Trades

by Petr-Johan

26 Apr 2019 2303 readers Score 9.2 (40 votes) PDF Mobi ePub Txt


A quiet hall, late, dark, a man without clothing but a tool belt around his waist steps off the last riser, stands, waits for more than normal noise then moves. Someone left the light on over the sink then didn’t completely close the door...there’s just enough light, there’s just enough silence. Quiet, the friend of deeds that need to be done without notice. Actions that will be taken then moved on to the next place.

His hand on a door only partially closed, the smell and feel of breeze coming through a window, out the door, over the sweat on his body. Yesterday he’d greased the brass hinges, carefully checking them, letting the oil work its way well in. No squeak just the almost silent swoosh of a door moving air while being slowly opened. The room. Not large, a bed, a dresser, a desk with a goose-neck lamp, some posters on the wall, a prized bat from….some game, the few clothes the sleeper shed as he sprawled on the bed and slept.

Closer. From the belt one thing, not heavy and in the gloom of the chamber, almost unseeable. He glides quickly onto the bed, puts one hand around the head covering the nose and mouth, his other hand holding the gun, so it was unmistakably  a gun, against the mans neck. Sleep had gone. The young man was more awake than he’d ever been or would be again.

In a voice he could not identify he was told to put his hands behind him, palms out...and if he even considered calling, screaming for Mom or Dad….they’d find a corpse.

Click. Cuffed. From his belt a gag, the sort that is held on with a leather strap while a cock shaped piece is in the mouth. Eyes are blindfolded. He moves down the taut flesh sticking the barrel in an ass saying only to not move. Manacles on each ankle, a bar to hold them slightly apart attached. Just one more act.

The whispered voice telling him what next. His virginity was to be taken and quickly done, no consideration.

A stiff cock, stroked, held for a second at the opening then shoved in as far as it would go, until the muscles of resistance almost caused it pain. The body on the bed contorted, trying to scream in agony, a feeling he’ll never have again...no man does. Many, perhaps most, do not want it ever but….that sensation was now his to remember.

The man pulled himself out, pulled out a metal collar with a ring...which lead to a chain. Only the clank of the chain and the subdued weeping of the man...as he slid out, down the hall toward the light in the bathroom into another room. More light here, the moon almost left shadows of leaves through the window.

Little difference, gagged, cuffed, fucked, manacled, collar and chain added but the sound was….desperation to understand why….the straining of his boy cunt pushed aside, the feel of hair on a cock as it went in him, he wanted to beat his hands, bicycle his legs, scream for his older brother…. he’d always protected him...but not now. The cock stayed in making sure that no trace, no sense, no evidence of a cherry remained...even to the cherry red drizzle of blood that fell from the mans thick piece of meat as it withdrew.

Retrace his steps to the stair well where three men waited. No words, just the shake of his head guaranteeing what had happened. One man took him the other two went down the hall to collect what they had come for: The two brothers who were no  longer virgins but awaited them, as in the old song, “Signed, Sealed, Delivered” they were theirs.

The men were both powerful, strong, used to carrying heavy things so grabbing these, putting them over their shoulders was easy. Or would have been. One looked at the other, made a hole with his thumb and fore finger, smiled then licked, stuck his middle finger in it. The other man winked in acceptance but in the dark….

The young man was trying, trying to be strong, keep his wits, ignore the pain that seemed to rot him but when he was rolled over by calloused hands, he knew….Too bad for him men are men and as they worked his cock, it stiffened, he felt a finger up where a dick had been, something made him want to explode. He groaned through the gag but his time in expectation that he did not understand. He’d jacked off but this time...with that finger up his ass, with his balls being tugged and pressed while his cut cock was harshly worked up and down….he couldn’t resist, blew a load on the bed just as the finger in his tail was replaced by a heavy, large sausage that, like the one earlier, went straight in but, unlike the first time, stayed.

His first real man to man fuck.

Whoever was doing it only wanted to use him to get his own pleasure, get his big, veined dick to spew, to breed him. Even as he pulled out, he dribbled man sauce over the hip of the body while he finished pulling on it, looking for one...more….drop, maybe something for his finger, maybe to coat his finger then slip it under the gag and make the man just fucked taste what was in him….When he felt the lips, the teeth the mouth he was sorry there was no time to teach this one how to suck cock….had the sort of mouth that would do a good job. Maybe another time.

