an animal.
"Ten," he said, weeping uncontrollably. "A queer faggot needs to behave, sir! I'm sorry, sir!"
Deputy Brick stepped back and exhaled, leaving the cadet crying on the cross. When the whimpering died down, Jake worked some more hinges and levers and soon the cadet's torso was parallel with the garage floor.
"Which end ya gonna want, Brick," he called out.
"I'll take him in front," the gruff voice called back.
"Okey doke," Jake said, moving the levers and hinges again to position the cadet to have his mouth fucked. He grabbed a pail and placed it within Brick's reach in case the cadet vomited.
Deputy Brick moved in, and stood wide in front of the cadet. The beating had made him fully erect, his dick pointing upward and forming a solid lump in his tight tan uniform pants. Without a word, he unzipped his fly. He reached inside and hauled it out. His hardon was thick and cut, the head wide and gorged with blood, a bead of precum having formed in the piss slit. He rubbed the slick tool on the cadet's lips.
"Open yer mouth," he said, low and rough, before forcing it in. Hands on his hips, he moved in and out. Soon, he was invading the cadet's throat all the way back, causing him to gag.
"Open up yer queer throat," he ordered. "Yer gonna take it."
The deputy resumed his attack, pushing farther and farther. Then he would back off, and start again. Back and forth it went, and the cadet's throat loosened and became a slick pathway. And then the deputy pulled back, leaving only the first few inches inside the front of the cadet's mouth.
"Time for yer drink," he said, gruffly. "Deputy's gotta take a leak, and Clayton's gonna swallow it."
He started slowly, trickling into the cadet's mouth. The cadet violently spit out the invader and heaved. Brick had seen it coming, and swiftly positioned the pail to catch the liquid.
"No way!" the cadet shouted.
"Ya been through yer survival trainin' and ya know ya can drink it," Deputy Brick said, roughly. "Now open yer queer mouth and drink."
The cadet clamped his mouth shut in protest. Jake handed Brick a clothes pin, and the deputy used it to pinch the cadet's nose closed. Jake moved behind the cadet and gave his balls a sharp squeeze. Now his mouth was wide open, and Brick put his dick back inside.
"If ya bite me, I will kill ya right here and bury yer body where no one will find it," the deputy said, brutally. "Ya wanna live, yer gonna suck that right on down."
He let the stream go harder, and the cadet sputtered and retched, spewing urine onto the deputy's pants. Jake squeezed his balls again, and held the grip.
"Drink it," Deputy Brick ordered, resuming his flow.
The cadet finally complied, and drank.
"That's right," Deputy Brick said. He pissed into the cadet's throat for 30 seconds, then withdrew. The cadet immediately vomited into the pail. The deputy zipped his fly without a word, and turned away.
The cadet heard boot heels clicking on the floor, and a cabinet door opening. He heard a faucet turn on, and off, and then the return of the boot heels. Brick had selected a strap consisting of a handle with a belt that had been severed into two pieces where it otherwise would have looped. He moved over to the cross and moved another lever that moved a part of the contraption into the cadet's hips, forcing his buttocks outward by a foot or so.
Brick took up a position behind the cadet, and began lightly strapping his ass through his uniform trousers. By its nature, the strap could do more damage that the whip used on the cadet's back. The strap was two inches wide and a couple feet long, made of thick, stiff cowhide separated into two pieces by cutting a belt at the top of its loop. It was better used with clothing, and wielded with a careful hand. After some introductory strokes, Deputy Brick spoke.
"Yer gonna count 'em off, just like before," he said, his voice even and authoritative. "You will say the number, followed by 'A queer faggot needs to behave,' followed by 'sir.' Am I clear?"
"Yes sir," the cadet replied, his voice quivering. The first blow was hard, and it stung.
"One! A queer faggot needs to behave, sir!" the cadet called out. The blows continued, getting harder. After the fifth, Brick paused, and rubbed the cadet's ass, the heat now emanating from his backside.
"Now yer gonna tell me that a queer faggot does what a Man tells him to do," the deputy said, leaning in and speaking softly into his ear.
"Yes sir," the cadet replied. The next blow caused him to buck against the straps and cry out in pain.
"Six! A queer faggot does what a Man tells him to do, sir!" he shouted.
The blows continued, without any sound from the deputy. As before, they rose in intensity. With the tenth, Brick hit especially hard, and the cadet twisted in agony, weeping uncontrollably.
"Ten!" he shouted, between sobs. "A queer faggot does what a Man tells him to do, sir! Please don't hit me again, sir! I can't take it, sir! I swear I'll do what I'm told sir."
Brick was finished.
"Yer damn right ya will," he said, evenly, as he massaged the cadet's buttocks that he had mercilessly pounded into hamburger. Then he retrieved the bucket that had caught the cadet's vomit and walked away, leaving him to recover his composure. The cadet heard faucet spraying water off in a corner, and the clank of the bucket against a sink as it was being rinsed out, and then the deputy's boot heels as they passed him.
