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Battle Buddies Chapter 27
"Hey Wanker, can I talk to you for a sec?" Chunk asked in a low voice after he came to sit down next to him.
Wanker glanced over as he took another bite of the hamburger and macaroni casserole they were being fed. After the failed attack on the compound the Bravos had been given their gear and told to set up camp just outside the compound in a cleared area. Then they'd been told to get some sleep and they all crashed for a luxurious four hours straight once Sarge had given the all clear that their camp passed inspection. Normally camp inspection was a job for Assmunch and Sleeper, but no one knew where Assmunch was. And Bootlicker and Weeble were AWOL too. Sleeper had gotten himself skull punched and in spite of his arguing that he was fine, Sarge told him to shut his dickhole and sleep it off.
It was sometime in the early morning hours and something about the quiet and darkness after the last 48 hours was especially relaxing. The silence had a different flavor just after a battle drill exercise. It felt empty. And whoever was doing the cooking here was amazing. The casserole had some kind of cheese and maybe salsa? that added a whole other level to basic hamburger and macaroni. That was on top of the fact that tree bark and dandelions would have tasted excellent after their ordeal.
"Sure Chunk. What's up?" He answered between mouthfuls. That was another thing, there was plenty to eat which was a rarity when out on patrol. He was already on his second serving.
Chunk looked off at the other Bravos, then down at his plate. "I was just...". He paused.
"Just spit it out, brother. We help each other, right?" He gave Chunk a friendly grin. "But no Bootlicker secrets, okay? You know I can't."
Chunk looked up and gave a nervous grin. "Nah, I don't want to know anything about any of THAT." Then he took a deep breath to reinforce his resolve. "I was just wondering... what's it like?"
"What's what like?"
"You know... getting fucked. Does it hurt?" Chunk said it in a rush, as if taking too long to ask would force him to chicken out.
Wanker smiled. "That's it? That's what's got you all worked up and nervous? Relax man, it's no big deal. You can ask me anything you want. It doesn't hurt at all anymore, but the first time it hurt like hell. But that had more to do with how big the dick was."
Chunk's eyes widened slightly. "Was it Footlong?" Then he held up a hand. "You don't have to tell me, I shouldn't have asked."
A chuckle escaped Wanker's lips. "No, it wasn't Footlong. And technically, it wasn't the first dick that hurt, it was the second one. The guy wasn't trying to be gentle."
Chunk stared at him with a slack jaw, mouth open in shock. "Were you raped, Wanker?"
Wanker looked away and took a deep breath. "No man, it wasn't rape. I gave him permission. I guess it's no big deal if you know. Assmunch knows, he helped me through when I came back to the barracks. Fuck, it hurt just to hold my asshole closed. Mostly it wasn't so bad during even if it was pretty brutal, but after... well afterwards it was my brain making the pain worse than what it had to be."
Chunk was fighting between sympathy and curiosity, and curiosity won out. "Why did you give the guy permission?"
Wanker looked at him with a peaceful smile that lacked all regret. "Because I didn't want to leave the Bravos. Didn't want to chance it. It was either take the punishment or get booted."
Hearing Wanker put it so plainly hit a sympathetic chord in Chunk's soul. He would have made the same choice. He nodded at Wanker's words. "Yeah, I woulda done the same, I think."
"Besides, Sarge broke me in before Horvath dished out the punishment, so I was okay with what happened. I did deserve it, at the very least for being caught. Sarge isn't so bad, he said that was the main mistake I made, being stupid enough to get caught. And I learned how much I love you guys, so I wouldn't take it back."
It appeared that Chunk had a never ending supply of shocked, wide-eyed gaping looks to give, because another one transformed his face into disbelief. "Sarge?"
Wanker nodded. "Yup. He's got a big crank, and you've seen his nuts, fucking huge sack. And then Horvath's just a goddamn horse. If Sarge hadn't opened me up easy, Sergeant Charlie would have ripped me open."
"Damn." Chunk whispered, staring off into space. After a few moments, he continued. "You said it doesn't hurt anymore, though."
"Nah, now it's good, no big deal. Sometimes I'm not even thinking about it when one of the guys is taking a run. Sometimes it feels good too. It can be a good way to relax everything and just let go."
The fourth variation of incredulity froze on Chunk's face. Man, the guy was cracking Wanker up with how many different ways he could demonstrate being mentally thrown off his feet.
"I could probably take another Horvath fucking no problem now." He said, trying for a fifth variation.
He wasn't disappointed, and it made him laugh. "Dude, do you practice those looks in the mirror? I swear to God they just keep getting better."
"It's just... I mean... wow! How big?" Chunk stuttered.
Wanker held up his arm and pointed to his forearm to his wrist. Then, it was Wanker's turn to stare off. "You want to know the best part? I feel closer to you guys. I like taking care of the brothers that need it. It's like I'm doing something good for them, even if it's just something stupid like getting them off and helping them feel good. I feel like I'm paying you guys back for putting up with all the times Bootlicker and I got us all in trouble. Pulling my weight a little."
