DECONSECREATION
CHAPTER 7
"Can it get better?", a rhetorical question at best, is already answered in my head. Of course it will get better, more violent, more pain and more love. I remember the Master's promise in the dreams that first bound me to him. I remember those hot Louisiana nights, thrashing in my sweat drenched bed, images of the coming times, his terrible love and my destruction.
Now my my young, beautiful, enraged baby brother has my balls in his fist, demonstrating what he and his friends did to Emilio, his guard at juvie. As he punches and twists, my cock dances, fully engorged, to the tune of his story. I need to touch myself, even for just a moment, to relieve the unbearable preorgasmic tension, but my hands and arms are strapped to the altar. "That cock needs some relief, huh, big brother? You need to learn to cum, like Emilio, from just the pleasure of my fist. Oh yes. We punched his balls, a dozen boys, two dozen fists, taking our turns and listening to his shouts of pain and pleasure. We could see his balls turning black and blue as we punched and he jacked himself to the tune of each blow, foreskin flying over his big red/brown cockhead, precum drooling from his slit each time it was uncovered. When it was clear that he would soon shoot, the other boys began to gather around his face, jacking themselves in the same rhythm. They shot on his face one by one as I continued to punch his balls and he began his preorgasmic moaning, culminating in an insane shout and an enormous cumshot that drenched his face and the heads of the boys gathered around pumping out their own loads on his face. I am last to cum. I hold Emilio's swollen balls in my right hand and, using a great gob of cum from his face to lubricate my hairless, deformed cock, which has ejaculated just twice before this, I rub myself to orgasm."
As this part of his story ends, Martin takes a break from pounding my balls. I take a deep breath and enjoy the residual ache, the Master and my brother watching as my face relaxes into aching contentment. "I brought him here," the Master says, "with the promise of a life filled with giving and receiving pain and I don't think he's been disappointed thus far, have you Martin?" Martin slaps my cock hard, punches my balls again and spits in my face and says, "Yes Master, you and your little Nazi friends have certainly given those needs an unexpected home. Getting to smash my big brother's nuts is icing on the cake. I know you said that you would fix my cock, and perhaps I will ask you to do that one day. Right now, it functions as it should and, frankly, looking at it fuels my rage. And life in this place is all about rage, isn't it, Master?"
"Ah", the rumbling voice of the Master replies. "I suspect you're old enough to hold on to your rage now, no matter what happens, but have it your way, boy, and we'll watch and wait. We have eternity, you know. That gives you a very long time to live with that thing. I've got an idea though. Why don't you show your dad's handiwork to your brother. He really appreciates art and enlightenment." Since he came in with the German boys, my brother has kept his shirt and tight 501s on. There is a noticeable bulge on the left side of the crotch so I know there is something appreciable there, something deformed, he said; our father;s handiwork, the master said. My brother slowly unfastens the top two buttons of his 501s and I see the base of his dick and a light sprinkling of fine blond pubic hair. He pulls his shirt over his head, exposing a boy's hairless chest and small brown, erect nipples. Walking toward my face, he pauses at my perfect cock, slides the foreskin slowly over my glans, and continues to pull the skin down as far as it will until I yelp in pain through my gag. He is a wiry but strong little fucker and he retracts my foreskin until my rigid cock has no more give except pain. There is a terrible burning in my foreskin, progressing in intensity to the connection of skin to cockhead where it feels like the two will surely begin to separate if the pressure doesn't abate. I moan but he doesn't let up, focused intensely on the pain in my eyes, a look of terrible pleasure on his face.
If you've ever had a clothespin attached to your body and then removed, you'll understand the feeling when he released his grip. An intense rush of pain flooded my cock and then began to ebb with relief as my foreskin rolled back over the corona of my penis. Martin leaned over and carefully lapped up the pool of precum in my navel as he retracted my foreskin again. Then he bit my cock. His little teeth locked the head of my cock in a living cock cage, pressure and pain intensifying as his jaws tightened on the area that had so recently been the source of all that taunt agony. His teeth penetrated the skin and I was sure he would continue until he severed my glans. But he stopped, his mouth and my cock covered in blood. He moved to my face and kissed me, my blood and precum mingling in our mouths as we eagerly sucked each others tongues. "Now you can see my cock, brother," he says and unfastens the last buttons of his jeans. I saw the base of his cock, as I said, and it looked like any other cock. Now as he pops the whole erect organ out of this pants, I see with nauseous empathy the burden he carries. His erect cock appears to have been circumcised, but after a terrible fashion. I know very well that there is scarring after circumcision, generally a dark area below he glans where the cut was made, but here are dark areas of scar tissue running the length of his shaft, primarily on the left side. Some of his skin seems to be missing; there are white spots where it appears tightly attached to his exposed shaft, causing the whole thing to bend severely to the left. And I suspect he has more growing to do. The whole thing, if it was straightened out can't be more than five inches and the men in our family are given to big dicks. The curve will worsen as he matures, I suppose, as the attached scar tissue remains unyielding to growth. I'd bet he'd be sporting something resembling a horseshoe by then.
