Fresh Livestock
On the long drive to the farm, there is a lot of commotion in the back of the van. We can feel it up front. Our two Marines are waking up, shouting into their gags, pulling at the cuffs and rope confining them.
I’m feeling for the young Lance Corporal; his good humor and sexy persona are tugging at my conscience; however, Sergeant Williams is NOT. I can’t wait to strip him, lock a shock collar around his thick neck, and shock the living shit outta him. I want to watch him scream in agony, squirming around on the floor knowing that one of the faggots he hates so much has total control of him. That thought by itself has my dick hard. Phillips sees it.
“Do you want me to take care of that for you, boss?”
Phillips’ keen eyes zero in on my bulge. I know he wants to feed on me while I drive, one of my favorite things, but I need to take a leak badly, and there is no handy service station or a side road to pull off onto.
Tell you what, Marine, why don’t you get my dick out, lock your lips around the head and drink down my beer piss? I’m full to overflowing. I’ll feed you some cum later. But now I want you to drink me dry, so hop to it, Sergeant!
“Yes, sir, I’m always thirsty for you, boss. I’ve had your beer piss before, and it’s like champagne to me, only not sparkly.”
Phillips releases his safety belt, leans to the side, and lowers his face to my bulge. I can feel his hot breath penetrate the heavy jeans fabric, warming my cock swathed in jockstrap mesh. He releases my belt buckle, unbuttons my fly, and pulls my jeans down as I raise my ass from the leather seat to assist him.
“Sir, this is why you own me.” Looking up from my crotch as he nuzzles my cock and balls. “I’ll fight any newcomer who tries to take my place; I might even kill if any man tries.”
I might test that declaration somewhere down the line, but now, I need some relief. Start drinking!
He locks his lips gently around my dickhead, using his tongue to stroke upwards, teasing the underside of the head until the first few drops emerge and land on his tongue, then the dam breaks and I slowly begin to release what turns into a flood of piss into his greedy mouth.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he drinks me dry. After he completely drains me, he keeps my dick in his mouth, enjoying the taste of my hard cock until I pull it out
Ok, Marine, put my weapon away.
Reluctantly, he obeys. I raise my ass as he pulls up my jeans, buttons them, and refastens my belt buckle. Looking up from my crotch.
“Thanks, boss, I love drinking your piss!”
I know you do; you make a damn good urinal, Sergeant.
We travel for another thirty minutes and finally come to the almost-hidden red-dirt road that winds its way up the mountain to the farm. It’s a rough ride since a recent thunderstorm created deep furrows in the roadbed.
I take the gate remote from my shirt pocket, placed there before we started the drive home, hit the green button, and watch the tall iron gate slide open slowly. We drive through. It closes behind us. It takes a few more minutes to drive to the bunkhouse. I hit the horn twice, sending out two loud blasts capable of waking the dead, and parked.
Preacher Caulfield, Stevens, Dickson, and Russo emerge through the front door of the bunkhouse and walk quickly to the van where I am standing next to the open side door. Alex Jr. and Ron, the two young baseball players and sons of Sgt. Phillips remained inside. My new bulls are still struggling, thrashing, and mumbling inside the burlap bag.
“Mph-mm-gh! Nohmm-mph-gh!”
Ok, Russo, untie the cowboy’s feet and walk him up to the main house. Put him down on my bed on his belly and retie his boots. Leave everything else in place; I’ll take care of him myself later.
Phillips turns and stares at me. There are flashes of anger and hate in his gaze. His jaw clenched, no smile on his face.
Russo reaches in and unties Spencer’s feet, leaves the gag and hood in place, then hoists him up from his prone position and pulls him out, landing him on his feet. I watch him march the Lance Corporal toward the main house, his strong hand on the Marine’s neck guiding him. Spencer stumbles unsteadily, walking on the loose gravel. Russo steadies him, gripping the wide leather belt in the back, circling his waist.
They vanish into the house. Many minutes later, Russo emerges, a broad smile on his face. I don’t like the look of that smile because he’s already proven himself untrustworthy. However, I won’t have to be concerned about him after Monday, when a very rich old gay dude arrives in his private jet to collect Russo at the bargain price of only one hundred thousand bucks; he’s well worth the price.
But having two muscle hunks to deal with is one too many, so he has to go! Will I miss him? Maybe a little, but everyone is replaceable; just ask Dan Williams, his replacement.
Sergeant Dan Williams is going to be my new dungeon play toy. I want to get him stripped and cleaned out before disappearing him into the dungeon under the main house. For that, Caulfield, Dickson, Stevens, and Russo will collar him and perform that task before delivering him to my residence, collared, cock caged, cleaned out, and ready for what awaits him.
