The Song Of The Mocking Bird
A Cautionary Tale of Fame....
Once upon a time a poor farmer and his son lived on a place so far North that Geese used it as a starting point. The farmer and his son were grateful to the geese as, each year, when the tundra dried, they could sell goose guano along with their few cows, some desperately small crops and, though Dad never told son, he also sold "favours" to the men as a reward for their coming that far North. Actually, sometimes, men who weren't buying anything agricultural dropped in and, finding dad alone, paid him to not only perform for them but whomp up a mess of wild rice cakes for them to take with them.
It was those rice cakes that got them off the farm and into the bright lights of fame and perdition, not that either knew the meaning of the word-however much they were to enjoy it. On day dad had been, uhm, entertaining and selling rice cakes to hungry strangers when the voice of his son was heard bouncing off some of the still frozen ice on ponds. It was the voice of a young boy, almost equivalent to a castrati-but dad assured them that, no, it was nothing but his simpleton of a son, Dustin by name, out trying to emulate the winds as they blew in. Frankly, dad said, it was driving him loony but with nothing to entertain him he felt he had to let him. One of the men, while dad was on his knees doing an inspection of sorts, whipped out a new fangled camera and not only recorded the music but took the picture of the child as he came into the house. Certainly he was young, his hair hung over his face like Niagara goes over the precipice but there was the look of suppressed....well, one would regret calling it intelligence, possibly low vegetable cunning that suggested to the man, he may have found something.
Dustin surveyed the situation, kicked his dad in the ass and the guy who was about to shoot the moon, that he'd give him ten minutes to recover and then.....well, he'd find out what having seminal fluids removed orally was really like. Why his daddy had taught him first on the dog then a goat, worked his way up to a horse and finally an old bull who, it must be said, keeled over dead. In between dad ran performance drills using himself. A look went between two of the men. "Son, come over her and sit on Paul's lap." Which, of course he did. "Do you know what it means to walk and chew gum?" The young man looked confused, an expression that would frequently be seen on his semi-angelic face. "Hey, mister, you got some shears? I need to whack off some of this fur in front. Cute kid, make him look younger. Young boys and young boy singers are always popular until their nuts drop. How old did you say he was?"
"I figure he's about 14, fifteen. Don't rightly know but he's old enough to fuck whatever he can catch...." This wasn't precisely the answer Phil wanted but since there was some confusion, he decided that 17 was a better number so that's how he became almost of legal age. But not quite.
"Mister, will you excuse my boy an' me? I need to have a talk with him. About his manners."
The two men looked at each other and shrugged. Fine with them, what the kid needed to learn they'd make sure he did but what was the harm in given his dad a chance to kick some sense into him if he needed sense.
In the bedroom they shared, and making sure the door to the passageway as well as the one to the bedroom were closed and locked, his father turned on him. "Now listen, and listen good you little shit. Hell, I know a better way to make you listen, get over here, grab your gag, those ropes. I'm gonna make sure you listen to me and not those fancy guys who will steal your balls right out from under you. Now, get up on that bed, part way, I want that ass up in the air, waaay up in the air. Daddy's going to give you something special just as soon as I get you tied down. An' no screaming cuz I know this will hurt, it's supposed to hurt.
Apparently dad could walk and chew gum as he concurrently stripped Dustin and himself but tied him to the bed. Just to make sure all was as he wanted it, he took a used beer bottle and stuck it up Dustin's ass. "Just to get you ready." While that went on, Dad pointed their dish flat at the horizon and did some quick research about the guys standing in their mess of a "family" room. Yeup, just as he thought and smiled to himself while saying aloud, Son, you and me has just fallen in a vat of butter but they don't know they're about to get greased up for the fucking they're gonna get. And speaking of that....
Dad turned toward the bed where his son waited expectantly for what he knew was coming. A relaxed ass was an ass that could take it deeper and that's what Dustin liked, deeper. Always reminded him of the old bull before it dropped dead when he was in him. Never did even finish shooting all his baby bulls; He and dad had to siphon it out hoping the cooling flesh wouldn't spoil the semen. Must not have, they kept it warm in the oven until the guy who wanted it could get over, took the bull, too.
