The Recruit

by Petr-Johan

8 Oct 2018 2995 readers Score 9.0 (72 votes) PDF Mobi ePub Txt


Author’snote: This is the sequel to the story ‘The Recruit’ about a youngman who was brutally beaten and raped. It is not a pleasant story, itis a graphic story with images of BDSM that some may find difficult.There is no sex per se, it is just suggested. Again, there istorture, blood and written images that some may find unpleasant. Icannot apologize for that as I believe that that what happens here isthe proverbial punishment that fits the crime. Excessive? Perhaps butthen so is being beaten and rapedwhen one is 18.


Duffey had made his speech to the two men hanging, waiting, knowing. These were the two who had raped my son or perhaps it’s better to now say, these are the scum who raped the Marine partner of Duffey and all of us. We had all seen the pictures, knew what had happened to him, but, as Shakespeare said in “The Tempest”, “What’s past is prologue”; We remembered only the brutality of the past, the pain, the suffering, the physical violation so that became the past, we were here to apply the answer to Shakespeare, the resolution, the finality, all four of us. We were the men who loved him, knew him to be the man, the Marine he almost was but for our purposes, the Corps, at least our branch of the Corps has stipulated that he was a bona fide, mutherfuckin’ leatherneck, A Marine.

No one among us had suffered what he had, no one had the precision of memory that he had. Not one of us had the indignity of a cock and balls branded on our ass. Our job was to insure that regardless of what we did, somewhere our Marine, Pete, was somehow aware that his buddies, his Marines thought of him, loved him, would extract for him….two souls and send them to Marine Hell.

It was Duffey, calm, direct who set out our task. It was not easy, it was well conceived and it was only for us, four guys who had, he said, to strip from us hate and only concentrate on our tasks, no puny emotions such as horror at the deed done, loathing, disgust could cloud the clarity of what we would do. Further, each man would perform on his own, whatever he wished, however he wished, what he did could be done by one or all, that it was done was each man’s expression of how he regarded their action.

Duffeytook out a wooden box, possibly eight inches by eight inches, “Haulout your cocks and stand there. One thing, to give each of youincentive, while it’s not possible to provide you with a mentalidea of the pain our brother Marine endured, I thought it would beencouraging, as each of you worked, to be subjected to the idea ofwhat he took.” He took what looked to be a piece of well polishedpipe, rounded at one end, from the box, but one that was hinged; Heflipped it open. “These, men, are called a form of iron maiden,Teeth of Kali. The fit over cocks, are closed, locked and, you cansee the ‘teeth’, thirty six of them, which will dig into yourmeat. They can be screwed in further and each of us will turn thosescrews until we hit our own pain thresholds.” He held up whatappeared to be a silver straw with a knuckle on the end. “When youare locked in and screwed down, you will each take one of these,thread it through the hole at the end of the metal maiden then intoyour cock then, using the screw that is inside, thread the screwdown. When you piss, cum, drip blood from the teeth, have precum allif will come out this end and, men, I know we will want to see as wescrew them on ourselves, blood. That’s why I have each of you inragged clothes. I could not know how much blood might be sprayed fromwhatever source but these clothes, and there are some more T’sshould yours get too sweaty or bloody into which you can change. Eachof you pick up your teeth and lets get them clamped on us. HOO RAHMARINES.”


I took mine, along with a slim screwdriver and a small padlock, opened it and looked at hell. Thirty six gleaming points, each ready to sink in, ready to demonstrate what my Pete in some other ways, felt. These did one thing that had been done to him; We were degraded, not humiliated, but degraded, at the pleasure of a device that though we controlled it, actually controlled us. It took me a moment but, finally, I laid my cock on one side, I could feel the pricks, which had been slightly sharply pointed, then closed the other side. It was the kind of pain that make some men double at the abdomen however, I saw my son, snared, his legs spread, his clothes stripped from him, probably knowing, guessing, thinking what would, not might, would happen. I slammed the top down, popped my meat in the lock, slammed it shut, stuck in the tube until I could feel it down inside my piss slit, turned the end so that it screwed onto the metal, I was a prisoner of myself. One more thing; Going slowly along the top row of flat ended screws, ones with a small slit where the flange of the screw drove the teeth further….and I began to turn. By the fourth one, I could sense the mush that blood makes when it’s trapped. Two more screws and, from the back of my collared dick, a trickle of blood. Spurred by pain, getting hard which made it all the more excruciating, I twisted the fuck out of each screw. The trickle at the end was now a small stream. To create the final one, I shoved the screw driver down the tube until I hit flesh, rotated it, withdrew it and there was my blood drooling. Pete, I screamed in my mind, I love you, I would kill myself for you, this blood is for you and, suddenly I dropped the slim piece of metal and stood stock still, almost Marine straight, my eyes focused only on two hanging bodies, thinking they have no pain, not yet but if I can take this….

