By Johnny Utah

Based on a suggestion by MetalbondNYC

I was working hard at the ranch. My routine was set. Get up, coffee, do the three S’s, and then off to the stables. It was about half a mile to the stables from my mobile home. My boots crunched the gravel on the track to the stables. It was a good walk and got my mind cleared to concentrate on work.

As I’d get close to the stables I’d be sucked in by the warm smells of hay, horse, and the Florida woods. First thing to do was feed and water the horses, get them into whatever corral or field they needed to be in.  I’d toss dozens of haybales into the hayloft, dig fence post holes, lug wood around, dig ditches, and — as ever — shovel shit into the trailer and then shovel it out at the manure pile.

There were always little extras that were enjoyable. I liked brushing the horses. I’d talk to them to make sure they were calm. They always listened. Each horse had its own personality.

Before it got too late in the morning the owners would show up, or the owners of some of the horses who were stabled there. I would have a brief talk with them about their horse or something. Sometimes it was nothing in particular, like the weather.

I liked splitting wood, too, and that was something I did a lot of.  The wood came in sections of cut-up tree trunks. I’d wrestle a chunk into place and use an iron wedge and a sledgehammer to split it up into stackable pieces. The wood was mainly hardwood, so it took some work. There was that acidy sharp smell that oak let out when it was split. I always liked that smell. I spent a lot of time splitting wood. It relaxes you. It took Sgt. Stiles off my mind for a while. For a while.

Weeks went by.

Sgt. Stiles FINALLY messaged me that he was coming over! It was a Saturday, and he had the day off. He was going to take me into Lake City, and we’d grab something to eat. He had a few things to do in town.  How could I say no? I jumped in the shower. I got the razor out and shaved. It had been a few days, and I was stubbly. My hair was growing longer, it must be all that hard work. Like Samson I thought.

I was thinking about Sgt. Stiles a lot, and Brodie, too. I was still afraid of what Sgt. Stiles might do, but it had been weeks since I’d heard from him. I had to admit I’d had some jerk-off sessions about Sgt. Stiles taking me to prison.

I knew what to wear. I got into my blue jean cutoff shorts. I turned up the legs an inch. To show off a little leg!  I wasn’t going to wear a T-shirt since we could go out to eat, so I picked my best Fred Perry red polo shirt — well I only had two. The other one was black. Just to keep the sun off my head I got a red baseball cap, it was bit ratty, but I could take it off if I needed to go inside.

Sgt. Stiles pulled up in front of the mobile home. He got out of the black beast of a truck he had. That black truck. I had licked his cum off the grill of that truck at Sgt. Stiles’ command.

I went out the door to meet him. Fuck he looked good!

Boots, tight blue Wranglers — creased and pressed, and a white shirt. He didn’t have his Stetson on. He showed off that high and tight haircut. I noticed it was a bit longer. Perhaps he was going to let it grow longer for a change.

“Hi, Sir!”

“How ya doing, Utah?”

“Working hard, Sir.”

“I can see! Look at those guns! You must have been shoveling a lot of shit.”

“And putting up bales in the hayloft, Sir. Six days a week.”

“Turn around, let me see that little ass of yours.” He smiled that crooked smile of his.

How could I resist?

“Whoa! Not so little anymore. Look at that muscle butt! You been doing squats, Utah?”

“Yes, Sir, I mean I’m always using my legs here.” I was nervous. He was overpowering.

“I’ve been thinking about you out here all by yourself. What do you do at the end of the day?”

“Sleep, Sir. By the time I’m home I make myself something to eat and hit the hay.”

“I suppose that’s a good way to keep out of trouble. Up with the sun and in bed by dark,” said Sgt. Stiles. “You’re turning into a real country boy!” He laughed. He paused for a minute. “Tell ya what, Utah, you can ride into town like a real county boy!”

“How’s that, Sir?”

“Hop in the back of my truck, get up against the back of the cab and find something to hold on to! And hang onto your hat!”

“Yes, Sir.”

I climbed up over the tailgate.

