Devil Dawg Donnelly

Devil Dawg Donnelly's

Standard disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people or actual events is purely coincidental.

You may contact the author at ulfr57@gmail.com All comments, suggestions and/or observations are welcome if presented respectfully.

Please support and donate to the Nifty Archive!

Part Twenty Nine:

"This all sounds like the plot to some sci-fi movie" Carl McGregor mused idly, as his eyes searched the faces of the people that sat around the wooden picnic table in the back yard patio of the Donnelly residence.

He noted silently to himself how Max stared off thoughtfully into the woods, obviously contemplating/absorbing everything that had just been imparted by Elizabeth Dunne at the insistence of her son Jason after his conversation with Max concluded about half an hour ago.

Thankfully, after that conversation, JD, Jake, and Timmy decided to hang out in his room affording Jason some privacy as he confronted his mother.

Jason now sat across from her at the table, the expression on his face stony and blank, his eyes two glassy daggers that bore right into his mother demanding nothing less than the absolute truth.

Elizabeth gave up that truth under the cold icy glare of her son, her own eyes cast downward staring at fidgeting fingers, unable to make even the briefest of eye contact with her offspring.

Hank Bauers sat at the far end of the table staring diligently at Jason, his own face running a gambit of expressions as he seemed either unable or unwilling to take his eyes off of him.

Carl had never met Bannor Griffen, but from Hank's reactions, it was obvious that his son was the spitting image of his sire and judging by the account Elizabeth had just detailed, tracing back the history of what all she had done to conceive her son using his fathers adapted DNA, it was clear that Hank was struggling to differentiate between the man he grew up with and the seventeen-year-old boy that sat just a couple of feet away from him.

There were several occasions, Carl could see Hank fight and resist the urge to reach over and clasp Jason's hand or perhaps just to touch his arm as the young man grilled his mother for answers, answers that obviously troubled Jason from time to time as he tried taking it all in.

There were several times Max interjected and halted her alliteration, steering her away from revealing things Carl understood Max knew the boy wasn't ready to hear, mostly about the Heritage, or more specifically about what happens or will happen upon his eighteenth birthday, something Carl also realized wasn't that far away.

It didn't surprise Carl at all when Max put a halt to their conversation after she finished recounting the method of his conception; it was obvious to everyone, maybe even perhaps Jason himself, that there were far more details than she was revealing, but it was clear that Max shared, at least for the moment, her trepidation in revealing too much.

Even to the casual observer, despite whether she may have wanted to disclose more or not, Max now controlled this conversation and his mere presence was a substantiation that every word that exited her mouth were cautiously crafted and meant solely to satisfy Jason's need to know more about his paternal parentage and nothing more.

"Perhaps this would be a good time to cease this conversion..." Max said, raising his hand in a supplicating motion preemptively halting any protestations Jason may have had of that notion before Max continued: "I know you have more questions Jason, but I think it's best for all concerned..." looking first to Jason and then to his visibly shaken mother and even to Hank, who was still reeling from Jason's physical presence and proximity before adding: "Maybe it would be a good time for everyone to take some time to absorb everything that was just said before we get too far ahead of ourselves."

It was obvious from Jason's body language that he had a lot more he wanted to say to or ask his mother, but one glance into Max's gaze and Jason backed down.

Carl knew what Max was doing, the air around them was charged with his pheromonel presence, he doubted that anyone of the Heritage would have been able to resist his slightest whim let alone a full-on command from him at that moment, he could only speculate how it must be affecting Elizabeth, the woman's attitude had changed completely now, as she acquiesced to every directive Max made of her.

There was still fear in her eyes, but that fear was more out of concern for what her son was thinking and feeling right now, a concern that showed on her weary face and in her red watery eyes.

Carl could feel the waves of apprehensive dread radiate from her as she tried repeatedly to meet her son's solemn glare, her inner turmoil bubbled to the surface written in every crevice and line of her facial expressions, her lips trembled in nervous anxiety as she fought to formulate words that might assuage the mounting tension brewing in her offspring and in the end she just sat there, silently fumbling with her folded fingers on the table before her, wishing that somehow she could rewind the events of the day and whisk her son away from all the pain, anger and angst that now subsumed him, the pain she had caused by the plethora of secrets she had withheld from him.

Worse of all, it wasn't just the disapproving glare of her son staring back at her, but the haunting memory of her lover Bannor Griffen that now glowered back at her through him.

One resounding thought pulsed throughout her consciousness, Bannor would have despised what she had done, he would have felt just as betrayed as she now knew her son must feel, which was now reflecting back at her through eyes that matched his fathers almost perfectly.

Almost absentmindedly her hand reached across the table to touch her sons, a subconscious effort perhaps to plea for his forgiveness and understanding, one hopeful gesture of reconciliation that was dashed away as Jason's hand recoiled from hers to disappear under the table as his gaze turned from her, rejecting any form of comfort or affection from her.

She watched through pleading eyes as her son rose from the table and asked to speak to Max alone for a few minutes.

