Day of the Hunt
The sun is slowly breaking through a dense cloud cover. It’s early, and first light is waking up the farm. A bright beam of sunlight pierces the curtainless window, highlighting Phillips’ hard, Marine ass as he lies on his stomach, snoring peacefully, deep in the sleep of the well-fucked.
I need to hit the shower since my cock has smears of Phillips’ shit along the shaft, not his fault; I took him without cleaning him out first. And I can’t carry on the day’s activities smelling like an outhouse; that wouldn’t be cool, as kids these days would say.
When seven o’clock rolls around, Miguel will have cooked breakfast for my cum bulls and placed it at the pass-through window into the bunkhouse. At eight o’clock, Dr. Dragan, with Preacher’s help, will arrive and inject my three Marines with his serum to extract the morning load from each and allow them to recuperate before the afternoon ritual is repeated.
As for Phillips, his cum and asshole belong to me, not the farm, until I change my mind. The hunt this morning is to capture his two sons, and that will determine his place in the hierarchy. If all goes well, then he’s in solid. If it doesn’t, I’ll rethink his standing on the farm. But I still need him to help me kidnap more Marines from Lejeune to add to my collection; that’s an undeniable fact.
If, for some reason, it doesn’t work out and I don’t get his sons, then I’ll consider Corporal Stevens as my hunting partner. As it stands, I have options.
After my shower, I dress for the day; this morning it’s brown cowboy boots, Wrangler jeans, and a white western shirt with pearl snaps.
Phillips will be in a freshly laundered Cammie uniform and combat boots. Field uniforms are not permitted off base; however, this morning we’ll take a chance and hope that no MPs spot us. At some point, we’ll collect all of his uniforms from his closet and bring them back to the farm.
Service C uniforms are warm weather uniforms. They consist of a short-sleeve khaki shirt, green wool trousers, and black Bates patent leather oxford shoes. Service B uniforms are for cooler weather, and the khaki shirt is long-sleeved; otherwise, the same as Service C. The A uniform simply includes a green coat. All are worn with covers, or as civilians call them, hats.
Phillips will still look like a sexed up Marine Dad, no matter which uniform he’s wearing, and I haven’t played with him in his Marine casual day office attire yet. I love his Bates patent leather oxfords because they trap a lot of foot sweat and make removing them in a scene dick-hardening.
I run my hands over Phillips’ high-n-tight haircut, waking him. He knuckles his sleepy eyes, focusing on me standing next to the bed, scanning me up and down.
“Ah, my cowboy boss…good morning, sir. You look like a rodeo cowboy this morning, the one who rode me into the sunset last night. I can still feel your throbbing peace in my hole, sir. And by the way, thanks; that was the highlight of my lifetime, boss. Shove it up my ass anytime you want!”
We need to get you dressed for the day and get some food in our bellies. We have a busy day ahead, so chop, chop, hit the showers and get geared up. Miguel will be bringing our breakfast anytime now.
“Yes, sir, bossman, I’m on it!”
I watch him stand and stretch, admiring the steel slabs of pectoral muscles covered with dense black hair that almost hide two pinkish man tits. A dark treasure trail, like an arrow, points down to a dense patch of black pubes surrounding his thick monster of a cock.
I watch him from behind as me makes his way to my shower. My fucking God! Those two hard muscle mountains are dancing around like a sack of cats headed for the river. My dick instantly begins to inflate, so of course, I handle it, just a little, remembering entering him last night. Damn, what a night of ass fucking that was!
Miguel arrives carrying a large metal tray crowded with covered plates, a tall corked jug of coffee, cups and saucers, and everything needed to complete the breakfast service.
Good morning, Miguel, and thanks. You’ll find a bonus in your envelope today, something for you and your family to enjoy this weekend.
“Thanks, boss. I appreciate this job and everything you do for me and my family, sir.”
Your loyalty, hard work, and discretion are all that I require, and you’re holding up your end of the bargain, and I look forward to a long association.
