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TEXAS 1956 Vol. 1 – Chapter 5
Out in the hallway, the gunnery sergeant went one way and the captain the other, the one satisfied and the other left to make his way back to his office in a building a quarter-mile away while wearing a plug firmly jammed into his rectum and held there by a harness that ensured he'd feel it every step of the way.
It wasn't the first time he'd been plugged in this manner, so the captain knew what to do. Rather than walk outside and risk having his erection being seen, he opted to use the tunnels that connected all of the buildings on the base. They doubled as bomb shelters, hardened against nuclear attack. He walked carefully toward an elevator that descended 100 feet to the maze, and once there he followed the route that he knew well.
The corridors were almost always empty, but this time he could hear footsteps approaching. The echoing walls made it impossible to tell whether they came from more than one person. He rounded the corner, and found himself facing none other than Staff Sergeant Jensen and Sergeant Jordan, the ones from lunch. He gasped involuntarily, and Jordan, the reservist who also worked at the lumber yard, flashed a mocking smile while Jensen remained stone-faced. The enlisted Men saluted, and the captain returned with a salute of his own.
"So we meet again, us 'n the queer faggot captain," Staff Sergeant Jensen said, aggressively, as he advanced a step closer to the captain than protocol would suggest. Jordan did the same, standing close to the captain's side. Ridgeton could feel Staff Sergeant Jensen's breath on his face when he spoke.
Either enlisted Man would've been intimidating by himself, but together they were almost terrifying, yet Ridgeton was powerfully drawn to them. They were almost as tall as Deputy Brick, maybe 6 foot 1 or 2 inches, Sergeant Jordan's upper torso flaring out like a cobra's hood, while Staff Sergeant Jensen was more of a square, solid block. Their chests and biceps strained against the fabric of their stiffly starched shirts. Sergeant Jordan's blue dress trousers were tapered at the waist, their sharp creases barely hiding the thick muscles of his legs. Staff Sergeant Jensen's uniform trousers, like his shirt, were just as creased, but less tapered, his torso being more like a football linebacker's.
Like Gunny Gilroy, Sergeant Jordan had tight, oversized balls that protruded forward, which combined with his long, thick dick even when flaccid to produce a substantial bulge in any pair of pants he wore. Jordan had a square head and a V-shaped jaw with a cleft in his chin, while Staff Sergeant Jensen's face was round and thick, almost moon-like. Sergeant Jordan's smile was capable of being friendly, but in this instant it mocked the captain, conveying his superiority and the officer's humiliation. The captain was subdued, his submissiveness augmented by the enlisteds' aggressive proximity, which compelled him to look upward to speak to a pair of Men who held inferior ranks while completely dominating the interchange from the very start.
"We talked with the gunny not 10 minutes ago," Staff Sergeant Jensen said. "He said if we happened to run into ya down here, to say that he was real happy with how yer meetin' went just now."
Sergeant Jordan flashed another grin, but let it widen.
"Don't ya worry, captain," he said. "We seen plenty a-fellas who don't deserve to be called a Man. Yer the first faggot officer, but there's always a first time fer everything!"
"It's a long story, but ..." Ridgeton said, but Sergeant Jordan cut him off. He opened a button on the captain's shirt, reached inside, grasped the belly strap through his t-shirt, and moved it up and down in a slow, steady rhythm.
"Tied up, plugged up, and tightened up," Sergeant Jordan said, speaking quietly yet loud enough for all three of them to hear. "Toy soldier faggot captain's tied up, plugged up, and tightened up. Ain't he?"
Ridgeton didn't answer. The strap kept moving, and soon he was hard. He felt a slap on one side of his head, then the other.
"Sergeant Jordan asked you a question," Staff Sergeant Jensen snapped. "Answer him, captain."
"W-w-what did you ask?" Ridgeton said.
"I asked you if the faggot captain is all tied up, plugged up, and tightened up," Sergeant Jordan said, grinning. "Look at me, captain. We got us a faggot captain all tied up, plugged up, and tightened up. Don't we?"
"I supp ... I suppose you do," Ridgeton answered, weakly, looking helplessly into the sergeant's eyes, noticing that they were pale blue.
"You suppose you do what?" Sergeant Jordan barked, coldly. "What's a faggot who's not a Man call Marines who are Men, captain?"
"Whaa ..." Ridgeton asked, the message not getting through. He felt another slap on the side of his head, this time harder.
"Sergeant Jordan asked you a question, toy soldier," Staff Sergeant Jensen replied. "You will answer his question, followed by 'sir.' Do you understand now?"
"Yes, sir," the captain replied, chastened but eager to comply.