While Brick had been working with the strap, Deputy Jake had lowered a long, wide murphy bed from the garage wall, consisting of a mattress and a half, attached to thick plywood. The mattresses were covered in plastic, and further covered with terry cloth secured at the four corners. Screw eyes were positioned around the metal frame to anchor any straps. There were several pillows, also covered in plastic and terry cloth.
"How do ya want him?" Jake asked. "Flat on his belly? Hands 'n knees?"
"Lay him flat," Brick answered, walking back toward the folded cross and unhooking the straps that held the cadet in place.
"Get up and stretch yerself out," he said. "Then loosen all them bolts and give 'em back to me."
The cadet rose, shakily. His back was red from the flogging and his ass was red from the strapping, and he moved stiffly as the deputy handed him a wrench.
Brick gathered the straps and returned to the cabinet and fetched some items, placing some on the bench and handing others to Deputy Jake, who was alternating between sipping on a beer and preparing the bed. He turned back to the cadet, who was undoing the last bolt. He waited, and the cadet stood and handed him the bolts. In the background he could see the bed, and knew the ordeal would continue.
"Strip off the rest a-yer clothes," Jake said, evenly.
"Yes sir," the cadet answered, undoing the web belt that held his gray trousers, unbuckling the clasp, unzipping the fly, and lowering them. When he was naked, the deputy circled him, inspecting. The cadet was muscular and lean, his abdomen segmented. There was some chest hair, and a narrow trail leading from his navel downwards to pubic hair, and a flaccid, circumcised penis. His ass was as red as his back, making the area where the belt had held him against the frame look like a wide white bar.
Jake went to the bed and retrieved a pair of tight-fitting olive drab boxer shorts of the type worn at the academy, and gave them to the cadet.
"Put these on," he said. The cadet stepped into them and realized that they had a button fly in front and a zipper in back. So he was going to get fucked, he thought. When he'd put the shorts on, the deputy handed him the T-shirt he'd worn earlier in the evening.
"This too," he said, before turning back to work on the cross. Standing there, he could see the bed. Deputy Brick had lain two sets of shackles crosswise, and there was a stack of pillows between them.
"Put yer arms straight out," Deputy Jake said, and when the cadet complied he fastened a bar and cuffs similar to those that held his legs, and secured it to the bed frame. The cadet's elbows were spread wide, head head resting side ways on another pillow that had been placed there, his hips flat against the bed. He couldn't move so much as an inch. Deputy Brick sat back in a lawn chair he'd unfolded, and looked straight at the face of the cadet whose head was rested on the pillow. He drained the last of his beer, opened another, and rested one of his booted feet against the bedframe. He pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket, smiled and lit it.
Meanwhile, Deputy Jake leaned over the bed and unzipped the back of the cadet's shorts. He produced a tube, removed the cap, squeezed some gel onto his fingers and reached the cadet's anus, and began to probe. He went shallow at first, with just one finger. Then he used both fingers, and went deep, and wide, stretching the cadet's rectum and preparing him for what was next. Then Jake climbed onto the bed and positioned himself behind the cadet, grabbing a towel to wipe off his hand before unzipping his fly and fishing out his dick, which was rapidly becoming erect. He applied the gel, working himself to his full nine inches.
The cadet, his entire body unable to move for being tightly bound on the bed, squirmed when the fingers probed his hole. The impunity of it that made him give any hope of resistance. Completely immobile and totally exposed, he felt the hard rod entering and then splitting his insides apart. The pain caused him to lose the erection that had stirred when the deputy used his fingers, and he moaned. The deputy withdrew and paused, then entered again, pushing a little deeper. He repeated the moves, alternating between giving the cadet some relief and then pushing back in, so as not to rip him apart.
But the pain was intense and almost unbearable. The steady invasions opened up the cadet's inner muscle, giving the deputy's enormous pushrod full access inside. The pounding built up, the deputy's thrusts becoming relentless. At length, the deputy leaned over the cadet, his lips next to his ear.
"Whatever a Man tells ya to do, yer gonna do it," Jake whispered, his voice smooth but firm, steadily jackhammering as he spoke. "Whatever a Man tells ya not to do, ya ain't gonna do it. You hear me?"
"Yes sir," the cadet answered, groaning in pain.
"And when a Man squirts in yer mouth, yer gonna swallow what that Man gives ya," he continued. "No hesitation, no questions asked."
"Yes sir," he answered.
All the time he spoke, the deputy was penetrating farther inside with each thrust. The cadet could feel the ramming deep in his guts. Aware that there was nothing he could do, being barely able to move an inch, he gave into the pain and the humiliation. He was a receptacle, not just for the deputy's entire Manhood: The weight on his back, the thick shaft, the starched fabric of the uniform, the rock hard muscles underneath, the heavy breath, the unceasing attack.