Mister Red

Tyrone and the White Sheriff

Part One
Moving to Alabama

I wasn't happy when mom said we would be moving to Alabama. I mean, when you're a politically woke black boy, Alabama seems like a scary place. But mom had a great new job down there and would be earning a lot more money.

It was a pretty small town and most of the black folks lived down on the other side of the interstate. But mom insisted she wanted us to live on the nice side of town. Wherever we went to look at rentals I was self conscious that there were white people looking at me. What were they thinking of me? What would they want to do to me? I know today isn't like the era of lynching, but there are still bad things that happen to black boys when they're in the clutches of white people.

We visited this really nice little house that was for rent. It was two stories, but very compact. There was a big bedroom and full bath downstairs, and up a narrow flight of steps there was a small bedroom with its own toilet and sink. I liked the setup. It would mean I'd have my privacy from mom. When you're a 13-year-old guy that's important. I sleep in my briefs and sometimes I have a boner when I'm heading to the toilet at night. Well, in this little house mom would stay downstairs so I could run around the upstairs bare naked with a boner waving in front of me and it wouldn't matter.

But when we went outside I looked at the much bigger house right next to ours and saw a political sign in the front yard that made me uncomfortable. There was also an old white man sitting on the porch that surrounded that big white house. He was fat with white hair and looked like every stereotype you ever saw about a southern white sheriff. In fact it turned out that Captain Worthing was the retired sheriff of this Alabama town.

The old white man waved to us all friendly and called us over. He came down from his porch, introduced himself and shook my mother's hand very graciously. He was way friendlier than I would have expected, especially considering the sign for that particular political candidate. He was impressed with the job my mother was starting and said he could tell she was a "fine lady raising a fine young boy." He explained that the small house used to be the carriage house for the main building, where he lived. Also, he was the landlord.

Then he turned his attention to me. It made me uncomfortable the way he kept on touching me, feeling the muscles in my arms and shoulders and complimenting me on my form. He even lifted my shirt and rubbed my smooth tummy, commenting that I didn't have any baby fat. It all felt awkward, but I didn't want to offend him and, as the real estate agent had said, they do things different in Alabama. Out of the blue he asked me if I wanted to earn extra money. Well, of course, what 13-year-old boy doesn't want and need extra money? He said that he could use help with some things around his house ("I'm not as spry as I used to be, son," he chuckled) and if we moved into the small house, he'd be happy to have a "strong young buck" like me to give him a hand.

My mom intervened and said, "I don't know how much help you need, Captain Worthing, but my son and I want to be good neighbors. He could certainly lend a hand to a neighbor without getting money for it."

Captain Worthing turned to the real estate agent and said, "You better give these nice people a good deal on that house. They're the kind of fine people I want as my new neighbors."

Mom told me later that 'buck' was a term used for young black male slaves, and that she didn't appreciate the old white man using the word. But she conceded that he had been so much more welcoming than she expected, she shrugged and chalked it up to "they do things different in Alabama." She didn't say anything about Captain Worthing referring to me as 'boy' but then again at 13 I suppose I was still just a little boy to a man of 60.

I started helping Mr. Worthing with little things. He was still strong and capable, so the help he wanted was mostly an extra hand when he had to move a bunch of boxes or a young steady person to get up on a ladder. I never took money from him for these small tasks, but he would give me old clothes and things from his grown sons that he thought would fit me. The shirts and pants weren't anything I'd want to be seen in, but I liked their sweatpants and t-shirts. He even gave me a jockstrap and asked if boys like me still wore them for gym class. I mumbled an answer. I didn't want to be talking about my underpants with this old white man.

When he asked me to take on bigger jobs, he offered me an hourly rate. It was way below minimum wage, but better than anyone else in town was offering to a young black boy. He started by having me paint his enclosed back porch. It took a full Saturday just to scrape off all the old peeling paint.

We started up work again on Sunday afternoon, once Captain Worthing was back from church and Sunday dinner in town. But no sooner had I arrived on his back porch than he spilled an entire can of turpentine all over me. I jumped back and said I would run to my house next door to shower. But he pushed me toward the next room, the mud room off the porch. Because it was a junk room for people to wash the mud off when they came in from outside, there was a big basin sink with a hose, and a drain in the middle of the floor.

"Go on, boy, strip down," he commanded.

I was stammering. I didn't want to take my clothes off in front of this old white man, but he was insistent. "It's only us guys here, Tyrone. No gals are gonna see you. I can't let you run to your house like this. Turpentine is flammable and highly dangerous."

Throughout this I was slowly peeling off my clothes so that I stood in nothing but my plaid boxer shorts. I felt grown up wearing these boxers instead of my usual tighty whities, but the Captain shook his head with disapproval. "Boy your age needs support for his little balls and his pecker. My policy was that my sons stayed in briefs till they at least had a patch of hair round their peckers. Have you got hair yet, Tyrone?" I don't know how red my face turned – shocked because the old white man would ask such a question, and embarrassed because I didn't have hair yet.

I looked at the floor unable to form words. The Captain snapped, "When a grown-up asks you a question, boy, you best give a polite answer."

"N-no, sir," I mumbled.

He looked me over in a way that made me feel creepy, then grinned, "Don't matter, little fella, it'll come with time. Besides, look what fine muscles you have developing and the shape of your body." Then he playfully took the spray nozzle that was hooked up to the hose and pointed it right at me, soaking me with water from head to toe.

The old white man was holding my turpentine-stained clothes and told me to give him my boxers. I looked down at the soaking underpants and felt shy. I turned my back to him and peeled down the shorts, keeping one hand covering my dick as I handed them off.