Duffey stood beside me, we shook hands. “Went all the way, dinja, thought you would, me too” I looked down to see his metal device, in some places a rosy pink as blood had flowed over it. Looking around, it was the same, all of us had gone ‘all the way’. We were proud, we were the few, we were the Marines from hell. Fuck, I ripped off my clothes so that my blood, Pete’s blood drizzled down my balls down my legs, I was ready.

In advance we’d agreed that there was no future and, face it, no pleasure, no sense of vindictiveness if we all acted at once. Duffey suggested, and the guys agreed, that he and I should go last for obvious reasons.

Leewas first. He gestured and we all followed him. The men had beenhung, spread eagle, so their feet were just off the ground but werefully stretched. Each wrist had been carefully packed in cotton,covered in leather over which a metal cuff was latched down and itwas to this the chain that hung him was attached. If you followedthat chain, you noticed that it went to a ratchet on the floorallowing you, if you felt like it, to stretch him more. Each sideworked independent of the other which made it more interesting. Leeremoved a scalpel from its sterile packaging, reached up then made anincision from his hairline to the end of his nose. Just a trace ofblood. Next to that, no more than an eighth of an inch, another andanother and another until part of his forehead and all the side ofhis nose was a set of parallel lines, each barely bleeding. Hereached up grasped the top of the first stripe and began to pull it.Did it hurt? Maybe but as he worked along, he removed all the skin,holy shit! He was flaying the guys face!. Now the exposed tissuebegan to seep a gruel of red that oozed down over his lips, down hischin and splatted on the floor looking like a stomped spider that hadbeen squashed. Moving clear beyond the eye, he stared on the temple,finishing just off the ear. These were longer strips, pulled moreslowly, small chunks of tissue under the skin started to come withit. It was like looking at a portrait that was painting itself,changing with each movement, coloring in other parts that weren’ttouched. Perhaps tired with the face, or bored with doing the samething he turned to Duffey. “This the one that spat in our Man’shole?” Duffey nodded. “Guess he’ll learn there are laws aboutspitting on the sidewalk.”

Delicatelyas removing the skin from a planked fish he ran the scalpel justunder the skin of the upper lip. Because he started just within thelip line, when he finished so that there was a paper thin piece ofskin no longer touching the lip. In one swipe, he ripped it off, spatin his mouth, paused, went to a duffel bag, picked up something,shears, and made long cuts in each nostril. The tears from the mangathered in the blood running by them and produced a Rose wine offluid. Almost as an after thought, he jerked the jaw open then cutthe tongue in half.

Hemoved to the other...I cannot use the word ‘man’ as theyweren’t...thing hanging and did the same thing.

“Iguess that’ll do for now.” He paused, “Sure would like to takethat ball peen hammer and give them each a dimple...fuck, that’swhere they say Angels kissed you and this jerk ain’t no angel.”He gave the guy one in the nuts which set him swinging as much as hisbondage would allow, gave each ratchet enough turns that it waspossible to see some of the joints almost break the surface withoutquite separating.

“Next”

Ianwho had been particularly quiet set about what he had in mind with askill and economy of motion that was admirable. Duffey had said, andmeant, that we would not lop off their cocks or their nuts but therewas no exclusion made for damaging them, none at all. Apparently he’dbeen practicing the Japanese Art of Shibari, often used as punishmentbut looked aesthetically pleasing. Taking a ball of small cord hebegin to isolate the balls in a tight winding that eventually led outto the cock, neatly, tightly trussed. All that was left was a longstrand which he left unused until he’d completed the same ropebinding on the other cocksucker. Now, with two long strands, hepulled them out until the cocks were taut, took a nail and a hammerand pounded the two ends together then attached that to a longerpiece that went across the increasingly blood spatter floor, up towhere an old fashioned oil lamp haphazardly hung. With patience andknow how, he briefly restored the parts of the lantern that suitedhis purpose, filled the fuel holder with something then put the endof the rope just close enough so that the heat from the lamp wickwould, eventually set it on fire. Down the rope, across the room andup to the tightly wound cocks and balls….Who knew how long it wouldtake but, if you were hanging there, watching, you did know theinevitable….Striking a match on his boot, he lit the well of fuel,turned up the wick which, eventually would catch fire spreading anunwelcome glow…

“All yours, gentleman, all yours.”  

There was but one thing left to do, necessary to do, imperative to do. From the bag we each pulled a well crafted brand as well as a propane torch. Pete had been given a cock an balls on his ass, a crude one made with a bent wire coat hanger. The ones we held were...substantially larger and exquisitely showed the genitals of a man in full arousal. We walked around, held each one up so that they could not fail to see what would be theirs, saw the torches turned on and heard our feet walk behind them.