Dad hacked up a gob of spit, mixed with chewing tobacco, got right down over the cheery rosebud and let fly. "That's all you need, kid." As there was nothing more to say, he sank in his cock about two inches then stopped to swat his son's butt. "YOU do what I say, understood?" Dustin nodded his head. Shoved in another inch and rotated it. "You insist I be with you always. Got it?" Again, the shake of the head. Two more inches and a hard paddling. "I get the money and I'll give you what I think you need. Got it?" There was a slightly longer pause but then a slight nod. "Good, I'm glad we agree. Now, one more thing......." He reached around, picked something up and ran it across Dustin's back. "Know what that is? It was my daddy's." Dustin shivered as much as he could, it was the black snake single tail whip his grandfather had used on his father. His back was covered with a hash mark of crossed whip marks. "Dad said it made a man out of me and by damn, I think the old fucker was right. You should a been there when I caught him in the barn, bare backed when I had this is my hand. When I quit working him over, he stood up, like the man he was, shook my hand and told me he was proud of what I'd done. Then the old fool keeled over and croaked. You want to die like that? You and I are now a team, no matter what those fools say, I got their number and they don't know it, yet. Now, here comes the good part." Dad found his boy sized prostate and spent twenty minutes, minutes they both enjoyed, working it over.
And when that was done, he took the gift from his father and laid on a delicate stripe, one that would fade but the memory of it would not. "Okay, kid, futz around in here for an hour while I go introduce these turkeys to the axe." Quickly untying his son, helped him loosen up, gave him a quick kiss and went out to make their future.
Paul was all smiles when Mr. Spieler returned, apologizing for the delay but his youngster took some calming, the farm life was all he knew...surely they could understand. Whether they did or not was of no importance, it was the right move. "Now, when do you think you might have him ready to come to town with us?" It was the first loaded question and the first loaded answer.
"Well, sir, we need to talk money, as a father I need to make sure my boy isn't being taken for a ride...." They all smile their assurances that couldn't happen. ".....course, we got Spring Plantin' to do and then carry in the winter wheat, you know, get the place winterized, thought about having Dustin help me put a new roof on.....say...six months from now, less, of course, something happens."
They were stunned. Didn't this fool get it? They meant today, take the kid, haul him off to a studio, put his caterwauling on professional tape, give it a listen and then see what could happen.
"Uh, we had more in the idea of today, latest, tomorrow." Spieler looked downcast.
"Well, then gents, I guess it's just a no go, it was great sucking you, any time you're in the neighborhood, you know where my mouth is, let you have a pop at the kid sometime too, if your interested." He started gathering their coats, hats....
"Wait...wait, I guess we were all on the wrong wave length here...didn't know your son had responsibilities, couldn't deprive a father of that but....(it was the "but" Spieler had been waiting for) ....can't we find some sort of deal that gets all of us closer to .... what's good for the boy?"
Spieler thought about it. "Well, I don't know, awful sudden. Tell you what, gents we ain't got much but...I'd be proud to offer you the comforts of my home while you spend the night and we can figure something out. Nobody ever said there's no deal possible, heheheheheh, you just sprung me a little fast." Dad wondered how stupid these men were? Did they honestly think they'd get a great deal for almost nothing? Fuck no. He did, however, have one deal sweetener. "Course we don't have any fancy guest rooms but one of you can bunk in with the kid and the other with me or.......we could all work something out together. All four of us and you know what my kid and I like to eat, fuck breakfast, lunch or dinner?" There were smiles of recognition and that kid's ass looked well trained,
"I'll go get the kid, tell him our plans, at least our plans for tonight....he'll be right pleased. Ever since the bull died, well, he's been missing an ox cock up his ass...."