An uneasy and wary pall washed over her as she watched the two chat together, just out of earshot; she bristled at the thought of what they could be discussing, consumed with dread at the frequent, heated glances cast her way from her son until they finished their conversation and Jason disappeared into the house through the back door and Max returned to the table to reclaim his seat at the head of the table.

"Give him time Elizabeth..." Max said, his voice calm and collected, both soothing but firm at the same time: "This is a lot for him to take in and he's going to need time to process it all." he concluded, eyeing her speculatively, waiting to see if she would make a response.

"I can't lose him" was her only counter, her voice barely a whisper, full of anguish and loss before adding, managing to briefly meet Max's gaze: "He's all I have left in this world."

"That's not true!" Hank Bauers interjected abruptly his left hand reaching over to cover her clasped hands laying on the table in front of her, his eyes reflecting the compassion behind his words.

"All of us cared for you Liz... Bannor's father and the rest of us would have taken care of both of you, we would..." Hank's voice trailed off as she pulled her hands away from his, her eyes locking on him: "How would you have done that Hank, all of them but you are dead now?!" the timbre of her voice cracked whip-like, full of accusation and defiant innuendo.

Hank's eyes grew wide in dismay and stared back at her as she fumed: "Bannor's father, like you and the others, would have filled his head with bold tales of his father's valor and honor, you would have led him down the same path Bannor was duty-bound to undertake with little or no regard for the damage you all leave in the wake of your never-ending pursuit of your Heritage."

They all watched silently as fresh tears streamed from her eyes to wash down her face, her voice breaking as she vented her anguish and trepidation's: "I sacrificed everything I knew and loved at the time to something I wasn't even allowed to be a part of..." her words grew more heated, her face a scowling, contorted grimace of mixed anger and sorrow: "Bannor was the love of my life, the only man I've ever loved as a matter of fact and he'd still be here now if it wasn't for his sense of duty to the Heritage."

"It was you and his father and the others that took him from me, ripped away any life we ever could have had together..." her voice softened as she began to brush the tears from her face before firmly concluding: "What I did, I did out of love for him..." she paused momentarily, turning her head away from Hank to stare defiantly at Max: "I wanted Bannor to have the life he could never hope or dreamed of because of what his father and those of the Heritage and that stupid fucking Codex of yours demanded of him!"

Max glowered back at her and for an instant she swore she caught the bright blue iris's of his eyes flash brilliantly before he leaned across the table, his gaze drilling right into hers, boring into her consciousness, his presence subsuming hers, whatever will she had left crumbled into dust as his deep guttural voice practically growled at her: "And exactly what have you done to make such a thing happen!?" Max demanded as all eyes now turned on her expectantly.

Elizabeth Dunne gulped involuntarily, realizing in her grief and anger how she had just unwittingly allowed herself to be manipulated into laying too many of her cards on the table, revealing more than she had ever intended to ever be known to anyone but herself.

She felt the walls that guarded her deepest secrets melt away under the scrutiny that was the unrelenting onslaught of Max Donnelly's will.

She felt small and insignificant in his presence; Bannor and his father had marginally made her feel that way at times, but compared to what she faced now, it paled in comparison and it was at that very moment, with every fiber of her being now filled with an unabating dreadful realization of who and more importantly what she was facing, that now caused all the blood to drain from her face in disbelief, as she was barely able to utter the words that came grovelingly past her quivering lips: "You're him aren't you!?"

As if in answer, the universe seemed to blink out of existence as his presence filled her, she felt like a drowning swimmer caught in a whirlpool whose overpowering presence filled her and was pulling her inexorably down into the deep murky depths of nothingness, there was no fighting it, she lost all control of herself completely to him as he slowly brushed aside every fiber of resistance, willing her to expunge her innermost thoughts and secrets to him, before it all became too much for her and the darkness claimed her and awareness faded behind the thinly veiled walls of self-control and determination into blissful unconsciousness.

"Don't worry about it, I'm sure my Dad won't mind if you spend the night" JD said, sympathetically to Jason, who now sat on his bed beside him, holding his hand tightly in a gesture meant to show support and comfort.

It was obvious to them all, Jake, Timmy, and JD, that Jason was struggling emotionally and mentally with his mother's revelations as the startling events of the afternoon and evening had unraveled the long-held secrets that were now rattling the foundations of his life to its core.

"It's not all bad news..." Timmy Anderson offered, sitting on the floor smiling haltingly at the handsome classmate he knew only sparsely from school, whose eyes now darted to his own, his face a questioning grimace, one that unspokenly conveyed his dismay, wondering how things could possibly get any worse.

Timmy only smiled warmly back at him, his gaze only reflecting the warmth and sincerity behind his handsome cherubic visage: "You at least now know who your father is."

Jason took that in for a moment, as he felt JD squeeze his hand reassuringly before a faint smile broke across his face.

What Timmy said was true, something he had long pined for and dreamed of since he was a small child had finally been, if not belatedly and begrudgingly revealed to him.

"Bannor Griffen..." he whispered as if saying his father's name aloud for the first time might invoke his presence in the room or bring back some distant, long suppressed, or lost memory he had somehow forgotten. But that was just it, he hadn't forgotten his father, he had never known him and that thought alone now welled up inside him, bringing pangs of sorrow, regret, and anger, anger most of all, anger that he could only direct toward one person now, his mother.