"Sergeant Jordan asked you if it is correct that we have a faggot captain all tied up, plugged up, and tightened up," Staff Sergeant Jensen said, his voice icy. "Answer him."
"Yes sir," he replied, softly.
"I didn't hear you, captain!" Staff Sergeant Jensen barked.
"Yes sir!" Ridgeton shouted.
"Tell us what we have here," Staff Sergeant Jensen said. "And don't whisper."
"You have a faggot captain tied up, plugged up, and tightened up, sir!" he said loudly, the words echoing in the corridor.
"Captain, I have some questions for you," Staff Sergeant Jensen continued, his face set in stone and his voice cold. "I want answers, and I want to hear them clearly. And you will look me in the eye, captain."
"Yes sir!" the captain replied, gazing upward. He was fully hard now.
"Did you permit and even request Men to penetrate you both orally and anally on multiple occasions in the recent past?" Staff Sergeant Jensen asked.
"Yes sir!" he replied.
"Have you drunk the urine of Men on multiple occasions in the recent past?" Staff Sergeant Jensen asked.
"Yes sir!" he replied.
"You did it at lunch, didn't you?"
"Yes sir!"
"Then that is the longest story I am interested in hearing from you, captain," Staff Sergeant Jensen said. "Am I clear?"
"Yes sir!" he replied.
The staff sergeant paused, and looked down. He unhooked the billy club from his belt and grabbed it above the handle, leaving nine or ten inches protruding out of the top of his huge fist.
"Why don't ya show me just what a faggot likes doin' for a Man with his sweet little mouth then," he said, his voice mocking. "Ya stick yer little tongue out there and go to town now, captain!"
"Yes sir!" he said, beginning to lick the billy club.
"Stand at ease while yer doin' that, captain," Sergeant Jordan said, his voice softer, and the captain spread his legs and clasped his hands together behind his back.
Sergeant Jordan withdrew his club from its holster, removed his hand from the belly strap, and circled the captain, his footsteps audible on the concrete floor. He used his club, gently moving it across the captain's clasped hands, and downward along the back of his legs, then rolling across his buttocks, then probing between them. As the captain licked the staff sergeant's club, the sergeant walked back and forth, probing.
Staff Sergeant Jensen put his club straight out, up against the captain's lips.
"Open yer mouth and suck on that," he said. "Work yer queer little mouth now, faggot."
The captain obeyed, looking up into the staff sergeant's eyes. Sergeant Jordan, off to the side, saw the baton in the captain's mouth.
"Look at ya," Jensen said, taunting and tender. "Just look at the faggot little captain, doin' right and likin' every second of it."
Jordan had spotted Ridgeton's erection and was batting at it lightly with his own club. The sergeant moved around to the other side, and rhythmically tapped the captain's buttocks with the flat of his baton, the vibration sending waves inside through the plug. Then Jordan reached back inside Ridgeton's shirt, again tugging on the belly strap.
"Gonna be keepin' a close eye on ya, faggot," he whispered into the other ear. "Gunny Haskins is gonna be gone, and yer gonna need a Man lookin' after ya to make sure ya behave. Ya got that?"
"Yes sir," the captain whispered back, drunk with ecstasy.
"There ain't gonna be any dirty looks like ya gave me at lunch," the sergeant said. "Faggot captain's gonna know his place. He's gonna be a well behaved, well-mannered little fella who calls the Men 'sir' and does what he's told and says 'thank you sir' when it's all done. Ain't that right now?"
"Yes sir," he said, looking at the sergeant through watery eyes.
"Ya wouldn't want me showin' them pictures a-you suckin' dick around the lumber yard or to the commander of this here base," Sergeant Jordan said, "Is that understood, captain? Yer gonna know yer place, then?"
"Yes sir," the captain said, the humiliation sinking in and filling him with a bone-deep satisfaction at having his inferiority made explicit and exploited by the superior Men standing around him.
"I'm sure it's crossed yer mind by now that yer gonna be treatin' me and Staff Sergeant Jensen the way you've been treatin' the gunnies with regard to military protocol," he said. "Ya been doin' real good with that, from what I been told. So yer not ever gonna scowl at either one of us again, not even if yer feelin' like a cranky little fella, now are ya?"
"No sir," Ridgeton replied. "I'm sorry about before, sir. They just never called me a queer or a faggot until today, sir."
"Yer gonna have to get used to that one, captain," Sergeant Jordan said. "We seen the pictures."
"Yes sir," he replied. "I'll work on it, sir."