"It's not stupid, Wanker. They joke around sometimes about you being a good fuck, but they're always grateful. And they don't ever talk bad about you for doing it. Shark says you're prime." Chunk reached out an arm and grasped Wanker's shoulder. "You know we love you, we love Bootlicker too. I'm glad you wanted to stick around, brother. It wouldn't be the same without you."
Wanker felt his eyes begin to fill up. He fought it down, but it was hard to do.
"Thanks, Chunk. Feels good to hear that." He replied sincerely, putting another fork full of food in his mouth to cover his difficulty holding back his emotions.
"I think I want to try it." Chunk said.
Wanker coughed up the bite he was just about to swallow. He proceeded to keep coughing. He grabbed his canteen to try to take a drink between his choking coughs. After 30 seconds of getting himself calmed down, he said "Warn a brother before you just spit something like that out."
"Sorry, man." Chunk gave a small laugh then got serious. "I don't know, I'm not into dudes, but you guys aren't really just dudes, you know? And I get horny sometimes. I only ever see you guys." He sighed. "Don't laugh, but sometimes I get so crazy for someone to touch me. We all joke around a lot, horseplay, but it's all just regular stuff. When we did massages at Airborne that first week it felt so good to have someone put their hands on me to make me feel good. I know it sounds dumb and pretty gay." He looked down at the ground as if he was ashamed for showing sensitivity and vulnerability.
Wanker put his plate down and moved closer to Chunk. "It's not dumb, Chunk. I get it." He put his arm around Chunk's shoulders and pulled him into him. "We're brothers, and we're all really close. I think I know why you're asking about all this." He gave Chunk a squeeze. "We're close, but there's a line. We can joke around but it's always got to be a joke. A little grab ass, an armlock instead of a long hug. But look, if you need a little extra love, dude, just ask. Most of the guys here wouldn't bat an eye. You want a buddy cuddle, just say it. And if you want more than that, you know I'm available anytime."
In a move Wanker would never have predicted from Chunk, his brother tilted his head and laid it on his shoulder. "Thanks Wanker."
"And look, if you ever do want your cherry popped we can make that happen too, so don't worry about it so much, okay? Take it from me, it's not a big deal. What happens to your asshole doesn't define you as a man. It's just an asshole, who the fuck cares what goes into it or comes out? Plus, if you're going to do it, it's best if you let a brother take care of it. It'll stay in the Brotherhood. And no one here is going to look at you different afterwards. Just be sure that's what you want."
Chunk heaved a sigh and Wanker felt him relax even more. "Maybe you're right, that I'm not really looking to get fucked. I don't know." Another sigh. "My head's all over the place. I know it wouldn't even come up if we had access to females."
Wanker pulled his hand off Chunk's shoulder and rubbed it across his head, sliding it through the short buzz of his clipper cut, drawing a low purr from Chunk's throat. "Yeah, I feel ya, man. That would be nice. In spite of all the action I'm getting, it's not the same. A little pussy would be fantastic." They sat like that for a few minutes, taking comfort in their shared misery, Wanker never stopping his gentle motions on Chunk's skull.
Wanker thought that it was really nice that they could just sit like that without worrying about what the other guys would say. Trusting your brothers was a good, warm feeling. At that moment it seemed stupid that men couldn't do this anytime they wanted without it being seen as something more than what it was. A little pussy every now and then, plus the love of your brother, yeah that would be a perfect life.
"I disagree, McGregor. I'm not useful in any way. Not for this."
Ulster McGregor shook his head. He didn't know what was up with Harris, but it was clear he was avoiding his nephew. But he wasn't wrong. He wasn't useful as someone to use against the kid. Not anymore. At this point, all he would be good for was to comfort the kid. And Private Harris didn't appear to need all that much comforting.
It was a shame they couldn't break any bones or make some cuts. That usually took things into serious territory, but Ulster was fairly sure the kid wouldn't break easily and a few broken bones and slices wasn't likely to have a different result. Bennett agreed saying the lack of flinching and cowering while he jabbed, punched, and kicked the kid indicated the subject had accepted the current level of persuasion and the next level was necessary. They could psychologically break him, it wouldn't be difficult, but there was no purpose to that. He wasn't holding any actual intel. Collins had simply said to attempt to get any secrets, no matter how small, from him.
Bennett agreed that the kid endured far better than most that were tested this way. And the level 2 rape, while distasteful and not enjoyable for either party, was never the real goal. Rape was tricky as a mental punishment. For men at a certain level of training it didn't physically affect them much, but mentally and emotionally? It could shatter the foundations of their confidence. Men believed their strength was rooted in their manhood, especially soldiers. Damage their manhood and they questioned their ability to resist. The more it mattered to them, the worse it was.