When I think back to it now, it's strange that I felt shy about showing my dick, so instead I was displaying my bare ass to him. It's not like I understood at the time that the old guy was perving on me. It just never occurred to me that a fat old white Southern sheriff like that could be a queer, especially not queer for a young teen black boy. I had no idea on that day how queer this white man would get with me, and how interested he was in my black ass.

The towel he gave me to wrap myself in was thin and white and didn't do much to hide anything. Then he brought me a t-shirt he said had belonged to one of his sons. "This should hang down nice and long and cover all your tender bits," he chuckled in a grandfatherly way. But it must have been the wrong t-shirt because it didn't cover much. When I pulled it down in front to try to cover my dick, my entire ass was hanging out in the breeze. When I pulled it down in back, my dick was waving free.

Just then I heard someone else enter. When I turned I saw a fit twenty-something white man in a police uniform. I gasped and jumped back. Being a black boy I've been taught to fear white cops, and I felt especially vulnerable with my dick and ass on display. This cop was grinning and chuckling as he said, "You got yourself a fine looking little black buck, daddy."

I was too scared to say any of the hundred things I was thinking right then. And it's probably best that I didn't say any of it. The Captain just chuckled and said, "Tyrone is a good boy, respectful and obedient. Not like you was at that age, Jefferson." This policeman was Captain Worthing's youngest son.

I swallowed hard and mumbled, "Please sir, can I get something to cover myself…?"

The white dad and son told me to hold on for a minute while they talked together in whispered tones, chuckling and sharing whatever jokes as they looked over at me. I turned to face the washing machine where I tossed in all my clothes and some of the Captain's dirty laundry as well. I stayed facing the machine, once again most shy about showing my dick and not realizing at the time how much the two men were enjoying the sight of my bare ass.

After Jefferson Worthing left, Captain Worthing brought me a pair of small gym shorts that had belonged to his one of his sons. The shorts were so tight on me that it was an effort to pull them up and I could barely fit my cock and balls inside them. I had hardly worked another 15 minutes before I bent over and the seam ripped all the way up in the back of the shorts. The Captain complained that we had already lost enough time and insisted I keep working just as I was. But even as we worked, he kept looking over at me and commenting, "Your ass is so much bigger and rounder than either of my sons'. They got those typical flat white boy asses, heheh."

I suppose for a man who was turned on by my black boy butt I gave him quite a show that afternoon, and all for $4 an hour. Half-dressed as I was, I also managed to paint most of the porch. By suppertime, the only thing left to paint was the trim around the windows.

When I bent over to take my clothes out of the dryer (and thinking back now, what a show I must've given the old men then), he asked me to 'be a good boy' and fold his clothes as well. Folding the old guy's boxer shorts while he spoke to me like that made me feel as if I was a servant in this house. But I shook my head and decided to chalk it up to being in Alabama.

I stripped off the t-shirt and the ripped gym shorts with my back still turned and pulled up my boxers. When I looked at the size of the gym shorts they were clearly meant for a younger boy, so of course they were too small for me. At the time I thought the Captain had just been confused and gave me the wrong shorts, but looking back on it I know there were no accidents. As I put the rest of my clothes on, the Captain took the discarded shorts and seemed to be sniffing them.

"Tyrone," he began. "I know you don't have a daddy." My back bristled. This was a sensitive subject I wasn't going to discuss with this old white man. He cleared his throat and went on, "You're growing up fast. Your body is gonna go through all sorts of changes, not the least of which is getting hairy."

He turned the gym shorts inside out and showed them to me. "Looks like you dripped some love juice inside the shorts, boy, heheh. I know how it can be for a buck your age. Hell, that sometimes even happens to old white guys like me. You should've just excused yourself and beat your meat. You do know how to beat your meat, don't you, son?" I knew he was expecting an answer so I just barely nodded my head. Then, as if it was an afterthought, the old man said, "Maybe I would've even joined you for a good jack-off session. You ever do it together with school buddies? All boys do. I know my sons are all-man and they did it with buddies when they were your age."

I told him I had to get home for supper and ran out of there. It was then that I started to have serious suspicions about our neighbor. But I couldn't say anything to anyone. If I said the former town sheriff was perving on my black teen ass, who would believe me? Besides, anything I could've pointed to as wrong, could've been interpreted as him joking around and being friendly.

By the next day I decided it had all been in my imagination and I was just overreacting. Most weekends after that, the Captain seemed to have some work for me to do, and I was glad to earn the extra money.

Sometimes he would work alongside me, but more frequently he would make himself comfortable in a rattan chair and sip his spiked ice tea as he watched me work. Although I tried to dismiss his suggestive talk, he kept steering the conversation toward things like my muscle development or my sexual experience, and I'd do my best to change the subject. One time he kept encouraging me to talk to him about how I "took care of my needs" – the old pervert wanted details on my jerk-off habits!

He would also find excuses for me to work shirtless. I tried to be philosophical: I figured I should be complimented if this racist old creep liked watching my hard black muscles on display. But I'd still break out in gooseflesh when I saw that smirk on his face and the glisten in his eyes. At least I managed to keep my pants on.

He told me the history of the town and the Civil War spots that were nearby; and of course he elaborated on all his family forebears and what they had done in the War. He also told me about his experiences in the military. I had originally thought that calling him Captain was one of those made-up Southern titles, but it turns out he was a Captain in the Army. He signed up before he even graduated from high school, served for 20 years, and then came home to serve as town sheriff for another 20, till his retirement two years earlier.

He spoke often about how you have to look below the surface of people – something I didn't expect from a man of his background. One evening he invited me to sit down and even offered me a beer as he said, "If you and me was at a house and there was an expensive watch missing, the cops would look and see a young teen black boy and pin the crime on you. You know what I call that?"