On the theory that it's best to be pleased by what's meant to please all the occupants settled down waiting for daddy Spieler to prepare "a simple meal." In advance of that, he handed round-except to his son who was too young to drink-mugs of homemade ale spiked with some home brewed whiskey. If you didn't know the whiskey was in it, you couldn't tell over the really delicious, full bodied taste of the ale made with, they were told, all the usual ingredients plus locally combed honey with the comb. That accounted for the slight thickness but, all agreed, it was delicious. Dinner consisted of slabs of steak the size of a foot ball boot but as tender as one could hope to find. Just salt and pepper but that was all that was needed. Spieler laughed and said, "Well, if this doesn't turn out for Dustin, I can always slaughter him before winter sets in...course there isn't much on him" - he reached over and pinched his sons chest - " but he'd be good for a few meals. Hey, you don't want him there, how about a North Country treat, I can slice off his balls an cock to make a warming stew for just before bed...." and laughed. They all laughed. They were still laughing when, with the help of the Spielers, they were stripped and put into beds. Well, put in one bed. Covered and let pass out/go to sleep.
Father and son sat in the main room watching the fire die down, having a whiskey, enjoying being together....."Since this is gonna be on you, son, I guess I owe you one."
Naked, on the floor, he crawled toward his son who had slipped out of is clothes, slid down in the chair and was ready for his father. So familiar were they with each other that no lube, no preparation was necessary. First Dad ducked his head and ate out his son then, the real business, rose up and attached his mouth to Dustin's cock. Both got comfortable for they knew it took a long time.
Mean while in the bed, snores were heard, the men rolled around, found each other, felt each other and, in a case of mistaken identity, grasp the cock of the other one. They were happy men. They were out cold men, so much so that when Dustin and Dad slipped in, they weren't heard. As they were roped up and tied into interesting positions, they were oblivious.
Their collective asses were greased, gently probed and...not a sound. Dad looked at Dustin and realized it was too early so they returned to their fireplace, nude, warmed by it and indulged in a father/son 69. Not for milking purposes, just to say, I love you Dad/Son and they stayed that way until a faint noise was heard from elsewhere in the house.
An hour or so later Phil was agreeing to terms he had never agreed he would accept. Of course with both Spielers up his ass, clips on his nips, and his buddy tied in such a way that if he moved he'd impale himself. Really it was a no brainer; They agreed to everything up to and including the helicopter two days hence when the pair and their newest sensation would be whisked to the city where publicity would go into overdrive and Dustin would be the newest unheard of sensation. Of course, once his school boy haircut and pouty lips were revealed, girls round the world wanted him whether he could sing or not. But that was in the future. Just then, the guys were "all tied up" while the deal was made. Some issues weren't on paper, actually, none of them were but in consideration of loss of memory, which could be temporary if things went poorly, a formal contract was but a small matter to be finished when everyone got to town. Well, and after that, they'd be given back their driver's licenses, passports and credit cards- the clear understanding being that credit cards would be obtained in their names although the bills would go elsewhere.
Time to change. The Spielers undid one recipient of sexual favours and replaced him with the other that had been hanging. Their new partner, was transferred to the hanging position from which too much movement....impaled him in a hurtful way.
Hours later with everybody in one bed, half of them tied down, sleeping, the Aurora Borealis seemed to wink on the little house on the tundra, as if to say, "You motherfuckers, you really put one over and they don't even know the half of what's coming."
Two years later outside Wembley Stadium they watched as their most prized property went on stage and, against the wall of noise, could have farted "God Save The Queen".
It was easier to watch from back stage as the constant flashing of lights could cause serious vision problems which was part of the reason that Dustin always wore silvered aviator shades. Even with that, when the lights went down and he left the stage, he had to be caught and aimed in the right direction which, as always, was in the direction of his father. Daddy had changed quite a lot in the ensuing years, now fancying himself a stud, he wore tank tops, enough chains to drown him if he fell in, pants that were usually sold to 16 year olds not to mention whatever the latest fad was in sneakers. Father and son, always together, not even an interview could be given without the father who, for public consumption, was portrayed as a loving father, not a back stage daddy. In some respects this was true. So long as the kid was okay, didn't take nose dive into the crowd and wasn't ripped to shreds by a million young girls-to whom a bit of his spit was worth more than the Gutenberg Bible-was seized upon and stuffed into limos to be carried to back entrances or wherever then all was well.