"Okay, little fella," he said, reaching down to button the captain's shirt where he'd reached in to tug on the strap, and giving an affectionate pat on the stomach. "Now squat down in front of me. Got something fer a thirsty little captain to drink. Gonna make yer little dreams come true, and yer gonna behave yerself and do what yer told."
"Yes sir!" he replied. As he followed the order it moved the plug, fully stimulating him. His eyes stared into the brightly shined buckle at the top of the Man's fly, and then followed downward to the bulge that pressed outward.
"Reach in there and find my dick, and put it in yer mouth," the sergeant said.
The captain followed the order and lowered Jordan's zipper, internally giving thanks for his gymnastic training that allowed him to squat in front of him with ease. The Man's soft dick was at least 6 inches long, and thicker than his own when hard. Ridgeton put it in his mouth and waited.
"Look up at me," the sergeant ordered.
Ridgeton complied, and saw the sergeant standing tall, his hands on his hips, smiling triumphantly. Their eyes locked, and he felt the stream begin.
"That a-good boy, ya swallow it. That's a little fella, ya drink it down 'cause I tell ya to," the sergeant said, his syrupy sweet, mocking, humiliating tone thrilling to the core. Staff Sergeant Jensen squatted beside Ridgeton, his eyes bright and his face only inches from Ridgeton's mouth wrapped around Jordan's dick.
"Bet that tastes real damn good, don't it?" he said. "Even be better if the sergeant were to stiffen up and screw yer mouth. Queers love a stiff military dick in their mouth. Feels real good, don't it toy soldier?"
Jensen suddenly rose and glanced at his watch, then spoke to Sergeant Jordan.
"Hey, it's 1430," he said to Jordan, stepping back from Ridgeton. "Gotta get back for mid-shift. I'll see ya back there after yer through with him. Gunny says he'll be reportin' to us at 1800."
"Sure thing," Sergeant Jordan replied, as the staff sergeant started walking away. "Half hour or so."
They stood there while Staff Sergeant Jensen walked away, his boots echoing against the concrete floor and cinder block walls. Jordan resumed pissing, and the captain's gulps were audible. The sergeant smiled and chuckled softly, and he playfully scratched stroked the captain's crewcut, adding to the humiliation.
After a while, the steam weakened, then stopped. Ridgeton waited, and the sergeant took his member out of the captain's mouth, put it back in his pants and zipped up.
"Thank you, sir," the captain said, still squatting and gazing upward into the standing sergeant's eyes. "It tasted good, sir, and it's what I deserve, sir. Thank you, sir!"
The sergeant smiled downward and playfully rubbed his knuckes on the captain's scalp.
"Okay, why don't ya stand up and let's walk on over toward yer office," the sergeant said, "and I'll tell ya more along the way."
"Thank you sir!" Ridgeton replied. He rose and they walked, the captain falling into step a half-pace behind, as protocol required of a junior rank in the presence of a superior.
"Gunny Haskins has got an extra year's worth of reserve obligation to clear up, so he'll be trainin' for two months in California," Jordan explained, the movement of the plug emphasizing who was in control as they walked. "He's asked me to keep a watch on his place, so I'm gonna be movin' in out there. You'll be seein' a lot of me until he gets back."
"Yes sir!" the captain replied.
"Gunny Gilroy will be workin' extra shifts," he said. "He won't be able to supervise ya as much as he's been doin'. So yer gonna need to be supervised otherwise. We'll start next weekend."
"Yes sir!" the captain said. "Whatever you say, sir."
"Now that's what I like to hear," Sergeant Jordan said. "There'll be some changes at the plant too. Yer gonna be gettin' yerself tied 'n tightened every morning before ya go to the yard. Do what ya do before ya come here. If I want ya plugged I'll let ya know during the day. Ya got that?"
"Yes sir!" the captain replied. "Anything you say, sir!"
"And when ya go in on Monday, I want ya to call the Coca-Cola bottler and order a soda machine for the loading dock," the sergeant said. "Make sure they include Sprite. Yer gonna be back at that machine every day at 1400, and sometimes I'll be there to say howdy and give ya somethin' warm to drink."
"Yes sir!" Ridegton replied. "Whatever you say, sir!"
They approached another intersection of corridors, and Sergeant Jordan stopped. He checked his watch, and spoke.
"Getting on toward 1500," he said, his voice hardening. "I'll be goin' back to the big brig. Ya will report at 1800, sharp. Remember, yer gonna be provin' yerself every step a-the way with me. Yer gonna do what a Man tells ya to do, and when he tells ya to do it, with no backtalk or dirty looks, ever. Ya got got that, queer captain?"
"Yes sir!" he said.
