A Piercing Aquaintance

Reader discretion is adviced, this story contain graphic content depicting violence and rape which may not be suitable to all readers. This is a fictional story and do not portray real events or real persons.

Slave Paul was in the black wrap skirt, with stockings clipped to a lacy garter belt, still wearing his high heels; ass up, upon his knees, at the end of the bed, belly on the pillows. 

’’Crisco is the best! But this Vaseline will have to do.’’ Hameed said to slave Paul, as he used both hands to run three fingers on each side, knuckles deep, in the anus gape, sliding back and forth vigorously.

Master Charles stood at the peephole and watched the scene; rather enjoying it, as the slave’s hairless, white, shiny, hole; visibly relaxed, and looked to be ready for a golfer’s chip shot. 

Hameed had his trousers down around his ankles; and, tugging at the anus with his hands, and between poking his hard cock in and out, he’d take Lee’s first replica black dildo, and stir it around, balls deep, which would make the boy grunt and cry out.

Hameed had such a furry ass and legs it appeared to Master Charles to be ape like. The contrast was hot to Charles and he got a hard-on looking upon it. 

Hameed dipped his hand into the jar and with another dollop of the lube inserted his hand to the thumb, and told the boy he was going to enjoy what comes next. He with drew; and balling his fist he slowly pushed upon  the gape; and, Master Charles could see it was still too tight, particularly as slave howled in pain, but Hameed, with no small amount of pressure, forced his hand up into the boy’s greased ass hole mid wrist. 

‘’This must be your first time, ‘eh?’’ 

At this, Master Charles, first with his boot kicking, then knees, and finally shoulders broke  through the sheet rock fast enough to exhibit his whole form, looming upon them where the clock once ticked, to Hameed’s shocked face; and, so startled the Muslim, he couldn't free his hand from the boy’s ass, because his fist was still balled up, like a monkey caught stealing a banana.

‘’Mother fucker! That’s mine — can you not read?’’ Referring to slave’s tattoo.

He jumped down into the room as a clap of thunder, and still wearing the brass knuckles, marched to the terrified man and pummeled his face, worthy of Mike Tyson — Hameed, still unable to remove his fist.

Slave for his part, shot cum, rope after rope, just as the man collapsed, bloodied and brain damaged, upon him; and, unconscious, Hameed's arm being shoved with Master Charles’ boot, his hand finally slid out with a pop limp; to slave’s mind, reminiscent of Kang.

‘’Take those girly cloths off, and wash up; use Hameed’s cloths; and I’ll be back in a minute.’’ Master Charles commanded.

Slave Paul noticed with some wonder that Hameed still had an erection. With out knowing why, slave wiped lube from his still gaping ass hole and proceeded to masturbate the unconscious man’s hard cock; and, within a few strokes Hameed ejaculated such that the 8 inches creamed and creamed, covering the boy’s hands, webbing the skinny fingers as a duck’s foot. 

Master Charles walked into the bound hotelier’s bedroom and pulled a multi-tooled knife from his pocket.

Master Charles was without doubt these two knew all about the carryings on of Hameed and where the abductees were being taken. 

‘’I won’t ask a lot of questions; but, you’d do well to answer those I do ask, as best you can.’’ 

The leather clad assailant said flatly, as he played with the plier device upon the tool.

Slave still looked a bit girly when Master Charles walked back in; though the boy had dressed in  the bigger man’s clothes. He’d washed his face but couldn’t get all the makeup off, and he’d tied  the belt in a knot to keep the pants up — and, he still wore the heels since, as he told his Master, they fit better.

Master Charles took the keys to the Buick from slave’s new trousers, and they set off to Tampa. Master Charles didn’t like leaving his Harley, but driving 6 hours on that Harley with his slave wasn’t something he’d do when he had a more comfortable alternative. 

He’d left a report of the events upon the motel’s front desk for the police; but, fearing a police assault in Tampa would result in the children being killed, he didn’t inform them. He took all their cell phones and warned the police not to allow the three Muslims a phone call till he got back with them — ‘a matter of life and death.

They stopped to eat at a Cracker Barrel once in Tampa, and then drove the next few miles up to the razor wire fenced enclosure, just at dusk. 

The whole industrial, but depressed area, looked like R. Crumb had drawn the scene. The compound with thousands of old tires stacked ominously, looked as a Dr, Seuss scene; with a dilapidated large building toward the compound’s center, complete with short bus; in the stillness of a hot and humid waste land, as the setting for their objective— crazy, thought slave Paul. There, they hoped, sat the slaves and their captors; hopefully, with only one armed guard to deal with. 

‘’ I need you to help me out here.’’ Master said to slave. 

He intended to breach the compound with Hameed’s car. The Buick being the pass port; and he’d let slave knock upon the door — as he assumed the woman would recall Hameed’s ‘slave’ and assume them still together. Slave stripped naked to be recognizable to the woman. Master Charles armed only with the Muslim’s gun would stand, just out of sight, on the other side and bust in shooting when they opened for slave Paul. 

The gate rolled open when they pulled up to it.