Date: Fri, 2 Jul 2004 18:14:15 -0300
From: Ruthless <ruthless@nbnet.nb.ca>
Subject: "Farmer (5/6)"

The Neighbour    Part 5 of 6    By Ruthless@nbnet.nb.ca    MM/m  rape

DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of erotic gay fiction. In it a man is
raped by other men. If you are underage or offended by stories of this
nature, please do not read it. As always, you comments, criticism,
complaints, questions, story requests and requests for missing instalments
are welcomed by the author at Ruthless@nbnet.nb.ca


	"This guy talks to the police and I'll be the one that's fucked."
Peter told them slowly.

	"He won't talk to nobody." They stood in a half circle around
me. "Will you, shit face? Only time he'll open his mouth is when we got a
hard on to put in it."

	Peter's eyes were fixed on my face. "Was he cherry?"

	"Aw, fuck. Who knows? He was tight enough. But he's not cherry
now!"

	"Your next door neighbour Peter's come to join the party." Harry
jeered at me. "Isn't that friendly of him?"

	I stared down at my own knees. I couldn't stand it.

	"Ian," said Peter. "What did they do to you?"

	"Gave him all the hot cock he could handle and then some!" Harry
exclaimed. "Go on, Pete.  You take a turn."

	I raised my head again sharply. Peter was looking at Harry
thoughtfully. He didn't have much expression. "You want me to fuck him too?

	"Be our guest.' Nick exclaimed.

	"Go for it, Pete." Harry smiled nastily. "Shed some of those
clothes and start pumping his ass."

	Peter stood without moving. He looked from me to Harry and back
again with an odd small twisted smile on his face.

	"What the fuck are you waiting for, Christmas?" Harry said.

	I found a voice. It wasn't my voice. It was a ghost voice that
didn't sound like mine. "Don't do it."

	"I got to," said Peter.

	Peter shucked off his jacket and started to strip. The man who
stripped off in my barn, with his eyes fixed on me, had muscle on him. He
was big now. He had weight trained and uncovered powerful, almost muscle
bound shoulders to prove it. Brown down curled sparsely over his well-
developed chest. He was completely unselfconscious. He flung all of his
clothes on the rail and came to me naked. His cock was only one quarter
erect. For whatever reason, he was not brutally horny the way his two
friends were. He knelt beside me and started to untie the rope on my wrist.

	"Just fuck his mouth." Nick advised. "He's getting good at that."

	"Don't worry." said Peter over his shoulder. "He's not going to try
anything with that shotgun there. If I'm going to fuck him, I'm going to do
it the way I like."

	So Peter untied both my hands. I pulled them in, crooked in front
of my body and they burned, the blood hissing back into my cold numb
fingers with a terrible ache. I dropped down to sit in the straw of the
broken bale and stared up at him sickly.

	His hands ran warm over my shoulders.

	"Don't worry." he said to me calmly. "I'm not going to do anything
that harms you."

	"You used to..." I got the beginning of some words out.

	"What did I used to?" He was stroking my shoulders.

	"But you used to live here!"

	"Yeah, I remember living next door to you, Ian." He spoke
conversationally. "I just came back in May."

	I wanted to argue with him, to tell him that he was my neighbour,
that he had been my friend once and that he should not do this to me, but I
could not. Perhaps the light lazy touch of his hands was his concession to
our boyhood friendship. He kissed me on my mouth, although I tasted of
bile.

	I met him, not quite passively. Nick and Harry had settled down to
watch. They wanted a show. Peter told me to touch him. "Play with that."

	He laid my hand on his crotch. His erection was jutting up
now. Zombie-like, I went through the motions. He pressed his body against
mine, belly to belly and cupped my ass in his hands to pull me close.

	"You remember playing in the barn?" he breathed.

	I let him kiss me, staring at him trying to recognize him as he
kissed. His hands felt very warm wherever they touched my skin.

	"You mother caught us playing in the barn, remember that?"

	"What?" I croaked.

	"Messing around. You don't remember that? A lot of years ago. You
had a little pink cock then, same colour as the rest of you. You kissed
mine and I kissed yours. I didn't know how to do it farther."