He was picked up, tossed over a wide, heavily muscled shoulder while they moved on one more room. The whimpering, even in the dark, told them where to look. Dumping the first one on the floor, they recreated the acts they’d just done but this one was younger, a bit too tender for their taste. Still, he got fucked by both of them one at a time, each finding their schlong coming out dripping blood. Didn’t matter...in  moment both bodies were on their way down the stairs….into the dark house through a kitchen out a door into a garage where they held them waiting orders.

A man in a suit leaned against the garage door while another man cuffed, gagged, manacled and chained the father to the bumper of his car.

“Where the fuck have you been? Just pick ‘em up and back down here...”

One of the guys mumbled something about a chain getting snarled, okay, and the other one took a shit….just needed too,

Whether he bought or not, they had to move.

Tears fell into the hair on his chest, he could still see the smear of blood on his cock from where he’d fucked his youngest son, Sweeney, 13. That was the worst of them, if you could decide which was worst…..at least Bryan was….older, 16, stronger, bigger….but it didn’t matter, didn’t matter….now.

The guy leaned over and slapped him. “Good job, if there’s a problem between here and there….it’s your DNA...good old daddy, pedophile, screwed his own sons. The cops, hell, the media will love this one, upright, well respected suburban dad caught screwing his sons just because he had the hots….” He slapped him again.

I’m gonna cut you a favor, a guy you know said to make sure you followed through, told me to...down there, do a little cutting….but I don’t think so. Gonna take some pictures of you, here dripping cum….they’ll be around, that should keep you up and doing what you’re supposed to do. Won’t you. This time he kicked him causing him to fall over.

He reached in his pocket, fished out the all purpose phone, camera, recording device and started to snap away at one point arranging his hand so there were fingers up his ass, another, laying on his back, might look like he was jacking off and the last, his two sons, looking at them while cum dripped on the pavement….

But he had an inspiration, forced the biggest kid, the one with the longest dick to his knees. Using a gun to his nuts, daddy was forced to blow his son….while the pictures flew into the ether…


“Throw them in the van, chain ‘em….hey, dad, wanta see your kids leave for their vacation? Get a real good tan.” It was a nasty, sickening laugh. The door slammed shut, van drove away.

“Chains all locked down? Stick that big black thing up daddy’s ass, I got something for his cock, little thing with teeth….”. He took a steel tube lined with sharpened points and slammed it shut over his cock, locked it and threw the key...away. “Don’t get hard or take a piss.”

He dropped some keys just far away that it would take time to get them but...he could, eventually, release himself.

One last thing.

“You might wanta hold on to this card, tells you where to come get them...if they’ll want to come back...but after what you did and, ‘course, they’ll be told why they were….shit, I hate the word ‘sold’, no money changed hands...just a debt retired. Let’s say….they were loaned, yeah, that sounds good….off to a vacation, sort of like summer camp...” He started to laugh…

“Well a summer camp for old men who like young boys….yours are gonna be real popular...get a good all over tan….” He leered at the man laying on the concrete.

“Shit head, learn a lesson, don’t make deals with a devil cuz he will come around to make the collection, like tonight...Yes….He...Will.”

In the dark he walked toward an anonymous sedan, drove away leaving a destroyed man, father, who’d just fucked his own sons...left his seed in them to sit on the cold concrete and begin to wail in pain and grief and helplessness….He was tainted with the worst sin he could imagine….even killing them might have been….he’d offered everything but it was his sons, only his sons that would be accepted. The man listened to his pleas, his begging, his trying to appeal to his humanity but...his humanity went only so far as to comment that what he wanted was two young men freshly fucked by their father, wrapped up and when they were taken away….the debt was settled. Or almost. If he wanted them back...but that was another deal for another time and another place so give them up or….disappear yourself to avoid the one small bit still remaining but if you want to escape that..well, when they find you, better be at the end of a rope. He was a sport, even send the rope….noose already made.