“Man! That ass, Utah!”

I smiled at him.

I sat with my back to the cab right on the driver’s side. We drove into town. There were a few big bumps. I held on tight. We passed a BBQ place. It smelled so good. We got into Lake City. Sgt. Stiles parked in a back parking lot behind a row of stores that faced Main Street. I hopped out onto the hot white gravel parking lot.  Sgt. Stiles got out of the truck.  He put his Stetson on. He turned to face me. I was just adjusting the brim of my baseball cap over my eyes.

“From now on you wear that hat backwards, got it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

I twisted my hat around on my head. The brim now backwards.

“We’re going someplace where you have to be on your best behavior, you got that?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You stay behind me.” He pointed to his left side. “Over here, don’t get in front of me, OK? Try to stay in step with me.”

“Yes, Sir.”  Where were we going, the Army I wondered?

We crunched along to the back door. Our bootsteps were synchronized. I followed his pace. Sgt. Stiles opened the door and went in first, I followed. He took his Stetson off.  I quickly took my baseball cap off. The first thing I noticed was the cranked A/C, the second was I wasn’t too far off when I was thinking about the Army. The place, a barber shop, was done up with all kinds of military stuff. Flags, framed photos of groups of soldiers, and old camouflage hats. There was a smell of that blue stuff they put combs into, that blue Listerine liquid and a strong smell of floor wax. There was one ceiling fan going around slowly. In the background on a really low volume was some country song on a radio. There were two barber chairs, chrome and black leather. Each faced a wall with a big mirror.

“Put your hat on that peg on the wall,” Sgt. Stiles ordered. I looked behind me at the wall.

“Yes, Sir.”

A bear of a man in a white barber smock came up to Sgt. Stiles. He had a flat top haircut and a brown and gray beard, neatly trimmed. Well, he was a barber. He must have been three feet across at the chest. He didn’t even notice me.

“Stiles, you fuck! How ya been?”

“Shit, you know. Same old, same old,” Sgt. Stiles replied. “There’s a lot of changes at work. Looks like they are going to close Baker and a couple of other places in the panhandle. Cost savings, they say. I’ve been working with the management to find someplace I want to go, but there has to be an equal rank slot for me to fill.”

“Where do you want to go?” the barber asked.

“I don’t know yet, I have to see what’s available at my pay grade.”

“How business been with you?” Sgt. Stiles asked the barber.

“Steady. It was really bad a few months ago, but things are starting to pick up again.”

“Cool,” said Sgt. Stiles.

“OK, so the usual high and tight?” The barber asked.

“Yep.”

For the first time I was noticed by the barber.

“What about your boy?”

Boy? I thought!

“The standard haircut for his sort,” Sgt. Stiles said.

He turned to me and ordered, “Go stand in the corner, assume the position.”

“Sir, yes Sir,” I said. Oh my God. I did that without even thinking about it, I thought to myself.

There were sounds of Sgt. Stiles getting in the chair. All the associated noises of the barber getting the chair to the right height and positioned how he wanted it. They chatted about the weather, the Jacksonville Jaguars, the price of gas. There were the sounds of clippers and shuffling and adjusting of things. I was facing the wall. I started to drift into my reporting statement that was drilled into my head at the SHU at Baker. I had to work at it to keep concentrated on where I was now.

The talking slowed down until the barber said, “All done.”

“Looks fuckin’ great!” said Sgt Stiles.

I couldn’t see since I was facing the corner. There were sounds of the chair being lowered and Sgt. Stiles getting up and being brushed off.

“Turn around, Utah.”

I turned and dropped my arms to my side. He looked fantastic. Neatly clipped, sides shaved to the skin. Crisp. Professional. A man in charge. He looked right into my eyes and said, “I got some business to do a few doors down. I’ll be back in a few minutes. You behave and do what Max tells you to do, you got that?”

“Sir, yes Sir.”

Sgt. Stiles went out the front door. I was left with the barber.

“OK, let’s get started. Are you plugged?” The barber asked.

“Sir?” I asked. What did he mean?

