Date: Wed, 2 Aug 2006 14:28:35 -0400
From: J. Kingsgrave <metonym@gmail.com>
Subject: First Brother, Chapter 4

[Disclaimer: The following depicts adult situations of male homosexuality,
sexual intercourse, intense violence, and depravity on a massive scale. If
you're vanilla and you know it, STOP READING NOW. This is too hardcore for
you. You must be of legal age to continue (18+) and it must be legal in
your area for you to do so. Consider that this is a work of fiction in
progress and that nothing you read - although possibly based heavily from
true life experiences - is in any way a true account. Again, this is
FICTION. None of the characters are meant to resemble persons either alive
or dead, famous or infamous, and you should under no circumstance try any
of this at home. This is my original work and I would appreciate any
feedback you might have for me. Send that to metonym@gmail.com and please
include which story/series/chapter you're referring to in your e-mail.
Anyway, I think that about covers the basics and my ass. So, let's get on
with it, shall we? -J. Kingsgrave]

[One more thing. I don't know where this story is going to end up but I do
know where it's basically headed. Expect elements of Authoritarian,
Urination, Masturbation, Encounters, Military, and even SciFi Fantasy. This
is going to get nasty in the best ways. Since I'm not set in plot line or
direction, feel free to send me any suggestions or requests. I make no
promises, but I'll considerate your input. Send it to metonym@gmail.com.]





I've been shot before. More often than not, I've taken the bullet in my
back. I've only been shot twice in my chest. Given the choice, I'd rather
know it's coming. Not like it matters but I would. I don't mind it so much
anymore, besides... everyone just loves bullet wounds. They're so hot in
that dangerous and nearly fatal way that borderlines on immortality. Oh
yes, I've been shot many times before. Never like this, though. There's a
first time for everything, even tranq darts. Well, so much for my one shot
at redemption. That'll have to wait. In the meantime, I'll catch you up on
a few things. I mean, with me temporarily out of commission, it's not like
anything worth hearing about is likely to happen. So, let's go back to the
very beginning of all of this. To the beginning of me, The Brotherhood, my
betrayal, and the mission at hand.

My name was... My name was... Forget it. It doesn't matter. I was a boy
then. Just coming of age and full of hormones. Just like you, I'm sure.
Young, dumb, hung, and full of cum. I wasn't nearly as full of myself back
in those days. I was timid and shy. Afraid of my own shadow, I dare say.
Still a virgin but desperate to have my cherry plucked. I had perfected the
art of the hand job and the men's room glory hole BJ. That was
homosexuality to me. A hole in the wall with a disembodied and anonymous
cock protruding through it. I'd never met a faggot face to face. I haunted
the trucker rest stops, the locker rooms, the porn shops. Anywhere I could
find a hole in the wall and a load of cum. I was starving for it, but I was
hungry for more than that but I couldn't bring myself to take that next
step. In my head, it was OK to commit these acts in secret as long as no
one knew it was me doing them and I didn't have to know who it was I did
them to. Morality can be tricky when you're that young and naive. Denial
makes it easier. Deniability saves all.

Since I wasn't brave enough to advance to the next level, fate intervened.
When I say fate, what I really mean to say is the meanest, nastiest
sonuvabitch I've ever met. His name was Officer Payne. I shit you not. I
was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time and there he was waiting
for me. I'd never been arrested before but I knew this wasn't the way it
was done. It was all wrong and too damn much like every porno I'd ever
seen. He read my Miranda rights as he pressed me against the wall next to
the urinals and searched my young, tiny, shaking body. His left forearm was
up against the base of my skull smashing my face into the tile and his
right hand worked me over but good. Rough and thorough, he fondled every
inch of my body while cursing all the while. "Fuckin' faggot bitch." he'd
say as he groped at my ass again. "You sorry little cock sucker." he'd
growl with his hand working up the inside of my thigh again. "You fucked up
this time, pussy boy." I was terrified and excited and helpless. I was in
heaven and hell at the same time. He could beat me to death or fuck me
three ways from Sunday. I wasn't sure which and I didn't care. This was
something new and I liked it.

Propositioning an officer of the law. Indecent exposure. Lewd conduct.
Attempted prostitution. I was in big trouble. My parents would die when
they found out. I was so fucked. But that was the least of my trouble. I
had no idea.