Max Donnelly had filled in the gaps earlier, telling him what he knew of his father and revealing to Jason how he had lost his life years before Jason's conception.

He had also told him about Hank Bauers and Russel Whitmore, the man he now knew was the father of his classmate Baxter Whitmore, best friend to his boyfriend JD's older brother Billy.

He now knew they had served alongside him and were there the day he had lost his life in service to his country, him and several others that served under him in his squadron, that his dad, in fact, had been a Sergeant in the Marine Corp, all truths his mother had kept from him.

There were so many unanswered questions that now swam around in his mind, but for now, he was trying his best to suppress them, he just wanted the comfort of JD's touch, he wanted nothing more than to curl up next to him on that bed and feel the warmth of his body next to his, to take solace in his comforting embrace, to silence the raging fury, building like a snarling beast within him, one he now needed desperately to contain, one he knew if unleashed could do untold damage to everything and everyone around him.

He had faced this monster before, to a lesser degree than this and he had always managed to control it, though he had vague, distant, and surreal memories from his early childhood of uncontrolled rampages unleashed during moments of childish tantrums.

They had always seemed to be disembodied nightmares that had only incurred in his dreams, but now he couldn't help but feel that there was more to it than that and his mother's revelations had unlocked the cage door to something he had suppressed since his childhood.

"Ya know..." Jake Bauers spoke to him softly, breaking the internal turmoil going on inside his head: "My Dad has spoken about yours for as long as I can remember, they grew up together, went all through school, and even joined the Corps at the same time."

Jason just stared at him as his imagination tried to picture the two together, fabricating shared childhood experiences and youthful camaraderie, from sleepovers to combat training, ever by each others side, facing and challenging the world together, a lifetime of fraternal companionship ending abruptly on the streets of Iraq in an explosion that would forever separate them from each other.

Jason's imaginative tour of his father's life ended when Jake offered up something he hadn't even thought to consider: "My Dad has lots of pics of him and Bannor together..." Jake paused briefly, sensing the rage building within the young man start to subside, just as he hoped it would by distracting him with the potential of more positive possibilities to dwell upon.

From the moment he met him, Jake knew there was something different about Jason, and until now he couldn't quite pinpoint what that difference was, but what he was sensing building within Jason staggered the imagination; he knew that Jason was only seventeen, knew he hadn't undergone his Heritage ceremony, yet, if what every one of Jake's senses was telling him now could be trusted, Jason was mere moments away from invoking what only one who had undergone the ceremony was capable of doing and if he couldn't distract Jason now, calm him down and get himself under control, then he knew he would have to get both JD and Timmy away from him as quickly as possible, they were too young and naive, to understand or cope with such an event.

Jake knew, if he couldn't calm Jason down then he'd have to get the boys out of there and fetch Max as soon as possible, he was certain, despite all his formidable skills and training, he wouldn't be able to constrain him for very long.

As Jake continued to verbally engage and distract him with the hopeful potential of actually seeing visual proof of his father's existence, Jake felt the rage fade within him, but it was odd, it felt artificial, like throwing a damp blanket over a raging fire, a simple bandaid over a gaping wound to constrain it temporarily...

"I never really paid too much attention to those old pics, but I know my Dad has a photo album packed with them" Jake concluded, leaving Jason to ponder the significance of seeing visual proof of his father's life through the shared experience of someone who had been so close to him.

Jake was thankful when JD interjected, pointing out that Hank had said that Jason looked exactly like his Dad, he watched as Jason's eyes lit up and took JD in his arms, hugging him close, he breathed a sigh of relief as he sensed all the rage fade from Jason's consciousness to be replaced with an almost overwhelming affection toward JD.

It was at that moment that Timmy tugged at Jake's arm, his beautiful blue eyes beaming enthusiastically before positing in his most bubbly lilting tones: "If Jason doesn't want to see his mother right now, why doesn't he come with us to the compound for the week?"

Both JD and Jason stared questioningly back at him as Jake reached over and ruffled Timmy's curly golden blond hair: "That's actually not a bad idea, it would give you plenty of time to talk to my Dad about your father"Jake mused.

For the first time that evening, a smile spread across Jason Dunne's face especially when JD added: "We could talk to my Dad, I bet he'd let us both go, Billy and Gavin are going and so are Timmy and Jake."

Jake snickered mockingly, cocking his head, grinning ear to ear: "I'm going as an instructor to help my Dad to train a bunch of Marines how to kick some serious ass..."He paused briefly, his eyes narrowing into a sardonic sneer before concluding: "I'm sure we could include you too and whip you pansies into shape in no time!"

They all laughed as Timmy batted his eyes at Jake exaggeratedly: "The whipping sounds kinky will we be doing that before or after we go skinny dipping with all those hunky Marines?"

A gentle nighttime breeze blew through the loft window of the cabin at the Devil Dawg Compound, the soothing sound of crickets accompanied by croaking bullfrogs, a choral lullaby that aided in the slumber of Brock Grysinski who slept peacefully encompassed in the arms of Atticus Walker.