“It’s a simple question, boy. Is there a plug up yer butt or not?”

“No, Sir,” I replied. Why would that be?

“OK. Back room let’s go.”

The barber led the way into a back room. It had dulled white walls, a basic overhead fluorescent light, and linoleum flooring. There was a tall stool in the corner. There was a sink and a small window that looked out into the back parking lot. No pictures on the walls. No smell of blue listerine in here. It smelled old, wet, and sweaty. How many guys had been in here, I wondered?

“Get the stool, put it in the middle of the room, and sit on it.” There was a four-legged bar stool in the far corner of the room.

“Yes, Sir.” I just said that. I let it go. It was what this guy expected from me. If I didn’t, I’m sure Sgt. Stiles would hear about it.

I sat.

“Take off that shirt.”

“Yes, Sir.” I looked for a place to hang it up but then I just held onto it.

“Throw it in the corner!” the barber said as he pointed to a corner by the door I came in. I threw it.

The barber wheeled up a tall cart. It was made of stainless steel, kind of medical looking, and it made me uneasy. There were clippers, scissors and combs. The barber carefully picked up a pair of clippers. I just caught the name on them when he picked them up off the tray and plugged them into an extension cord that trailed from the cart to a wall socket — Wahl Balding Clippers. Oh no!

There was a click and then the blade was against my head. He started by mowing a strip right across my head, front to back. After the first swipe, the barber put his massive hand on the top of my head. He had a firm grip on me. There was no mirror for me to see, but I felt the passage of that blade as the barber sheared methodically around my head. When he needed to, the barber would use his hand to move my head in the direction he wanted. What hair I had when I came in was falling fast onto me and the floor. I got hard. The barber moved my head around, checking for any missed hairs.

“OK, that part’s done.”

He went over to the sink and ran the water. He took a towel and got it wet then came over to me and said, “Hold still.”  He wrapped the towel around my head. It was warm, not hot. He left it there for a few seconds then took it back to the sink. He tossed the towel in the sink and then bent over and opened the sink cabinet doors. He had a great ass, I thought. My hard-on grew. He came back with a can of shaving cream. OK, I thought. You know what happens here.

The barber put some foam in his hand then delicately spread it around my head. He took a straight razor out. It had been under a towel on the cart. I guess it was under a towel so it didn’t scare me when I first came in. I wasn’t scared now! I was rock hard. My cock worked its way down my left shorts leg.

He started the top of my head and worked away. He’d stop now and again to wipe the shaving cream of the blade of the straight razor. He used the towel on the cart to wipe off what little shaving cream was left. Like Prisoner Powers did, he shaved me a second time. He used his towel to get a little cream behind my ears. The barber took some clear liquid from a small plastic bottle and rubbed it into his hands. Then he rubbed his hands all over my head. Was this like the wax Powers used, I thought?

“That’s just a little baby oil to keep you shiny for a while. You should get Stiles to get you some lotion and stay out of the sun, and wear yer hat.”

“All done,” he said.

“Yes, Sir,” I said. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Get the hair off you in here first. Go out into the shop, there’s a broom and dustpan. Sweep up this mess.” I stood up, my hard-on pressed against my leg.

“Don’t you have a vacuum or something?” I asked.

“No. Now do what I said,” Was the answer I got.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Sir, may I put my shirt on?” I asked.

“No, get it up off the floor, put it on the stool.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I used my hands to get the hairs of my chest and neck. It all went on the floor. I went out into the shop and got the broom and pan. I swept up my own clippings.

I looked for a trash can. The barber saw me looking.

“There’s a trash can toward the window in the shop, use that.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I was done sweeping, and I was still shirtless.

“Stuff that shirt into the waist of your shorts and assume the position facing that corner,” said the barber, pointing to the corner where I had waited for Sgt. Stiles to finish his haircut. I did as I was ordered. My shirt hung down over my ass. I waited.

With my hands on the top of my head I felt around. Shaved, slick, so hot! I was still hard.

