The Neighbour Part 3 of 6 By Ruthless@nbnet.nb.ca MM/m rape
DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of erotic gay fiction. It is about a man getting sexually assaulted by other men. If you are underage or if you are offended by stories like this, please do not read it. But if you read it and have any comments, criticism, questions or are missing any of the parts and would like me to send them to you, the author would be happy to hear from you at Ruthless@nbnet.nb.ca
Nick intervened, "I wanta go back to the house."
Harry looked over his shoulder at his friend.
"We gotta tie him up again. I wanta go back to the house." Nick repeated. "Gimme the gun and get him roped to that fence again."
"You do it." Harry was sullen.
"Alright." Nick reached down and grabbed me by the wrist. He hauled me sideways onto my face. Straw prickled my cheeks and my mouth as he picked at the rope behind me. He kicked me. He kicked the bale. I cooperated. Nick pulled me sitting onto the bale again.
"Pull my pants up." I said feebly.
Nick paid no attention to me. I didn't get a chance to make a grab for my clothes either. He kept hold of the rope on my wrists and used it to drag them to the railing. He pulled it taut, yanking and twisting.
"Farm-boy, you are just meat to us now, you hear?" Nick told me. "You are just a hole to be fucked, when we want to fuck you. You are nothing, not even shit." He gave a savage yank on the rope as he tightened the knot.
The afternoon had been passing while I was tied there and it was ten to five. I knew what time it was from habit and I knew what to expect, but the men didn't. I never really registered the sounds just outside of the barn because they were familiar and the two men didn't register the sounds because they didn't mean anything to them. Then, suddenly there was a great dark shape in the barn doorway and the clack of heavy feet on the concrete sill. Harry whirled around with a yell and let loose with the shotgun.
The gun boomed. The cow bawled. I screamed. "Don't shoot my cows, you bastards!" I tried to stand up and jerked up hard into the rope holding my wrists against the rail.
"Ahhh! Fuck!" Nick howled. "It's a cow, Harry. It's just a cow!"
She had turned around and stamped back. I think it was Broad May. I couldn't see. There was a chorus of angry and indignant lowing. I heard them milling about and thudding the ground. One of them bawled again. Grey smoke, acrid curled down below the rafters.
"That's my cow...!" I sobbed.
"Keep those fucking things out of here!" Harry swore viciously. "Keep them out!"
"They've got to be milked." I groaned.
"They got to be turned into hamburger." Harry exclaimed.
I was pretty sure he had missed. I think he had squeezed the trigger as he brought the gun around and the shot had gone into the air. But I had a vision of him going out there and shooting the herd, wantonly and viciously, of him pumping the slugs into them and the image had my eyes wide in hopeless horror. Harry ran out. I heard him hitting the cows with the shotgun stock.
"Get out of here, you stupid animals!" Harry bawled. "Go on! Get out!"
I looked at Nick. He stood with his face twisted as if he couldn't decide whether to be angry or amused.
"Now you've got to go." I said. "Somebody will have heard that shot. Somebody will be coming."
"Man, we are not so fucking stupid." Nick said. "This is the country. All you dumb farm boys got shotguns and go out shooting with them. Nobody's going to come here because they heard a shot. There ain't nobody friend to you close enough to have heard that gun go off. And if there was, they wouldn't pay no attention." He walked in close until he stood above me.
He slugged me in the side of the face. My head rocked back. While I was stunned he turned around again and followed Harry out of the door.
"The stupid things keep trying to go around me!" I heard Harry yell.
"You gotta get them locked up behind a fence." Nick answered him. "Shit, can you believe how stupid this farmer is, letting his cows wander around loose like this? He didn't even have the sense to put them in a field somewhere..."
Their voices died away, but I still heard the protesting bawls of the cattle. The sound of the heavy hooves and bovine voices stayed close. I realised that I could hear them behind the barn now and knew that Nick and Harry had driven them into the enclosed paddock behind the barn. But after the cows were behind the barn instead of loose out front, the men didn't come back. They had decided to leave me alone for a while.
I was hurting so much I couldn't tell exactly where I hurt and how. Pain seemed to be vibrating through me. I sat bare-assed and wet assed and cursed the rope. Tied, I was helpless. Tied, I had to hope and pray that the two bastards who had invaded my farm, would turn merciful and go to the trouble of letting me free. I didn't think there was any way they would.