"Have ya ever been a prisoner in a brig, captain?" the sergeant asked.
"No sir," Ridgeton answered.
"Every sentence begins and ends with 'sir,' starting when you report," Sergeant Jordan said. "You will stand at attention and salute the Man ya report to. Ya will say, 'Sir, Captain Kenneth T. Ridgeton reporting as ordered, sir.' When instructed, ya will march into the brig. While there, ya will refer to yerself as 'the prisoner.' Ya will march, not walk, within the brig. Ya will ask for permission before ya initiate a verbal request or movement, unless ordered to speak or move. Is that understood?"
"Sir, yes sir!" the captain called out.
The captain hadn't noticed a small, olive drab duffel, stenciled "U.S.M.C." that the sergeant had been carrying. Now, Sergeant Jordan was handing it to him.
"Before ya report, yer gonna find a latrine and remove yer plug." he said. "Yer gonna void yer intestines and yer bladder, then yer gonna use the enema bag and clean yerself out. Yer gonna clean yerself, the enema bag and the plug. Yer gonna use the lotion to lubricate yer valve and the plug, then yer gonna put it back inside ya and tighten right back up. Yer gonna bring everything back with ya along with yerself, all clean, when ya report. Ya won't have the use of a latrine in the brig, so yer gonna take care a-everything before ya report. Is that understood?"
"Sir, yes sir!" the captain replied, taking the bag.
"And don't ya touch yer little squirt gun other than to void yer bladder, understood?" the sergeant said, crisply.
"Sir, yes sir!" the captain replied.
"That'll be all then, captain," Sergeant Jordan said. Ridgeton stiffened at attention, forcing the plug farther inside, and held a salute. The sergeant waited a bit longer than he had to, returned the salute, and left the captain to walk to his office while performing mental gymnastics to soften his erection.
"Sir, Captain Kenneth T. Ridgeton reporting as ordered, sir!"
It was precisely 1800. The captain stood at attention in front of Staff Sergeant Jensen, holding a salute. Sitting behind a fortress of a wooden desk, Jensen checked his watch and wrote in a ledger. Then he looked up, returned the salute, and stared impassively at the captain, as if focused on a distant horizon – the famed "thousand-yard stare." Finally, he rose from his chair and took the duffel bag out of the captain's hand while he Ridgeton held his position.
"Did ya do what Sergeant Jordan told ya to do?" he asked, opening the bag.
"Sir, yes sir!" Ridgeton said, loudly.
The staff sergeant made a show of opening it, sniffing inside, and holding up the enema bottle and the container of lotion, now half-empty and folded neatly upwards from the bottom. The lubricant had been mixed with a muscle relaxant and a new version of Correctol that roughly doubled its effects in all respects, rendering the captain erect, even more submissive, and less able to achieve an orgasm. The staff sergeant placed the bag on his desk and stepped to the wall next to the jail bars at the entrance to the brig's interior. He unclipped a key ring from his belt, inserted it into a lock, and turned the key. With an electric buzzing, the wall of bars slid open.
"Prisoner, march inside, stop at the line, and stand to the right," he said, crisply.
"Sir, yes sir!" the captain replied. He marched in a prescribed manner, being sure to lift the sole of each foot just above ankle-level when stepping. The action moved the plug inside, causing his carefully lowered erection to begin stiffening. He stopped at a line on the floor about 10 feet from where he had entered, spread his legs, clasped his hands behind the small of his back, and waited. He faced down a long corridor. Unlike the tunnels he had walked through to get there, this floor was made of tan linoleum, polished to an almost blinding shine that reflected bright and faintly buzzing flourescent lights on the ceiling.
The walls were made of plaster, with the bottom half painted olive drab and the top half painted white. His eye followed the razor-sharp division of colors down the long corridor. The hall was silent, the air still. He counted off the seconds, and somewhere between 350 and 400 of them, he heard a chair move and then steps behind him. Then the bars slid closed with the same electric sound, and a loud "clunk."
"Prisoner, right face!" a metallic voice behind him barked.
"Sir, yes sir!" he called out, and turned, breaking parade rest. His face was two feet from the wall.
"Prisoner, step to the wall so only your toes and nose are touching. Parade rest there," the voice said, more calmly.
"Sir, yes sir!" called out, carrying out the order, bending slightly forward to prevent any other part of his body from contacting the wall.
"The prisoner will keep his eyes straight ahead," the
voice said.
"Sir, yes sir!" Ridgeton called out, his fear having grown immensely.
Without another word, the voice left, the sound of his footsteps telling the captain that he had turned left, down another hallway.