"Pretty little thing, isn't it," my brother says. "I was born when father was away fishing and, unlike every other white boy in Louisiana, I wasn't circumcised at birth. By the time he noticed, it was too late for Medicaid to pay for it and he certainly wasn't going to spend his beer money on my healthcare. I came to love to play with my super long foreskin. I'd sit on the toilet with my little boy erection, peel it back and admire my inner foreskin which entirely covered the length of the shaft. I had no idea what was going on but I knew my cock was beautiful and felt great when I rolled it's foreskin up and down. I was eleven and already headed for jail when I had my first productive orgasm. Again, I had no idea. The head of my little four inch cock turned a bright swollen red and my first cum was a projectile that shot massively across the bathroom, covering my father's bath towel and much of the floor, as I watched in the midst of the most amazing feeling I'd ever had. I was enjoying my last spasm when my father started pounding on the door, yelling, 'get your ass out of there you piece of shit so I can take a shower. You think I don't know what you're doing, you little pervert? You're gonna have a long time in juvie to jack off. Now open the goddamn door before I break it down.' I tried to open the door cautiously but as soon as I turned the handle he threw the door open and me into the wall. I sat on the floor dazed, my jockeys around my ankles as he came at me."
"Look at this mess you little fuck, I'll show you where a cum shot belongs and it ain't on my towel."
Martin says, "I knew what was coming. There was always rage to justify his fucking me. He wiped some of my cum off the floor and lubed his mushroom headed cock with it before shoving it up my hole in a single thrust. He fucked me with a white hot rage, reaching around me and grabbing my hard little cock and balls to twist as he fucked. I pulled away with all my strength. His cock popped out of my as with a slurping sound and he began to dribble cum all over the linoleum as I scrambled for the door." He screamed, "You ruined my orgasm you dickless retard. I know how to fix you and your endless holing up in the bathroom, playing with yourself, making everybody else wait until you've done your filth."
"He threw me against the wall again. My underpants were still around my ankles which he grabbed and twisted into a knot. He held me upside down facing him, heedless of my screams and writhing. He pulled the filet knife he used for gutting catfish from its scabbard, and using two fingers, grasped the nozzle formed by my foreskin. He yanked and cut as he dropped me, taking two inches of my foreskin off in an instant. It was a ragged cut, painless for a moment, then agonizing. He grabbed my ankles and held me aloft again, like a pig being bled out at the butcher, and inspected his handiwork. Then he dropped me, covered in blood from my cock, to the bathroom floor and walked out of the house, yelling for my mother to come tend to me."
"My mother saw him wiping off his knife, then me, bloody on the floor and knew he had hurt me badly. Ascertaining where the injury was, she wrapped a towel around my penis and took me to the home of a neighbor, a creole woman who had healing powers and had treated many of our neighbors who could not afford medical care. Using iodine and a kitchen knife made red hot over the stove, she cleaned and cauterized the areas of ripped skin, stopping most of the bleeding. Then, after applying an herbal salve, she set about my cock with her needle and thread, trying to put the ragged edges in some sort of order. Lying on her kitchen table, I propped myself on my elbows to watch her work. Perhaps I thought it would distract me from the pain. She had my mother stretch my cock out toward her so she'd have both hands free for suturing. I could see a torn edge of inner foreskin still attached to my cock head then nothing but the white, bloody inner shaft covering for a couple of inches. The remaining shaft skin had retreated to the base of my cock, as if fearful of another attack."
The woman talked to my mother as she worked, "I've done some cuts on boys and men in my time, when their little things didn't work right, but this one takes the cake, yes it does. This boy is going to have pitiful privates when he grows up no matter how good we stitch this thing, so I hope he finds himself a woman who don't see too well. But I'll tell you, that man of yours is some piece of work. I know them shrimpers would as soon take a knife to you as fuck you. Looks like he did both to this boy."
