DECONSECRATION Chapter 6 An Inchoate Evil
The Master disappears and is replaced by the German boys who have a fourth, smaller boy in tow. He is dressed exactly like the Master, a miniature of him in red t-shirt and worn 501s. We five walk together back to the sanctuary where I am roughly helped back on the altar. The kid helps, and wearing a smile of adolescent evil, gives my left nipple a vicious twist as I am settling back into position. The restraints and ball gag are again applied . My cock, already nail hard after the boy's nipple attack, and I are ready for the next event.
I look carefully at the new boy. He is young, perhaps twelve or thirteen, barely into puberty, unless I miss my guess. I am not in a place where I should judge or be alarmed by anything, because here, so far, anything goes. Still, it troubles me that this beautiful boy should be made a part of this. Perhaps it is his remarkable physical similarity to me. He has dark red hair, an angular face and olive skin.
His eyes are dark with deep red hues and, like the Master's, intense and focused on my nakedness. His look is vaguely frightening and the memory of the nipple tweak make me flush in nervous anticipation.
Surprisingly, he speaks. His voice is oddly low, though his words are sometimes delivered with a preadolescent crackle. "Hello big brother," he begins, "I've wanted to meet you for some time now but never knew where you were or even if you were alive."
I do not have a brother. I wonder aloud if this is another of the Master's minions picked up perhaps from the Spanish Civil War and enslaved to his will, confusing me now with long dead family.
The confusion is yours, boy," the Master says, appearing again at my side. "He is your father's other son, sired with you mother's sister, your Aunt Emily, before his imprisonment and death . Emily was the pretty, sweet one, none too bright and scarcely able to defend herself when your father repeatedly raped her.
You were ten when your mother decided to visit your grandmother in New Orleans for a few weeks. Emily stayed with you so your father could go to work with the shrimp fleet. He raped her repeatedly every night he was home for the three weeks your mother was away. You listened through the door of the guest room and heard him brutally pounding her every hole but were too afraid to intervene, and enjoyed the violence too much to say anything. Perhaps the guilt you feel about getting your little boy rocks off listening, is one of the shameful memories you live with and an aspect of your drive to cause yourself sexually associated pain. I adore that part of you, of course, so many thanks to your auntie and your dear old dad."
I do remember the rapes of my aunt, of course, and I recall both joy and sorrow that it was her instead of me. It was listening at that thin door that introduced me to the pairing of pleasure and pain. To keep from yelling for my father to stop as I stood outside the door, I pinched the head of my cock to provide another focus for my fear. As I stood, listening, digging my right thumbnail viciously into my glans, I began to feel a tingle of pleasure acting in concert with the sensation of the nail. Soon the tingle, which I would come quickly to understand as sexual arousal, the path to orgasm, took possession of my cock. I looked down and saw the blood my nail had drawn from my cock head. That image and the continuous pain in my cock, paired with the screams from the bedroom, threw my body into its first orgasm. My little cock swelled and continuously spasa with pleasure, my blood coated hand instinctively rubbing it to the rhythm produced by the concert of my sexual organs. I do not feel shame, as the Master suggested, only gratitude that I have learned the perfect place of sexual pain in my pattern of arousal. Over time since then, I have earned that pain during sex is not impartial but serves some more willingly, more broadly than others. Why it chose to pair itself with my pleasure offers opportunity for your mistaken analysis rather than your appreciation or envy.
He continues, "the boy is twelve years old and is called Martin, after your father, and has, I believe, some of his more difficult attributes." Martin picks up his cue and says, "You weren't your father's only fuck toy, you know", his deep voice cracking. "When you ran away, the pervert turned to me. He used his dildos on me until my bloody asshole was wide enough to take him up to his balls. Lucky for me he got locked up that summer for your mother's murder and my asshole got a temporary reprieve. Temporary because by the time he died, I was already headed to juvie for tying up one of the neighbor boys and introducing him to dad's dildos."