	I pulled away from him and pressed the back of my hand up against
my mouth. Sex play with him? But I almost remembered it. I had just the
trace of a memory then, triggered by his words, of how prickly the straw
was against my naked bottom, and of lying back giggling. What he was saying
was true. How else could I have the knowledge of what other boys' bodies
beside my own looked like?

	"Aw," said Peter. He took my hand away from my mouth in a grip that
had iron muscles behind the loosely closed fingers. "All I meant was, we
did this before, or something like this, as friends. So don't sweat
it. This can be like that."

	But it was nothing like little boys playing doctor. Harry had the
gun pointing towards us on his knee, and Nick exclaimed, "That's shit,
Pete. Just get to it and pork the faggot. I don't want to hear that shit."

	"Just fuck him Peter, we told you!" Harry exclaimed.

	"Okay." said Peter.

	I didn't resist him. He put me on all fours and got behind me. I
felt the roughness of his beard coming through on his chin, abrading the
skin on my back as he covered me. His prick was moist somehow. It poked
against the tenderness. I felt his elbows as he licked his palms. I knew
enough to be relieved that he lubricated himself. I winced as his wet
finger prodded at the unbearable soreness. I stiffened, but then I
consciously relaxed myself. I opened as much as I could for him. He put
spit into me, then placed the hard soft head of his prick.

	I can bear this, I told myself and I steadied myself. I tried to
hold loose. It sank in. His palms ran over my chest and belly as he pulled
me back. I stared up with exhausted eyes at Nick. His cruel Etruscan smirk
was back. He had unzipped and was beginning to squeeze his prick as he
watched my neighbour fucking me.

	The whole time that Peter was giving it to me, he ran his hands
over me, petting and caressing. He pulled at my cock for a little while,
but soon let it go in favour of my nipples. The pain of the penetration was
a different kind than before. Now I was not being battered open. I had
stretched and I could accommodate the invasion of his prick without
staggering pain. Instead there was the torture of the abrasion, sawing in
and out where I was raw and hurt so much.

	"S'okay, Ian." he whispered softly.

	It wasn't okay, but I had endured everything else. I could endure
this too. Without the brutality and the contempt it wasn't as bad, but I
could not possibly forget what was happening, seeing the thin sadistic
sneer on Nick's mouth as he faced me with flashing knuckles.

	Peter came first, but Nick was near it. After Peter gasped and
clung to me, Nick stood up.  "Hold it. Hold it." He came forward,
masturbating as he walked.

	"Drag him up," he ordered. Peter cooperated. He took me by the
shoulders and we both knelt, our bodies still locked. The red shiny prick
came towards my mouth again.

	"You're a butt-fucked fish queer!" Nick panted. He pushed his penis
against my cheek instead of my mouth. I didn't understand that. A moment
later when he ejaculated, I did understand.  He shot his seminal fluid
deliberately onto my cheeks, onto my nose and then, as the spurting
stopped, panting, he smeared the string of cum that trailed from the end of
his cock just under my eyes. Peter held me there to meet the slimy foul
substance.

	Peter dressed and looked at his two friends. "You were up at his
house last night?"

	"He gave us his bed, and he slept in here." Nick grinned.

	"How long have you been here? Since you left my place?"

	"Yeah."

	I had been untied so Peter could get at me, but that didn't
last. When Peter was dressed, he glanced around. "I guess I'd better tie
him up again."

	"Fuckin' better." Harry agreed. "Farmer-boy ain't ready for us to
go yet."

	"No problem." Peter picked up some rope and stooped. This time I
got fixed sitting directly on the floor, my wrist tied one railing lower
down. Peter's eyes glanced repeatedly over me, as he tied the rope again,
but he said nothing to me. He was tense and he didn't seem happy, but he
went to the effort of fixing me carefully in a way that satisfied him while
his eyes flickered over me.

	Harry came over and tested the ropes that Peter put on me for good
measure, yanking at my wrists.