Atticus lay there beside him spooning his companion, his massive fourteen-inch dong still fully embedded balls deep inside his slumbering lover, pulsating and throbbing.

They had been fucking for hours until Brock finally succumbed to exhaustion.

Atticus continued to lay there motionless. allowing him to sleep undisturbed as his large callused hands continued to caress the soft flesh of his muscular, hairless body, marveling at the nearly blemish-free pale skin and the sheer sexual stamina of the man he had taken as his companion.

He couldn't help but be impressed that someone not of the Heritage, could have endured such a relentless pounding, and even though Atticus knew he had still needed to hold back the full force of the passion he was capable of unleashing, he still marveled he had lasted as long as he had, while simultaneously realizing that he should not have been able too at all, leading Atticus to the invariable questions of how and why?

Atticus didn't have the answer to either and as he lay there whimsically waxing rhapsodic as he inhaled the musky, masculine perfume of his lover's skin, he caught the familiar scent of someone who he was certain would know...Danal Cornelius.

It was late at night, Atticus guessed roughly around midnight or shortly thereafter, most of the camp was most assuredly fast asleep except for those standing guard, but he also knew that Danal often would rise late at night to walk and contemplate, usually ending in a few hours of quiet study at the reliquary located in the ceremonial grounds.

Unlike Brock, all the sex had only invigorated Atticus and after having caught Danal's scent, he reasoned now was as good a time as any to have a long conversation with the compounds Green Father and perhaps get a few answers to not only Brock's surprising sexual stamina, but how and why had Danal and Max thought pairing one of the Heritage with someone who wasn't, stood any chance of enduring, knowing full well, such couplings seldom, if ever worked long term.

He had trusted Max this far and was the sole reason why he had agreed to undergo the Coaptandas with Brock, but just having spent nearly forty-eight hours with him, and knowing, despite his surprising endurance thus far, it was still well below the full capacity he or any other born of the Heritage would expect from a mating expected to last a lifetime, no matter how attracted those of the Heritage were to the scent of honey and freshly dug earth that emanated from men like Brock, he now suspected there must be more to Max and Danal's reasoning than they had revealed thus far.

Atticus slowly shifted his weight as he eased the full embedded length of his cock from the confines of Brock's cum sloppy hole, he still thrilled at the feel and sight of the clinging swollen and distended lips of his rectal ring around the shaft of his thick member.

Despite the fact Brock still slept soundly, his hole clung and sucked hungrily at the girthy club as it withdrew, clinging to it like a suckling babe desperate to feed, pulling the sticky gooey flesh of his abused hole along with it, until the bloated orifice was distended inches from the round melons of his muscular buttocks.

With one final yank of his hips, Atticus's schlong plopped noisily from the suckling maw which instantly clamped shut like two swollen, pursed lips.

Atticus was surprised at how cleanly that hole had sucked the juices from his extricating appendage and though it was still shiny and slick, the copious amounts of fuck juices he had ejaculated into it had been suckled neatly from it, and the sight and scent of Brock's still gulping twat brought a nearly uncontrollable primal urge from Atticus to plunge back in and renew his assault on the orifice.

He resisted those urges, fought them down, and caged the primordial beast of his animalistic cravings, struggled to contain his almost instinctual need to at least bury his face between the palpitating lips of the near vaginal-like folds of his bloated rectal tissue.

His mouth salivated uncontrollably at the mere prospect of devouring Brock's pussy, desiring nothing more than to slip the full length of his tongue deep into the inviting depths of his twat and fill his mouth with the puffy folds of his gooey cunt, to suckle, feast and orally ravage Brock's sweet honey pot.

With one final snarling grunt Atticus leaned over and kissed the pulsating lips of Brock's puffy pussy, allowing the tip of his tongue one single swipe before he stood, turned, and descended the ladder steps of the cabin loft, vowing silently to himself to return and reclaim his prize.

Atticus didn't even bother to dress, he and his men had acclimated to being naked around each other after their usual evening swims in the cleansing cool waters of the compounds lake.

They were proud warriors and men who were now growing accustomed to shedding the contrived pruriently modest conventions of modern civil society; during the day they donned the garb of fighters and combatants and trained tirelessly to hone their skills as a cohesive fighting unit, working as one to face any possible assailant or contingent brought to bear against them, but at night, they were brothers and comrades with little need or desire to placate the feigned sensibilities of puerile prudish oppression.

To Atticus and his brothers, there was nothing more freeing than an evening run through the woods of the compound, nothing more liberating and natural than a return to their primal roots, racing and romping adorned only in the vestments they were born to wear as they bonded in fraternal camaraderie.

As he opened the door to the cabin and exited, shutting the door behind him, he felt no sense of false modesty as an on-duty, fully dressed in his desert camo, Barin Young snapped to attention beside him, taking little regard in his lack of attire other than the sly crooked grin and playful glance at the still deflating but swollen and slickly wet appendage that swayed like a fleshy pendulum, side to side against his hairy muscular thighs.

