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CENTRAL AMERICAN DRUG BUST – Chapter 3
The team continued as before in the town's taverns, with Jason and Maria serving as bait, and the others playing supporting roles reeled in unwitting tourists. They posed as friends, and one or more of them would often sit at the table and drink with them as they chatted with this or that hipster expat. Luis and Jorge turned on the charm, never hinting at the secret realities but making them clear among themselves.
"I'll get you a beer," the undercover staff sergeant said one night, before vanishing to a latrine to fill the bottle with piss before returning. Jason drank it and thanked the Man who'd brought it, his face red from the humiliation, amplified by the mandatory gratitude.
"They've got good beer down here, don't they?" Luis said, his eyes laughing. "Now all they need is a refrigerator."
Cervantes leaned back, downed another shot of mezcal, and smiled at the remark.
"I think our American friend is used to our warm beer," he said, chuckling. "Luis, maybe he would like another one? Jason, would you enjoy another one of our warm beers?"
Maria went off with the tourist to another table to discuss the particulars of the transaction, leavung Jason alone with the Castillian and Hardesty.
"Poor rich American maricon," Cervantes said, grinning and speaking in a condescending and mocking tone. "I have allowed you to keep what you have, but you cannot use it."
The staff sergeant returned to the table with a cold beer for himself and a warm one for Jason, who thanked him and began drinking the Man's piss.
"If you'd listened to me, you'd be fucking one of Senor Cervantes' putas right now," Hardesty said. "But you didn't listen, so you're drinking piss, and later tonight you will be taking Pedro's dick up your ass and sucking two other ones."
"You guys got him, that's for sure," Luis said, sarcastically. "I knew he was a faggot the night I met him. Couldn't keep his queer eyes off my hose."
The words stung. If he wasn't attracted to the Man, he could shrug it off, but Jason knew there was some truth there. He had checked out Luis, and the others. Since Hardesty had fitted him with the cage, their equipment was constantly on his mind, along with a strengthening desire for their approval. Not being able to even achieve an erection on account of the cage had the effect of sublimating and redirecting his sex drive, and causing him to hunger for their control and humiliation.
"I-I-I don't know what to say, sir," he replied meekly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Hardesty leaned back in his chair, watching Jason drink, and smiled.
"I've got to hand it to Jorge," he said, chuckling. "I didn't think this one was a queer until I saw him riding Pedro's rail with that hardon. What do you fellas think about taking him out to the house?"
Once again, he was in the house shacked while Pedro fucked him, slow at first and then a steady jackhamer as Cervantes played with his nipples.
"I give the puta what she needs," Pedro said as Jason grimaced in pain. "Look at how the gringa puta smiles. Listen to the sound of her pleasure."
The Castillian unzipped his fly and screwed his mouth, and Jason sucked his stiff dick while Pedro relentlessly split him in two, smiling widely.
Finally, he came, the semen dribbling out of the hole at the tip of his cage. The orgasm, triggered by stimulation of his prostate, brought no relief but the opposite. His body trembled and he wanted more. Hardesty was next, and he screwed Jason slowly and built another rhythm while Cervantes kept a firm grip on the restraints. He felt another trembling, and a dry orgasm.
"That's right, buddy boy," the captain said, his warm smile and tender voice radiating impunity and authority as he felt the captive's muscle tighten around his dick as it penetrated all the way inside. "That's right, you grip me nice and tight."
They spent the rest of the night in the upstairs bedroom, screwing him over and over, guiding his mouth onto their hardons, speaking gently all the while. Luis pissed in his mouth again, and Jason followed Hardesty's whispered order to be sure to thank him for the privilege.
The next morning, Jason made and served the Men breakfast. They didn't live in the house, but spent enough time there to keep spare uniforms, which they wore while Jason made and served breakfast, again clad in nothing but his T-shirt, but now in a cage too. It was a warm Saturday morning, and there seemed no hurry to go anywhere.
"In the time I've been down here, I've never seen Jorge be wrong about American queers," the captain said. "He has a knack for finding the ones like Jason who don't think they are queer, and making 'em see the light."
Cervantes flashed his wolf grin and spoke.
"There are three kinds," he said, as Jason silently served them. "There are the smart ones who do what they are told. There are the stupid ones like that Keith, and they lose their equipment. And there are those like this one, who seemed smart but then had to go and fuck my Maria."
"I am sorry, Senor Cervantes," he said, his voice contrite. "I never should have done that, senor."