	"How's that for a goodbye present? Another cock to plug your fat
butthole." he sneered.  "Nick and me'll be going soon. Country life doesn't
agree with us. But don't worry. We'll take the time to give you a goodbye
that's even more special!"

	Then they were gone outside. I was alone in the barn
again. Outside, I could hear one of the cows, probably Broad May, groaning
as she shuffled back and forth below the buttery. I raised my head and
stared up at the rafters. Going. He said they were going soon.

	Mostly I just wondered how long it would be before they came back
for that special goodbye. It might be another blowjob. It would at least be
taunts and jeers. It could be worse than either of those. I wondered if
Peter was going with them. I figured he had to be. After it was over, he
and his city friends would not becoming back. They must have been waiting
for Peter to join them.

	He'd come to the barn without going to the house. He must have seen
that there were un- milked cows penned out of the barn, so it would have
been obvious to assume I was in the house, unless he knew what was going
on. I imagined that they had probably called him and told him to come
over. Perhaps he had sent them over yesterday morning.

	I wanted to understand a reason for what they had done, not just
malicious spite. I kept thinking there had to be some reason. So I
wondered, was Peter angry at me because it had taken me those three days to
find his father after Kaspar died? Had he set this up to be done to me
because he was angry about that?

	It was almost over. They had said.

	Maybe half an hour later, I heard a vehicle start and drive out of
the yard away on the road.  Peter's gone back to his place, I thought.

	The cows were making a steady clopping noise as they paced back and
forth, agitated in the paddock. They had missed two milkings now and their
udders had to be getting very sore. If this went on for much longer some of
them would develop mastitis. Sometimes one would give a bellow, ending
shrill with her distress. If they had been in a paddock on the road,
visible, someone might see and figure out what was wrong with them, but
they were going to have to tough it out where they were.

	I heard the men a few seconds before they walked in. Harry was in
the lead but it wasn't Nick behind him. It was Peter. Peter had his hands
in his pockets. He looked about and walked over to where the spade had been
laid down. He picked it up and stood holding it, like as if he needed
something to do with his hands.

	Hiya, Fruit." said Harry. "I'm still pissed off at you, you know
that? Open your knees up."

	Christ. My stomach dropped with fear. I opened my knees, afraid
that he would come stamping forward with his boots. I was ready to pull my
knees up and try to shield my crotch if I saw that motion begin.

	But Harry laid the shotgun down against the first partition and
walked forward. He stood on my heels, on the bootlaces where they were
knotted together, which forced my legs open a little wider. Now I couldn't
possibly close them. His face was frozen in a mask of feral malevolence.

	I drew a breath. I kept filling my lungs deeper and deeper. Harry
took the straight razor out of his pocket. Somewhere, Peter was moving in
cautiously closer, but I had eyes only for the thin steel blade. Harry's
teeth were bared. His eyes were on my prick.

	"Going to cut you to pieces..." he breathed.

	"Stop." said Peter.

	Harry never spared him a glance. I started to convulse as he bent
closer. I could not close my legs. He was between them and had the leverage
to hold them open. His open hand was reaching down towards my cock or
towards my balls. The gleaming razor dropped slowly towards my flesh.

	"Stop it now!" Peter cried.

	"Aww, fuck..." Harry didn't finish his sentence. The shotgun boomed
when the razor was an inch above me and his fingertips beginning to tighten
their grip. The fullness of sound pushed at my ears. I never saw the razor
drop. Harry jerked to a halt and fell sideways. I registered that something
a dirty red colour was in my vision. My breath left me in a visceral moan.

	It wasn't the way that Harry was humped that told me he was
dead. My thigh and knee were spattered with red globs from where the shell
had torn through his shoulder. The blood had scattered widely, as though
the man had flung red paint around in a last act of vandalism. Harry was
dead and the sound of the gun was still ringing through my ears.

	I saw Peter. He was holding the shotgun. He was staring at
Harry. Peter sat down on the floor, holding the shotgun still pointed at
Harry and staring at him with an expression like he had been slapped.

	"Call the RCMP." I said. My voice was broken, automatic,
idiotic. "Go call the RCMP."