"Resume your post private" Atticus growled, without so much as a sideways glance at the sandy, golden-haired youth before he darted off at a jaunt toward the cobbled path that led toward the ceremonial grounds.

As the cool nighttime air brushed against his hirsute body as he ran, he gave himself a mild rebuke for allowing his possessive bestial nature to snap at the young Pfc. now standing guard back at the cabin.

He knew it had stemmed from the young Marine's obvious arousal and attraction brought on by his proximity to Brock and the alluring commingled scent of honey and freshly dug earth with the overwhelming pheromonel aroma of their coupling, it was a minor thing not worthy of such a jealous response.

It was equally obvious, that Brock was affecting him more than he had previously allowed himself to consider as well.

He knew what Brock was, he understood through the Codex the connection their two groups once shared, but until now he hadn't considered himself capable of such primal responses over someone not of the Heritage, such possessive urges only came as a response from a full merger to ones mate.

Atticus had never heard or known of anyone born of the Heritage to achieve such a thing outside of it. He knew a mate wasn't chosen, it was a natural development based almost solely on the hormonal chemistry between two mutually attracted members of the Heritage.

Yes, he had been attracted to Brock, anyone born of the Heritage found men like Brock's scent alluring, but he had always understood that to be mere sexual attraction; throughout the centuries his kind have often gratified themselves with their availability, most of them were naturally submissive toward them and easily seduced, but their physical frailty precluded any full coupling associated with mating.

Yet here he was, bound to Brock via the Coaptandas and though the rules of the Codex that addressed such a pairing and now afforded Brock full access to the privileges afforded to those of the Heritage, Atticus had never imagined it would also lead him toward thoughts and desires reserved to those naturally mated, evidenced once again by the elongating tumescence of his phallus at the meager recollection of their fornication.

Atticus needed answers, not only to salve the burning doubts within him but to assuage the fears that his mounting desires might unwittingly unleash if he were to lose control of himself while in a heated moment of coupling with Brock, potentially causing him irreparable bodily harm.

That thought alone was more than enough to warrant him seeking this late-night council with the only person remotely available to address his concerns.

As Atticus shortly found himself entering the Reliquary, having barely broken a sweat from his run there from the cabin, he quickly located Danal, who hardly took note of his presence as he sat stooped over the large center table pouring over the content of the large ancient tome he knew to be the Codex.

"I find it odd that you would be out on an evening constitutional unaccompanied by your companion..." Danal noted bemusedly, glancing only briefly up from the text he had been immersed in, only to grin broadly as he openly ogled a naked hirsute Atticus Walker: "Unless of course he grew bored with your immature fumbling's and sent you in pursuit to educate yourself with someone more adept in the fine art of fornication."

Atticus chuckled lightly at Danal's playful barb as he joined him at the table, taking a seat on the small wooden bench opposite his elder.

"Brock rests comfortably back at the cabin, I didn't want to disturb his slumber, he needs the rest to regain his strength if he's going to survive his first day of training tomorrow." Atticus imparted, choosing not to take the bait and exchange jabs in casual, familial banter.

Danal's gaze returned to the pages of the book, having noted the somber seriousness that seemed to distract the young Marine seated before him: "Knowing Hank Bauers, I doubt he'll make it here before noon leaving you plenty of time to have a nice morning round of vertical exercises with Brock before our guest arrive."

"Actually Green Father I wanted to speak to you alone without him being present." Atticus stated getting straight to the point: "I have a few concerns that have come to light as a result of our pairing."

The tone of Atticus's voice coupled with a timbre of distress and the formal use of his title of Green Father drew Danal's focus away from the ancient passages he had been studying.

Marking his place with a slither of suede leather and closing the book, he turned his full attention on Atticus, indicating with a nod of his head for him to continue and querying: "What's troubling you son?"

Atticus paused for a moment, taking time to consider how to frame and convey his rambling thoughts and fears into a cogent supplication: "I do not want you to think that I'm questioning Max's suggestion that Brock and I bind ourselves to each other through the Coaptandas, I understand his desire to bring our two groups back together in the hopes of fixing the bond that was severed by the Progenitor with the inception of the Codex..." Atticus took a deep breath, locking his gaze with Danal's, hoping in some way his eyes could help impart the trepidation's mounting in the recesses of his mind: "But doing this with someone like Brock has somehow started to make the primal urges of my Heritage to rise within me with the same expectations that would do so with someone else born of the Heritage."

Danal held his gaze, as his right-hand reach across the table to cup the side of Atticus's face and stroke his cheek gently, like a father comforting a small child in distress."You fear the compulsion to mate will overwhelm you and you will cause bodily harm to Brock?"

Atticus fought the urge to cast his eyes downward, as his face flushed with the sudden feeling he was somehow embarrassing himself like an inept teenager traversing the awkward path toward manhood, a fumbling virgin in the throws of a first-time experience unable to distinguish love from lust; but those doubts faded quickly with Danal's poignant response.