It takes all four of them to handle the muscle hunk, untie his feet, and pull him out of the van. He’s struggling with his hands cuffed behind his back and the sack still over his head, attempting to fight the men handling him. Preacher uses the shock collar he brought with him from the bunkhouse, locks it around Williams’ thick neck, then removes the handcuffs and snatches the burlap bag from his head.
“What the fuck is this all about? You mother fuckers are going to pay for this!” He yells at the four men standing around him, moving toward Preacher with drawn-back, clenched fists, thundering obscenities at him, ready to do some damage.
Preacher hits the red button on his remote, sending the angry Marine down to his knees, clutching the collar, writhing, screaming out loud. He falls onto his back, hammering his heels into the gravel, pounding, seeking relief, swearing, pleading!
“STOP, STOP. STOP, PLEASE STOP, PLEASE STOP. I’LL BEHAVE, JUST TURN THIS FUCKING THING OFF!
Preacher relents, turns off the collar. Williams is lying on his back, exhausted and still shaking from the brutal electrical assault
“Ok Sergeant, this was your first warning. There is no escape from this property. You’re the personal property of Sergeant Collins now. He literally holds your life in his hands. You’re here for one reason, and one reason only, for cum to be extracted from your balls. You’re just livestock to be milked three times a day, and there ain’t one fucking thing you can do about it.”
“That’s right.” Lieutenant Dickson chimes in. “All of this property is surrounded by a twelve-foot- high electrified fence with razor wire on the top and CCTV cameras every few yards.”
“Yeah”, Corporal Stevens said. “You’re part of the herd now, like the rest of us, so settle down; it will happen even if you don’t want it to.”
Preacher, you and Stevens get him stripped, cleaned out, showered, and shaved. Leave only the hair on his head, nothing else. I’ll leave the two of you to get the job done; by this time, you should know how to do it!
“Yes, sir, boss, this is going to be a pleasure,” Stevens admits.
And when you finish, bring him to the main house naked, wearing only his combat boots; he’s about to learn some manners!
“Yes, sir, boss, can any of us watch?” Dickson offers.
All of you can witness what happens when rebellion replaces common sense. I want all of you in the dungeon with me to witness his transformation!
“Come along with us, big boy; let’s see what you’re hiding under those Levis. Looks like a torpedo to me!” Preacher injects.
“What are you going to do to me? This ain’t right; this ain’t legal!”
“Legal is what the boss says it is, so shut your mouth. Haven’t you learned your lesson, dumb ass?” Preacher is up in his face, shouting, his angry spittle landing in the middle of Williams’ face, and bitch slaps him several times, shutting him up.
Stevens and Preacher lead him away; Williams is looking over his shoulder, his eyes pleading. They disappear into the bunkhouse.
Sergeant Philips, come with me to my quarters; we have a young cowboy bound and waiting for us. Let’s not keep him in suspense any longer. And swing by the bunkhouse and bring both of your sons with you. It’s time they got educated!
“I’m on it, boss. Do you want them stripped?
Everything off except those Nike cleats and socks, icing on the cake if you get my drift.
“I hear you loud and clear.”
Good, get going. I’ll be waiting for you and the boys. Don’t keep me waiting; I don’t like that!
“No, sir, I’ll get them stripped and marched up to the main house pronto!”
I make my way up to the house where Lance Corporal is waiting, bound, gagged, on his stomach with a sack over his head. The first thing I notice upon entering is the disheveled look of his jeans. They have been pulled down and hurriedly pulled back up. The belt looks loose; the zipper is down.
Russo sampled the goods without permission, a continuing fault of his. I’ll let this infraction pass since, come Monday, he will no longer be my problem, but on his way to San Francisco with his new Master.
I kneel on the king-sized bed next to Spence and gently stroke the back of his neck. His hands are cuffed over the small of his back, and his brown cowboy boots are still roped together tightly. He attempts to pull away from my touch, his body stiffening and trembling slightly as my hands explore this young stud, both hands settling on his hard jeans-covered ass.
“Mph-mm-gh Nohmm-mph-gh!” Attempting to be heard.
Take it easy, cowboy; this is Sergeant Caulfield from the bar. You belong to me now, son, so relax; this is the beginning of your new reality. I say, bending down to untie his boots, then spread his legs wide. I push my hand under his crotch, palm up to cup his package. His cock is in the resting stage, which is understandable, and is nestled in the mesh of his jockstrap.
“Mlt-mm-gh!” Struggling in vain.
