Robert Ellis was nineteen and two weeks into his freshman year at Piney Woods State, a little college in a town so small the welcome sign had bullet holes and the Dairy Queen still closed on Sundays. He was from Huntsville. That was city enough to get him called “college boy” the second he opened his mouth.
Cletus Rayburn was twenty-one, six-foot-two, and built like he wrestled calves for fun. He lived in a single-wide behind the feed store, drove a lifted Chevy that rattled the windows when he passed the dorms, and had never once pretended he wasn’t exactly what he was.
They met because Robert’s roommate bailed on a group project and Cletus was the only other guy in Intro to Ag who actually showed up.
Cletus looked him up and down in the library parking lot and said, “You the one who talks like he got a stick up his ass?”
Robert, who had never been spoken to like that in his life, said, “Excuse me?”
Cletus grinned, slow and mean. “Naw. You excused. Come on. We gon’ work at my place. Air conditionin’s better.”
Robert should have said no. He got in the truck anyway.
The trailer smelled like diesel, fried food, and something else Robert couldn’t name yet. Cletus tossed him a beer that was already warm and sat on the couch like he owned the whole county.
“You ever sucked a dick?” Cletus asked, like he was asking if Robert had ever changed a tire.
Robert choked. “What? No. I’m not—”
“You are now.” Cletus patted his thigh. “Get over here, college boy.”
Robert’s face went hot. He stayed standing. Cletus just waited, drinking his beer, looking at him like he had all night. The silence stretched until Robert’s ears rang.
He took two steps.
Cletus unzipped, pulled out a thick, uncut cock that was already half hard, and said, “On your knees. And you gon’ say ‘yes, sir’ when I tell you something. That’s the first rule.”
Robert’s mouth opened. Nothing came out.
Cletus reached out, hooked two fingers in the collar of Robert’s polo, and pulled him down.
The first time was messy and humiliating. Robert gagged. Cletus laughed, held the back of his head, and talked the whole time.
“Look at you. Fancy little college boy on his knees in a trailer. Your mama know you out here slobberin’ on redneck dick?”
Robert tried to pull off. Cletus didn’t let him. When he finally came, he held Robert’s head down and made him swallow.
Robert sat back on his heels, coughing, eyes wet, cock painfully hard in his khakis.
Cletus looked at the tent and snorted. “Yeah. You gay as hell. Just didn’t know it yet.”
That was how it started.
By the next weekend Cletus had a list.
Robert had to text every morning: Ready for my chores, sir.
He had to wear a cheap jockstrap Cletus bought at the truck stop under his clothes. He had to call Cletus “sir” even in the dining hall, which made two girls from his English class give him the weirdest look of their lives.
Cletus made him wash the truck in nothing but the jockstrap and a pair of old work boots. The neighbor’s wife drove by slow. Cletus waved. Robert wanted to die. His dick stayed hard the whole time.
At night Cletus would sit in his recliner, remote in one hand, beer in the other, and have Robert on the floor between his knees.
“You my little slave now,” Cletus said, almost fond. “Ain’t that right?”
Robert, mouth full, nodded.
Cletus liked to make him say it out loud afterward, voice wrecked.
“I’m Cletus’s gay slave.”
“I’m a cocksucker from Huntsville.”
“I belong on my knees in Alabama.”
Robert said all of it. Then he would crawl up into Cletus’s lap and get fucked over the arm of the recliner until he came without being touched.
Cletus never let him forget how funny it was.
One Saturday they went to the flea market. Cletus made Robert wear a camouflage hat that said Kiss My Ass and hold his hand in the parking lot. An old man selling knives looked at them, spat, and said, “Y’all some kind of couple?”
Cletus said, “He’s my bitch,” and bought a pocketknife.
Robert’s face burned for an hour. Later, in the truck, Cletus made him suck him off in the Walmart parking lot with people walking by ten feet away.
“You love this shit,” Cletus said, petting his hair. “Don’t even lie.”
Robert, lips shiny, whispered, “Yes, sir.”
The sex got rougher and the jokes got meaner and Robert kept coming back.
Cletus started leaving hickeys where the polo couldn’t hide them. He made Robert wear a cheap dog collar under his shirt to class. He made him do Cletus’s laundry, cook his breakfast, and text pictures of his hard dick whenever Cletus asked, no matter where he was.
One night Cletus had two of his cousins over. They drank moonshine on the porch and Cletus told the whole story.
“This here’s Robert. Used to think he was straight. Now he does my dishes in a jockstrap and thanks me for it.”
The cousins laughed until they cried. Robert stood there in the kitchen doorway, face scarlet, cock twitching.
Cletus crooked a finger.
Robert went.
They didn’t make him do anything in front of the cousins that night. They just made him sit on the floor at Cletus’s feet like a dog while they talked about trucks and deer season. Every so often Cletus would drop a hand and scratch behind Robert’s ear. Robert leaned into it.
When the cousins left, Cletus bent him over the kitchen table and fucked him so hard the salt shaker fell over.
“You my good boy,” Cletus said, almost sweet, while he was buried to the hilt. “Ain’t nobody else get to see you like this. Just me.”
Robert came with a broken sound.
After that it wasn’t even a question anymore.
Robert still went to class. He still wrote papers. He still called his mom every Sunday and told her everything was fine.
Then he drove out to the trailer, took off his clothes at the door, and got on his knees.
Cletus would look down at him, shake his head, and laugh.
“College boy,” he’d say, like it was the funniest damn thing in the world. “Come here and earn your keep.”
Robert always did.
By Thanksgiving he had a key to the trailer and a toothbrush in the bathroom and a standing Saturday night appointment to get his ass wrecked while Cletus watched football and called him every filthy name he could think of.
Robert had never been happier.
Or more humiliated.
Or harder.
The two things, it turned out, were the same thing.
Cletus knew it before Robert did.
That was why it worked.
This is an original creative work by Salty Vixen. This story/article, including its characters, plot, and descriptive content, is protected by copyright law. Unauthorized copying, sharing, reposting, or reproduction in any format is strictly prohibited. This content may not be used for AI training, data scraping, machine learning, or any form of artificial intelligence development without explicit written permission from Salty Vixen Publishing LLC. Violators will be pursued to the fullest extent of the law.