He cuffed me and threw me in the backseat of his cruiser and off we went.
The rest stop disappeared behind us and before long so did everything else
I could recognize. We drove out into the middle of the Nevada desert on an
access road that gave access to nothing but sand and emptiness. I had gone
to Vegas with some of my buds from college. We had a room in a seedy hotel
right on the strip but never spent a moment in it. We'd been going for
days. Casino, strip joint, casino, buffet, casino, show, casino, chicken
ranch. That's when I took the car we rented and drove back to the rest stop
we'd passed along the way. It looked far more promising than the ranch and
they'd never even miss me if I was quick about it. Well, it seemed like a
good idea at the time. Now I was at the mercy of a vigilante cop with a
vendetta. He would look back at me in the rear view and either flick his
tongue or turn around and spit in my face. It was degrading. It was
arousing. I wanted to strangle the sonuvabitch while I let him fuck me
senseless. I couldn't make sense of the urges I suddenly found myself
dealing with. There was pain and anger and lust and violence and hate and
disgust and it all made me horny. We drove for hours. Shortly after
nightfall, we came upon a complex and I just knew I was going to die
there. So, when he came to stop and finally opened the door to drag me on,
I fought back with all I was worth - which at that time wasn't a whole hell
of a lot but it was almost enough even so. I kicked him in the face and
then the crotch. He went down and I was running into the dark empty
vastness of Nevada desert. It was insane. It was like running through space
hoping to make it to a safe place behind one of the stars or something.
There was just no where to go, but I ran anyway. I screamed the most stupid
and incoherent bullshit in my shrill, scared little voice and went
shrieking through the desert with my hands still cuffed behind my back. I
heard the crack and something went flying by at the speed of sound. I
couldn't connect that to anything but more fear and the increased need to
escape. Another crack. Whizz. Ping. Ricochet. Something bit my leg but I
wouldn't stop for anything, not even burning pain and my own blood. The
next crack sent me flying through the air like a drunken figure skater. I
was on my side and panting into the dirt. My tears made a small puddle of
mud which I couldn't lift my face away from. I just laid there looking into
the horizon and marveling at the majestic beauty of the heavens and earth
and how seamlessly they merged together until the boots came stomping into
view. I wouldn't look at him though.

"You're a tough little fucker. I'll give you that. But you're going to have
to learn who owns your ass now." I heard his pants unzip before feeling the
hot stream hiss against the wound in my shoulder. It was like acid rain,
the smell like old batteries. In the cold night, the hot stream produced a
cloud of mist that filled the air after hitting my body. It felt better
than I wanted to admit. I laid there and waited for him to stop pissing on
me. Then he grabbed me around my waist and hoisted me into a standing
position before bending down and throwing me over his shoulder. The urine
ran down and into my eyes and mouth. I gagged at the taste, spitting.
"How's it feel to have been hunted and marked?" He laughed and spanked my
ass. I dangled helplessly over his shoulder in a fireman carry and found my
face inches from his own ass. I bit it, sinking my teeth in and shaking my
head vigorously back and forth. I wanted to rip him a new one. "Ohhhh. I
caught me a rascally varmint." I had completely lost all concept of
reality. Being shot in the back does that to you. At least, the first time
it does. That night, I slept in a kennel. I passed out quickly, succumbing
to the abuse and the pain and my hopeless situation. Upon awaking, I was
drug from the cage and cuffed to a pipe in the bathroom next to the
toilet. Officer Payne enjoyed water sports more than anything. This would
become a daily routine. First order of business, act as human toilet. Then
I had the morning and first part of the afternoon to lie there and wait as
he went off to make the world a safer place. It had occurred to me to try
another attempt at escape, but this thought quickly passed. I no longer
wanted to get away. I wanted to overcome this moment. Something in me
desperately needed Officer Payne's sanction, approval, and love. Nothing
was ever the same after that. Something inside me had awakened. Something
dark and cruel and hungry. I belonged to Officer Payne. I gave in to him
and obeyed. I learned his ways. I learned to forget everything else. I was
slowly rebuilt in his image. What an image that was. Officer Payne loomed
over me at 6'4" and weighed in at nearly 300 pounds. He was a solid mass of
meat and bone. A force to be reckoned with. But it was his eyes, that cool
cobalt blue, that could stop you in your tracks and destroy every ounce of
self-will and leave you shaking and broken. He could look right through you
with his eyes. He saw things, those most deeply hidden and secret things,
with just a glance. He knew things about me I didn't even realize were
true. I was convinced he was the devil, despite the blond hair. He was
absolutely terrifying. I loved him desperately.