Let you go? I don’t think so, cowboy. Reaching into his jeans, since Russo already unzipped them, I haul his soft cock out into the open. This is just your first day on the farm. Oh, that’s right, I told you this was a dairy farm; well, in a way it is. We do a lot of milking here, but not for cow’s milk, for cum.
‘Ngggh-mm-Mph-gh!”
I go to the bottom of the bed and pull off one boot from his socked feet, then the other. The stale bedroom air is suddenly filled with the bouquet of his damp boot socks and the heated leather of his cowboy boots. This young Marine’s hot body stench is intoxicating and travels directly to my dick, causing it to come alive. The smell escaping from his hairy pits adds to the heady mixture.
I remove both sweaty socks from his feet and stuff them down in his boots for safekeeping. His smooth, size twelve feet and well-trimmed toenails look so inviting that I kneel at the bottom of the bed. His feet are hanging over the edge. I rub my face against the soles; my five o’clock shadow makes him jerk them away from me. I pull them back and fasten my mouth over one of his large toes and suck as though I was sucking a dick, finally tasting him. His foot sweat is like nectar of the Gods as I drink it down like a thirsty man.
“Ughh-mm-mph-gh!” Jerking his foot away from my mouth.
I release his feet, reach up and snatch the burlap sack from his head, and remove the ball gag. He looks startled at first, his clear blue eyes hurriedly surveying the room. The overhead light blinds him briefly as he blinks and runs his tongue around inside his mouth, trying to restore the moisture.
He gulps a couple of times, giving himself time to form his words, then speaks. “Sergeant Collins, what the fuck, man?
This is about you belonging to me, Lance Corporal. I knew the minute we chatted in the bar that I was going to make you part of my herd, and here you are, Spencer. I own you now, son, and there is nothing you can do about it but comply with my every wish.
“You can’t own another person; that’s slavery!”
Ah, you get it; couldn’t be simpler.
“You can’t own me; I won’t allow it, not at all! You can call yourself a Master, but that sure as fuck don’t make me your slave; I’m a United States Marine, and nobody owns a Marine except Uncle Sam!”
Those were the old rules; this is the new you, and the sooner you accept that fact, the better it will be for you.
“It ain’t ever gonna happen, so you might as well let me go so I can get back to the base. They’ll start missing me at Monday morning roll call.”
No worries, Marine. In thirty days, you’ll be declared a deserter, and that will be the end of your career. Nobody is going to look for you, and even if they do, it will lead to a dead end. This farm is off the map. This is your new home!
At this point, Phillips appears at the bedroom door with his sons in tow. He’s holding a shock collar and tosses it to me. I fasten it around Spencer’s neck, then use my handcuff key to remove his cuffs. He turns over on his side, rubbing his wrists.
“What the fuck did you put around my neck? I ain’t a dog, God dammit!”
That’s a shock collar, Spencer, and this is a cock cage, I say, reaching toward his jeans to grasp his soft cock and stuff it into the cage and lock it. Stunned by circumstances, he allows it to happen.
“Why did you put on my dick?”
That’s a cock cage, and it will keep you from getting a hard-on or to cum, unless I’m at the helm milking you. All you can do is piss through it; that’s it!
“Yeah, we’re all wearing them!” Ron states.
“Yeah, Marine, you’ve been had by a professional hunter – no way out, man, no way out, you’re stuck, so deal with it like all the rest of us are dealing with it!” Alex Jr. grumbles
Phillips, demonstrate the collar for our young friend here so he understands what misbehaving gets him.
“Yes, sir, boss.”
He puts the remote on full stun power and hits the red button. Spencer screams out in agony, thrashing around on the bed, trying to pull the collar off.
“I get it, I get it – fucking stop, fucking ease off, dude, I get the message!”
Ok, Phillips, that’s enough, turn it off!
“Turned off, boss.”
I stand next to the bed, unzip my jeans, and fish out my already hard cock, holding it loosely in my hand. Come here, Lance Corporal, and introduce yourself to Master Jr. He loves attention, especially from a young virgin Marine like you. Don’t be shy because everyone in the room is watching; they’re all waiting to see you suck your first dick.
They’ve all been where you are now and survived, so don’t make me rough you up, which, by the way, happens to be one of my favorite activities. Just slide over toward me and give Master Jr. a great big kiss on his head.
He hesitates, not moving forward toward the leaking piece in my hands. But involuntarily licks his lips to moisten them. He stays cemented in place.
Time’s up!