I didn't want to think about the pain in my butt and in my arms and the sick cowardly clutch of terror in my guts. I thought about my neighbour.
Peter Wilson had been living on his father's farm since May. Years earlier we had played together as boys before he had gone away. It hadn't been until his father died that he had come back. And he hadn't come strolling over the fields that separated our two farms to drop in and see me.
I had been in town, climbing out of my truck when I had frozen, one foot on the road and one foot on the floor of the truck. I had stared at the wide shouldered man walking down the sidewalk. It was May eleventh. I remember that; a warm day, but he had been wearing a red jacket. I hardly saw more than the back of him, but there was something about the set of the sturdy man and the brief glimpse of his face that had screamed, Peter! in my head. He looked quite a lot like a younger version of Kaspar, and of course, I know everybody who lives within fifty miles around here by sight. I knew instantly that it was someone that I hadn't seen for a long, long time.
I'd gone into the Rusty Spoon and sat down. Noel Stobbs was sitting beside me. "I thought I just saw Petey Wilson." I said hesitantly.
"Could have done." Noel had remarked. "You hadn't heard he's been back?"
"No, I hadn't." I shook my head, mesmerised.
"Come a couple of weeks back. But he don't talk to no one. That young fellow's turned out mighty big. But he's like his old man. Not inclined toward company at all." Noel had looked at me curiously.
"He's living along side you and never come over to say Hi? Didn't the two of you used to play around lots when you were both small?" Noel shook his head. "He's right into himself, that one. Couple of times folk have stopped him to say Hi and ask him when he came back, but he won't stay to talk. Just comes into town and does his shopping and slips out again."
"I didn't know."
"Not a good neighbour to have." Noel commented. "You need a man, you can have an easy word with from time to time. Someone you can rely on to keep an eye out for your back fields." He shook his head again and then he changed the subject. "Want to drop over and see our June? She's been asking after you."
June was his daughter, six years older than me, with two kids and no husband.
"No, thanks." I slid off the stool. "I've got to be getting back. But tell June I said Hi."
Way back when, when Peter was a small boy and I was even smaller, we had used to play together every day. He had been the only kid living within fifteen miles of me, so we would most likely have played together, even if we hadn't hit it off well, But the way I remember it we had been firm friends together, despite the difference in ages. I had been his little sidekick.
It was a long time ago. It probably wasn't important to Peter now. It probably had mattered more to me, than him, because I remember moping and missing him for over a year after he was gone away. He'd gone to the city and would have had all kinds of neighbours to play with, but I had had to play alone after he was gone.
The barn had been our playground in winter or when the weather was bad. If I looked up, high into the dusty rafters, I could see a bit of rope still dangling from one of the beams. We had swung on that rope, in the tradition of farm kids, back and forth, a pendulum, squealing. Petey had always been bold enough to swing higher than I had. Sometimes we had swung each other, one clinging to the rope, the other racing underneath and pushing. Sometimes we had jumped from the loft using the rope, a sickening moment of free fall, an abrupt jerk and then the delicious sensation of flying.
Petey had liked animals. He had lain of the edge of the farrowing pen, scratching the back of one of our brood sows with a stick. The sow had grunted comfortably and Petey had flashed delighted eyes at me, while he scratched patiently away. Old Kaspar seldom kept stock. He wasn't good with animals. He had stopped keeping pigs after one day when he had lost his temper and shot his own brood sow. So Petey had come over to play with our animals.
"You think I could ride your cow?"
"You could try." I had been doubtful.
"I can get up using the stall." I had watched Petey climbing steadily up the side of the wooden partition. There had been only one difficult moment, when he had had to transfer his weight over the gap between the top of the partition and the cow's bony back. Like a monkey, he had done it.
The cow had jerked. I still remembered the explosive billowing of her black and white side. I had stepped back sharply. Then, slowly she had ambled out with Petey clinging triumphantly to her back. "See! I can do it!" He had hissed. The animals were used to us darting harmlessly about. The cow had never been ridden before, but Petey was light and she had had no objections to it.
"Ow! Her back is uncomfortable." He had wriggled about.
In the yard, she had stopped.
"Giddiap, Cow." Petey nervously had prodded her flanks gently with his sneakers. We both knew enough never to do anything that might really hurt any of the animals. Being up on her back was going quite far enough. Nothing had happened. Nothing whatsoever. The cow had stood there in the paddock and stood there and stood there.