"The burning pain in my cock encompasses the entire organ. The sewing needle passes again and again through the tattered remnants of my shaft skin. The iodine she applies in her slow progression adds additional layers of agony. She talks to me as she works, 'Your dick ain't ever gonna be the same, boy, you know that. But you take good care of it until you heal and it'll be just fine, you hear? It ain't gonna be pretty, but it'll work just fine.' She continues her stitching. Lost in agony, rage and shame, I lose track of the number of punctures she makes. She bandages me after applying more of her salve and tells me to come see her every day to reapply salve and change the bandages."
"She gives me some of her poppy extract and I sleep at home despite the pain and my fear that my demon father will return for me again. Just at dawn, I awaken to pain and terror as the kitchen screen door bangs shut, certain that he is home after drinking all night and will come for me again. Our dog, Baby, has crept into bed with me during the night and hits the floor with a thump as I struggle through pain to get the bedclothes off. I'm afraid the dog noise has attracted his attention. I don't know if my body can stand a drunken fucking again this morning. The dog is scratching and whining at the bedroom door, certain to attract the attention of whoever is on the other side. The door is thrown open, hitting the dog who screams in pain and runs out. He stands, or more accurately leans, in the door. I can smell his breath, the odors of cheap whiskey and sweet red Cajun wine, permeating the atmosphere of my bedroom."
"Well, well", he slurs. "Looks like somebody got themselves a band-aid. Ain't that real nice and tidy. Come over here and let your old dad take take a better look at my surgical skill. Not every boy got a pop who'll fix him up like I did. And not even a 'thank you'. Ain't that gratitude for you."
"I don't move except to scrunch further against the head of the bed, whining like the dog when he takes a strap to her. My asshole is still bleeding a little from his last assault. I wince and push further against the bed board, fearful of the inevitable event now unfolding. If only he'd pass out from the booze."
"Little whiny tittie baby. You 'fraid your pop's going to hurt you," he says. "You know better, boy. My dick slides up your ass like they was Siamese twins, born together, flesh attached to flesh. Now get those legs up before I find some new ways hurt you. And by the way, you know what the best part of fuckin' your skinny little ass is? I'll tell you. You're afraid of me son, and nothin' turns me on more, nothin' in this world. Yes sir. So whine like a dog some more. Get your old daddy hot and hard.
"He comes at me holding his eight inch, mushroom head cock in his hand, waggling it at me, its one dripping red eye aimed in my direction. As I try to squirm into the woodwork, he grabs my feet, pulling them apart to expose my bloody brown pucker. He's on me in an instant, holding my legs open while he probes for my hole with his cock. I can feel his mushroom head at the gate and I try to let go my fear and allow him entrance. Despite my efforts to relax, I scream from the pain as the huge head pops into me, seemingly stuck in my intestines, like a dog's knot, as he begins his frantic thrusting. The bandages on my cock redden as the enormous cockhead stimulating my prostate gives me an erection and my stitches start to seep blood. He holds me to the bed with his left hand on my chest and squeezes my cock with he other, his hand coming away bloody. Still pounding me rhythmically, he leans forward, his left hand on my sternum, threatening to stifle my breathing, and rubs the blood on my face. He puts the hand in my mouth, fucking my face with his fingers, cursing in English and Portuguese and covering my face and chest in spittle as he pounds my ass and raves nonsensically. Finally, with a final thrust that I can feel all the way to my esophagus, he comes, grabbing and twisting my puffy little boy nipples and blithering in an erotic language of his own."
"Spit my cum out of your ass boy," he orders,as he lowers me to the bed, his voice a low and dangerous. "Let me see what I put in you. Come on, push it out here in daddy's hand so I can feed you properly. Your prissy ways don't fool me. I know your mouth is as hungry as your ass."
"I flex my battered ass muscles as best I can, thinking that maybe he'll leave me alone if I try to do his bidding. I let go of what seems a river of cum, mucous and blood which he deftly catches in his hand. I know where it's going. He pries my mouth open with his left hand and pushes his right into my mouth, the stuff from my ass mingling with the smell on his hands of the fish he cleaned yesterday. I gag as he forces his fingers down my throat and he says, "Don't you vomit boy or I swear you'll eat that too."
I don't vomit and he finally lurches away, searching for something else to drink. I leave through the back yard and take my bloody cock back to the herb woman who does her best to clean up the mess our father made, restiching as best she could. She knows I'm due for incarceration soon and tells me I can stay in her back shed until I have to go. She says. "You gotta stay away from that man son, or you won't have any dick left. Keep to yourself back there. I'll feed you and look after your healing as best I can until it's time to go. Then it's up to you and the state of Louisiana."