I spent four of the best years of my life serving him silently in every
possible way. For the first year I was not permitted to speak as a courtesy
to him. Everything else depended on his mood. Nothing was too taboo for
us. I began to drink his piss regularly. He was delighted at this new
development on the second morning of my stay with him. It was meant to
break me, but I was already broken on that first night of my failed escape.
I drank his piss happily. At first, the idea sickened me. It was degrading
and humiliating and gross. He'd whip it out and cock slap me across the
face with his raging morning wood and then aim it at me like a cocked
pistol. The blast was hot. It stung my eyes and the smell, like acid,
crawled into my nostrils and gagged me. I took it and learned to like it.
Finally I gave in and wanted it. I opened my mouth eagerly for him and he
just grinned and aimed at my gaping hole. It was strange hating something
so much and still craving it so desperately.

I was his pet. His loyal and loving dog. He punished me when I was good. He
punished me when I was bad. I tried to be good, but I was so much better at
being bad. I'd lick his boots. I'd eat his ass. I suck at his armpits,
nips, balls, cock, tongue, fingers, neck, every inch of flesh as he
commanded. Most days I wore nothing but an old ragged jock strap, if I wore
anything at all. As degrading as it was, it made me feel sexy. To be looked
at, to have my entire body undressed before his eyes at all times, to
parade around in my jock all hours of the day - I was a fetish porn star.
Officer Payne addressed me appropriately. "Hey, bitch. Get your ass in here
and lick the bottom of my boots." or occasionally "Where's my boy whore at?
I need some attention." His hands were rough on my body. He would grab me
by the hair and pull me into his crotch or push me down to the dirty heels
of his boot and stuff my face into his crack. He'd spit in my face if I did
a good job attending to him. He'd slap me hard across it, if not. I got
used to the bruises, the rope burns, the welts. I began to crave pain. It
was a release. It was something real to focus on. I was just a toy to this
man. A living target for what ever sick pleasure he wanted to explore.

He wouldn't fuck me, though. I wasn't ready. During my second year there I
had made enough progress to be left alone untethered during the day. I
cleaned mostly. Did chores like a slave. I made myself as useful as
possible. I still believed in earning and doing. Although my concepts of
personal property and identity had greatly shifted, I still maintained some
functional system of my former life. A code of exchange, as it were.
Officer Payne was pleased that I was adapting to life as his slave, no
matter the reasoning behind it. I did what I could to please him, with
little regard for my own pleasure. But even still, I wanted nothing more
than his cock up my ass. I wanted him to fuck me senseless like a whore.
But, I wasn't ready. He saw the potential in me but it was raw and
unrefined. I needed to work at it. He guided me. Weight training was his
primary concern. He could use and abuse a runt like me, but until I bulked
up and could present him with a more suitable challenge he saw no point in
mounting me. That was the most crushing of insults to me personally. Only
being good enough to act as his dog or toilet. I wasn't even slut
potential.  So, under his expert guidance, I hit the weights. I had a
strict diet of piss and protein. I did laps around the complex as he chased
me on a quad and demanded I push myself harder and run faster. It was a
constant assault on my body. Breaking it apart and building it up. He had
succeeded in reprogramming my mind, but he had only begun on the rest of
me. My boot camp lasted throughout the year, and by the end of it even I
was amazed at my progress. I was a tank.

Before long, I had made enough progress to be allowed the great joy of
sparing with him. In the beginning, I did not present much more of a
challenge than your standard punching bag. I wore the bruises of my failure
like badges of pride. He noticed those changes in me and although he
wouldn't openly admit it, I think he was proud of me. He would look at me
suddenly and grin, pat the inside of his leg, and make kissing sounds to
call me over to him. I'd crawl over from my corner and kneel between his
massive legs and he'd push my face into his crotch and pet my head saying
things like, "You're such a good boy. Yes, you are." and I'd lick and smell
at his crotch if he were wearing his uniform pants or suck his cock if
not. I was even allowed to sleep at the foot of the bed or directly beside
it. Sometimes during the night he'd reach down and grope or stroke me
lightly. As we continued my training, I began to mimic his movements and
technique. I wasn't a push-over anymore. All that constant weight training
had turned me into a mean machine. I was faster than him. I was more agile.
I had better reflexes. I had infinitely more stamina. I was even getting to
be as big and strong as he was. The first time I knocked him out I stood
over him in a panic. I tried to revive him but he wouldn't move. He awoke
later with a nice shiner on each eye. I had broken his nose. I waited for
his terrible reaction. He just laughed and smiled at me. It was the
beginning of my third year with him. Finally, I was ready for his test.
This test would determine everything. It would prove my worth or make the
last few years a complete waste of time. It was the moment of my reckoning
and judgement. I was determined not to fail.


[...to be continued.]