Sgt. Stiles came in. “I’m back,” he announced. “Let’s take a look, come over here, Utah.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Looks good, nice and smooth,” he said, running a hand over my head. The other hand held onto that Stetson of his.

“Yep, turned out real nice,” the barber said. “Get him some lotion to rub in on that bald head. That will protect his skin and stop razor burn the next time his head is shaved.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Sgt. Stiles. “OK, well we have to get going. Got some more things to do in town. Thanks again for the haircut.”

“There is one thing,” said the barber. “He was pretty mouthy when I told him to sweep up after his head shave. If he was my boy, the paddle would be out.”

Sgt. Stiles looked at me really hard. “I can’t leave you for a minute. Come on, put your shirt on, let’s go.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said, lowering my head. I got my shirt on. I grabbed my hat from the wall peg and followed Sgt. Stiles out the door and into the street. I wasn’t so hard anymore. We left the barbershop and walked maybe ten steps down the sidewalk, me following Sgt. Stiles to the rear and left.

“Wait!” Sgt Stiles said.

He turned to look at me. “I’m making a mistake. Follow me.”

We walked back into the barber’s shop. Chimes went off when Sgt. Stiles opened the door. He took off his Stetson. I whipped my cap off.

The barber came out from the back. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“Yes. I should take your advice. If you don’t correct bad behavior right away, any discipline loses its effect with time,” Sgt. Stiles said.

“Sounds like a quote from my book,” said the barber.

“Do you have a paddle?” Sgt. Stiles asked. A paddle! I gulped.

“Yes, old and polished by the backsides of many sorry boys.”

“Perfect. Can I use the backroom?”

“Sure, no problem. The paddle is right under the sink. Give me your Stetson. I’ll keep it out here,” said the barber.

Sgt Stiles handed his Stetson to the barber, who put it on the counter in front of the wall mirror. The barber turned and sat in one of the barber’s chairs and unfolded a newspaper.

“Come on!” Sgt. Stiles ordered.

“Yes, Sir.” My hard-on was back.

We went into the back room where I was shaved.

“Stand in the middle of the room.”

“Sir, yes Sir!”

Sgt. Stiles closed the door. He grabbed the stool and put it in front of me.

“Strip, right now, quick!”

“Sir, yes Sir!”

He got the paddle from under the sink. It wasn’t big, the size of a table tennis paddle I guess. It was shiny wood. It must have been used on plenty of asses. I quickly dropped my hat, got my shirt off, kicked off my boots, dragged my socks off, and dropped my jean shorts and then my underwear.

Sgt. Stiles noticed my last move.

“Underwear?” he said.

“Yes, Sir,” I replied.

“Not anymore. You wear a jock. Got it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Get your bare ass over that stool.”

I bent over the top of the stool. The head of my cock just touched the round wooden seat. I leaked pre cum. I was going to make a mess.

“You’ve got to learn respect, Johnny.” He hardly ever called my Johnny. He must be mad. My ass is going to hurt.

“Yes, Sir,” I said quietly. I was bracing myself for the swats.

“I don’t want you to say anything. Just take it. You understand, Johnny?”

“Yes, Sir.”

I clenched my ass waiting the first swat.

“Unclench that ass, Johnny,” he said calmly. I took me a few seconds, but I did it. Then came the first swat.

“Uggh!”

It was hard! No playing games. He went in with a powerful swat. The wood made a firm meaty “whack” when it hit my glutes.

I clenched, he waited.

“UURRRGH!”

He paused for me to prepare.

“ARRUGH!” I drooled. It ran down in front of me onto the floor.

Pause.

“MMRRUUGHH!” My eyes watered. My throat was dry, and my ass burned!

Pause. I was clenching my ass muscles. It was almost uncontrollable. He waited.

“MMUGHHRHH!” I had to fight to get air in my lungs. My ass burned.

“That’s all, Johnny. Stay bent over that stool until I tell you to stand up.”

“Yes, Sir.” Tears were in my eyes.