And then he was on his knees, staring at the stiff log in the Castillian's sharply creased green uniform pants. Cervantes looked down, smiling, and stroked Jason's closely trimmed beard. He gently cupped his chin and tilted Jason's head upward while their eyes locked.
"My newest pajarita acts like a Man in the town," he said, his tone condescending, tender, and humiliating. "But look at him now. He cannot use his little thing, and his mouth and ass belong to us. He won't be fucking anything, but the maricon will become well-practiced at taking care of us."
Jason rubbed the Man's log through his pants, and then unbuckled his belt and zipped his fly down.
"Let me feel your mouth," the Castillian said, and Jason complied, having learned that Jorge wanted tight suction and a tongue in motion. He could taste the Man's precum, and knew what would be next.
"Relax your throat, maricon," Jorge said, rhythmically screwing the upturned mouth and pushing his long, rock-hard tool as far as it would go before withdrawing. "Just like a concha, or how you say pussy."
Cervantes saved the last couple squirts for Jason's head, and rubbed his cum through his hair, adding spit to the mixture. He concluded by ordering Jason to open his mouth to take his spit as he flashed his smile of conquest.
"Gracias, senor," he said after it was over, and breakfast continued.
The house was something of a secret, and no one had hired a servant to do the cleaning chores. That would be Jason's job that afternoon, Cervantes explained, emphasizing that the job had to be done thoroughly. The kitchen and the house's bathrooms should take a few hours, and then he'd work on other rooms – and would do all of it in nothing but his T-shirt and cage.
They retreated to the living room while Jason cleaned the kitchen. Then he started on a latrine, and emerged an hour later to announce that he was finished with it.
"Luis, want to check it out?" Hardesty said, smiling.
The staff sergeant accompanied Jason to the lav, a spacious room tiled in the Spanish style, with an outdoor shower typical of the tropics. The young American indentured servant and newly-minuted maricon found the contrast between himself – naked but for a T-shirt, slim and caged – and Luis, tall and muscular, dressed in a crisply starched camouflage uniform, creased ironed to knife edges, a substantial bulge pressing against the fabric of his crotch, his boots with a nearly-blinding shine.
Luis lit up a cigar and strutted around the room, inspecting and noticing Jason's furtive glances. He opened a drawer and withdrew a toothbrush, and glided it over the porcelain in the toilet and a urinal.
"Brush your teeth, faggot," the staff sergeant said, coldly. "We'll see how clean you got things in here."
Not clean enough. It was a classic trick, and once again Jason didn't have a clue. In boot camp, a smartass recruit would be confronted with a dirty toothbrush and told that the next time he cleaned the latrine he'd be brushing his teeth – so he'd better be sure to clean thoroughly. Jason didn't get a second chance, and was told to run the filthy brush over his teeth.
He quickly became unable to talk or to swallow, and looked at the staff sergeant through watery eyes, pleading. Luis unzipped his fly and commanded Jason to open his mouth and drink.
"Now rinse out your throat and swallow it," he said, his voice still cold. He repeated it twice more, and then strolled to the outdoor shower. The reality of what he'd been forced to do hit Jason and caused him to vomit on the floor.
"Hands and knees! Now!" the staff sergeant barked. He kicked the young American's naked ass hard, bouncing him off of the tile walls. "Clean my floor with your mouth, and I suggest not puking again because it won't taste any better."
"So did you teach our gringo maricon how to clean a latrine?" Jorge said when they returned to the living room, his eyes dancing.
"He'll get the hang of it," Luis replied, with a chuckle.
The two local Men and Luis left the house for a training exercise, leaving Hardesty alone with Jason, who was shaken by the encounter in the lavatory. The captain guided him upstairs and laid him on the bed, and withdrew a vibrator that he'd kept in a bag he brought to the house.
He donned a rubber glove and applied lubricant, gently put two fingers in Jason's rectum, and began massaging his prostate while holding the buzzing vibrator just below his testicles.
"That's right," he said, his tone at once soothing, condescending, and patronizing. "That a boy. You just lie back and let the Man be in charge of things. We're going to make sure you squirt, but it'll be our way."
It went on for quite a while, 15 or 20 minutes, as the pressure built from the combination. Jason began to shake, the prostate waves coursing through his body. As before, semen leaked from the hole at the tip of the cage, and he came, but there was no relief. If anything, he was even hornier, but the tube in his penis prevented even an erection.
"There you go, buddy boy," Hardesty said, tenderly, laying the vibrator aside, removing his gloves, and giving Jason's balls a fatherly pat. "We'll bring you around."