"Racism?" I asked helpfully.

He shook his head without comment on my reply and said, "Sloppy police work. Too many supposedly respectable citizens can get away with too much crap because nobody would suspect them, heheh."

The old man laughed raucously as he told me about the church deacon who was a kleptomaniac and the highly-respected chamber of commerce member who wore ladies' underwear. His words were slurring and I knew he was drunk by this time. But I didn't mind. I was enjoying this more informal chat and his stories. In a secretive voice he told me: "There was some unsavory goings-on in the park and I went out there to investigate and I find this upstanding citizen, this middle school teacher who's all man – you ain't gonna believe this, but – he was suckin' some black boy's dick in the park. The kid was probably around your age, Tyrone."

"What happened to him, sir?"

"Well, I could've ruined his life right then and there if I'd charged him and taken him in. Man like that with all those children children and a good career – arrest like that on morals charges I wouldn't have been surprised if he ended up killing himself. So I wasn't gonna arrest him. I took him for a walk deeper into the park and I beat the crap out of him to teach him a lesson. Then I told him to go down to Birmingham if he wants to do queer shit like that. You understand what I'm saying, boy? He was out there in the park where anybody could've found him with a black boy's cock in his mouth – maybe some little boys or a dad walking his son could'a come across that nasty sex scene. Would'a been different if he was behind closed doors. But if he couldn't be discreet he should'a took it to the big city."

"So you beat him up, sir?"

"Hadda teach him a lesson, didn't I, boy? Also, I'll confess to you that I stuck my dick in his mouth and went for a little ride. Fuck, he was willing to do it for some young black buck, he might as well take mine, heheh."

I blushed and felt awkward. The Captain was sitting next to me, his leg touching mine. I tried to pull away but he shifted and his leg pressed into mine again.

"Now, here's the lesson, boy. If you was to tell somebody that the Captain told you that he let a man suck his dick, who would believe you? Think about it, you're a black kid here in Alabama, and I'm the retired sheriff. Nobody gonna take your word for it, boy."

I started to stand up. I was feeling nervous and queasy and wanted to get out of there. But the Captain grabbed me and pulled me back down beside him. "If you was to tell anybody that the Captain offered you twenty bucks to suck your dick, boy, who would believe you?"

"Captain, sir, are you offering me twenty dollars to…?"

He laughed drunkenly, "That's not what I said, boy. I said if you was to tell anybody that I offered you…"

With that the large man slid off the couch and came to rest between my legs. I was wearing track pants with white briefs underneath. His big hands tugged down my pants and briefs with one pull. Then he put his lips around the tip of my cock. It was totally stiff as soon as his warm wet mouth made contact.

I was too shocked to say anything, but almost immediately his mouth was all the way down on my very stiff boner. His nose was rubbing on the area where my pubic hair would be someday. The little goatee on his chin was tickling my smooth balls, and he seemed to be savoring my meat. I was pushing with my hips, so turned on and so horny it was like I was trying to stuff my balls in his mouth as well.

I'd fucked a two girls so far, and one of them put her lips on my cock. But she didn't really suck me off. She thought that a blow job just meant tonguing my dick for a minute or less. And I was so eager to fuck pussy that I didn't care about the half-hearted sucking.

But now I was getting a real deep throated blow job. And it made my body go crazy wanting to ram my boner in harder and deeper. But then the Captain pulled back and was teasing my dick. He licked and sucked on my balls, then commanded, "I want you to get naked, boy."

I sat there looking down at him and don't even know what kind of expression was on my face. This was all so strange, I think I was trying to figure out what the hell was going on, even though it was self-evident. His words didn't seem very commanding as he sat on the ground, his face in my crotch. But then he looked up at me meeting my eyes and ordered, "I want you to stand up and strip down naked. DO AS YOU'RE FUCKING TOLD, BOY."

I jumped to my feet mumbling, "Yes sir," and pulled off my shirt, kicked off my sneakers and pushed down my track pants and briefs. I stood on display, bare naked with my black dick sticking up fully stiff in front of me. Meanwhile the pervy old white man was touching me up everyplace. He fingered my nipples and even pinched them as his lips went back to work sucking me off.

Once again he had his nose in my curly pubes and was deep throating me. His hands caressed my smooth thighs then moved up to my ass cheeks. His fingers were moving toward the trench between my cheeks. I felt his fingertips there and tensed up. I grabbed his hand and said, "No, not there."

My cock dropped from his mouth as he smacked my ass hard, then smacked it another three times. "Ow, please, that hurts, sir."

His anger flared as he looked up at me and grunted, "Are you gonna be a good boy, Tyrone?"

I gulped and nodded my head. I didn't know how else to respond. He went back to my dick, but now he was teasing me more than sucking me. He licked at the head, played with his tongue on my sweaty balls, nuzzled my cock with his face. At the same time both of his hands were on my ass cheeks. He was spreading them apart, grunting, "Sweet firm little ass you got there, boy. Some of you caramel skin boys got real pretty curved butts."

Given the nasty things he was saying and how scared I was right then, I don't know how I managed to stay so hard. All I can say is that the old white man knew how to use his tongue and lips on a black cock. The Captain's finger was pushing into my butthole. I didn't dare protest, but I whimpered a little bit. He suddenly shoved a finger all the way into my hole and then my cock started spurting down his throat. He swallowed just as fast as I shot. My legs were wobbly by the time I finished. He was actually holding me up when he slid his mouth off my tool.

I reached for my briefs, but he slapped my hand away and said, "You ain't done, black boy."