Having made this deal with the devil, their business partners now actively tried to figure out how to get out of it. Even given the huge amount the Spielers took they could not complain about their take at the gate. Plus, given some promises made while being fucked some years ago, their management deal, was actually reversed, the Spielers managed them! Not a comfortable situation and getting less so as dad increasingly felt that they needed to "prove" their commitment to their prize client. Dustin had become enamoured of tattooing and was almost finished completing a sleeves. Dad had the same coverage but with different figures and they, lucky bastards, had figures from Dustin's life inked into everything from their wrist to their armpit and putting Dustin giving the finger there hurt like a son of a bitch.
Nor were they released from their sexual contacts with father and son. Of course the few years since the double fuck had given them to new and interesting exposure to activities they could not have dreamed up. Such as fisting or golden showers-and that was tame compared to the little schmuck's love of S&M- daddy was more the Bondage and Discipline sort. But put it all together and you had BDSM very quietly arranged, often in private homes-who were only too anxious to entertain them. During one winter they'd had to endure total body shaves with the ongoing threat that "something" would be inked on their newly bald pate. Never happened but they knew it to be a credible threat.
Privately they discussed whether the penalty for shooting them was worth the doing of the deed although on alternate days they felt that maybe, shooting each other was the best way out. Sure, it would be messy but,depending on the country, maybe it could be handled....or in some Arabian place they could rent some Camels and, though the Camels came back , they did not.
Things have a way of working themselves out. While they were thinking about a ride a la Lawrence of Arabia, a very wealthy man was wondering what it might cost.....? He wasn't the sort to go to concerts and, he'd found, arranging a private one for himself wasn't possible. Not a question of money, there was just no time and, he found, it wasn't just a matter of having Dustin collected in a limousine or a helicopter, he came with an entourage that was like a fixed object that whirled around him; Where he went they all went. Discouraged but not abandoning his desires, he brought one of his birds from a gilded cage up for his pleasure. This bird had once been a member of the Royal Marines and had gone missing in a Souk some thousands of kilometers from where they were now. One could not say he'd been broken entirely, no, not entirely but he was aware that worse could happen to him-he'd seen worse happen to others-if compliance wasn't in his vocabulary. He accepted being fucked, even when he was taught to fuck and, after that, was part of an entertainment for his owner. Chained, yes but doing his damnedest to come first or be escorted to the small guillotine where one's cock could and was cut off as the punishment for losing. His winning streak was such that he was no longer entered but was reserved for more refined tastes, when, stripped, and wearing belt made of chain, he was the person handling the whip hand.
He had another purpose; His training gave him certain abilities, certain insights as to how things were done. Kidnapping for example. It was for that reason that he was offered his freedom and substantial money if he could but make one snatch; Dustin.
Back in his pleasantly decorated cell-complete with cool tub of constantly flowing water-he thought about this. Being a prisoner did not mean that he was unaware of things going on in the world and as Dustin was one of the larger, if meaningless, things going on he knew of him. Why his current jailer would want him eluded him but there was no accounting for taste and wiled away the hours trying to devise a scheme that had some modest chance of working. On request, there was no information he couldn't get about anything so it followed that he knew a great deal about the Spieler operation as well as it's schedule. And if there was one thing he knew, and knew it well, it was that when you had a creature such as the Spieler creep, his own desire for whatever he wanted was his worst enemy. According to what research showed him, at various moments there wasn't much he hadn't wanted so the necessary approach was to create something he did have but would want. Tastes such as Dustin's change with the hour or whatever they've just seen so the entry to him was to not let him see it, whatever it might be, but only insinuate "it" existed but was not available to him.
Nothing inspires desire more than to be told that whatever you think you want is patently unavailable, no point in asking, don't put out feelers, the answer was irrevocably...No. This string, lacking even a carrot, wasn't so much dangled in front of him as it was that it existed. This amorphous thing, whatever, so great, once he knew what it was, he would have to have it. Hopefully.
