Sweet Honesty

My beloved brother Matthew died while serving in Iraq, killed when a roadside bomb destroyed the Humvee he was in. He and two others of his team were lost. Upon learning of this tragedy, we planned for a private funeral in our home town, to honor his service to our country.

We received word that a 'renegade' church in the Midwest was planning on protesting the funeral, as they had done with so many other funerals, believing that his death was God's punishment for disobeying his commandments. We'd seen their picketing on TV, singing what sounded like hymns, but in reality were horrible slams against the gay community and people in general. It was a disgusting sight, and we were planning on fighting back, but decided that the best thing to do would be to just ignore it and let them come, and in silent protest, ignore their cruelty and remember our son, our brother in our own way.

The night before the funeral, I was working late at the hotel, where I was a front desk manager, trying to get out at a decent time so I could get home and get some sleep. I was mentally and physically drained, and just wanted to get through tomorrow with some kind of dignity and peace.

A tall, extremely handsome young man, clad in a pair of blue track pants, sweat jacket, with dazzling blue eyes, and sandy blonde hair entered, coming up to the front desk, pulling a suitcase.

'Excuse me, but do you have any rooms available for this evening?' His voice was a rich baritone, and his physique told me he worked out quite a lot.

I smiled and nodded. 'Yes, we do, sir. What type of room would you like'?

'Oh, just a single. I'm leaving in the morning. I'm here to protest the funeral of that soldier that was killed in Iraq.' My fingers froze on the keyboard and I looked at my monitor. Blood began to rush to my face, and I felt my anger boiling inside of me. Just who the fuck did he think he was, entering my hotel, trying to get a room, determined to blemish the memory of my brother with his sickening tirades? Taking a deep breath, I composed myself and looked up at my guest.

'I see. You're from that church in the Midwest, aren't you?' He smiled and nodded. 'Yes, I am. You must recognize me from our previous protests.'

'Yes, of course. If you'd be so kind as to sign this registration card, i'll need your form of payment and identification to check you in.' He slid across the counter his credit card and a driver's license. Patrick Renahan, Topeka, Kansas. I swiped his credit card and handed both pieces of plastic to him.

'I hope you shall be comfortable here, tonight, Mr. Renahan. There is an all night diner just down the block if you wish to get yourself some dinner. As a matter of fact, I'm just leaving here myself in a few minutes. Perhaps I could show you the way, if you're not familiar with the area.' He gave me a cockeyed look and frowned slightly.

'You're not one of those fag enablers, are you?'

'Of course not. I'm just being neighborly, sir. It's part of my job. My wife and daughter will be seeing me later.' He relaxed and smiled broadly.

'Wow, that's a relief. Listen, I'll get settled in and perhaps we can have dinner together, talk about tomorrow's protest. I'm glad you're on our side.' He disappeared from my sight and I slipped to my office, pulling open a desk drawer and removing a small vial of pills. Valium would do just fine.

We ate a couple of burgers and fries and drank a few Cokes, while discussing what his group was planning on doing at the funeral tomorrow. I tried to remain interested in what he was saying, the tiny envelope of crushed powder tucked in my jacket pocket.

'Excuse me, but I must go to the bathroom.' He stood up and walked to the back of the diner, and I immediately pulled out the packet and poured it into his drink, quickly mixing it up. I prayed it would work quickly.

He returned, eating the rest of his burger and downing the last of his Coke. We sat talking for a bit, about his church, how they were determined to reach people with the true word of God, no matter what anyone thought.

'It is our duty as children of the Lord, to smite those who have sinned against us, and spat upon the face of Jesus to pay for their sins. This boy who died was a fag enabler, who is burning in hell.' It took everything in me not to stand up and deck him, knock him across the diner in one fell swoop. But I was going to be patient.

I noticed his eyes starting to fall a bit, his yawning becoming more and more prevalent. 'I'm so sorry, must be jetlag. Perhaps I should go back to the hotel. I have a busy morning ahead.'

'I'd be more than happy to drive you. I don't think you should walk, do you? You look exhausted.'

'You're right. I don't think so. Thank you-you know I didn't even get your name.' I flashed him a wide grin.