“Me to Señor, me too.”
He lays out our breakfast on the kitchen table and turns to leave as Phillips walks into the room, buck naked, startling Miguel.
“Good morning, Sergeant Phillips, glad to umm, to see you this morning.”
“Hey, Miguel, well, I guess you’ve seen everything now, huh?”
“Señor, you’re looking ready for the day; all you need is your uniform, right?”
“Right, just my uniform for sure.”
Miguel reaches down to adjust his cock, which seems to have come alive as his gaze is locked on Phillips’ junk. “Just your uniform, sir.”
Miguel turns to leave but struggles to remove his gaze from Phillips’ thick hanging member. He grabs his cock under his apron, smiles at me, then takes his leave.
It looked like for a minute there, Miguel was going to eat you alive. He’s a damn hot Mex; with a huge chorizo, that’s the first thing I noticed when I interviewed him. I might need to do some probing the next time we’re alone, see what’s hanging.
Phillips, what about your sons? Have you thought about how we should proceed?
“Yes, boss. I can put in a call to the house and tell them to get into their baseball uniforms because I’m bringing a Marine buddy of mine, a reporter for the Marine Corps Times, to take some pictures that will be published next week. Neither one is camera shy, and Alex Jr. is a show-off and has an ego that could reach the moon. He’s a wet pussy magnet
He’s a magnet, period. From what I’ve seen. I’m certain that he turns the heads of both sexes. Am I right?
“As usual, bossman, you are right on the money, again.”
Ok, let’s get this breakfast behind us, and you uniformed up; we have a lot to accomplish this morning as far as your sons are concerned, and this being Friday and the beginning of the weekend, the Jacksonville bars are going to be full tonight to overflowing, with Marines of every age, and we need to bring at least two back to the farm with us. But first we need to take your sons.
What do you think is the best way to do this without doing any physical damage?
“I’ve been thinking that over, and this is what I’ve come up with so far: GHB and I happen to have a couple handy; they were given to me by a Marine buddy a year ago. I’ll cut them in half; that way they will just relax the boys and make them easier to deal with. I’ve done some research, and they’re safe if not overused.”
Sounds like a plan to me, so go ahead and put the call in and tell them that we’ll be there in an hour or so and to get ready.
“I’ll do it now and use the phone in your bedroom; just give me a few minutes to set it up with them, and we’re good to go, bossman.”
I set down in an easy chair in the living room and watch him head for my bedroom. I’m relaxing, running different scenarios through my head, when Phillips walks in after making the call.
“We’re not going to hurt the boys, are we, boss?”
Of course not, and you’re going to make a shit load of cash because of them. Think of it as them paying you back for all the years you fed and clothed them and gave them a decent place to live. And come on, man, you started fucking them when they were fourteen and fifteen years old, so don’t go down that road with me; it’s a dead end.
“You’re right, of course, and they’ll make some new Marine friends. We might even let them have the pick of the litter among our herd if they behave and cooperate.”
That’s the way to look at it. This will be their new home. You can contact Ron’s high school and tell them that he’s gone to live with his mother in Ohio or someplace like that. And tell Alex Jr’s college that he’s dropping out also to help his mother. They’ll buy it without asking too many questions, you’ll see, so don’t worry.
“Ok, you’re right again.”
Bring two sets of handcuffs and two ball gags with you, and we’re off.
I leave my three Marines in Preacher Caulfield and Dr. Dragan’s care. They will perform the eight o’clock injection and extraction from our three captive bulls. Then do the same thing at two pm. We will be back on the farm for the third procedure.
The drive to Phillips’ two-bedroom townhouse apartment, which is located at the end of a cul-de-sac in the middle-class neighborhood of Piney Green, N.C., took all of an hour and a half. When we arrived, Phillips used his key to open the front door. The boys were seated side by side in the living room, dressed in baseball uniforms, game controllers in their hands, playing Army of Two, a war game popular with a lot of young dudes.