Another decision the Marine made was that it was probably going to be necessary to absorb with the kid, those most immediate to him being his father and the two managers. This made it harder but, he found, also increased his chances as there were now three more people who may come to believe there was something they wanted even if in all four cases, it wasn't the same thing. For that, four separate things didn't exist but that was of no great import; The idea that they may exist was sufficient.
He was amused, based on some information that came to him, that what two of the parties wanted was....out. The managers for whatever reason, were stuck in a situation they could not escape. But what? Why? Not money, not blackmail....those are the two most common. They weren't involved with government so that took out politics and it never even occurred to him to think they could be "operatives" of anyone for anything; at best they ran the circus or, more likely, followed the parade and cleaned up after the elephants. But....anyone could clean up after the elephants, even ones as unruly as these. (Just that day he'd read a story about Dustin involved in some sort of hit and run accident in a car no one under the age of 40 and trained to drive should have. But...this was just something for those following the parade to take care of and, in all likelihood, they did.)
It took a while until he had the third piece that would drive the engine; Dustin's daddy and greed. If it could be shown to him, or suggested to him, that they could be cut out with no potential to have to spend any money now or in the future....what would that be worth? And not just in money but in all sorts of way such as simply never having them around. Dustin and greed were a non-starting issues as were most things with him. He didn't understand greed as his father did, his greed was really pretty small beer, amounting to being greedy for something he'd seen or thought someone else had that he wanted, childish greed. The only positive was that the little shit was totally under the control of his father so whatever the father wanted, he would be told, or maybe not, that he wanted it as well. From there on it was just a matter of scheduling, making a few arrangements and when all was arranged, to tell his keeper that soon, very soon he would have what he wanted and, he was careful to point out, at a far cheaper price than he might have thought he would pay.
Delighted, he did remember his promise and explained how it would be done. Regrettably there was some pain but...pain was transient, freedom was forever. In short, he'd be taken "somewhere" left badly beaten but in a place that was near some agency that would quickly find him, return him to the Brits where, he regretted this, he would be subjected to a very long period of interrogation. One question he could not answer because he never knew it, was the name of the man who held him. Also, as he'd never been out of the compound, where they were. He could speculate, yes, but know for certain, no. What his fellow officers might conclude....who could know? As a token of his deep appreciation he was to have his cock pierced and a stone of some size and value placed in it. The suggestion was that before he was found beaten, he arrange for it to be sent off to....someplace.
They never saw each other again.
Night time concerts were a pain as they could go on longer than scheduled, doing anything in the dark had risks and, in general, they were a pain in the ass. On occasion, Saturday or Sunday were the only possibilities, an afternoon event could be scheduled and it worked out for everyone save the audience who, for whatever reason, like the ambiance of night. Also the fact that only the odor revealed drugs, in general provided a shield from those who wished to see and to whose preference it was not to be seen. This latter crowd was usually about half the audience and consisted of young girls who should not have been there having told their parents they were "studying and then going to spend the night" "with a friend." The only complication was getting out of both houses without their parents discovering that neither were where they said they'd be. The answer to this was an older friend, also a fan, who had a car and collected everyone and headed off to see their (current) idol, Dustin. From far and away there were many cars driven by girls, whose driver's licenses were barely valid, hauling friends. That more weren't seriously hurt is a miracle but they weren't and that maintained the cover of studying with a friend. As to the cover of darkness, IF mom or dad did happen to watch the news and the concert was a news story, there was almost no way they'd be spotted. (Oddly, this logic had failed on several occasions and they were caught but....the goal was worth the penalty.)
After the concert and before the closing act found themselves playing to a quickly leaving audience, Dustin, daddy and the two managers were quickly taken to a large parking area or designated helicopter landing spot where they hopped on board the chopper and headed for the airport where the private plane waited to take them on to the next location. It was boring, it was usually a fairly long hop but, as they all agreed, as the Spielers let their in place, handy cocksuckers suck their cocks until they went to sleep or got bored, had a drink and slept, if possible.