When the sun came up he was still  there laying on the floor of this own garage in his own home where his sons...his sons….with no expression, no feeling he started to find the keys that had been dropped to get loose. Sonofabitch left them so you had to find one, get loose, the chain to the car, before you could get to the next one and, finally, with his own blood leaking from the steel capsule on his dick, pawing through the grass looking for the one that would release him….let his meat….or should he just leave it on? A permanent reminder of what he did. He flopped on the grass in frustration and agony; God tossed him a favor, there was the glint of a brass key...release and relief. But one thing, a signature, a penis covered with angry red dots, not quite flesh broken but sure to leave 36 bruises for a long time, maybe scarred forever.

He vowed to keep it...put it on when he thought of his sons….something to remind him of what he’d done; It could only cause physical pain...and then only for a little while but his pain, the real pain, was inside him, scraping at his soul...knowing if he ever saw his sons….What?

Walking toward his suddenly unfamiliar, empty home, tripping over a chain, naked, bleeding it came back to him to find the card so casually thrown to him…. One word, “Contadora”. Well, shit, what did that mean?

At least it was easy to find, turns out it was an island to the South of the West coast of Panama...some resorts, private homes for those who wanted privacy, some big, important names there. He could get there but….then?

He was in overdrive trying to work it out...he found a way to get the State department to put a rush job on his new passport, Panama didn’t require a visa, lots of flights a day...just a matter of hopping on one. But that sounds quicker than it was.

He tried to do some sort of research, about the island, about Panama...the guidelines the State Department weren’t too encouraging; Now that the Panamanians controlled the Canal Zone, the whole place was rougher but, one good thing, it did mention the off shore islands, said they were safe, just, as with any place foreign, boil the water and stay off the streets after dark. But they could have said that about any place from Detroit to Montevideo.

He had to assume that’s where his sons were, that crack about ‘vacation’ and getting a tan….plus this place was relatively obscure, seemed very quiet, some inns, one small resort, pleasant beaches, ferry service most days from Panama City, also a commuter air service so it wasn’t as if it were hidden, only accessible if you put together a group of ex Marines to dig into forests; Several places showed a map of the roads, access to beaches but, if you looked at it carefully, it was a ring road that didn’t go into the island-not that it was particularly large but also it swerved inland, forced by some tall, well, tall for there, cliffs above one of those much suggested beaches. To get there you parked then a modest hike to the water’s edge. Most, after a day or so there, abandoned the rented car, did what the locals did, took the jitney or, actually fun, stood by the side of the road and hitched; No one ever refused a rider, it was, he found, a good way to get around,He could do all that, get there, easy but that only started the hunt….if they were even there. The card with ‘Contadora’ on it wasn’t left by accident, it meant more than it said so he had to assume, if he could get there….maybe….he could get them back. Jesus he hoped so and then would begin the life long task of trying to make them understand, to love him again (His assumption was their attitude toward him wouldn’t be….good…he’d be lucky, assuming he could rescue them that gratitude for even that might be….lacking.)

He elected to take the ferry from Panama City, more than an hour but through a beautiful sea. The island was almost immediately visible, ten minutes after docking he had walked the shot distance to the inn. Nice, family run, served good meals….really good, comfortable, basic but, and he knew this before he arrived, no direct questions were going to produce any answers he wanted. On the other hand, as with any stranger who came and, clearly would be there for more than a few days, he was fascinating to them. Typical of a closed community where strangers were not only welcome guests, but carriers of new tales, stories, curiosities.

His story was that he was a business man who, as he put it with a smile, ran out of gas, doctor told him to get away, not just some resort in Hawaii when an old friend, who’d been stationed at Albrook AFB in the Canal Zone, had suggested the island mentioning that the deep sea fishing was great. As a story it was completely believable and believed. He’d only brought a duffel bag, almost beach comber clothes with some slacks and a few casual dress shirts, worn outside the waist, when he went anywhere that seemed to require more than old tennis shoes, shorts and a tank top.

He found it very friendly, there was a sort of jitney service that ran the road around the island, the driver, also very friendly, fairly good English-the years of the Americans in the ‘Zone’ left that ability to almost all the locals. Just sitting by him watching the jungle dip in and out of views of beaches….people waving, some just to wave, some to have it stop...under almost any other set of circumstances he would have been happy to spend months there. However, he had a mission and these slow, introductions, getting people used to seeing him, very important. He quickly learned at the Inn that gossip was almost the coin of the realm in a place as small as Contadora. Not that there was much gossip.