“Hey Dad,” Ron says, leaving his remote on the coffee table to bear hug Phillips. Alex Jr. walks over and bumps his Dad’s outstretched fist. “Are we really going to be in the Marine Corps Times, for real?” Alex Jr. asks.
That’s right, you two, you’re going to be famous; imagine that. This is a former Marine Sergeant who is a reporter for the Times and a pal of mine. We’re going to drive to his place where he has a studio to take the shots, but before we leave, and because it’s hot as fuck, this time, just this time, we’re going to have an ice-cold beer. I have a six-pack in the back of the fridge, that is, if you two haven’t helped yourself to them.
“No, sir, they’re all still there. Do you want me to get them?” Ron almost shouts.
“No, boys, you sit down and get acquainted with Sergeant Collins, and I’ll be back in a flash.”
Phillips excuses himself and heads for the kitchen while I work the boys over with my eyes, trying not to be too obvious as they sit next to each other. The bulges in their crotches are conspicuous, but I look away as Phillips reenters the room with two beer bottles in each hand. He hands me one, keeps one for himself, and hands the others to his sons. I watch each boy lock his lips around the openings and take hefty slugs
We are seated in chairs opposite the sofa and have a clear, unobstructed view of both of his hot sons. They are becoming relaxed, and have their feet crossed at the ankle on top of the heavy wooden coffee table, both wearing white Nike baseball cleats. Alex Jr. has dark blue stirrups that disappear into his cleats, and Ron is wearing dark red stirrups. They match the colorful stripes running down the outside of each leg.
After they drain the beer bottles -- and half of the dissolved GHB tablet, just enough to put them comfortably out. I head to the black van we traveled to the house in and back it down the driveway into the garage and slide the side door open.
Phillips is standing in the doorway signaling for me to follow. When we enter the living room, both boys have their hands cuffed behind their backs, ball gags fastened securely, buckled behind their heads. Still out cold.
Phillips pulls Alex Jr. to his feet and lifts him over his shoulder. I do the same to his brother, and together we haul them to the van, placing each on his stomach, using the rope I left there for this purpose, and tie their feet together tightly.
“Sergeant, what do you think?” Phillips asks, finishing tying their feet together.
I think this is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.
Getting down on my knees to lower my face into Ron’s ass, breathe it in, then Alex Jr.’s, to draw in a lungful of young man ass, acrid and pungent.
These two young studs are going to make a fortune for us Phillips, no doubt about that! Put these sacks over their heads and tie them on loosely. We need to hit the road and get back to the farm and get them situated.
“I must be a real sicko because I love seeing them helpless and vulnerable, tied up like this.”
You’re fucking right, dude; you’re a real pervert, that’s why I like you and why I love that sweet butt hole of yours. Something tells me both of your sons’ holes are going to taste just like yours. And I can’t wait to get my first meal. Tell you what, Marine, we’ll suck on these two holes side by side and swap out a couple of times, then flip them over and empty both sets of nuts. How’s that sound to you?
“Sounds like we’re both perverts of the highest order; if I ever had a doubt, I no longer do!”
We need to get them settled in the bunkhouse and have a party tonight. There has to be magic waiting for us in these full nuts.
“Just please, bossman, let me break it to them, explain why this is the beginning of a new reality and that they owe it to me, please bossman.”
I don’t have a problem with that, none at all; in fact, it’s the best way to proceed for many reasons, so sure do it when we get back, after they’re awake.
An hour and a half later, we drove through the tall iron gate protecting the farm. Pull up to the bunkhouse and slide the side door open. His sons are coming to and squirming around, testing their restraints. Soft mumbling is coming from the sacs covering their heads.
Phillips unties the rope around Alex Jr’s ankles and pulls him out, landing him on his feet. And I do the same to his brother. We lead them, stumbling slightly, toward the doorway to the bunkhouse. I feel the dampness of Ron’s underarm pit on my hand; the scent is intoxicating as I pull him along, then inside. Phillips is behind me, guiding Alex Jr. into the bunkhouse.