I grab him by the back of his neck, pull him toward me, and rain down six, eight open-hand slaps to his face, sending his head to the side, then back again to receive more, splitting his lower lip. I SAID COME THE FUCK HERE, PUNK!
Dazed from my attack, he scoots toward me, wiping his bloody lip with the back of his hand, and slowly opens his mouth inches away from my cock, all the time with his eyes locked onto mine. Hatred and confusion surrender his dignity.
“I can’t do it, I’m not gay – don’t make me do this, PLEASE don’t make me!”
Preacher, hand me your remote!
“Ok – Ok, I’ll do it, just don’t shock me again, please don’t do it again!”
I put my hand under his chin and urge it up. My thumb pries his mouth open, and I lay my cock on top of his tongue. It’s warm and wet, sending tremors to my balls, causing my dickhead to swell and my cock to become painfully hard.
He closes his lips around my cock, wetting it with his warm saliva, and begins a tentative sucking action, gagging as I push the head to the back of his throat and hold it there. Tears form in his eyes and run down his cheeks.
It doesn’t get any better than this: a tough, young cowboy Marine crying and sucking me at the same time. I could get used to this, oh hell yes, I could get used to this!
“Uhmm – ugghh – ngg – nggh!”
That’s right, cowboy, enjoy this cum appetizer; it’s coming your way in about a heartbeat or two, and SHIT, here it comes…AAAHHHAHHH FUCCCK…God damn baby Marine, eat me up!
I unload my hot spunk, filling his mouth. He’s not swallowing, but holding it in his mouth, trying to figure out what to do with it other than swallow.
SWALLOW MY LOAD, MARINE, OR I’LL SHOCK THE LIVING SHIT OUTTA YOU AGAIN!
Looking up at me, we lock eyes, and he reluctantly starts to allow my seed to run down his throat, looking for its new home. His eyes are wrinkled up in disgust, but he finds my balls and holds them in his hands. Cradling them, then quickly releasing.
I pull out and wipe my cum streaked dick over the side of his face. Lean over him and lock my lips onto his, force my tongue into his mouth, and taste my own cum. His red, white, and blue striped cowboy shirt is soiled and splattered with my cum. I yank it from him and toss it to Stevens. Laundry this and his jeans, and toss me his wallet; he ain’t gonna be needing it anymore.
Stevens catches the shirt, yanks off the jeans, removes the wallet from the back pocket, and tosses it to me.
Dickson, take our new arrival into my shower and clean him out, but do not shave him; I kinda like his blond peach fuzz
“Yes, sir, I’ll take care of him. What should I do with him after he’s cleaned out?”
After you clean him out, turn him over to Sgt. Phillips. In the meantime, I’ll send Dr. Dragan to the milking barn.
“Yes, sir.”
Dickson pulls Spencer to his feet and leads him into my bathroom. We watch them disappear, then hear the water running.
Phillips, when Davidson finishes cleaning him out, take him and both of your sons to the milking barn and get them ready.
“Yes, boss. I’m thinking of fucking Alex Jr after he’s pumped dry, and his brother too, side by side. I think I deserve that.”
You have my permission to take both of your sons, so go for it!
“Thanks, sir. I will.”
“Dad, don’t do this to us again, please!” They both chime in.
“I’m just going to make love to your sweet tight holes; you’ll learn to love having my Dad dick up your shitters and eventually crave it, and beg for more.”
I leave my bedroom and head to the kitchen and the door that leads to our basement dungeon, open the door, hit the light switch on the right side of the wall, illuminating the dungeon, and descend the twenty steps.
The dungeon footprint matches that of the main house; the dungeon is well equipped. The ceiling has wide wooden beams with stainless steel hooks, several feet apart, capable of hanging a grown man or a side of beef. The St. Andrews Cross is at the far end of the room and is lighted by a spotlight. An assortment of whips, floggers, leather and wooden paddles hangs on the dark wall next to the cross. There are two jail cells a few feet away from the cross.
On the opposite end of the room is an open shower large enough to accommodate several men at a time. A four-foot- long metal urinal and toilet are a few feet away from the shower. In the middle of the room is a black leather-covered kneeling fuck bench, a six-foot-long, four-foot-high sturdy wooden table with leather restraining straps at the head, the foot, and the middle. And a free-standing wooden pillory. Next to the pillory, a padded bench and stock with holes for hands and feet. The floor is painted a shiny black epoxy and is scuff-proof.
I pick up the wall phone and call Preacher at the bunkhouse and tell him to bring Williams down to the dungeon, stripped naked, and wearing his cock cage and neck collar.