He stood up next to me, unzipped his tan slacks and took my right hand. He put my hand into his fly and placed my fingers around his hard cock. I felt his boxer shorts; his cock was sticking through the fly. His hand was over mine, so I couldn't pull my fingers away. "Least you can do is give me a hand job, pretty boy. You ever touched a stiff grown-up cock before?"

I shook my head and said, "N-no, sir. I n-n-never did anything g-g-gay before…"

"Fuck, boy, I don't want no gay boy touching my dick. Now, take it out of my pants."

I did as he ordered and looked down at the exposed white erection. He was uncut like I was, and it was dripping at the tip. "You know how to give a hand job, boy. All boys your age are experts at jerking off."

Obediently, I looked down at his cock and stroked it. I tried to jerk it quickly, wanting this to be over. But he put his hand on mine and indicated for me to go slower. Then he started to feel me up again, as if he was exploring and examining my body with his hands. He brushed one finger over my lips and sighed, "Such nice soft lips, boy. You ever suck a dick?"

"No sir, never. I never did nothing like that, sir, really."

He grinned at me and then did maybe the most shocking thing of all. His big hand grabbed me behind the head and pulled me toward his face. He kissed me right on the lips. Then he forced his tongue in my mouth. I could taste the liquor and cigars and the flavor of my own sperm, and I felt nauseated. This fat old white man was tongue kissing me! How gross!

But he must have loved it because his cock was creaming as he kissed me. It leaked all over my hand and some of it even shot on my chest. I pulled away from him looking for something to wipe my cummy fingers on. But he pulled me back into his embrace. He ran his thick fingers over my chest. I could see his cream dripping from his fingers as he brought them to my lips.

I turned my face away and grunted, "No, please, I can't…"

He stuffed his fingers in my mouth and I tasted the old man's spunk. When he pulled his fingers out they were clean. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, but saw the way he was looking at me. I didn't dare spit it out. I swallowed, even though it nearly choked me to do so. Then I picked up my clothes from the floor. But he grabbed away the white briefs and said, "I'm keeping these, boy." He tossed a twenty-dollar bill at me. Then he took out another five and tossed it so it landed on the floor. "This is for the tighty whities." I swear that nasty old man was licking and sniffing at my briefs.

I pulled on the rest of my clothes, grabbed up the money, and ran back to my house. I got something from the refrigerator and told my mom I didn't feel well and was just gonna go up to my room. I didn't want to face my mom after what had just happened. I curled up fully dressed and wondered if I was now a boy prostitute? After all, the old man gave me $20 for sucking my dick, with an extra $5 for my dirty underpants.

I knew right then that I couldn't be alone with Captain Worthing anymore. I had to steer clear, but wasn't sure how I would navigate that since my mom expected me to do chores for the old man. And I couldn't bear for her to know about the Captain's latest plans for me to earn money. I also wondered whether the old guy would be satisfied to just suck my dick in the future, or if he would make me do other stuff? I shuddered at the thought.

The very next day mom came to me with news of her job transfer. She had only been in the Alabama office for four months, but there was suddenly an opening in Chicago where they really needed her – somebody had died and this was an emergency, plus it would mean a job promotion with a raise; on top of that a big bonus for moving and relocation expenses. I was jumping up and down for joy. Perfect! I get away from the pervert Captain and I get out of Alabama!

But then mom told me that she didn't want me to change schools in the middle of the semester. She told me she had spoken to Captain Worthing and he was willing to take me in as a boarder so I could stay in the same school. She said she offered to pay rent for me, but the Captain had said he would let me work for my room and board. I felt dizzy. My mom didn't know what had gone on, but my stomach knotted up as I thought about how the Captain would want me to pay for room and board.

I got into a big shouting match with my mom that night. I told her that I wouldn't stay with the Captain, that it was wrong to have me live with a white man. She told me I was being close minded, and that the Captain had only been generous and gracious to both of us. I couldn't yell any more, so I just stormed up to my room. I resolved to keep fighting until my mom agreed to take me to Chicago with her.

The next day when I got to school, there were police inspecting our lockers. I had never seen anything like this before, but I didn't think anything of it. I wasn't involved with anything bad at school, so what did I have to worry about?

Right before lunch I was called down to the principal's office and there was the Captain's son in his police uniform. He held a bag of marijuana and shook his head as he looked me up and down. The principal snapped, "There's no place in a respectable school for your drug dealing, boy."

"No, no, that's not mine, sir." Even as I said the words I remembered what Captain Worthing had said to me. Who was going to believe a black teen boy in Alabama?

Officer Worthing took me to the police station and made a point of stripping me to my briefs before putting me in a holding cell, my hands cuffed behind my back. I just closed my eyes but I couldn't even cry. As far as I could see, my life was over.

I don't know how long I sat in the cell before the door opened and my mother came in. But alongside my mother was Captain Worthing. I gritted my teeth. I just knew that old perv was the one who had framed me. But here he was shaking his head and clicking his tongue. "Tyrone, I had such faith in you, boy. This is such a disappointment."

"Mom, you know I never did drugs. You can test me. Test my blood. Test my urine. I don't smoke weed."

The young cop intoned, "The smartest dealers don't use the shit themselves. They just make money hooking some other poor kids on the stuff." (Hooking kids on grass? What the hell was he talking about? But once again nobody would listen to a black boy in a situation like this.)

My mom stood outside my cell with the two men. They gave her a hanky to cry into. Captain Worthing acted like he was my savior. He told my mom and the cop, "You can't put a boy like that in prison. He's cute, boyish, slim body. You know what the bigger boys are going to do to him in there."

My mother howled with tears now. But the Captain comforted her, even putting an arm around her. "Jefferson, what if I take responsibility for young Tyrone? Put him on probation and send him to live with me."

"NO!" I shouted through the bars.

"Hush up, boy!" my mom shouted even louder. "He's trying to save you from prison."