All of my captive Marines, including Russo, who has been milked and recovered, are standing watching our entry.
Stevens, fetch the collars and cages; let’s make Phillips’ sons a little more comfortable.
He goes to the cabinet next to the hall doorway, opens it, takes out the shock collars and cock cages, returns and hands them to me. Without removing the head covers, I fasten a collar around each neck, unzip their trousers, fish out the limp cocks and low-hanging balls, and work the cocks into the cages and lock.
“Mph-mm-gh!” Coming from both young men as they struggle and pull at the cuffs.
No, sorry, we’re not letting you go, so settle down; this is your new home, I whisper into Alex Jr’s ear as I run my nose over the back of his neck, sniffing in his youthful scent and sending my hands down to cup his trembling ass cheeks.
“Nohmm, Mph-mm-gh!”
Again, sweet cakes, not letting you go!
I untie the sacks and pull them off, one at a time, and watch their eyes open wide, filled with terror. Next, remove the ball gags and toss them to Stevens, who catches them and licks both dry.
Alex Jr. moistens his mouth and is the first to speak. “Dad, what the fuck… why are you doing this, WHY?”
“Yeah, Dad, what is this all about, some frat joke or something?”
“This is no joke, boys, as you will soon discover; this is your new reality.”
“Our new reality - what the fuck does that even mean, Dad?”
“It means this is a sperm farm, and you two are the new cum bulls brought here to be milked three times a day for the very valuable seed in your nuts. 30 ml sells for five hundred bucks or more, depending, and because we have a client list of wealthy old gay men who are willing to pay top dollar for cum from two young baseball players, you two are worth a small fortune.”
“What the fuck are these collars around our necks?” Ron bleats out, and these fucking things that are trapping our dicks? Looking at his older brother. “WHAT ARE THEY? he shouts, turning to look directly at me.
Glad you asked. Around your necks are shock collars, and trapping your dicks are cock cages. You won’t be able to get hard or cum, unless your dicks are in the milking cylinders when I’m extracting your sperm!
“You can’t get away with something like this; it’s illegal!” Alex Jr. shouts.
You’re right, it is illegal, but I’ve been getting away with it now for going on ten years, so take a close look; I ain’t in prison yet, am I?
I use my cuff key to remove the handcuffs from their wrists and toss them on the nearest bunk.
Ok, STRIP NOW!
“No fucking way dude, no FUCKING way!” They say in unison.
Very well, we might as well have an understanding from the get-go. And at the same time, aim my remote and hit the red button. Both fall to their knees, trying to rip off the collars, screaming out in agony.
Phillips kneels next to his sons, distressed and pleading with me to relent. “They’ve learned their lesson, bossman, please STOP, PLEASE!”
Very well, boys. Have you learned your lesson this afternoon, or do you want more convincing?
“We get it: misbehave or disobey an order and feel the pain; is that the message you just delivered?” Ron speaks, looking at his brother. Both are still shivering down on their knees, recovering from the jolt of electricity.
That is the message; ask any of the Marines here, and they’ll confirm it.
“That is the message!” The three chime in.
Stop wasting my time, STRIP!
Both quickly remove their baseball uniforms, jockstraps, socks, and cleats, toss them onto Stevens’ bunk, he picks up one of the cleats, I think it was Ron’s, and covers his face with the opening and inhales.
“Now, this is what I’m talking about!” He turns it over in his hands, licking and sniffing the warm white Nike leather.
Ok then, Dickson and Stevens, you two strip and take our recruits to the shower and use the stainless-steel wand to clean them out. I think by now you know what to do.
“Yes, sir, boss, we know how to clean out an ass; we’re on it!”
They both hurriedly strip off their Cammie uniforms and boots and leave them on their respective bunks. They stand there naked as the day they were born. Dicks in cock cages.
Dickson takes Alex Jr. by his arm while Stevens handles Ron the same way, and the four of them head to the rear of the bunkhouse and down the hall to the showers.