But the rape had to be tailored to the stage they were in life, and you had to know something personal about them to make it an effective technique for breaking a subject. It was why it wasn't usually an option. However, a buck Private in the U.S. Army, first leadership position as Platoon leader, separated from his men with no hope of rescue. He should have fought like a banshee, or begged with tears and snot running down his face. Instead, it was as if he just ignored it. Just like he ignored the beatings.
Ulster wasn't quite sure how to evaluate that, except that the kid was resistant to the usual low level techniques. Nor could he reconcile the fact that the kid's uncle wasn't all that torn up about it, at least not enough to make himself known to his nephew and get him back on his feet.
"Tom will be fine, Ulster. Now isn't the time to bring me in. Let me take the idiot out, get him away from the rest. You keep Tom here. I'll take the idiot as my project." Harris explained. "He's hiding something. He shouldn't be Tom's second. I haven't seen anything that makes him special enough to warrant that position, so either Tom knows something about him that makes it worth having him as his second or there's something else. But regardless, the kid needs to step up or get out of the way. Quincy Washington, the little guy Chambers, or the one they call Bootlicker would make a much better second. I'll bring the idiot back for explosives training, but the rest I'll handle in the mountains."
"Fine. Montelongo does need handling. Maybe try to figure out why that hasn't happened yet. Sergeant Walters should never have approved his assignment as second, but maybe it's a test for Harris, or a lesson. I'll have Bennet work with Walters." Ulster replied.
"What are you going to do with the other two?" Harris asked, taking a last look at the contents of the file folder he held in his hands. "You going to tell them it was all a psy op?"
Ulster grinned. "I figured we keep them going until they figure it out. I think putting them back with their unit would dilute their focus. They are both very intense. And determined. I like the little guy. If any of these kids are going to make it to Battalion, it'll be these two and your nephew. The little guy deserves my personal attention. Hammer is better for the other kid. I haven't decided if the little ego competition they are fighting with each other is useful for a training enhancement yet. Hammer and I do things differently and my kid responds to praise and emotional support, eager to please. Having Hammer around will keep the kid's guard up. Did you know he calls Hammer `Whisperman' like some creepy horror movie?" Ulster chuckled.
Harris laughed. "I heard that on the ears. That's Gregory's own fault. He really puts it on thick when he wants to. He wanted the kid afraid."
Ulster nodded. "Well it got him moving. Alright, you take Montelongo out, see if you can find out what his deal is and break his complacency. It's up to you whether you want to tell him about your nephew. I'll have Bennet have a go at the Sergeants, they should get along nicely, same basic animal. I just know Collins is doing one of his nerd projects and it would be nice if just this once he told us the point. Don't get me wrong, I love a good mystery and it keeps me on my toes, but we can be way more effective with these kids if we know the goal."
Harris' answering laughter was loud and exuberant. "Ah, Ulster. The rats don't get told why they get the cheese. Whatever he wants with these kids he wants something else from us. You should be used to it by now. If we have to be his circus monkeys every now and then, or rats in one of his mazes, you know it'll be worth it. Besides, he's not asking us to do anything but what we want to do and what we're good at."
Ulster looked down at his desk, lost in thought. He had six teams on foreign soil at the moment but right now they were independent operators and needed no oversight. He had two weeks to toughen these kids up enough to sail through the Ranger Induction Program. They had a good start with the training they'd had up to this point and they were far more motivated than their usual students which were foreign military or civilian guerrillas who barely knew which end of the gun a bullet flew out of. And that training didn't go beyond skills needed for a specific operation or mission. How to kidnap a subject. Destroy this bridge. Stop the upcoming attack on this village. Rescue these prisoners. If Americans had to be sent in they either couldn't be seen, or everyone that was a witness had to be killed. Most of the time, putting down enemy fighters to the last man was okay, even if it was messy and left questions. But sometimes the operation couldn't look TOO professional. Sometimes they had to be ghosts. Sometimes it was about retrieving someone in an organization that needed to disappear.
Delicate missions. Local resources. Anything that needed to happen that wouldn't point back to the U.S. JSOC and SOF like SEAL teams were useful for many missions, especially when support was crucial. But there were far more situations that didn't require moving a mountain or couldn't endure the notice of allies or the U.N. And while a country like Somalia might not track and identify every single aircraft over its airspace, you could bet that the Soviet satellites did, or worse NATO. Having to answer to your allies for a local action or regional incursion was far worse than telling the Soviets to fuck off. Often it was your own allies that were the worst at using intel against you. It was always a bargaining chip in some negotiation for aid, trade or raid.
And now the Soviet States were independent. That would ordinarily be a win for democracy. Except for the question of how the various military resources, including the nukes, were divided. And who ended up controlling Russia, the largest Soviet State. Correction: Former Soviet State. It was still difficult to stop using the word Soviet. In the resulting chaos of the dissolution of the USSR, Ulster found a niche he was able to exploit and grow his small training facility into a global mercenary force. The Eastern Bloc countries had thrown out the Soviet loyalist communists and Russian officials and through back channels had asked for certain resources, mostly information trading, to shore up their protection from Moscow. Most of that came in the form of identifying Soviet agents that were planted in organizations in their country.