"Max and I suspected this might inevitably happen, but we never dreamed it would do so this quickly, Brock must be truly exceptional, either that or we have greatly underestimated their kind"

Danal's words piqued Atticus's interest, a myriad of questions formed randomly in his head, swirling a cacophony of suppositions and potentialities within his consciousness: "Surely you're not suggesting that a full mating is possible between Brock and I or for any of the Heritage with their kind?!"

Having spoken the foremost question that surfaced first to his mind, he nearly chuckled at the ridiculousness of the notion before he shivered at the thought of such an outcome; Brock was truly exceptional for what and who he was but as things stood, there was no way such a thing could even be remotely thought possible without serious injury or even possibly worse...

That thought most of all made Atticus cringe as the feeling in the pit of his stomach made him suddenly nauseous.

Danal sensed the sudden rise of panic well up within the youth, he could smell the fear mounting, inexorably driving his thoughts to dark conclusions, forcing Danal to take the only action he could to stem the tidal flow of tsunami-like proportions of hysteria building within Atticus; he slapped him...hard: "Get a hold of yourself pup, or I'll fetch a rolled-up newspaper and tan the hide off your snout!"

More than the blow, Atticus's recoil at Danal's reproach nearly knocked him off his chair, but his actions had the desired effect, Atticus recovered his composure, centered his thoughts, and quelled the churning beast within his belly as he bowed his head in supplication to the Elder.

"That's better" Danal cooed disarmingly as he ruffled the short spikey auburn hair on top of Atticus's head.

"Your concerns are valid Atticus, but it might interest you to know, there is a solution to your dilemma, we just expected we had more time for it to take effect."

Atticus stared back at the old man quizzically: "I've read the Codex cover to cover multiple times, I've never read 0f such a thing being possible" he said dubiously, but as respectfully as possible.

Danal's hearty laugh reverberated off the stone walls of the great room of the Reliquary: "The some of our knowledge is not limited to the Codex silly boy" he smiled almost gleefully at Atticus as he stood and walked over to a wooden rack that held a plethora of scrolls and books, selecting one and spreading it out before them on the tables wooden surface.

"This document is almost as old as the Codex itself, it was written by one of Brock's kind and clearly outlines the steps he and his mate took to overcome the disparaging inequities inherent in their physiognomy." Danals eyes grew mirth-some and thoughtful as he absentmindedly scratched his short grey beard, raking his fingertips through it repeatedly: "The Coaptandas ritual has already started you down the right path with the passage and exchange of blood between you, that is what binds you now and is probably why you are more acutely feeling the tethering bond between you."

Atticus scowled thoughtfully burrowing his thick heavy brows in concentration: "So all we need to do is wait until it takes full effect, will there be changes in Brock or maybe the both of us in some way?"

Danal shook his head: "It's Brock's physiognomy that will alter to adapt to those of the Heritage."

Atticus frowned at the suggestion of Danal's response: "Does that mean he will become potentially compatible with anyone from the Heritage?"

Chortling suggestively to himself, Danal reached up and patted Atticus on the back: "Yours and his blood has bound the two of you together, he will not seek to mate with someone else, although..."

Atticus steeled himself, not liking the sound of that "although" finding that it annoyed his somewhat possessive disposition seemed to amuse Danal.

"You misunderstand Atticus" Danal giggled: "what is needed you are already doing, though I fear that maybe it will take longer than you may have before you are no longer able to withstand the compulsion to fully mate with Brock."

Atticus was beginning to grow impatient, he dreaded such an outcome and pressed Danal for a solution to the dilemma, sensing the Elder might have a viable alternative that might speed the desired outcome.

"What am I doing that is helping the process and what do I need to do to quicken the pace?" he asked in consternation to the potential response.

Danal's smile broadened again: "He is already attuned toward you, now all that is needed is for him to absorb as much protein-infused Heritage DNA until the process is complete."

Danal jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow: "The best part, it doesn't have to be exclusively your protein-enhanced DNA to accomplish this."

"Sperm!?" Atticus fumed, glowering incredulously back at a wickedly grinning, mischievously mirthful Danal.

"And lots of it" Danal guffawed, barely able to contain an outburst of riotous laughter.

Atticus groaned audibly: "That's gonna be a problem, it's only been forty-eight hours since we've started and already I can feel the struggle of holding back, I fail to see the humor in any of this."

Danal tried to stifle himself, he could see the genuine concern that consumed his charge: "That's because you're not listening to what I said" Danal stated, emphasizing his point by jabbing the bony fingertip of his right hand at Atticus furrowing forehead: "It doesn't have to be exclusively yours, anyone from the Heritage can help supplement the absorption rate."

Instantly Atticus bulked at the idea, readily rejecting any notion that he should allow any outsider to mount Brock.

Danal held up his hand to halt his protestations: "I am certain Max would not mind, considering the circumstances, if you selected one from your squad to claim as your own, allowing you, in turn, to direct his actions, after all, doing so would make your causes his as well and just so you know, I didn't say he had to fuck him, feeding will suffice."

Atticus drew silent as he considered Danal's words, such an action had been previously unthinkable to him, but with Billy's approaching ceremony and the justifiably heralded changes in his and his men's status that that event entailed, he now felt compelled, by the expediency of his need to secure Brock's safety, to reconsider.