"How are you going to get down?" I called up.
"I dunno..." Petey had admitted. She was a long way up. He could have slid off, but he was higher up than I was tall and the paddock was both muddy and full of stones.
I had walked around the cow a few times. "What do you want me to do, Petey?"
"Could you lead her back into the barn, Ian?"
"I don't think so. I can't usually make her go." I had tried but I had not been able to.
It had been my father, forty-five minutes later who had rescued Petey, lifting him down, concealing a smile in his moustache. "Better stick to animals that are saddle broken, Boys." He had advised us.
Probably Petey remembered those days differently. The last time we had seen each other we had had a fight.
I didn't usually get to go over to Petey's farm. His father didn't want him having friends around. But Petey had not come over that day. I guessed it was because his mother had gone away again, and so I had set out by road to go and see him myself.
I had carried two freezie-pops. They were white freezie-pops, cream soda flavoured. One of them was for Petey and one of them was for me. They had been frozen hard when I set out but liquid before I met him part way along the way, coming to meet me on the shoulder of the road.
I don't remember much of what was said. "Do you think your Mom will ever come back again?" I'd asked. I don't remember what the fight was about, but I do remember that Petey took my freezies and he knocked me down. I remember being sprawled back crying on the gravel of the road, with wet spots from the freezie that Petey had snatched out of my hand soaking through the legs of my jeans, while he stood with a scowling face above me.
The next day the RCMP had come and taken Petey away.
My mother had explained it to me. Usually you don't explain things like these to kids. But I had taken Petey's leaving very hard and I thought it had had something to do with our fight. She had told me that it had been the other way around.
I've heard the story as an adult, of course. Everybody knows everybody else's business eventually in these parts. I understand what happened better now than I did then. Back then, you've got to remember, the police didn't usually lay charges in domestic violence cases until the victim was dead.
The RCMP had been to see Mrs. Wilson while she lay in the hospital and she had asked them to get her something for her from the Wilson farm. She had told them what she wanted. So the day after Petey and I had our fight an RCMP car had driven up to the Wilson farm and two officers had told Kaspar Wilson that they had come to take his son away. Kaspar had told them that they couldn't take his boy. And then Sgt. Duggan had said that unless Kaspar gave them Petey they would arrest Kaspar and press charges of assault, because when he had punched his wife so that she fell off the stairs, she had broken her back. Either way, with Kaspar in jail or out of it, they were going to take Petey to his mother.
There had been other boys to play with at school. I saw them during school hours. But Petey had been the only buddy in my life. Only now that he was a man living on the farm next to mine again, he had forgotten or didn't care that we had once been friends.
End of Part 3 of 6
The Neighbour Part 4 of 6 By Ruthless@nbnet.nb.ca MM/m rape
DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of gay fiction. In it, a man is raped by other men. If you are underage or if you do not like material of this nature, please do not read this story. If you have any comments, criticism or questions you would like to share with the author or if you are missing an instalment and would like me to send them to you, you are welcome to contact the author at Ruthless@nbnet.nb.ca
Nick and Harry came back before the barn grew dark. They didn't say too much to start off with. Nick went around and climbed into the calf pen. Harry grabbed my ankles and pushed them back. He pushed my knees into my face. From behind me, Nick took a grip on my ankles and held them above my face. Harry unzipped.
"Fuck him with the shotgun, Harry!" Nick yelped.
My arms felt like they were ripping. I grunted with pain. There was no point asking for mercy. There was none. Harry clutched the back of my thigh as he guided his prick into my exposed asshole. "Yaaah! Time to play with the fuck toy!" He exclaimed. Then his prick was splitting me open and I was gasping for breath as he pounded it dry into my torn opening.
Punches slammed into my arms and my ribs. Nick caught me by the hair and twisted my face back. "Want to suck my prick, Turd? Beg me to suck my prick!"
They had more stamina this time. It was their second go and they had exhausted their interest in ransacking my farm. I was all they had to amuse themselves with. It could have been worse, because I didn't catch too many blows in the face and they didn't fist me, but they both fucked my ass again and I got given their spent pricks to lick, sagging and bitter with cum and mucus.
"Beg to suck that prick, Faggot! Come on, Fish, you want it!"
They broke the bale underneath me. They pulled a fistful of my hair out, trying unsuccessfully to smack my head against the calf pen railing. They left irregular purple bruises down the side of my body. My cheeks were wet with cum and with saliva, spat out of Harry's twisted sneering mouth.