He took to having Jacquard, the driver’s name, letting him off at places where he could access the beach, have some privacy which he was happy to do. Most of the tourists stayed at the resort and used the private beach there so, invariably, he was alone...grew confident enough to strip, swim naked then come back and dried laying in the sun on the white powder sand.

Maybe ten days in, he’d established a casual sort of routine, coffee and whatever proved to be breakfast with the family at the inn. If he asked, a packed lunch, he’d stand by the road until Jacquard putted by, picked him up then dropped him at what he now thought of as ‘his’ beach. Called it ‘Coppertone’ as in one of the low cliffs there was a line of green that would be copper if mined. Also, and he’d been careful, he was getting a good tan, one that would eventually whiten his hair, dry his skin, give his eyes a permanent squint….if he was there that long.

Once in a while a local would haul their boat in, usually at mid day, flip it, make a shelter then flop under in the shade on the sand to rest. One old man in particular...proved to be a Vet, as he said, “Got myself into a fuckin’ foreign affair so just stayed...that’d be back when Sandborn was C.O...Jesus he laid me out, no fraternization, no fraternization but then he and the missus, give me a good bonus, said he hoped we’d be happy and’, he laughed, ‘hoped I come home soon. Well, he left, on to Okinawa but I stayed.” Knowing how natives asked questions….I did. Like many places, to ask a simple question got a life story.

Said his name was Bergstrom, like the Air Force Base, was from Brainerd, Minnesota, but he didn’t have a name any more, folks just called him ‘Bergie’. Man said he was ‘Will’, They shook, he commented that Will was new, planning to stay? Maybe. Well, Bergie and his woman, they never had no church wedding, came to the island, she found a job house keeping at the resort, he fixed shit...on an island less ‘n two miles square, wasn’t much to do but they got by. Had one kid, run off to the mainland, most of ‘em do, he said, wife died an’ he just stayed on...had what he called a shack with plumbing and electricity most of the day...go out fishing, sell if he caught anything to the resort or the few inns, wanted to know which one I was camping at? Gave me his review of them, got four out of five stars, told me there was cheaper around if I planned on staying…

Two hours later not only did I feel I knew every street in Brainerd but all the residents of the island, who was a drunk, who was two timing who, who was a shit, who you could trust, himself-of course, and….If I ever wanted a piece a ass, let him know, he knew a couple of local bitches that put out...with which he righted his boat, hopped in, said he’d see me around, maybe tomorrow and was almost immediately almost beyond hollering distance.

Tomorrow, whores….I had an impulse, an idea, just a possibility but if or when he came tomorrow, I’d tell him a story, back it up with some beer, maybe make a campfire, get comfortable and see how much more Bergie knew or would tell. One thing. That late afternoon I took the long way round the island with Jacquard-now Jac, just a few, by now, neighborly questions. Told him about meeting Bergie and watched him. He laughed, said the old man was a good sort, harmless, ever since his woman died, son ran off, led a sort of quiet life….he looked at me and grinned; “Do Not let him get started on  the story of his life. Shit, the man, has one and he’ll tell you...if you’ve got all this day most of the next and into the night.” He paused to grin, laugh. “He’s a nice old fellow, if there’s anything or anyone on this island you want to know about, he’ll know but, unless you’ve got time to hear the answer, don’t ask. Fuck, I picked him up one day-he had some good looking Snappers-we was gone around the island three times before I could get him quiet enough to tell him I hadda go home or stop by Leila’s place and take a dump.” Jac laughed at that; “See, just telling him that caused him to remember three other places to use before we got there...if I was in real need….who knows that kind of darn fool information but...hell, he was right, not fifty yards on...”.

That night lingering over a beer, playing with the pet faun-deer were everywhere, almost pets-just gassing with Encarnacion, (Ernie) about what everyone talked about, nothing. Mentioned meeting Bergie; She threw her hands in the air. “Aiyee, him, the mouth of the island...and you get home tonight? What, you kill him?” Having said that, she went on and verified what Jac had said, he was a nice old man, he and his ‘wife’ did a lot of good, still did, kept to himself anymore.