If what they knew came to pass with Billy, it was only a matter of days before he would never second guess taking such an action necessitated by the natural order such a change afforded.

Danal shot him a confident look: "Something tells me you already have a viable candidate in mind"

As his newfound resolve swept over him, and his growing need to protect his potential mate subsumed any reservations he once held, Atticus growled his response: "Your not wrong Green Father" before he pivoted in an about-face and double-timed back toward the compound.

In half the time it took him to traverse the distance a short while ago, Atticus found himself coming to a halt at the double steps leading up to the porch of the compounds singular log cabin, where Pfc. Barin Young stood motionlessly at ease guarding the entrance to the cabin.

As Atticus climbed the steps to the porch and approached the five-foot ten-inch golden-haired Pfc, he snapped stiff-armed to attention, chest out, chin held high, belly tight and legs locked and straight, butt clenched.

"Report private" Atticus barked as he came to a full stop less than two feet in front of him.

"All's clear Corporal" came the familiar retort, made only slightly unusual by the deep Texan drawl that had often enticed some playful jabs and barbs from his teammates.

"At ease private" Atticus said, far more softly than his initial command.

As the youthful Pfc. relaxed into his normal parade rest position Atticus inquired: "Is there someone on guard duty back at camp private?"

Barin shot him a quick quizzical look before responding: "Affirmative Corporal."

Atticus ignored the questioning look, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the private was wondering if this was some sort of test since it was common knowledge that there was always someone on guard during the night back at the bivouac.

"Good" Atticus shot back at him jovially, adding: "Then there's no reason for you to be standing here all alone is there?"

Again, Barin shot him a quizzical look, not sure exactly how he should respond or even if he needed to respond at all.

"The Green Father ordered us to keep guard so no one would disturb you and the gunny this weekend."

Atticus noted the hint of a decidedly wicked grin at the corners of the handsome, pug-nosed, squared-jawed Pfc.

"Danal's no Marine private, I think that what you meant to say was that he suggested y'all do that instead ain't that correct?" Atticus's tone was more suggestive than commanding, which he fortified by winking at the private.

"Affirmative Corporal" Barin answered, the grin on his face broadening slightly.

Atticus smiled back at him: "Ya know what private, I think I feel like a swim, how's that sound to you?"

"Sounds like a plan Corporal" Barin chuckled, wondering what had spurred the more playful banter now transpiring between them.

"Strip private" Atticus commanded, his tone leaving no doubt there was nothing playful about his order, and as he started to unbutton his camo blouse Atticus quickly added, this time obviously teasing: "You don't expect your Corporal to go swimming unattended do ya private?

"Wouldn't dream of it Corporal" came the beaming toothy smiled response as Barin rapidly began shucking his fatigues, slowly revealing the condition hardened golden furred flesh of a battle-ready Marine, bulging with striated muscles rippling in the moonlight with each successive movement.

Just as the last pair of boots and socks came off, Atticus bolted toward the lake, shouting over his shoulder: "Last one in washes the others back."

Despite his obvious head start, the smaller yet not so diminutive Barin was right on his heels in seconds.

It didn't escape Atticus's notice that the speedier private maintained his rear position as they both dove for the water in near-perfect unison where they splashed and swam playfully for the next fifteen to twenty minutes before dragging their dripping wet bodies from the cool crystal clear waters up onto the small wooden pier that extended out into the lake.

Without hesitation, Atticus turned away from the young Marine and headed for the grass-covered shoreline, yelling once again over his shoulder at him as he did so: "Follow me private."

As he came to stop a short distance from the banks of the lake he turned to face the golden-haired private, standing fully erect, chest out, chin high, legs apart in a combat-ready stance: "Come at me Marine with everything ya got" he barked, his deep southern raspy Kentucky drawl making it sound more like a commanding guttural growl.

With barely a glint of acknowledgment from Barin's golden brown eyes, he launched himself furiously snarling at Atticus's muscle swollen legs.

Atticus almost beamed with pride at the ferocity of the private's assault, his tactics were sound and almost perfectly executed, something that was only attainable by diligent and repetitive self-discipline and adherence to training.

If nothing else, Barin showed him his constant barrage of combat training had been grilled almost instinctively into every movement the private made.

He could only imagine how great they would all improve under the tutelage of an expert like Hank Bauers and his son Jake.

It was with no small regret he countered every move Barin made, the kid had heart and he knew for a fact few among them wouldn't have been hard-pressed to best the tenacity of his unrelenting assault.

But Atticus was on a mission, he had a point to prove and now found himself reluctantly not only countering Barin's attacks but wearing him down until ultimately bringing enough force to bear to overcome his defenses, which led inexorably to his pining Barin down on his knees, Atticus powerful forearm locked around his throat as his knee dug into his spine the young Marine finally relented. tapping his free hand against Atticus shoulder, signaling and acknowledging his defeat.

Atticus released his hold and stood up, his chest still heaving from the effort, his body glistening with a thin patina of sweat that made the thick hair of his body cling wetly to his flesh.