“Yes, sir, I’m on my way. I had to slap him around a little bit when he called me a fag, you know, attitude adjustment. I love to suck cock and fuck ass, but take exception to another Marine like him calling me names. Anyway, on my way, sir.”
Preacher, you and I are about to teach this straight bodybuilding asshole a few new tricks. The hard way, my way! After we take him down from the cross, he’ll be more than willing to suck another dude’s dick and take one up his ass, count on it!
“Yes, sir, you’re the expert; I should know, right?
Right you are, sheriff, right you are, and I’m betting you have the whipping scars I left on your back to prove my expertise.
“I do have those scars, sir, a badge of honor for me to be wearing them. I need some more of your fine-tuned punishment; no, make that, I want some more!
I hang up the phone and take my time selecting the whips and paddles I’m going to use on our rebellious Marine Sergeant when I hear their heavy boot thuds on the wooden stairway. They enter. Sergeant Williams is showing signs of the beating Caulfield gave him, but no broken bones as far as I can tell.
“Here he is, boss, the motherfucker who has never learned a lesson!”
Put him up facing the cross, spread-eagled, and secure his hands and feet.
“Get up on the cross facing the wall, asshole!”
He stands defiant until Preacher gives him a swift kick in his ass with the heavy cowboy boots he’s wearing. Williams reluctantly complies, steps up to the cross, and spreads his arms and legs. Preacher manacles his spread hands to the top of the cross, kneels, and attaches the waiting manacles around his boot shafts, securing him spread wide and vulnerable.
“Damn, boss, look at the muscles on this stud’s back. I can’t wait to watch you create some bloody patterns on them as you did on me. Do you want him gagged?”
Oh, hell no, Preacher, I want to listen to the songs he’s gonna be singing while I’m playing with him. Some of my favorite sounds will be pouring out of his mouth before this is over. The begging and pleading only serve to whet my appetite for more!
Head up to the bunkhouse and bring everyone down to watch the show. This is going to be a seminar for the uneducated, and I want Phillip’s sons to have front-row seating. Now, get going!
“Yes, bossman, I’m on my way!”
The room is silent except for heavy breathing coming from Williams. I stand behind the spread-eagled Sergeant and caress his back and shoulders. He shudders under my light touch as my hands drift down to his firm buttocks. I kneel, spread his iron hard mountains of man flesh, lick my middle finger and insert it into his virgin hole.
“GOD DAMN YOU FAGGOT – I’LL KILL YOU FOR THIS IF IT’S THE LAST THING I DO!”
Preacher and Stevens did a bang-up job cleaning you out and shaving you down. And I see Stevens, of his own accord, left the pit hairs unmolested, knowing that I love sweaty, hairy pits. I’ll show him my appreciation later down the line for his foresight.
I suck his clean ass juice from my finger and insert two fingers, then three. He attempts to pull his untouched asshole away from me as I remove my fingers, spread his cheeks, and begin eating out his straight ass. The taste is amazing, totally masculine and tasting the way a Marine hole should taste. My crew did a bang-up job shaving the hair from his crack, allowing his pink rosebud to become the center of attention, the perfect target for my hungry tongue.
Sergeant Phillips leads his naked sons over to where I’m kneeling, watching me feast on our new prisoner. They see the dangerous single tail whip I selected lying on the deck next to the cross, the tip blotched with blood from a previous whipping encounter. The other men form a half circle around the cross, standing as close as possible to watch me in action.
All of their dicks straining to become hard inside of cock cages, precum dripping out and hitting the floor. Fists wrapped around hanging ball sacks, squeezing and tugging them downward.
I raise my hand and, in a flash, deliver the first strike, landing it on Williams’ heavily muscled back, then another and another and another. WHACK, WHACK, WHACK! Narrow trickles of blood merge and travel down and disappear into his ass crack.
“GOD FUCKING DAMN FAGGOT, YOU’RE DEAD MEAT WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE!”
I continue beating him for the next thirty minutes until he passes out from the pain. He hangs unconscious on the cross like a dead man.
You two, pointing to Alex Jr. and his brother Ron.
Take him down and drag him to the jail cell nearest to the cross and lock him in.
I watch them release him from the cross, hands under his armpits, and drag him to the cell. Their baseball cleats clatter on the epoxy floor. Both of their chests are smeared with blood from Williams’ back.
I turn to Phillips. Put Russo in the cell next to Williams and lock it!
“Me, Master, me?”
Hell yeah, you ungrateful motherfucker, you’re history. I sold your sorry ass to a San Francisco Master who will come for you on Monday, so enjoy your bread and water for the next two days; you earned it!
End of Chapter 13
Rex Larsen
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