'Elliott. Just call me Elliott.'

We arrived at the hotel within a few minutes, and by the time we pulled up, his head was pressed against the head rest, and his body was limp. I pulled the car to the rear of the hotel, near the dumpsters, and parked. I removed him from the car and opened the receiving door with my master key, carrying him to his room, trying to be as indiscreet as possible.

I opened his door and tossed him on the bed, running downstairs and grabbing four nylon cords. I returned, stripped him naked, and tied up his hands and legs, and bound his mouth with heavy duct tape. I sat in the recliner and waited.

About an hour later, he awoke, wide eyed, his head turning in all different directions. He looked at me and stared.

'Oh, you're awake. Welcome back. You fell asleep on the way back here, so I thought i'd let you nap.' I began to remove my clothes and his eyes became as wide as saucers. Sweat beaded upon his forehead.

'By the way, my name is Elliott Andrews. My brother is being buried tomorrow. Lieutenant Raymond Andrews.' I stood in front of him, stark naked, stroking my cock, feeling the blood rushing to the member, making it taut and tight. 'And you're here to protest the funeral of my late brother. Well, I have news for you. I'm going to show you what happens when you disgrace a man who served our country well, who fought for our rights.' I mounted him and he began to struggle violently, a mixture of terror and anger in his eyes. I threw up his legs, slid on a condom (lest their be any DNA) and with one swift, deft motion, plunged my hard cock into his hole. He screamed through the tape, and at first I felt how tight he was, so pulled out and lubricated his crack with a bottle of lotion, and threw some on my cock, then rammed it back into him.

He tried in vain to fight back, but the nylon cords held him firm, as I pummelled his fine young ass, my balls slapping against his tender flesh.

'Oh, yeah. This is what you think all soldiers do, don't you? Fag enabler, right? Don't ask, don't tell.' I slammed it in harder, watching as his eyes watered in pain.

'Come on, don't fight me. Take it like a bitch, boy. You'll get to like it. Trust me'. I was relentless, my manhood tearing in and out of his ass, relishing every moment of punishing him.

I pulled out of him and leaned down, taking his cock into my mouth and began to suck him, squeezing his balls. I could feel him still attempting to struggle from my grasp, but also I could feel his cock begin to rise against my lips as he began to relax and allow me to fellate him. I looked up and he had his eyes closed, his body relaxed.

The long, tapered cock felt good in my mouth, and I worked on if quite a while, waiting for him to shoot his load.

When it finally did happen, I let his semen spray all over his body, as he jerked in response. I went into the bathroom and got a washcloth, cleaning up not only his body, but myself, getting dressed and removing the cords that held him. He laid there for a moment, just staring at me, sweat drenching his hot, nubile frame. He didn't say anything, staring at the ceiling as I stood back and leaned against the wall.

'Now, if you say anything to your church, this is what will happen. They will excommunicate you in a heartbeat. Trust me, you won't want to tell them you had sex with another man. Even rape, which I don't think it was because you were enjoying that blowjob a bit too much. You will also convince your 'people' to quietly disperse tomorrow. It would be best for all of you, since we don't want any trouble here. And if you go to the police, do you really think they are going to believe you, considering where you are from? I guarantee you, they will be on my side.'

He finally sat up and his eyes were hazy, his appearance disheveled. 'You'll pay for this someday, I promise you. I'll make sure you'll go to hell'.

'And how is that? Oh, by telling your fellow parishoners what occurred? Don't think that would be too wise, do you? Good night, sir. Do hope your stay is a pleasant one'. I left and drove home, anticipating the morning and how it would play out.

Arriving at the church at 9:30, I pulled up and was met by my mother, dressed in black, her hair done up beautifully.

'I'm so glad you're here, Elliott.' She hugged me and turned to the corner where the protesters were due to arrive.

'Do you think they are going to come? The protestors?'

'I don't think so, Ma. I think they are going to stay far away from here as possible.' As I spoke those words, a white van drove by, filled with people holding protest signs. The van kept on down the road, towards the freeway entrance, and disappeared from sight.