"You gonna cry, Faggot? How about it? Or do you like being our cum bucket like this?"
"He'll cry if I cut him." Nick said.
"Yeah, do it! Do it! Use the razor!" Harry urged him.
"You want the razor, Shitface?"
"No." I said. "I don't want the razor."
"Nah. He don't get the razor until we're finished fucking him. I don't want to use it yet." Nick said to Harry. "Wait." Nick smiled at me.
They put a gag in my mouth, made out of part of a towel and tied in my mouth with a piece of the nylon rope. It was an effective gag. I could get a little air around it, if I didn't panic, but I couldn't make much noise. They kicked me in the belly and I couldn't breath. Dark swam in my eyes like sinking underwater.
"See you in the morning, Fuckhole! We'll be ready to give your ass another reaming then." Harry said.
"Remember my razor." Nick whispered. He switched off the lights.
They left me for the night in the barn, with the sound of my restless cattle behind the building. My breathing evened out again and the pain from the punch in my belly became another ache to join the dull fires of soreness in my body. My dry tongue stuck to the gag. I was bitterly thirsty. I had gone since morning without food or drink. I had to kneel now that the bale was broken. I waited on my knees, with numb hands, because there was nothing I could do except wait and see what happened. I shivered in the dark.
The sky was pallid and the light still lingered with the deeper colours of early morning, when I heard the sound of a vehicle engine on the road below slow down and then pull into my driveway. I had been in a half doze, almost dreaming, almost asleep despite being on my knees. Now I strained upward, pulling frantically and listening.
Either someone's come to see me, I thought, or at some point during the night I slept, and they took one of my trucks out. I was pretty certain I hadn't slept and missed the sound of my truck leaving the yard. It had to be someone else. My breathing began to race. I waited for the sound of a shot.
No sound came. It was only a few moments after I heard the distant dull thud of a truck door slam, that he walked into the open doorway of the barn and stopped short at the sight of me.
It was Peter Wilson, come back to my farm at last. I strained towards him with a frantic jerk. The gag muffled me totally. I screamed at him to run, to get out of here and call the RCMP. He understood none of the faint muffled noise I made. His eyes set on me fixedly and I think he blinked. A whole half-minute passed before he started to walk slowly across the concrete gutters towards me. It was a long half minute, in which I knew Nick and Harry could be piling out of the house.
I was in the crucified kneeling position again, pants furled at my ankles, arms wide. There was no way I could communicate the danger to him, by gesture or by sound. I jerked, attempting communication futilely.
If I was a woman, I thought desperately, he'd see at once that something was wrong. But the sight of a guy exposed and roped didn't seem to clue him into the sinister aspects. He's thinking I'm here in some sort of a kinky game!
Peter came right beside me and squatted. Our eyes were meeting. His were pale grey with arched brows and minute scars around them that had never been there before. "Are you alright?" he asked calmly.
I shook my head violently, NO.
He reached up unhurriedly and with careful fingers found the knots in the cloth. He pulled on them first, then finding that they would have to be picked, began to work at the knots. I was desperate to warn him that there was danger. I could do nothing.
I had to wait until the gag was loose. My eyes darted from side to side. He moved around to reach behind my head. I ducked it forward so that he could reach more easily. In another second it was done, but by then it was too late.
Both Nick and Harry were standing in the barn doorway. Harry still cradled the shotgun in his arms. The gag fell out of my mouth. I sucked a huge lungful of air.
Peter Wilson said it again, "Are you okay?"
Nick said, "Hi, Pete."
Peter Wilson stood before he turned around. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? I'm trying to live in this neighbourhood now, you know." His voice held irritation. He looked back down at me.
Nick laughed. "The little faggot here decided to offer us some down home country hospitality, Pete. Wait 'til you see him giving head!"
I vomited. My empty stomach clenched. A mouthful of bile rose up and I let it drop. It rose up like the horror and anger and feeling of betrayal, but when the bile left me the horror did not go. The shudders went through me. Nick and Harry were friends of Peter's. I had no hope of getting help. Peter, who I had played with as a kid, was like them.
"Don't he look an inviting picture?" Harry crowed.
"Yeah," said Peter. "He does."
"We've fucked him so many ways we don't have no juice, no more." Nick grinned. "How about you, Pete?"
End of Part 4 of 6