"It's a sad story", the Master says, "but with a happy ending. I loved dropping in at the boys' reformatory and hanging out in the showers, watching newly fledged cocks have their first orgasms in your little brother's ass. How many was it by the time you agreed to leave with me, Martin? Fifty; a hundred? I certainly lost count, not that I didn't enjoy each and every one of your rapes, especially the ones by that beautiful Chicano guard, Emilio. That was a stunning final scene with him just before we left, wasn't it?"
Hearing his cue, Martin picks up the thread of the story. "As usual, he says, Emilio was supervising the showers. The other guard for our small unit of twelve to fourteen year olds knew he'd get a very long coffee break when Emilio decided it was time for the boys to practice their personal hygiene. As usual Emilio stood in the small dressing room as we removed our black coveralls and white underpants, hanging them on the pegs that lined one wall. 'Take your time boys,' he'd say, his voice deep and menacing, wrapped in a sexy El Paso accent, 'I'm enjoying the show.' When we were naked, we watched with awe and terror as he would slowly strip, retaining only his tightly packed white boxer briefs, his bulge the landmark we passed on our way into the showers.
As I passed, he wet his finger with mucus from his mouth and, holding me by a shoulder, shoved it up my ass, quickly and expertly finding my prostate to give it a practiced rub. Of course, I popped a little pubescent boner, even dripped a small measure of precum. It quickly disappeared down the shower drain when he gave my cock a hard slap. As he knew it would, the slap only served to make me harder, ready to take his huge dick in some part of my anatomy "
Martin continued, "The other boys were silent, anxious and fearful having seen the cock slap. Some had been in the showers with Emilio before, others were newly incarcerated, but had already heard the stories of Emilio's games. They were terrified about what was coming next and about the role each would play in the scene to be created today. Emilio was all about scenes, making sure each boy had a part to play, a meaningful contribution to his pleasure.
He turns all the showers on, steam beginning to soften the landscape of young flesh. The boys, damp and shiny from the moisture laden air, continue to wait as Emilio looks hungrily at their nakedness, water running down their torsos and pooling in their sparsely haired groins before passing into the drain. He makes eye contact with each boy, his sizzling looks returned by a curious few. "
Martin pauses, takes a deep breath and continues. "Never breaking eye contact, Emilio slowly lowers the front of his briefs, every boy's eyes shifting to the emerging enormity of his dark brown cock and balls. He motions the newest boy, just 13 over to his side and says, 'Finish it, little guy, finish it,' he says, grabbing the boy;s hand and moving it to his crotch, The boy, his face scorched red from humiliation and the heat of the shower, puts his hand under Emilio's balls and lifts the heavy package from its pouch. Emilio's cock springs lazily forward and rests on the boy's hand and the dense hair of his balls, skin slowly peeling away from the dark purple glans as his erection grows. "Hold it for your friend," Emilio growls, pulling a second 13 year old to his side. The second boy, terrified but with a puberty laden erection, begins awkwardly jerking Emilio off while Emilio grabs a third boy and pulls his face to his own, shoving his tongue down the boy's throat while pulling hard on the nipple of the kid's foreskin.
As always in these scenes, I am standing by Emilio's side where he demands I be, watching, listening and awaiting orders. They are not long in coming. He motions around the shower room and says, 'Go fetch the one with the biggest cock and bring him over here.' I look around the room, though I hardly need to. I am familiar with every cock in the place. There is a boy, just turned fourteen who is called 'Little Fritz'. He is a fair skinned pretty boy, small and thin, barely five feet tall, with a large hairless, uncut cock that appears out of place in the context of his diminutive stature. I take him by the arm and bring him to Emilio who releases the boy he is kissing and turns his attention to me and Little Fritz. 'Fluff him', he says to me, and I am immediately on my knees in front of Fritz. As I uncover Fritz' cock head, Emilio pulls both his nipples savagely, eliciting tight moans from Fritz. From the vantage point of my knees, I see that I have not just skinned back Fritz' cock, but uncovered a trove of cock cheese, aging for some previous few days. Emilio sees it too. In a flash, he scoops it onto his fingers and, abandoning the boys attached to him goes through the showers to the rest of the boys, rubbing some of the cheese under each of their noses demanding, 'don't even think of washing that away. I want to smell Fritz' funk when I smash my mouth into yours.'