	Then I started kicking. It was a wild, futile motion of revulsion
as I saw the unbearable crimson globs blotching my pale bare legs. Blood
alone would not have been so bad, but these were more lumps than liquid,
and I kicked instinctively as if I could get free.

	Peter was panting. He started to stare at me now, instead of
Harry. All the expression that had been held off of his face was on it
now. His eyes bulged and his mouth was twisted. I heard a squeak in his
breath.

	"Jesus...Jesus...I killed him." Peter groaned. "I killed a guy."

	"Get the RCMP, please, Peter."

	All I could think was, how soon would Nick come back?

	"I can't." said Peter. You're okay now. You're okay. Are you okay?"
With mechanical motions, he put the safety on the shotgun and laid it on
the ground beside him.

	In the movies when a guy dies, everyone is so jaded they talk
coolly and act coolly. In real life I was a wreck and Peter was looking
crazed. He looked at his own hands, which were opening and closing as if
they had a life of their own, then at me.

	"He was going to cut your balls off," said Peter in a voice that
shook.

	"You shot him... to stop that."

	"He put the gun down!" Peter gasped. "He finally put the fucking
gun down!"

	"Get the RCMP!" I moaned.

	And Peter said again, "I can't."

	"What about Nick!?"

	"He's gone. Gone back to Toronto." Peter's face was so mobile that
no expression set. It was like he couldn't decide whether to smile or to
cry or look disgusted. "I told him I'd come with Harry after we'd buried
your body."

	"Peter." I said. "Get me loose."

	He got up and came over to me. He knelt beside me and tugged at the
rope. He wouldn't go near Harry. He shrank away from the guy that he had
killed. He would only stand so that I was between him and Harry, so in the
end, after he'd gotten one of my wrists free, I untied the other.

	"I've got to call the RCMP." I said. I kept saying the same thing
and not getting the answer I expected, so I was saying it over and over.

	"You can't." said Peter. "I'll go to jail."

	I figured he was telling me that the two guys had trashed the house
and torn out the phone. I didn't catch his words even yet, because my brain
was processing real slowly, and it wasn't what I was expecting him to
say. I got onto my knees. "I can drive and get help."

	"Leave it alone!" Peter exclaimed. "Please, Ian, leave them alone."

	I just looked at him. He had retreated again, away from Harry and
he stood beside the gun. I got to my own feet, with my bootlaces finally
untangled, and at long last dragged my pants up, ignoring the blood. "You
shot him to keep him from killing me." I said. "What is it? Petey, are you
scared of the police?"

	"I've got an outstanding warrant out on me!" He exclaimed. "But we
got to call so you can have a doctor. Oh, fuck! We can't!" He picked up the
shotgun again.

	Peter, the gun, the death that was still echoing in my brain and my
ears: I couldn't figure out what to do about any of it. So I didn't even
try. I staggered to the tap in the wall, turning my back to the man with
the shotgun and I gulped cool, lovely water from my cupped hands. I
splashed it on my face to remove the dry crumbly cum, and gulped it
greedily, letting the needs of my body take precedence.

	When I had drunk, I turned around and stared at him. The gun was
crooked loosely in his arms. It occurred to me that if I went to the house
to see if the phone was still okay, he might shoot me, to stop me from
making the call. I thought about asking him to give me the gun. I realised
I was dizzy. And calling the RCMP wasn't the most important thing to be
done.

	Peter followed me when I went down to the back of the barn. I flung
the paddock door wide and stood aside. The lowing that greeted me was deep
and angry sounding.

	"Come on. Come on." I made my voice coaxing and singsong. I grabbed
Fillpail by the neck and pulled her. She lumbered inside. I gave Broad May
a push and they all started. The cows clattered in and past me, hurrying
toward their stalls.

	I started to go around, patting the broad backs and getting the
cups in place. It was no easy job. With their tender udders and their
anxiety, the cows all shifted. Colley in particular was the worst. Every
time I tried to put the cups on her she started to walk back, and when I
tried to tie her, she swung her head into me and made me reel. I got her
tied and fixed up.