Once inside the shower room, Dickson adjusts the water to lukewarm and tests it. Satisfied, he turns to Alex Jr., soaps up the wand, and orders him to bend over. He complies, placing his palms on his knees, as Dickson teases his sphincter with the tip of the wand and pushes it slowly into the young asshole that he’s controlling, filling him up.
“Fucking hell bro, this hurts – I’m full man, I’m full take it OUT!”
Stevens is doing the same thing to Ron. They repeat the procedure three times, leading their charges to the toilet bowls, seating them, waiting for the first purge, which comes within seconds. Then back into the shower room to repeat two more times until the water runs clear.
Dickson and Stevens are looking at each other, smiling.
Stevens to Dickson, “Might as well soap the boys up and give them a good cleaning, right?”
“Correct, but let’s switch partners; I want to mess with the hairy one you cleaned out, after all. I’m going to clip and shave off all of his black hair, including this thick mass of black pubes. He’s got enough to stuff a pillow.” He states flatly, digging his fingers through the thick patch.
“Corporal Stevens, you’re going to remove all of my hair?”
“That’s correct, my boy, everything but the hair on your head. Relax, it’s going to happen whether or not you want it to”
“But WHY?”
“Because these are my orders, so chill, you don’t have a say, just stand where you are and raise your arms above your head because I’m going to start with your pits.”
Alex raises his arms and watches Stevens carefully as the Marine goes to the cabinet that holds the collars and cock cages. He takes out a shiny black industrial-looking battery-operated clipper and returns to where Alex is still standing with his arms raised.
Stevens leans forward and laps up the sweat drenching the boy’s underarms, licking them dry. Smacks his lips. Then begins the process of pit hair removal, watching clumps of black pit hair drop to the floor, as the clipper does its job.
Everyone in the room has gathered around the scene going down. They watch in rapt attention as Stevens continues his work removing all of the hair from Alex’s body, front and back; the thick matt of dark hair covering his muscled chest falls to the floor, floating effortlessly, exposing two plump young man tits.
Stevens puts pressure on the boy’s shoulders, gently forcing him to bend over. “Somebody come over and spread his cheeks for me.” His own Dad steps forward, kneels and, with both hands, spreads his son’s hard teenage mounds, allowing Stevens to shear away the hair creeping toward his rosebud pucker.
“Dad, why are you doing this to me? I don’t understand!”
“You will someday, son; just play the game and you’ll be ok.”
“No, I won’t be ok, and neither will Ron. I FUCKING HATE YOU! For doing this to us, FUCKING HATE YOU, HATE YOU!
You two, back into your uniforms! I urge moving forward to clutch the back of their necks, pushing them toward Stevens’ bunk where the uniforms lay.
Alex Jr and Ron, get back into your baseball uniform and wait. Dickson and Stevens approach the boys, unbuckle the belts, drop their trousers down to their knees, grease up the dildos, guide them both to the recliner, and lower them down until the dildo is all the way in, then strap down their hands and feet.
Phillips put in a call to Dr. Dragan and tell him I want him here NOW!
“Yes sir, bossman, right away!”
“Doctor, what are you talking about? What doctor?” Ron screams.
“We call him the extractor; you’ll see,” Dickson states, completing the strapping in.
They lie strapped in, the dildo yet to be turned on. Alex Jr. turns his head toward his brother. “Don’t worry, little bro, they can kill us, but they can’t eat us!”
“True so far; we seem to have enough provisions, so you’re safe for the time being.” Davidson teases.
Dr. Dragan and Preacher Caulfield enter the bunkhouse and come over to where the young men are waiting, strapped in.
“Please remove the cages so we can get underway.” He directs Preacher, who removes his remote from its leather holder on his hip, aims it, and hits the green button. Both cages spring open, and he removes them, tossing them aside on one of the bunks.