"No, mom, you don't understand…"

The Captain shook his head and began to walk off, "Well, if the boy doesn't even appreciate…"

"No, sir, don't say that," my mom protested. "If you take him in and let him serve his probation under you, I promise you he'll be a good boy. Tyrone will obey you, sir."

There was a grin on the old man's face as he turned to me and said, "You gonna obey and do as you're told, Tyrone?"

That's when I started crying out of control.

Part Two
In the Custody of the Sheriff

Officer Worthing escorted me to his father's house. I was dressed in the clothes I had warn to school the morning of my arrest, but with my hands cuffed behind my back. I swear the Captain was rubbing his hands together and licking his lips when I was brought in. He was looking at me like I was a box of chocolates and he was a starving man.

"What plans have you made to keep the detainee safely on the premises, sir?" the policeman said as if he were reading from a script.

"Well, I can't put locks on all the doors and windows. Only thing I could think is we take away Tyrone's clothes. Not so likely to make a run for it if he's bare-assed naked." He turned to me and snapped, "Strip, boy."

I suppose it was expected. I peeled off my t-shirt and slipped out of my sneakers and socks. It was mortifying. As far as I was concerned at that point I was a straight boy, and it was clear to me that these two older white guys were queer for my body. But they had the power to make me undress in front of them. As I dropped my jeans I wondered how much further they would take their power.

"You wanna let him keep his underpants for now, Captain? You know how black boys can be about showing off their dicks," the cop said, even as his hand caressed the erection in his own pants.

"Not those boxers," the Captain exclaimed with amusement. "Too easy for him to walk out and pretend they're swim trunks." I looked down at myself. Nobody would see my striped boxers as anything but underpants. He motioned toward my one bag of belongings and told me to find a pair of white briefs to wear.

Of course I had to pull down one pair of underpants and pull up the other with both white men watching me. I was just a kid, but felt like I was putting on a strip show for them.

Once they had me down to just my white briefs, my body was shaking. When would the next shoe drop? I think they wanted to tease me. And I know they wanted to make me feel like a servant in this house. I was taken to the kitchen and instructed on how to make coffee, how to mix the Captain's cocktails, where to put the trash, and how to wash the pile of dirty dishes that had been left there. All these things were shouted at me from both directions. As soon as the young cop had me over the sink cleaning out the garbage disposal, Captain Worthing shouted for me to climb up on the stepladder to get down the good glasses from a top shelf.

As I was stretching my arm to get the glasses, the two men below me pulled down the back of my briefs and smacked my exposed ass, laughing together. I dropped a glass and all hell broke loose. "Do you know how much that glassware costs, boy? Do you know what it would cost me to replace that one glass so I have a complete set again, boy? No of course you don't know. You ignorant little…." I had both big white men yelling at me as I was down on my knees trying to wipe up the broken glass without cutting my hand.

Once he was satisfied that the floor was cleaned, the Captain grabbed the back of my neck, made me stand and then pushed me upstairs. When I saw we were in his bedroom, I couldn't breathe. This was it. What would come next?

He pointed to a big wooden piece of furniture beside the fireplace and told me to bring it to the center of the room. I had never seen anything like it and I could tell it was very old. It was sort of like a table with levers to adjust the height of different parts, and odd attachments at both ends of it. When I went to move it, I struggled because the wood was quite heavy.

As I stood facing what I thought was the back of this heavy table, the big cop got down behind me. He was attaching each of my ankles to the two back legs of this thing that the Captain had called a horse. Then he stood up and pushed me chest down across the wooden top. Captain Worthing grabbed both of my wrists and quickly snapped each into cuffs on the front legs of the horse. I pulled at my arms and my legs and realized I was truly secured down to this odd table.

Then the Captain opened a cabinet on the wall and I saw an assortment of punishment devices: whips and cats, floggers and canes, straps and belts. I was trying to form words. This couldn't be legal. They couldn't think they could get away with this. And yet, here I was helpless. These two white men had a straight black teen boy stripped to briefs and chained down to a punishment horse, while they examined different belts and straps.

There was a mirror in front of me so I could see as the big cop went around behind me. He toyed with the thin switch in one hand at the same time as he used his other hand to toy with the erection outlined in his tan uniform pants. I remember seeing his hand raised with the switch high in the air. And I must have seen his hand slash down with the switch. But all I knew was a blinding flash of white light as the pain ripped into my thighs and emanated out to my entire helpless body.

I screeched, which only caused the two white men to howl with laughter. "Breaking you in, are we, boy," chuckled the cop as he toyed again with the switch. I felt my balls pull up against my body in fear.

But the Captain pushed the younger man aside. "No, no, look what you're doing. You've left a mark on his thighs. And the marks from the thin floggers take longer to go away." I was trying to wrap my head around what the old man was saying. But he started to gently rub my butt cheeks, his touch was almost loving, but that made it all the more creepy. "Good thing you didn't break the skin on these flawless buns, heheh. Would be such a shame for these butt cheeks to get marked up before I even get to enjoy them, heheh."

With that the old guy shoved his index finger all the way up into my ass. My whole body tensed and I howled, "Oh God, no!"

The cop pulled my hair to force me to look up at him as he said, "You too fuckin' stupid to know when you got it good, boy? Cap'n here wantsa save you from an ass whooping."

Then I watched as the Captain's son went around behind me with a container of vaseline. He used both hands to spread my ass cheeks apart and then he slathered the thick substance up and down my crack. He worked a vaseline-covered finger into my hole, and then a second finger. I watched the scene in the mirror. Here was a Southern white cop in uniform finger-fucking my asshole. At the same time that cop had his dick out of his pants and was jacking off like crazy.