Barin fell forward catching himself one-handed extended from his torso before hitting the ground, his other hand rubbing at his neck, soothingly massaging away the after-effects of Atticus's effective chokehold.

Still, on his knees, Barin turned his head toward him an indication that he would soon recover, that he suffered no pervasive deleterious effects from what he had assumed was yet another training bout.

Atticus towered over him, his legs shoulder-width apart his arms folded over his chest as he now glowered down at Pfc. Barin Young.

"Submit!" came the unexpected booming command snarling past the thick broad lips of his team leader, accompanied by waves of pheromonel emissions compelling him to comply.

Slowly Barin pivoted on his knees, his head bowed as he rested the twin globes of his hairy muscular ass on his back haunches, almost instinctively spreading his legs to expose his vulnerable belly and genitals as the almost palpable glare of Atticus Walker bore down on him until he heard himself whimper signaling his compliance.

Barin knew from his own studies of the Codex, that submitting now to Atticus meant he would forever share his fate, but Atticus was strong, worthy in his own right to claim any of those who trained under him and Barin knew most would consider themselves fortunate in being where he was right now, on his knees forever surrendering his choices to the man he had grown accustomed to calling team leader.

He knew what was expected of him now and though he had paused to consider his fate, he now decided to embrace it as he inched forward on his knees until he knelt at the feet of Corporal Atticus Walker team leader of the newly formed Devil Dawg compounds security task force.

"Look at me" Atticus commanded, his voice as solid and demanding a presence as the formidable strength contained in every fiber of his physical being.

Barin slowly, cautiously tilted his head backward, until his eyes locked with Atticus's hazel colored gaze, he felt the will drain from his body, subsumed by the compulsion to obey the man towering before him, a man as resolute and solid as anything he had ever encountered in nature, a force he felt was equal to any challenge set before him, one he would share, even if only vicariously if Atticus chose to do so.

"Open your mouth" came the booming third command as the dauntless resolve of Atticus's vision bore into him supplanting his will with his own.

He watched as if in slow motion as Atticus hefted his massive limp phallus in his huge callused, hairy knuckled hand and placed the slightly exposed tip of his foreskin encapsulated glans against Barin's lower lip.

"I claim you as my own from this day forward, my will is your will, my fate your fate, drink and accept my burdens as your own"

It started as a dribble and Barin quickly wrapped his lips around the tip of Atticus's dong so not so much as a single drop of Atticus's pungent bodily fluids dripped wastefully to the ground, a task made more difficult as his stream grew to splash relentlessly against the back of his throat.

Sensing Barin's dilemma, Atticus brought his right hand to rest behind his head and forced more of his member into the suckling, gulping depths of his mouth until the girthy length of his prodigious endowment thudded against the back of his throat, smashing his uvula snuggly against the delicate soft tissue right below his nasal cavity,

Atticus grunted above him as he smiled wickedly down at him releasing the full force of his streaming piss, nearly overwhelming Barin's capacity to swallow.

Determined to make sure that didn't happen Atticus grunted again and stuffed the remaining length of his flaccid bloated phallus into the tight entrance of his esophagus, effectively blocking the portal with his meaty prick as the relentless onslaught of his hot acrid urine poured unencumbered down into his stomach.

Barin gulped and sputtered, his head locked firmly in place as Atticus added his second hand to grip his head firmly in place as he deluged his tonsils in the pungent tsunami of his hot wiz.

"That's it Marine drink it all, take every last tasty drop."

Barin didn't think Atticus would ever stop pissing, he struggled uselessly to extricate himself at times as the massive flow of piss threatened to overwhelm him and spill over into his windpipe, his chest gurgled noisily several times as he coughed up the acrid flood threatening to drown him.

After an interminable length of time, the flow began to lessen and become more manageable, and Barin found himself wondering if it would ever completely end, thinking the man must have the bladder of a horse to contain such quantities, and as the flow ebbed into a trickle Barin was sure he had swallowed nearly a gallon of Atticus's urine, which now weighed heavily in his stomach making him feel bloated and full and more than a little queasy.

As Atticus finished, he eased the tightness of his grip on Barin's neck and allowed him to back away until only the head of his cock was resting in his oral cavity as the last drops of piss dripped onto his tongue to be whisked away by his undulating tongue to join the rest in the pit of his stomach.

Barin thought the worse behind him as he dutifully swirled his tongue around the now exposed glans, cleansing it of all traces of his tart bitter piss.

He was taken a little by surprise when Atticus ripped his dong from Barin's suckling mouth and patted him on the head.

"Good boy private, now get on your feet and follow me as I explain what your number one duty will be from now on."

Barin wasn't sure how to take that exactly, but he had come this far and he knew that the belly full of hot piss that sludged around inside him marked him as Atticus's to any within the Heritage just as assuredly a male dogs piss marked his territory, he was now tagged by his team leader.

As he stared at the stalwart muscle rippling back of his leader he couldn't help but ponder what duty he could possibly perform that warranted his personal attention, but whatever it was he hoped it afforded him at least some alone time to relieve himself of the massive load built up in his balls over the last couple of days doing guard duty to the adorably cute and attractive Brock Grysinski.