Ulster had gotten his chops as a subversive military advisor for the Afghans in their ten year war against the Soviet Union. Of course it was a not-so-secret secret that the U.S. was arming and training the Afghanistan guerilla forces, the Mujahideen. It was one of the reasons the Soviets hadn't succeeded. Another reason, probably more accurate, was that war was a valuable commodity. Sure, it was expensive, difficult, and problematic when conducted so far away from your power core. But you couldn't sharpen your blade on air, and you couldn't support your military industry without an enemy.
At least half the problem was that the USSR was arrogant and didn't feel that putting in a maximum effort was worth it for Afghanistan. They treated the military action as a training exercise rather than an actual war. Well, it wasn't completely because of that, they were fighting the gradually growing resistance to the failures of communism. The recession of the mid-70's to the mid 80's didn't only affect the western capitalist nations. The life of the average citizen wasn't good anywhere in the world, but in Soviet countries it was particularly dismal.
So the USSR wasn't unified, and the Iron Curtain couldn't completely block information that the rest of the world wasn't suffering near as badly as they were. There were no food lines, no shortages in the Western countries. And the people blamed their leaders. Leaders who only made it worse by making the most vocal detractors `disappear'.
Ulster shook off the useless musings. He could write a ten volume series on the slow deterioration of the former USSR from the unique perspective of an Operator whose primary missions had been to sow dissent and destabilize, to enable resistance and generally cause chaos, some openly as U.S. military but most from the darkness behind the curtain. It exposed the opportunity that a private mercenary company could have.
But he took it a step further. Most of the mercs out in the world were small outfits. Limited Strike teams that expanded their personnel only if the job required it, hiring whoever they needed for a temporary job, but keeping only a core group of twenty or less as a permanent group. There were thousands of floaters out there, former agents or soldiers with no particular loyalty or morality. About half were in the business of selling information back to their former masters. After all, if you could get paid twice for the same amount of work, why not? And thanks to Ulster's former job, he knew almost all of them. Almost all of them were men, and some women, who couldn't bear a life of normalcy, of civilian laziness. It was an addiction to adrenaline, to danger, to challenge and pitting their skills against something bigger than whether to eat pork chops or meatloaf for dinner that night. Deadlines, the dance of evasion or escape and knowing the secrets of the world was far more seductive than mowing your lawn and going to the mall later.
It took an immense amount of focus and determination to leave that world behind. The success rate for reintegration was about 50% and entirely dependent on the personality. Ulster was fortunate that he woke up and realized that his family was more important than what he did for work. He wasn't sure exactly when his job became his priority, but Heather leaving him and taking the kids terrified him far more than facing down an enemy. So he changed. If he had to pick one thing that separated those who could leave the life of excitement and danger, and those who couldn't, it was that the successful ones found something else they couldn't afford to lose, something far more important.
So he founded International Conflict Resources with most of the loose money he'd stashed away from various missions over twelve years. He was surprised to find out it all came to roughly 15 million U.S. once it was converted. The thing about warlords, political tools, and petty regional thugs was that they loved having money laying around, as if bricks and stacks of it made them feel good when they looked at it. Or they were afraid if they let it too far away from them it would be stolen. It was a strange psychological reaction but there was a reason for it: Organization independence when the regional banking system was easily utilized by other agencies to discover, manipulate, or cripple your limited organization. Loose money was a protection against being frozen. And it was a Plan B if everything fell apart. They could run and hide and use that money to start again.
However, as in all other things, these limited organizations always believed they found a clever way to hide when in fact they were just using a method that organizations had used for hundreds of years, methods that governments and agencies were well prepared for. Money laundering, shell entities, distributed caches, non-active players acting as holders (some of them legitimate), all of them easily tracked and mapped out. And while the U.S. either seized or turned over to local governments the official' money, the loose money wasn't significant enough to worry about and whichever team managed to find it could keep it as a bonus. Most of that fell into the personal stockpile' category of specific players and amounted to less than 100K. If you brought it into the US all you needed was an identifier to register it as foreign earnings so the IRS could send you a tax bill. Those identifiers came with the contract package as a standard perq.
Ulster had taken a page from the organizations he'd taken down over the years and left his cut in distributed caches, accounts or businesses all over the world. When he began doing it he didn't have a specific plan other than a nice retirement nest egg. It wouldn't do to put that money to use while he was still working and his family enjoyed a comfortable middle class income provided by his legitimate employment. It was only when he cycled out of his action team and officially retired' that he established International Conflict Resources. He started small. Just himself and one guy from his former team hiring out as advisors' on carefully chosen operations for the US government.