Captain Worthing had also pulled his penis from his fly and was stroking it, but he was in no hurry to finish up, just enjoying the show. When he decided enough time had passed, the old man pushed the cop aside and positioned himself behind me. I felt the head of his uncut cock press against my anus.

I was barely able to get out a whisper, "P-p-please, Captain… please, sir… you know I never… I never did nothin' like… I'm a straight boy, sir."

"Yeh, that's the way I like 'em," he chuckled, and slammed the full length of his stiff cock all the way up into me with one thrust.

I howled with agony not even realizing that the uniformed cop was right in position to shove his exposed erection into my open mouth. He grasped me by the face and snarled, "If I feel any teeth on it, boy, you gonna get all those teeth knocked out of yo' head."

I grunted, "Mfff mfff," glad that he couldn't make out the words, "Yes sir." What had I turned into? Had I become the subservient black serving boy these white men wanted me to be? All I knew at that moment was that I was totally vulnerable. As the Captain had pointed out some time earlier, nobody would believe the word of a black teenager over two white officers of the law – especially not in Alabama.

The Captain didn't waste any time. As soon as he was inside me, he was fucking in and out of my ass fast and hard. I felt his balls slap against my thighs and when he would slam in and grind against me I felt his hairy bush on my smooth cheeks. His hands were all over my ass, at one moment tenderly caressing and the next moment slapping and pinching.

The pain from my ass coursed through my body. I think that's why I didn't choke much on Jefferson Worthing's cock. It wasn't as thick as the Captain's and he wasn't fucking as hard as the old man was. This pervy young white cop was long dicking my mouth, pulling his boner almost all the way out and then shoving all the way in, repeatedly slamming his big belt buckle into my nose. Both men were still dressed in uniform with their cocks out, taking their perverse pleasure with my naked, bound, black body.

As he was fucking hard in and out, the Captain started telling his son, "You know, my great granddad used this horse for the very same purpose. My granddaddy taught me that fucking the girls can get messy, all those female emotions, plus the complication of babies. But the caramel boys with such nice round asses – ah, the firm bodied young athletes, totally straight of course."

Dammit, this sick old man was in bliss recounting how generations of men in his family had abused and raped black teen boys just like me. I felt tears come to my eyes but shut my lids and held them tightly closed. I wouldn't give these Southern bastards the pleasure of seeing their black boy cry. I said a prayer that all the Captain's ancestors were burning in the deepest pits of hell for what they had done to boys like me.

I couldn't help contorting my face with anger, and I think that's what put the cop in my mouth over the edge. He grabbed the back of my head and slammed forward with his full body weight. His cock was lodged deeper in my throat than I thought it could go. His belt buckle and the weight of him was pressed so tight against my nose that I couldn't breathe. His cock was pulsing and each time it pulsed it shot cream down my throat. The cock was so deep down that I just had to swallow.

I thought I would pass out from lack of oxygen, and then I felt the Captain collapse behind me. His big body fell across my back. His cock also slammed in harder than before, deeper into my ass sending a new wave of pain. That old man's penis was pulsing in my guts, shooting stream after stream of hot jizz inside me.

As both men slowly slid their dicks out of me, I gasped for breath. I was still chained down to this horse, bent forward at the waist with all four of my extremities cuffed to table legs. They left me bound like that while they went into the other room to drink and laugh together. I tried my best to cry silently, feeling so helpless and wondering how long I would remain a captive in Captain Worthing's house in Alabama.

Once I was unchained, the Captain told me that I was going to live in his house dressed in just the briefs. "I don't need to see your black dick waving around here, boy. Besides I like the way the cotton fabric clings to your round ass, and that nice contrast of the white against your skin color."

I was supposed to be homeschooled during this time, but the only things I was taught were household chores and sexual service. I learned to cook all sorts of meals, learned to do laundry and iron all the Captain's clothes (even his socks and boxers), and learned to scrub floors on my hands and knees – all while wearing just my white briefs. I also learned to wash the Captain in the shower, which always ended with me on my knees using my mouth to make sure the old man's cock and ass were clean enough. I learned to respond to all the Captain's orders instantly, to massage and lick any part of his body as commanded, and to forget that I ever had any dignity or self respect.

Sometimes when the old man was drunk and we were alone, he would become romantic. Once he licked my body all over and said I was beautiful and, "I wanna worship your delicious black skin, beautiful boy, and serve your perfectly muscled body." But who would ever take my word that a white man like this former town sheriff would say that to a black boy?

Once when I asked Captain Worthing how long my sentence would last, he snapped "Don't be impertinent, boy." He supervised me closely when I spoke to my mother on the phone once a week. I was only allowed to tell her how good the Captain was treating me and how happy I was. He held the phone as I spoke so he could pull it away or turn it off anytime he chose. Even if I'd had a chance, I don't know how I could have told my mother what was going on in the Captain's house. I was too humiliated with all the nasty sex I had to perform.

While I spent the week either naked or in white briefs, each Sunday morning the Captain would dress me up in an ill-fitting black suit and take me along to his church. I had a perfectly good suit of my own, but he insisted I wear this old one that had belonged to one of his sons. It gave him a chance to tell his fellow parishioners how he had given his son's hand-me-down clothes to this poor black youth. I had to stand beside him as the townspeople filed by to praise his goodness for taking in "a no-account colored boy." When they addressed me, I knew I had to tell them how grateful I was to the Captain for letting me live in such a fine house.

One day after church services I ended up on my knees in the minister's office, sucking on the holy man's cock. The Captain sat in a comfy chair enjoying the show, even though I was still fully dressed in the hand-me-down suit. A door in the back of the room opened and there was the minister's grandson, a blond jock just one grade ahead of me. I recognized him as the start of the middle school football team. I stopped sucking, frozen at having been caught in the act. But the Captain swatted me on my butt and said, "Nobody told you to stop."