Sgt. Stiles put the paddle away under the sink and left the room, closing the door behind him. I was left bent over the stool with my pain. It hurt more now. My cheeks were on fire. I was there for a while. He came back in.

“Get up, Johnny.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Use your underwear to wipe up that drool and that precum on the floor then toss that underwear in the trash can outside then come back in here.”

“Yes, Sir.” I hadn’t noticed during my paddling I was leaking precum on the floor.

After I finished, I came back into the backroom.

“Get dressed, hurry up.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I got dressed quick. The jean shorts scratched my burning ass.

“OK, let’s go, and you will apologize to Max.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I got out into the shop. Max, the barber, was still in his chair. He folded up his paper. I stood just to the side of him. I lowered my head.

“Look him in the eye, Johnny,” Sgt. Stiles said.

I straightened up.

“Sir, I’m sorry I did not show you respect when you told me to clean up my hair clippings, Sir. It won’t happen again, Sir.”

“I accept,” Max the barber said. That was it.

“Sorry about all of this, Max. See you soon,” Sgt. Stiles said.

“Not a problem, the boy has to learn,” Max said.

Sgt Stiles picked up his Stetson and we left the barber shop. My ass on fire.

“Stay to my left, Utah. If someone walks up to us, get behind me so they can pass.”

“Yes, Sir.”

We left the barber’s shop.

We walked down the sidewalk. I wanted to drop my shorts. Something to get rid of the heat of my blazing ass cheeks. We got about halfway down the block from the barber when Sgt. Stiles stopped. That meant I stopped too. It was at a tattoo shop. I thought, oh no, now he’s going to tattoo my red ass. He went in, and I followed. I took my hat off. He didn’t.

The store was small. The walls were covered in pictures and photos of past tattoos and designs. There was a glass counter separating the store. Under the glass were all kinds of rings, bars, and chains. A guy with long black hair came out from the back.

“Hi! You are looking for a tattoo?” he asked Sgt. Stiles.

“Just looking for something for him,” he said, tilting his head toward me. I blushed.

“Do you do piercings?” Sgt. Stiles asked. I gulped.

“We do, but not right now, our autoclave is broken. It should be fixed next week. The seal is gone so we can’t sterilize the needles.”

“What kind of rings do you have?” he asked.

“We have different gauges and metals, any of them can be used just about anywhere. Eyebrow, ears, nose, nips, navel, Prince Albert, and taint.”

He wasn’t embarrassed at all. I was. I could feel myself turning red.

“Hmmm,” he said. “Utah, come over here.” I moved closer to the counter.

“See all these rings. I think they’d look great through your nips. Take your shirt off.”

I took my shirt off. There I was. Shaved head and shirtless in a tattoo parlor while my Sir discussed piercings for me with a salesperson like I was livestock.

“What kind of gauge do you think would fit his nipples?”

He leaned over the counter and took a closer look at my nipples.

“I’d say 14 gauge would be best. Any larger and they could rip out. A much smaller gauge and they won’t get seen.”

“What about a nose ring?”

“Do you mean a nose ring or a septum piercing? he asked.

“What’s the difference?”

“A nose ring goes through the nostril from the outside to inside the nostril. A septum piercing goes through the cartilage in the middle of the nose.

“What do you think?” he asked the guy.

He took a look at me and said, “He’s a buff guy, a septum piercing would look great on him.”

“Simple as that. Yep, put a ring through the nose of a bull,” Sgt Stiles said. The sales guy smiled.

“If we did nipples and the septum, should all the rings be the same gauge?”

“No, the septum can be a heavier gauge. It will lay flatter that way and be seen better. It is a good idea to keep all the same type of design and metal though,” he said.

“What do you think, this one for your nose?” he said, pointing to a large shiny ring about the size of a nickel.

“Sir, I don’t know right now.”

He could tell I was scared.

“OK, we’ll have a think about it. Thanks for your help,” Sgt. Stiles said.

“Sure, here’s our card,” he said, handing Sgt. Stiles their store business card.

We left and walked down to the end of the black and then turned to walk back to the truck.