Over the last four years they'd grown into a respectable mercenary outfit that provided a full range of services from basic security contracts to small incursions and raids. He was the first one to approach newly separated operators to recruit for his growing organization thanks to his former handler feeding him potential recruits. He had placement for each of the psychological types - those who wanted to stay domestic and out of the fight, those who couldn't mentally leave the fight behind, those who were geared more to support and logistics, those who were masters of infiltration and intel gathering, and more.
Harris was one of the latter types. He loved the mental chess match of infiltration and was impressive in his ability to remake himself into any type of character. But it was his uncanny ability to figure out what his target needed and slide into that role that proved his worth. If there was anyone that could get inside the Montelongo kid's head, it was him. Knowing Harris, he'd play it blind. This wasn't life or death so he'd forego the standard background intel on the subject. Harris said `reactions, questions, casual conversations are all more natural if you don't know.' Again, that was part of Harris' gift. Ulster knew Harris would think it too easy to gain the trust of the Montelongo kid if he had a file on him first.
There were a few other standouts in the first group Collins had sent here. The one they called Weeble was a surprise and Ulster intended to push him as far along the path as he could because the kid had potential. Initiative and motivation, a refusal to quit, determination and a quiet strength all hidden by that meek, willing personality. The way he'd dealt with his abandonment checked off a lot of boxes. How he'd fought through his Whisperman ordeal checked off others. And then there was his interaction with Ulster himself. The kid didn't whine, didn't complain, made split second decisions and didn't look back. He dedicated himself to the mission and went beyond expectations. That kind of drive and determination, the confidence in his actions couldn't be taught. That came from a history of overcoming obstacles and created character that bled off into others that surrounded him. The sexual episode, while fun, was a test he'd passed with flying colors. Not the way he submitted himself, but afterwards when the kid maintained his focus and moved forward without the episode having a single effect. That kind of absolute compartmentalization was an unusual and valuable trait.
Ulster wrote out a list of the notables and assigned handlers from his available men. The rest would get group training as a class. When he finished, he was slightly surprised that his list was as long as it was. For the hundredth time in the last two days he wondered what Collins was doing with these kids. Ordinarily there might have been two, maybe three standouts in a normal Infantry Platoon. The quality he was seeing in these troops hinted that Collins had selected each of them specifically. He also suspected that Harris' nephew played a large part in who these troops were. One of the benefits of effective leadership was that it elevated subordinates and wouldn't allow mediocrity to endure. He could quote the historical military tactician that paraphrased but he had to get moving and his mind was busy making a plan.
"BENNETT!" Harris yelled as he climbed the stairs inside the command center. He passed Fazzini as he walked up. "Grab Decker." He told Fazzini.
Fazzini grinned before hurrying down the stairs.
Once Harris entered the top floor with windows that overlooked the still dark compound he saw Bennett sitting at the security desk, looking at the monitors that had various video feeds.
"What do you want, Harris?" Bennett replied in a deep impatient voice without even giving him the courtesy of looking at him.
Harris crossed his arms and planted his feet. "I want to kick your ass you piece of shit."
Bennett stood up and inflated his impressive size. Now he did grace Harris with a look. A mean, challenging look.
"Fuck off. You mad I fucked your nephew?" Bennett spat with a snide smirk.
Bennett was a large man. Bearded even though he still kept his black hair cut in a military fade, he looked like a pro wrestler complete with that slightly insane glint in his dark eyes. The beard was cut in a Spartan style, shorter and straight on the sides of the jaw, but longer on the chin to create an even point. He'd be handsome if it wasn't for the big nose that had obviously been broken more than a couple times in the past. Crooked and with a thick knot halfway up the length said the man had refused to have it fixed. He had a heavy brow and prominent cheekbones he kept free of beard growth. Bennett liked to think of himself as a real tough guy. He kept in shape and loved to use his size to intimidate. There was only one way to deal with a man that stood three inches taller and 50 pounds heavier.
Harris' foot flashed out faster than Bennett could react and slammed into his crotch with every ounce of brutal force Harris could impart. Right in the nuts. If you went for that move, you had to give it everything. But he gave props to Bennett for not vomiting. A lesser man would have emptied his stomach.
Bennett collapsed with a grunt of pain. That never got old. He gasped while trying to steady himself on his hands and knees. One good knee to the side of Bennett's head finished the job to send him reeling over onto his side, curled up into a ball.
Fazzini and Decker arrived a few seconds after. "Put him over the desk." Harris said. They yanked Bennett up and threw him face down over the desk. Harris grabbed the waistband of Bennett's trousers and pulled with a full powered heave as the fabric ripped and exposed the sturdy meat of his bare, hairy ass. He began to struggle but an uppercut between his legs right into his already sore balls put a stop to that.
"Behave yourself boy. You've already lost." Harris spat.
"Fuck you, pussy." Bennett managed.
That made Harris grin. "We'll see who's the pussy here."