	Peter showed up in the stall behind me. "How do you do that?" He
was offering to help.

	"It's okay. I'll do it. They're nervous. They wouldn't stand still
for a stranger." I glanced back at Peter and he was still holding the
shotgun, so I just went on with my work. I got them all hooked up finally
and switched the machine on. They never would have let a strange pair of
hands touch them, with their udders so sore. The strangers in the barn, the
smell of blood and the stink from the shotgun didn't make them any less
tense. Once the machine was chugging away they stood restlessly groaning
but staying put. They knew that this was what they so desperately needed
and I started to go from stall to stall with the fodder.

	I was in no great shape, but of course, I never can take a day off,
no matter how lousy I feel, so I kind of switched off the messages my body
was giving me, the way I do when I've got the flu, and I reeled along,
tearing the feed sacks open and pouring them out. Peter laid the shotgun
down again and hefted another sack. He followed me, two steps behind,
staying close, wherever I went.

	If I pick up the shotgun, I thought, then he can't stop me from
calling the RCMP. I can get help here in maybe only half an hour. But I
didn't pick up the shotgun. I did a damn cursory job on the cows.

	But before it was done, I turned around and I asked Peter, "What's
the outstanding warrant on you for?"

	"Assault." he said.

	"You guys do the rapo thing before?" My shoulders sagged.

	"No! I hit a guy. I fought him in a bar..." Peter trailed off with
a grimace. "I met them inside. I dunno. Nick picked up a taste for guy rape
when he was inside, and Harry..."

	"What do you mean, inside?"

	"In prison." Peter said. "Okay?"

	I stared at his grey eyes. He was Petey, but Christ, he was also an
ex-con with a past.

	"Oh man!" I collapsed against the wall, hand clasped to my
face. "What the fuck did you come here for?"

	"Ian," the boy's eyes stared out of the strong planes of the man's
face. "I'm real sorry they came here. I am so fucking sorry they came here
and they got you." The man's face was contorted with anguish. "I didn't
know they'd come. I didn't know they'd come look for me from Toronto, or
that they'd go after you. Oh, fuckin' Jesus."

	"Why did they come here!?" I exclaimed.

	"They wanted me to go back to TO with them. You see," Peter was
trying to hold my eyes with his own. "I came back here to get away from all
that. I just wanted to hole up here quiet. And I told them that when they
came. I let them crash one night, but I wouldn't go with them. I said
something about getting to live quiet with my neighbours. The assholes were
trying to fuck me over. The fucking shits wanted to make sure I couldn't
stay home no more. They came here to fuck things up with you."

	"You told them about me?" I demanded.

	"There wasn't anything to tell! I just told them my neighbours. I
don't know how they knew about you. Maybe I looked over this way." Peter
exclaimed. "They came over here, 'cause of me.  Fuck, I got no place to go!
I just wanted to stay here quiet, back like it used to be."

	I had my arms wrapped around my shoulders tightly, holding myself
together. "You fucked me, Peter." I said. "When they said you could, you
got me down on my knees and did it! How the fuck could you do that, when we
were friends once?" My teeth were clenched.

	"If I let on for one second that I cared what they did to you,"
Peter said, "They'd have blown your head off. Soon as I got the fucking
gun, I stopped them. Didn't you see that? Ah, Christ, was it bad for you?"

	"What do you think?" I shot the words out between my teeth and set
off towards the front of the barn. The cows had been set up and I had other
livestock to worry about. I had fourteen pigs that needed water and feed.

	In the front of the barn there was Harry still and the shotgun. I
went over to the shotgun and got it into my hands. Peter had followed me
again. He didn't care that I picked the gun up. I could have tried to get
it from him any time before. He didn't look at me and the gun. He was
staring at Harry with eyes as round and rimmed with white like two fried
eggs.

	"Yeah, he's dead." I snapped. "Stop staring at the bastard. We're
both glad he's dead."

	"I'm going up for hard time." Peter's voice had dropped to a
mutter. "I'll be inside for fucking ever this time."

        End of Part 5 of 6 By Ruthless@nbnet.nb.ca