Metalmakes no noise when it heats, the only gauge being the color but it’senough.  Better would have been a forge or some place with extremeheat to get these symbols of a man so hot their next stage would havebeen molten. That wasn’t possible but by watching, holdingsomething close to see if it flamed, observing the color, we knewwhen we had got the two reminders of another place, another time, aMan, we slowly strolled up not wasting time as heat drops quickly.

Eachof us shoved the brands on an ass check, paying no attention to thescreams of the recipients, why should there be? They’d done it toanother so...surely they knew the pain. How could it be other wise.

As we heard the sizzle of the flesh Duffey counted; “Rare, Medium Rare, Medium, Medium Well done, Done”. At which point we pulled them off. It would be weeks, probably months before the edge of the design could easily be seen but the Marine who forged these brands was a craftsman, now their asses were simply crisped, the crisp lines that would appear awaited fate. Somewhere, in a prison maybe, they’d loose their pants and the message would be clear, “Fuck me”. And that would happen.

“Smells in here, don’t it. Peel, throw your clothes over there….” We did. Duffey picked up the bag with the now cooled brands, took out a glass jug, maybe a gallon, threw it at the pile where it broke soaking the clothes finally sending out tendrils of what smelled like jet fuel. Last thing before we left, each of us took a match, struck it and threw it on the pile which was instantly a pyre. Some of the excess had made little creeks and were almost under the hanging figures. Almost. Guess I’ll never know if the fire got that far, we were on our way back to Ch rlies.

The place was empty, no barkeep, no patrons slumped over the bar, two or three small lights, just enough to illuminate the place. On the mirror were the letters USMC.

“There’sa shower over here, get the shit and the stink and the contaminationof the proximity of those two off us. No hot water but who cares.It’ll let your dicks shrink, easier to get the teeth off…”

“Mine stays on.”  I hadn’t thought of it until I said it but once I had, knew it was the only correct thing to say and do, It was my kid, all my life I needed to  bear the scars of what I might have let him get into. Duffey looked at me.

“Mineas well, for now, that about right?”

Lee and Ian hadn’t even touched them so they were with us. Only thing...we wrapped the whole area, after the shower, in plastic so their uniforms, I had one with everything but the insignia, wouldn’t have blood that did not come from an enemy.

It was a long, painful drive back home. No conversation, what was there to say? In my mind I’d more or less decided, but would talk it over with Duffey, that Pete didn’t know what had been done; His pain was already real and permanent, why tell him something that might cause him….something. Always a nice kid, now a good young man hopefully finding contentment in Texas with his grandparents, I couldn’t be certain how to gauge what his reaction might be. There was one person who would be told and, I felt, would appreciate the incident and the penalty phase; His Grandfather, Merle. I’d given Duffey the thousand dollars he’d given me for whatever purpose I might find for it. There was little doubt that Duffey had used that money in some way for the proceedings we’d just left. Would I ask him? No. Would he tell me? Maybe. Sometimes “Don’t ask, don’t tell” has other applications.

At home in the kitchen, we all stripped. Somehow this day could not end until one last thing, some sacrifice, some conclusive action that sealed it. I reached down, held the iron torture tube in my hand and slowly began to jerk it. I wanted to see me, my cum, the sperm that created my son eject from a place of pain, it would be my expiation. It was agony. Lee, Ian as well as Duffey joined me each of our faces contorted with a level of pain one should never inflict on themselves save in a moment like this when the pain felt….good. Proper. Erotic.

Ittook a long time but each of us watched a bloodied silvery substanceooze out while our pleasure places jerked out bodies, said this wasit, their donation. When we all had finished Duffey got out the keywhile each of us unscrewed the silver sound from inside our cocks.The opening of each metal tube revealed a blood covered penis, ours,the teeth marks brutally drilled in, our piss holes leaking whateverfluids would come out. It was over.

It was months before Duffey and I could fuck again, same for Lee and Ian. The tooth marks, apparently permanent small scars, all 36 of them, made a bond between us, gave us the permanence of memory that we wanted. Something ventured, something gained. But now our sexing was more serious, not just a masculine display of taking another man, but a repeated sharing of our bodies. We all grew, as four, closer, as a mated pair, forever bound.

Merle flew North, not telling Pete he was coming, but wanted to hear from us a recitation of what happened. We showed him the teeth, our scars, told him in very precise words. Told us Pete probably would stay in Boerne, seems there was a head wrangler two ranches over that seemed to take an interest in him, good man, had his approval which meant he had ours. I got out the Bourbon bottle, poured out a Marine sized lashing so we could all toast to Shakespeare who now knew what followed the prologue. 

by Petr-Johan

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