Going in dry wasn't easy. It was painful on your dick, but the trick was to work it in slowly. Bennett thrashed on the desk, held down by Fazzini and Decker, which made it even more of a challenge so Harris punched his fist down into Bennett's mouth, splitting his lip and sending blood dripping onto the desk. "Look at you, first blood. Not so tough now, are you?"
Bennett's only response was to grunt in pain as the head of Harris' dick popped through his outer ring. His legs seized up and he clenched down in reflex.
"Relax, or I'll break your nose, boy." Harris growled, punching the bigger man in the right kidney.
"No. I'm gonna break your dick off." Bennett promised.
"Fine." Harris said, managing to get a little more dick forced inside before slamming his palm down right beside Bennett's nose, causing a gush of blood to join the small pool already on the desk from his split lip.
They were all breathing heavily, Fazzini and Decker having to use all their weight to keep Bennett pinned, Bennett fighting with all he had against the weight of the three of them, and Harris keeping up the pressure of forcing himself inside this beast dry while beating down with his fists.
Bennett was no easy victim but this was going to get done. And finally, Harris' hips were pressed firmly up against Bennett's hairy cheeks. Still, his big meaty ass meant Harris was only halfway planted. Big round muscle asses were great to look at, but the hole was buried deeper than your average man. He reached down and grabbed the torn fabric of Bennett's trousers and ripped the right leg further until he could free Bennett's knee to pull it up onto the desk, spreading his ass enough to push all the way in.
"Aaaaahhh, fuck!" Bennett gasped wetly through the blood.
"That's right, it's a fuck. That's what happens to Beta bitches. Just what you deserve, getting dicked down by better men than you." Harris grunted while he gave a few short thrusts which drew out some fresh mucous from Bennett's abraded hole. Irritate any mucous membrane and the automatic response of the body was to produce the slimy fluid meant to flush the foreign object or material out. And assholes worked just like the nose and mouth even if there was less fluid expelled.
Bennett took the opportunity to buck, trying to get his right leg back down. Harris pulled out completely and gave Bennett another punch to the balls before sliding his belt off in less than a second. He jammed his cock back in to the hilt then looped the belt around Bennett's knee while he was momentarily incapacitated and pushing it into the handle of the drawer just below, securing it tightly.
"Now we rock and roll. You're weak. You're nothing next to a real man. Can't even fight back because you know this is where you belong, face down with a dick in your ass being beaten by an Alpha that's older and tougher."
Harris picked up the pace, thrusting hard and deep into Bennett's warm, tight hole. The legs of the desk were giving out a squeak with every push, matching the grunts of pain from Bennett.
"Stop. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Bennett's tone had changed. "Please don't, please stop." His words were quiet and held none of the snide challenge from earlier.
"Stop what?" Harris ordered.
"I'm pathetic. I'm so weak. You're stronger. Please stop hitting me, sir." Bennett pleaded.
Harris pulled out and stood back. He saw Bennett's big body deflate, watched as his brutalized hairy asshole clenched and unclenched trying to adjust to the punishment, his full, trunk like thighs spread wide.
Harris signaled Fazzini and Decker who slowly took their weight off Bennett's shoulders. Bennett didn't move and lay there breathing hard. He was a picture, that was for sure. One leg cocked up and tied, his ass spread wide, his other leg not even trying to bear his weight. He remained in position.
Harris moved forward again, grabbing the two meaty globes of Bennett's ass and pulling them further apart. He spat on Bennett's tightly puckered hole and pushed the head of his hard cock against it. "You gonna be a good boy now?"
"Yes, sir. I'm a good boy." Bennett said in a childlike voice.
"Yes, you are. Such a good boy." Harris repeated sweetly, reaching out a hand to stroke down Bennett's punished face as he slowly re-entered the big man. He noticed his left knee throbbing slightly from when he'd slammed it into Bennett's hard skull earlier. Not as young as he used to be, and he hated the reminder.
Bennett's groan was one of whimpering pleasure now as he sunk the length of his thick cock inside the younger man. The Harris clan men were all gifted with above average equipment and he knew how perfectly it stretched a willing hole, whether that was ass or pussy.
That was Bennett's hidden need, the key to who he was. He responded to overwhelming dominance. Overwhelming. He couldn't submit himself, as much as he really wanted to, without force. Inside, Bennett was desperate for validation from superior men. Harris had met his type before, those who were too masculine, out to constantly prove how much better they were than all the other little men around them that they considered less masculine and competent. Strutting around with a chip on their shoulder, daring any confrontation. Derisive smirks on their lips, a glint of violence in their eyes. But given the right circumstances, that bravado melted into a soft pile of willing and compliant puppy dog who loved to serve. If the world proved anything, it was that even if you considered yourself an Alpha, there was always a bigger, badder Alpha out there. And Ultimate Alphas saw boys like Bennett as amusing little chihuahuas that barked and barked, nipped at their ankles, but easy enough to put in their place. The first Ultimate Alpha that taught the puppy that lesson had them for life if they chose. But true Alphas were made for hunting, so owning someone like Bennett wasn't a goal for Harris. That didn't mean Bennett didn't look at him and Ulster as his Alphas, which he always would. It was ingrained in his very soul now. If Harris had just walked in and snapped his fingers Bennett would have removed his trousers and bent over the desk without a word. But Harris knew how to keep Bennett on the leash, and that was to dominate him with brutality first. It was all about the trigger. And by continuing to demonstrate dominance before rewarding him as a good boy, it ensured Bennett would never just roll over for anyone and would eventually grow beyond the sub-Alpha stage. Oh, he might still find some big strong way too good looking beast to give it to him good, but that wouldn't have anything to do with his authority or self image. And it was Ivan's duty as his Alpha to help him grow to that point. Ulster had given him the task. And he would fulfill it. They both had high hopes for the young wolf.