The minister grabbed my head and was pumping my face up and down as the blond teenager played with the outline of his cock in his nice gray church pants. After I had swallowed his grandfather's jizz, the school jock whipped out his boner and shoved it into my cum-covered lips. But before I could even start sucking, the Captain remarked, "What a finely-formed white athlete this is. Show us everything, boy."

When the blond boy just looked at the Captain in shock and didn't do anything, the Minister helpfully added, "Don't be shy, son. Show the Captain how nice your muscles are developing."

I was kneeling on the floor fully dressed in my church suit as I watched the white school jock slowly strip out of his nice Sunday clothes. He was blushing and I could tell he was shy and reluctant to expose the bit of blond fuzz at the base of his penis – I noted that his was slightly shorter than mine and not nearly as thick around. When I glanced back to the Captain, I saw the fat old man was still sprawled out in his comfy chair and was masturbating his exposed cock.

The Captain was the one giving the orders. The young football player fucked my mouth and the Captain was right behind him, jerking himself off as he watched the blond youth's smooth ass cheeks moving in and out. When the young jock was getting close to the end, panting and fucking my mouth more frantically, the Captain started swatting the boy's ass.

The blond teenager looked like he was crying as he shot his load down my throat. Pulling his dick out of my lips, he was even more shy as the Captain talked about, "What nice smooth skin this boy has, and what lovely buttocks."

I wondered then why the minister wasn't outraged that this nasty old man was perving on his grandson. Given his enjoyment of my mouth, I figured the minister was also a pervert. I wondered whether he was also afraid of the power of the former sheriff in this town?

On a different weekend after church, the Captain dropped me off at the school I had briefly attended. I was led to the empty locker room and left in the clutches of the head coach, who immediately ordered me to strip for a shower. Coach was a man's man, muscular retired marine, whose wife was pregnant with their fifth child. But when I was naked in the shower with the big hairy man, I remembered the story the Captain had told about a respected teacher who worshipped black boys. It was clear to me that story had been about the coach.

It seemed like Coach had to lick every detailed inch of my body, rambling on about how my flesh was like a "statue carved out of obsidian." The man teased my dick for hours, never letting me cum even as he would give a few quick licks to my cock head every so often. Finally he had my arms and legs strapped down onto a massage table with me on my back. I didn't know what was coming next as I watched him climb up on the table.

I was amazed as the Coach lowered himself onto my cock. The man's hands were spreading his own hairy butt cheeks and he was wrapping his butthole around my hard cock. Bare naked and bound on my back all I could think was that this muscular man was raping my cock. He had teased my body so much that my dick was stiff as iron, and now the respected faculty member was fucking his ass on my boner.

The whole time he was riding my dick, Coach had his eyes closed and was rambling on about, "You black boys think just because you have such big stiff cocks that you can make us white boys do whatever you want…" I swear, if I could've had a recording of what he was saying during that fuck, they would've carted this fool away to the looney bin.

When I couldn't hold back anymore, my black erection started shooting semen up into the Coach's rear. At the same time he grabbed his flopping dick and his sperm flew out, landing on my chest and my face. When I noticed how small his white cock was, I looked away. I was actually embarrassed that I knew how tiny his dick was. No wonder the retired marine worked so hard to be a macho man, and no wonder he had come to worship the big cocks of black guys.

But the most humiliating experience during the time I lived at the Captain's house was when he took me to a fancy dress-up party. He told me it was a period party and the host would have an appropriate costume for me to wear. The captain drove me to this big old Southern mansion and took me around the back to meet our host, an old skinny white man I knew as the president of the bank.

The bank president was wearing this fancy outfit from a couple of centuries ago. Sandwiched between the two old white man, I stripped down to my briefs but our host insisted I remove those. He then gave me a pair of pants that had the legs partly cut short and left ragged and rips all over them that revealed my smooth black flesh. The pants were too wide on me so I was given a rope to tie around my waist and hold them up. Then I was given a white undershirt that was equally torn and discolored.

That's the way I was expected to serve drinks to the gentlemen guests. There were only about a dozen men there, all old and white. And all of them seemed to enjoy the site of me dressed in the raggedy outfit. While one man put his hand up my shirt and tweaked my nipples, another man had his hand slipping between my legs from behind, squeezing my balls. It didn't take long before the athletic undershirt was ripped to shreds and had fallen off me.

I was stretching to hand some drinks to a group of men when some joker decided to cut my rope belt. My ragged pants fell to my feet. I stumbled and was pushed forward by many hands that all seemed to be grabbing for my exposed ass. Men laughed, but our host stopped them from going further. "That's not the way we planned this, gentlemen. Remember our quest for authenticity."

Our host was fussy about his period pieces, so I was outfitted with another rope belt to hold up the ragged pair of pants, no shirt this time. I was displayed on a little stage with my hands tied behind me. The host was giving a speech about this being a "fundraiser for the next senator's campaign," and that the former sheriff had been kind enough to donate something special for the auction.

That's when the raggedy pants were pushed down to the floor. One man in the group called out, "Yeh, but did the Captain already get that boy's butthole all stretched out."

The Captain was already a little drunk as he laughed in return, "You can check for yourself. He had an enema before coming here so he would be cleaned out."

I was immediately bent forward. More than one white man fingered my ass. They all seemed to like the tightness because they broke into nasty remarks about "what a tight hole this little colored boy has." I was working harder than ever to keep from crying at that point. But I was damned if I was gonna let these white bastards see me cry.