When we got to the truck I waited to be told to hop in the back. I leaned on my thigh to avoid pressure on my ass. It was a quick ride to the restaurant. It was Rita’s Steak House. It must be his favorite. He parked in the lot behind Rita’s.

“Ok, let’s go in. You’ve done a lot today. Before we get inside do up that top button of that shirt.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“That’s better,” he said.

“When we get inside, when you take your hat off, stick it in your shorts, the brim down your shorts at the small of your back.”

“Yes, Sir.” I’d seen construction guys and baseball players do that, so I knew what he meant.

The restaurant was cold. The chairs we sat on had nice cold leather seat pads. It was a relief, until the heat from my paddled ass heated the seat up. We got a menu and two glasses of iced tea. Sgt. Stiles ordered for me. Steak, baked potato, and green beans. No dessert. We talked about what had just happened.

“Johnny, I want you to understand what I’m doing. You need direction. I’ve seen lots of guys like you at Baker and other places. You get loose and drift. You need someone to take charge of you and give you some boundaries. You need someone to get you some discipline, get you some direction in your life.”

“Sir, you’ve done that. Lord knows when I asked you that first day to be on the road crew, I was doing nothing with my life. Now I have a place to stay and a job, and I have you. I get scared sometimes,” I said.

He smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll have a place for you.”

We drove back to my trailer. I was in the bed of the truck. When we pulled up at the end of the drive, I hopped out. Sgt. Stiles waved at me to get in the front cab. It was nice and cool in there. It smelled of leather, a faint tobacco scent, and the smell of Sgt. Stiles.

“Johnny, today was a great time. I hope you learned a lot. I hope you learned what to expect.”

“Yes, Sir.’

“You’ve got some tasks to do for me. I know this will be new and maybe difficult, but I want you to try your best.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said, kind of nervously. He had two boxes under his seat.

This first was flat and heavy. I opened it. It was a pair of oversized boot cuffs. WOW! I took them out of the box and the plastic bag they were in. They were like oversized handcuffs. The rachet sounded good. They had a light coating of oil on them.

“I want you to wear those leg irons as often as you can. There are two keys in the box, too. They’re standard handcuff keys.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He gave me another box. It said “Anal Trainer” on the front. It was three buttplugs. Sizes small, medium, and large. That’s why barber Max asked if I was plugged. Sgt. Stiles plugs his boys.

“Sir, I haven’t done this before.”

“That’s alright. Just start with the smallest, and use plenty of lube. Relax and let your hole take it in. Before long you’ll be moving up in size. I want you to do this. It will add to your pleasure.”

And your pleasure of me, I thought.

“Let’s go sit outside,” he said.

We got out of the cab. He put his Stetson on. I put my baseball cap on, backwards as ordered. We walked to the back of his black monster of a truck. Sgt. Stiles pulled the tailgate down. I put the leg irons and the buttplugs near the steps to my trailer.

He jumped up and put that hot butt of his on the tailgate, his thick legs dangling down. His big boots just above the ground. His crotch expanded. I could see the outline of a thick cylinder of cock in his tight blue Wranglers. He unzipped. I watched. He stuck his hands in his jeans and pulled out his cock and balls. He just looked at me and smiled. That killer smile. That smile could get me to do just about anything.

I moved up to stand between his spread legs. I leaned in for a kiss. I got a warm wet smooch. My hand stroked his cock while he let out little moaning sounds. So, I did have some power over Sgt. Stiles! I pulled away from him and bent over. His cock was too high up for me to blow him while I was on my knees. Still wearing my cap backwards, I put my head down and took his cock as far down as I could. I put my hands on his thighs and pushed down with all the force I could. I got a grunt out of Sgt. Stiles. He gently put his big hand on the back of my head, but he didn’t push me down farther on his dick. I came up for air and looked up at him. He had his eyes closed. What was he thinking, if anything, or was he just swimming in pleasure?

I went back down to his cock, swirling my tongue around the head of his cock. Then I lowered my mouth to his balls. I worked on the spot where his shaft met his balls. This made him squirm.