Ivan didn't enjoy the rough part, no true Alpha did, but it was what Bennett needed the most, almost more than the tender part afterwards. The rough part was what allowed him to let go, to let himself be dominated and commanded, but only by someone stronger that he accepted as an Alpha. Bennett was still young, at 31. Hopefully he could reconcile these two opposites inside himself eventually. He'd never become an Ultimate Alpha until he did.
Ivan scowled. ICS wasn't some perverted grooming outfit for guys to get their kicks with other guys. But there were many types of men, and men like Bennett had a specific need, and without that he'd act out. It was why the man had only barely made it to the end of his second enlistment. Competence could only cover for so much acting out. Ulster had recognized his belligerence immediately. And so he set Ivan to dissecting the man. Ivan wasn't even sure how much he believed in the whole Alpha concept. But Bennett did, so it was useful. And you didn't swap characters without fully immersing yourself. But if a beat down and a rough fuck was what squared the beast away, that was what he would be trained with until he grew beyond such basic levels.
Harris did his duty in letting Bennett provide him pleasure, gradually working himself up to orgasm by pounding Bennett's ass as hard as he could. The desk had moved a foot, and he'd have to slow it down so the monitors didn't come unplugged. Another crucial aspect of this side of Bennett was knowing he'd pleased a man he looked up to. So Harris had to finish. Sure, it wasn't an unpleasant duty and Ivan Harris enjoyed it, having this big, mean beast submissive to him, so he made certain he used his prime, grade A ass to maximum effect while Bennett moaned with grateful pleasure beneath him. The big dark haired man hadn't moved an inch from the position they'd left him in when they released him. He truly was a good boy. There was something heady and serotonin inducing to submit a specimen like Bennett.
"Oooh, yeah, you're going to make me cum boy. Do you want me to cum?" Harris moaned.
"Yes, sir. I want you to cum so bad. Please? I promise I'll be good." Bennett whimpered.
The sincere and desperate need in Bennett's voice brought Harris to the brink, and he stopped right at the edge. When the feeling began to wane, he stroked a couple more times. He reached the brink again, feeling a small spurt of ejaculate leak out inside Bennett's muscular, gripping hole. He paused, letting the moment back off, squeezing down, and even slower he thrust in before stopping again. It was building, and would reach the point of being unable to stop his orgasm regardless of what he did or didn't do. Just the barest movement kept bringing him to the edge. He moved painfully slow, reveling in the wet rub of Bennett's guts keeping him balanced on the knife edge.
"Please...". Bennett whined with a weak, trembling voice.
That did it, it was happening. The flush of pleasure that started in his throat, spread across his chest and straight down his stomach to...not his dick, but under his dick, beneath it, just before exploding up from the base of his balls. He almost painfully pulled back and then sunk back into the warmth as his dick jerked and twitched with every thick ropey spurt of hot jizz spraying out in an almost continuous pour of molten seed.
"Oh fuck, oh my fucking God, oh holy fucking shit, oh shit...". Harris gasped as the powerful orgasm shook him from foot to eyeballs. The type of nutting that made your entire body spasm and lose control. The repeated flexing of every fiber in his dick was undeniable and uninterrupted, spewing forth more and more cum as if suctioning it right out of his balls in a way that made them ache so good.
"Yes, give it to me, sir. Yes sir. Yes sir. I'm a good boy." Bennett matched him with every uttered phrase. This was the moment of his greatest validation. He'd satisfied a superior male, gave him pleasure and accomplished his purpose.
Harris tried to catch his breath while remaining fully inside the younger man's willing and receptive ass. "Good boy. Very good boy." Harris breathed, giving himself time to pull himself together. Bennett didn't squeeze down on his dick. He wouldn't do anything without Harris' command.
He withdrew his softening dick, which was a sign of having the best, most intense orgasm. A regular orgasm wouldn't make him go soft and he often found himself continuing to fuck for a second orgasm, or a third. He sighed. That was the irony of life. The type of nut that made you cum the hardest also ensured you couldn't do that again in any decent amount of time no matter how much you wanted to feel that soul shaking release a second time. While the average ones you could repeat many times in the course of a couple hours. It was almost as if your nervous system's goal was to expel the full amount of your seed one way or another - either through one violent and explosive massive detonation, or through multiple lesser small caliber munitions deliveries.