This night, like all the others, they'd walked the few feet from the helicopter, boarded their own jet, had the door slammed and the engines were started. Moments later they were taxiing out to the assigned runway and only another moment or two after that, one engine stopped and so did the plane. The gang plank was lowered, captains got out, saw the problem, knew it was a two day repair and reported the news to the passengers, none of whom took it too well. By then a car from the airport had come out leading a parade of vehicles such as a crawler to haul it back, a fire truck, just in case, a security truck, the WAS Dustin Spieler etc. Back in the transit lounge they didn't even bother to trade insults as they knew that was pointless and, besides, they were tired. The only thing that happened was another plane landed, taxied in and the people on board got off.
Told about the dead bird, the man who owned the plane pointed out that his plane was precisely the model of the one he'd just come in on and....if they'd allow time for it to be fueled and tidied up a bit, they were free to use it. Just pay for the gas and return it. (Laughs all around.) Two hours later, off they went. What could have been a mess turned into an inconvenience.
When they woke up, six hours later, they were not on a plane but in a cell, one per person. Back at the air port, their plane was discovered not to be as seriously wounded as possible so...the gentlemen from the second plane, mounted it and flew to the next destination for the Spieler tour. Alas, that concert would have to be canceled as it was discovered Dustin, the wonder child, the song bird could not be found. Great cause for alarm, records checked, the plane was found to have his fingerprints as well as those of his party, the only difficulty was that his pilots had been shot as they sat in the cockpit. So where was Dustin?
Dustin was naked, chained and gagged whilst being made to lay on a floor in front of a man in a chair he did not know. It was explained to him that this gentleman collected rare species of men and he would be one of the rarest. Also, he would now be the song bird for only one person. He assumed that was understood and peremptorily, a large pole was placed under his body and he was carried away. To a cell. Across the way, he could see his father, in another cell but he was chained to a wall, face in, to allow various staff members to fuck him-they had been told he liked it. Elsewhere, two managers were being washed and carefully prepared for their next jobs. No more Dustin, no more daddy and, as they were to find out, no more cock and balls. Done in a surgical theatre with full anaesthetic.
At a post box in Liege, an ordinary package arrived and was collected by a jeweler. A Marine base in Italy was working over a badly beaten Marine who, just then, could tell them nothing. There were others, bit players, but well paid to play their bits.
Back in the dungeon, Dustin was taken away, washed, his body shaved, a brand put on his tender ass and he was dressed as a court singer form the 17th Century. There after, he was taken to a quiet room where one man reclined on a comfortable couch. Dustin was brought in, handcuffed behind his back and blindfolded. Moved to a large, hanging, gilded bird cage, he was chained to it by his leg while all other chains and his blindfold were removed.
"So my sweet birdie, what will you sing for me this day? Begin, I'm anxious to know how you will favour me....." But Dustin, traumatized with fear could sing or say nothing, just a "yawp" was all that escaped his lips.
The man laughed, he had expected this so his patience was great. "It's alright pretty birdie, you are overcome, need time to rest and I shall grant you that time. There is however, one condition; You know the man in the cell across from you? Each day you do not sing his cell will get smaller until he is crushed against his bars. How long will that take? That is your encouragement to find out. One thing, I will grant you, I know that you and he have been sexual partners so once a day he will be brought to you, chained and gagged, for your use in whatever manner you choose. My suggestion is that you beat him for, birdie, if you knew your history, you would have killed him by now..."
Perhaps Dustin had heard nothing except that his father would be brought to him for sex and he hoped soon as he had not had release in some little while. The man on the couch noting something, guessed correctly.
" I have a special machine which was custom made in Switzerland. I think this is a good moment to see if it works as they say it will."
He was seated, and locked into, a fairly normal seeming chair, the one exception were his legs were quite far apart and from underneath came a hose which was clamped over his dick after he had been stripped.
"I'm told it can induce orgasms, cause you to emit semen, provide you with great pain and pleasure until it is stopped or you die. For once in your life you are the master of you fate....whatever that may be." And he touched a button.