He goes from boy to boy, tweaking nipples and sucking each tongue while inhaling the strong odor of Fritz' cheese.
Emilio is especially devoted to fondling the boys' attention starved packages and promoting young erections. In fact, including Emilio's, there are thirteen erections of all sizes in this steamy room, awaiting more attention, most tentatively stroked by their owners in anticipation of the next act. They do not have long to wait. I have remained on my knees in front of Little Fritz' smelly cock from which I have hungrily licked the remains of his smegma. I suck. His cock swells in my mouth and I eagerly anticipate the blast of his orgasm but Emilio pulls me away from him. 'That's going up your ass, boy. That young cum is too good for your mouth,' he growls. The kid's cock, now an angry red, pops from my mouth, bouncing with each beat of his heart. Emilio pushes me to the floor, to my knees, my cock and balls hanging between my thighs, my asshole puckered and ready. He pushes his tongue down Little Fritz' throat, sucking greedily and wetly. When both their faces are slimy and saliva coated, he pushes the kid down between my legs and says, "Suck his hole, Fritz, then fuck it when you've got it wet and ready.'
I am still trussed up on the altar with Martin, my brother, the storyteller, sitting next to me. My look pleads with him to finish the story, to help my hope and my arousal remain at their peak, waiting still for the Master to use me. The Master is behind my head out of eyesight, but I feel the intensity of his presence as my brother says "Very well, big brother. The Master nods his approval so I shall continue my tale of rape and revival."
Martin continues saying, "Little Fritz" face is between my ass cheeks now. I can feel the slick residue of his face time with Emilio as he searches with this tongue for my pucker. He finds it quickly and begins an exploration of its edges and beyond as well as he can, his tongue made hard with its boyish muscles. I relax as much as possible and allow him to explore almost an inch into my hole, pushing my ass into his face in a thrusting, grinding motion, my enjoyment and arousal increasing exponentially as his sucking and prodding intensify. "Fuck him now, Fritz. Show him that your big cock is attached to a tough little man, not the hairless little boy you appear to be.' Fritz positions himself between my thighs and pushes his beautiful dick into my well lubed hole with a single thrust. He cums with a high pitched moan after a single thrust. Emilio pulls him aside and kneels at my ass, sucking what must have been a half cup of fresh boy cum from my asshole. I continue to kneel because I know there is more to come, that Emilio has just begun this scene. Emilio rises and repeats his circuit from boy to boy, this time sharing his mouthful of cum and anal mucous with each boy, shoving his face and tongue into each in turn as boy after boy accept his gifts with no apparent objection."
Martin turns to me and says, "Oh, how I wish you'd have been there big brother. It was an orgy you might have appreciated, especially when Emilio made each boy take turns at punching his balls. His balls were huge with a dark scrotum and he loved to have them beaten. Let me show you" Martin garbs my balls with one hand and begins to punch them savagely with the other. The Master beckons and the hitchhiker comes over to the altar and rolls my foreskin over his two middle fingers, pulling and stretching the fragile skin, rendering a burning sensation as he pulls the tissue to an unnatural thinness. I scream and the Master puts his left hand in my mouth, stifling the noises that come from me and lighting my mouth on fire from his touch. "Yes boy, he says. My touch is the fire of life and not for the faint hearted. Are you enjoying it?" I cannot speak and can barely nod, but god, am I enjoying it. I am on fire from my face to my cock, while my balls join the inferno as they are pounded relentlessly. Can it get better than this?