Bennett obediently remained in the same position. Harris buttoned up his trousers and automatically went to secure his belt before he remembered it was strapping Bennett's leg down. He moved to the side of the desk and knelt down to look Bennett in the eye. His nose had stopped bleeding, as had his split lip. He was going to have a black eye. It wouldn't be the first time he'd have to walk around for a week with a bruised up face, and everyone was going to know how he got that way. Bennett didn't get beat up except for one specific way. And many were the men who thought they could do the job only to have Bennett's mark on their faces instead. Lucky for them, Bennett didn't do anything beyond teach them a lesson with his fists for over-estimating their ability to dominate him.
And if there was one thing Bennett loved more than getting fucked by an Alpha male, it was beating the shit out of lesser men who were beneath him. Because of that, he didn't discourage his male suitors. As long as they could take him down, they could have the prize, but if they couldn't he would have plenty of fun banging them up and unconscious, which for someone with Bennett's talents meant they didn't pass out until he wanted them to pass out. There was a betting pool in ICR for who could take the longest beating, who managed to get the prize (which was now up to a whopping $8000 and had remained unclaimed for a year now, the last guy some insanely stacked Israeli Shayetet who Bennett insulted one too many times, trying to push him to prove it. Bennett smiled for a week after, and that was fucking weird as shit seeing him smile like that with half his face distorted from his beat down), and a pool for who had the most attempts. Again, Bennett knew about the betting pool and supported it. He wasn't trying to chase anyone away. They just had to earn it. Of course, Harris didn't participate, it wouldn't be fair as he'd already claimed the prize many times, usually when Bennett completed a job particularly well. As Bennett's Alpha it was his right and duty. And after testing his nephew to the ultimate limit, Bennett deserved his reward. Tom would be better because of what Bennett had done.
Decker moved up behind Bennett, his own reward for his participating in the fight. No, Decker and Fazzini wouldn't qualify for the pool, being helpers didn't count. Now that the big 6'3" hairy muscle boy was freshly fucked there wasn't any difficulty sliding his own average sized cock up inside using Harris' cum as lube. Still tight and incredibly warm, Decker began pounding.
"Make it good, Decker. Hard and fast, like he likes it." Harris directed. If Bennett got the sense you weren't fucking him like a real man should fuck, you'd lose out and he'd come out of his docile submission and you'd have to fight him down again. And Fazzini and Decker weren't up to taking Bennett down on their own, even if his pants were ripped open and he had one eye swelling shut.
"I know that, Harris. Shut the fuck up while I jam my dick in this bitch." Decker growled, almost overplaying it. But the violent balls deep thrusts he shoved into Bennett's jiggling meaty ass did enough to keep the angry rhino asleep.
It was good that he didn't linger and emptied his own nuts into the young muscle boy in quick order before giving up his place to Fazzini. As long as the train kept running, Bennett would stay in his good boy persona. While he was docile, anyone his Alpha gave him to could do what they liked. Harris took the opportunity to look in Bennett's dark brown eyes.
"Hey there good boy. You did good with the kid in lockdown. I'm proud of you." He said, stroking Bennett's forehead.
Bennett smiled as his face slid through the blood on the desktop with every one of Fazzini's jabbing thrusts. "Thank you sir. I could bleed him without incapacitating him if you want. It wouldn't damage him too much." The eager offer made Harris smile back. He sounded like a kid offering to get his father a beer and his favorite slippers.
"Ulster will decide. The kid will be an Alpha, so target what you do with that goal in mind. I'm headed out, so be a good boy while I'm gone, okay?"
Bennett nodded without breaking eye contact just as Fazzini came in his ass with a few low grunts. "Yes, sir. I'll be a good boy. I'm always a good boy."
Harris gave him a pat on his head. "Yes you are. A very good boy."
He stood up and told Decker "Cover the desk while Bennett gets himself cleaned up."
After retrieving his belt and releasing the big man, he followed Bennett down the stairs, who walked with head held high and shoulders back in spite of his ass hanging bare as he walked with the shredded ruins of his trousers flopping loose. Several of the men turned to look, then resumed what they were doing without batting an eye as he and Bennett walked past on the main level. The state of Bennett's face, and his big meaty ass exposed told them everything they needed to know. And they knew better than to give any indication of it or they would face a lesson from Bennett who would beat them to a pulp even if a river of jizz was sliding down his hairy hamstrings.
Only after Bennett descended on the lift did it occur to Harris that Bennett uncharacteristically wasn't wearing underwear. A chuckle escaped his lips. Bennett was definitely a very good boy. He had been looking forward to Harris' visit.
Now, he had to collect the Montelongo kid and be on his way. Shower first though, then load him up like a pack mule from the equipment in the bunker. He had a lot to learn.