The man with the top bid was a nasty redneck who hog-tied me and tossed me in the back of his truck. He took me back to his house where he shared me with his three sons and also his elderly dad. I've blacked out most of what happened. I'm trying to block out the rest. I never want to revisit that again.

Part Three
A New Life in Mississippi

Of course I was never told what was going on. One morning the Captain tossed clothes on the bed for me to wear. It was a full outfit – jeans, t-shirt, underwear, socks, sneakers – and it wasn't even a Sunday. I figured the Captain was going to take me to some other pervert's house, but then he gave me my suitcase to bring out to his car (I hadn't even seen that suitcase since I first arrived, since the Captain had controlled my clothes.)

But I was never told where we were going. When I saw a sign that said we were entering Mississippi, I was terrified that the nasty old man was bringing me someplace where he could dump my body. And I knew that if he got rid of me permanently he would never be brought to justice.

We pulled up behind a police station in this small Mississippi town and a big black man in a sheriff's uniform came out to greet us. I would come to know this man as Sheriff Ken. He looked me over and then gave the Captain directions to his house just two blocks away. The tall man met us and led us into his house. I was made to stand in the middle of the room and this time it was the black man who ordered me to strip down naked.

When I was totally bare, the black sheriff walked around me checking my body. He told me later he wanted to see if the Captain had left any permanent marks on me. I felt the black man's large warm hand planted on my left butt cheek as he said, "I'll bet this boy's ass was nice and smooth before you got to punishing him."

The Captain mumbled, partly to himself, "Boy like this needs discipline."

Sheriff Ken sneered at the old white man. Then he went into the next room and brought out a naked white teenager. I recognized this blond jock as the minister's grandson. He had on a leather collar, with a leash held by the large black man, also his hands were cuffed behind him. As the black sheriff ran his hands over the blond's smooth torso and then his hairless butt cheeks, he chuckled, "I appreciate flawless skin and would never want to damage something as nice as this."

The middle school school football star looked down at the floor blushing, his body displayed naked the same as mine, as the two men signed some paperwork. The old white man took the leash that was attached to the blond boy's collar and said, "OK, transfer of prisoners is complete."

Sheriff Ken spoke in a deep mellow voice as he spoke threateningly to the blond youth, "Next time you and your white trash buddies wanna rape girls, there are plenty of pretty little white girls in your own county. If you come back to my county, I cannot be responsible for your safety, whitey."

The Captain tugged on the naked oy's collar and grumbled, "You and your grandpa both owe me big time for this, boy. I just hope your ass ain't all stretched out from that black cock, because I'll be riding it before we get back over the state line."

There was no goodbye spoken. Captain Worthing left that house and walked out of my life forever.

Now Sheriff Ken stood right in front of me, looking into my eyes. "I heard about you, boy. I know what that old white bastard likes to do to young black jocks like you. As much fun as I might have with that white boy's pretty ass, I saw my chance to get you out of the old man's clutches."

"So I'm free to go now, sir? I can move up north with my…."

The big black man was shaking his head. "You still got another six months left on your probation, boy. That paperwork we signed gives you permission to leave the Captain's jurisdiction, but just hands you over to my jurisdiction. I'm responsible for you now, little fella."

As he looked in my eyes, his fingers were caressing the side of my face. It was like I was being hypnotized. Next thing I knew, his lips pressed against my lips. Then his tongue slipped into my mouth. He gripped me around in his powerful arms and squeezed me to his body.

I started kissing him back as I felt my cock jump to full stiffness and press against me through the black sheriff's tan slacks. His big hand went down to my ass and he was squeezing each cheek. The big man paused and softly asked, "Did that big old white bully hurt you, son?"

I laid my head against the black man's tan uniform shirt. A tidal wave of emotions swept over me. It was simply the fact that this man cared about me. I wonder if it was that very moment when I fell in love with him.

He took me to his bedroom to "get better acquainted." The two of us rolled on the bed kissing and touching each other. I reached down to play with his boner through his tan slacks. Then I slid down, opened his pants and took out his huge thick cock. It was the biggest I had seen since my ordeal began (but then again it was the first adult black cock I'd seen). I slid down and worked the foreskin with my lips and teeth. My tongue pushed back the skin and then I really started sucking up and down. My jaw ached from being stretched open so wide, and I was gagging before I had half of the huge hose down my throat. That first blow job, I ended up jerking the man off into my mouth. I hungrily swallowed every drop.

I realized this was the first time I sucked a cock without being ordered to do it. The big black man was so loving and tender with me that I wanted to please him in any way I could. But Sheriff Ken was willing to take his time. It was another two weeks before he lifted my legs up over his shoulders and positioned his thick black cock against my anus. By that time I was already calling him daddy and he was calling me son.

Sheriff Ken got me enrolled in the local school and encouraged me to lead a full life. He attended all my track meets and the two of us went together to Sunday prayer at the Baptist church. Nobody in this new town knew I was on probation for any supposed crime. They just knew I was a fatherless black boy and Sheriff Ken had taken me in to care for me. They never suspected that the big man was my lover, and that I was devoted to his enormous black cock.

I never told my mother much of what happened at Captain Worthing's place. But I did tell her I had been unhappy and that the Captain helped me move in with a black sheriff in Mississippi. When my mom came to visit, I actually slept in the small bedroom so she wouldn't know that I was sharing this man's bed. I wonder even now if my mother suspected what was going on.

When I finished high school, Sheriff Ken helped me get a scholarship to college majoring in Criminal Justice. Straight out of college, I became a deputy sheriff in Ken's department. All our co-workers knew that the man was my foster father, but on duty I always referred to him as Sheriff or Boss. At night in our bedroom I call him Sir or Daddy, and he still calls me Boy.

The End