Success! I struggled with one hand to get my own cock free from my shorts. It was a bit easier now as I didn’t have any underwear on. My cock soon jutted out in front of me like the front of a sailing ship. My warm ass helped my cock’s hardness too. I got both hands back on his thighs and held him in place while I worked on him. Little licks then long slurps. Just the head of his cock in my mouth then as far down as I could go. Quick swirling little circles with my tongue, then long straight furrows like I was plowing a field. He groaned and squirmed at the command of my mouth and tongue.

He was ready, I knew it. He took short breaths. I concentrated on timing. I let his cock experience one last deep invasion into my throat, then I pulled off. I got caught by the first jet of cum. It splattered on the side of my face. Warm. A trophy of my cocksucking skills. Sgt. Stiles threw his head back and roared, like a bull completing its task of mating. I moved out of the way for the second squirt that arced from his cock to the dirt. It lay there glistening on the gravel of the driveway.

He panted.

I gripped his cock with my right hand and squeezed hard. A third load leaked out, not much force behind it. He was drained. Spent. Emptied. I’d done that to him! The last of his cum dribbled down his shaft and my hand. I kept the pressure on. I had a thought. Maybe it was my own unsatisfied and hard cock giving me ideas. I kept pumping with my hand. Sgt. Stiles moaned, this time not from pleasure. I was working his sore cock. I was doing that. I kept going. He yelped!

“Utah, stop!”

I continued working his red dick.

“Johnny, please stop!”

Surrender. I stopped.

Sgt. Stiles just looked at me. He took short breaths. He was sweating. Not so all powerful now, huh fucker!

He slid his butt of the tailgate. He left his shrinking dribbling cock out of his jeans. He looked right at me. He challenged me with his eyes. I stood my ground, with my own cock out in front of me like a battering ram.

He turned around, used both hands to slam the tail gate shut and then faced me. He gave me a look that said, “OK, fucker, you had your fun, my turn!”

He stepped toward me in one big pace, stuck out a big finger and scooped up some of his cum from the side of my face. He looked around. He took his cum slick finger and painted the trailer hitch ball with his cum.

“Lick that off!” he shouted.

“I stood my ground.”

“Lick that cum off that hitch!” He bellowed.

At that command I took a step forward. I wanted to do it. It was natural for me to follow his commands. I did like the feeling of power I just had over him, though.

I dropped to my knees in the gravel. It hurt my knees. I tried to move around to dig myself a more comfortable position. I bent down to begin. I licked the trailer hitch clean. I let him see the slow licks I had performed on his cock. Now I was doing it to his truck. Would he get jealous?

“That’s good, Utah.” He tapped me on the head. I stood up. My cock still hard in front of me. If he would only touch me. My cock or my butt, I’d shoot.

“Don’t think I’m going to let what you did slide.” He went to the driver’s side of the truck cab, reached under the seat. He came back with a collar. Just like the collars at Seminole Cement.

I was in shock and desire!

He put it around my neck. There was a brass padlock. Click! I was collared.

“This stays on until I take it off!”

“Yes, Sir!” I shouted. It was lust and desire. He’d collared me. My lust kept me from seeing the disadvantages of it.

“Walk toward the mailbox.”

The mailbox? That was about a hundred feet down the drive and right on the main road.

“Get moving, Utah!”

“Yes, Sir!”

I started walking. I heard the truck start up. He followed me all the way down to the start of the drive. When I got to the mailbox there was no traffic. He pulled up next to me. I stood there, cock hanging out of my shorts. I stood there, collared.

“I will be calling!”

He spun out and took off toward Lake City.

I was standing there. I started to get hard again. What a time!

The flag was down on the mailbox. I might as well get the mail since I was here. Collar and all.

I had one letter. It was about a quarter inch thick. In the upper left corner, the name:

Mark Brodie

FL # 1255779

Taylor Correctional Institution

8501 Hampton Springs Road

Perry, Florida

32348-8747

I ran back to my trailer with my hard on leading the way!

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