Dragan, standing between both young men, bends to examine the freed cocks and balls. “Ah, yes, these will do nicely.” He places an open palm under Alex Jr’s ball sack, lifts it slightly, judging the weight in his hand. “Yes, nice and full.” Then, to the cock, using his gloved hands, spreads open the piss slit with both thumbs. “Perfect.”
He examines and does the same thing to Ron’s cock and balls. Turns and opens the black doctor’s bag sitting on Stevens’ bunk.
“What kind of creepy fucking doctor are you, creep?” Alex calls out.
Dragan just smiles and goes about getting ready to inject his serum.
Ron, distressed and on the verge of tears, shouts. “Dad, don’t let him do anything to us. Fight him, do something, Dad, PLEASE!”
“Dickson, Stevens, gag them, GAG them, I can’t bear to listen to this, GAG THEM GOD DAMMIT!”
Stevens forces the gag he licked off into Ron’s mouth and buckles it in place while Davidson does the same thing to Alex.
The room falls silent. I pull my phone from my rear pocket and begin to film the proceedings.
Dragan removes his flexible rubber tube from his bag, wraps it around Alex’s upper arm, and ties it off. He turns to Ron and repeats the action, leaving both in place while he fills two hypodermic needles with his serum.
He stands next to Alex, bends and pats the swelling vein until it plumps up. Alex is going crazy pulling at his restraints, yelling into his gag, shaking his head violently. “Ugh mhp nnmh!” Ron is straining, trying to watch what’s happening to his brother. But the doctor’s back obstructs the view
Dragan inserts the tip of his needle into the swollen vein, and at the same time releases the rubber tubing as he slowly injects the fluid into the bloodstream. After a few seconds, maybe ten, he drops the milking cylinder over Alex’s swelling cock, turns on the vibrating dildo, and watches the clear rubber sleeve inside the cylinder suck the dickhead to the top and begin to slowly pump and suck at the cock trapped inside.
Dragan turns his attention to Ron and prepares him for the euphoria awaiting him, as Alex’s body stiffens, his ass lips clench, tightening around the dildo embedded in his shit channel as gob after gob of his creamy potent sperm is sucked from his balls, traveling up the clear hose to be deposited in the ice tray waiting for it in the sub-zero freezer.
“Well, young man, in all of my years of doing this, I have never seen such a huge deposit before. This might be one for the books. But now, let’s see what your brother has for us today – a deposit as big as yours? Let’s find out.”
Alex closes his eyes; his breathing returns to normal as he drifts off to sleep.
Dragan stands looking at Ron, the young eighteen-year-old high school baseball player, his trousers pulled down to his knees. With his shaggy blond surfer boy bangs nearly covering his blue eyes, he looks angelic. The doctor leans down and rubs his face over the stiffing cock and heavy hanging nut sack, sucking in the erotic scent of youth. “Right, now time to go to work!”
He places the point of the needle on the vein, releases the tourniquet, inserts the tip, and slowly pushes the plunger until the vial is empty. Like the others, nothing happens for a few seconds, then his eyes go wide open, staring at the ceiling. He tries to pull his knees up, tries to pound the surface beneath with the heels of his cleats; he can’t move and can only look down on his young, hard, throbbing cock beginning to empty his balls with volcanic eruptions, spewing seed into the rubber sleeve trapping his dick. He watches his sperm fill the clear plastic cylinder and travel up and disappear into the freezer awaiting his load.
Like his brother, he falls into a deep sleep as the doctor removes his and his brother’s cock from the milking device. Dragan kisses Ron’s brow, lowers his head to the young man’s crotch, and sucks the spent dick into his mouth to clean off any stragglers left behind. Interesting, something I see him do for the first time.
OK, Marines, I’m leaving these two young men in your charge, so look after them and teach them the ropes. I take the two cock cages, put them back on, lock them, and walk away.
I signal for Phillips to follow me to the main house. He falls in line behind me, as a good soldier would. I take note that he just watched his own boys being drained and did not attempt to interfere.
I’m going to reward him for that.
End of Chapter 11
Rex Larsen
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