I didn’t even have to ask. “Say, you see him tomorrow?” I agreed that might happen. She allowed as how she’d wrap beer in ice and newspaper, maybe make a meal-his ‘wife’ had been a friend, she remembered something he liked, maybe he’d take me out...skin diving, “Did I have a mask and fins? She had some things she’d loan me.” And, if I had the time….as long as the sun rises and sets, that’s how much time I’ve  got…...see if he’ll take you around the peninsula to Coiba, some of the islands there, bigger, more to see, not as nice, too many tourists but take a few days….if he will, go there.

That night in bed I wondered. That card with this island’s name hadn’t been given to me as a suggestion for a vacation. Something was here or would be here or I was to make a connection that led me on but...who? Jac? Bergie?Ernie? They all seemed unlikely for more than island chatter. Bergie had suggested if I wanted a woman, he might know one but….it was the sort of offer many single men get, particularly when it’s clear they’re not wherever they are for any purpose other than what I’d said, tired, needful of rest, the sun...swimming….

It was not an easy night simply because for once I sensed, felt, I had made the right steps, and not in just coming to the island to wait for...what? Resolving the problem, I eliminated the cast of characters I knew, decided there was someone on the island watching me or would come to the island or….fuck. I balled up my pillow, stuck my hand on my cock to give it a good jerk then didn’t so much sleep as died. The tropics do that to a man.

With or without Bergie and armed with Ernie’s fins and mask, I did more than swim, I paddled out to the reef where I found a population of Moray eels that did nothing more than slide in and out of their homes, puzzled to see something aquatic that wasn’t a member of the fish family. One piece of advice I’d taken was to wear a T shirt as the lensing effect of sun and water could quickly crisp your back far beyond tan and into burn. That morning I’d also found the local barber and got a crew cut-dried salt water in your hair is an annoyance I could do without. Most of the local men were of some local tribe that, apparently, after their heads, didn’t grow hair elsewhere; Dried, salty, hairy chests aren’t particularly pleasant either.

Back on shore….no one. The sun had moved enough for the cliff to provide shade so...taking Ernie’s beer and lunch, I sat down, enjoyed a really good sandwich, some homemade vegetable, not quite a potato, fried and spiced...as well as a collection of fruit. While my shirt hung from an outcropping, full of a good meal, I used the wadded paper from the beer-there were still three if Bergie showed-as a pillow then slept.

Until you’ve had a crab crawl over you, you haven’t been awakened very quickly. Son of a bitch, Bergie had put a bit of fish on me then found my visitor who was, until my startled rising, sitting on my abdomen enjoying a snack. He, stupid fool, was rolling with laughter, uncaring that I was standing there ready to smack him.

I calmed down-it was funny….after a bit….tossed him a beer as he joined me in the shade. Referring to the fins, “See anything interesting?”

“Eels, kinda gave me the spooks. Those looked like real teeth.”

“There’s a place out there, high tide, you can go over the reef, if yer divin’, into the deeper water, don’t do it. Tide goes down, I tell you crawling over the reef will almost kill you from blood loss...if you ain’t been eaten  by the sharks. That reef is what makes this beach an’ pond safe...I gotta small sailing skiff, ten horsepower engine, some time I’ll run you around...there’s a notch, ‘bout two hundred yards down, can’t see it on account the cliff runs out into the shallows….that’s where I get in ‘n out with my old piece of floater...them eels ain’t dangerous, well unless you’re dumb enough to stick your hand too close or catch a fish….they’ll come right after that, yessirree. Snap one right off your spear...”

I allowed that I wouldn’t try and pet an eel.

Bergie was almost quiet. “Hey, I wanna do somethin’...ya ever jerk off in the water? Feels mighty fine...”

Puzzled, I watched him drop his pants, he was surprizingly, for a man his age, nicely hung and already getting up and hard. Wasn’t the worst idea I’d heard so….I did the same and followed him.

Thought we’d stand up but...he lay down just far enough out so the very slushing tide washed over him...seemed a good idea, did the same. It was then I thought….I hadn’t jacked off in...how long? The sight of my cum dribbling out of my sons stopped me, the idea of sex of any sort just...couldn’t do it. Putting my hand down I felt a revulsion, wanted to tear off my manhood, expiation for my deeds. I could feel tears…

“Lotta men who lost their woman...cain’t get it up for a while… I was that way...” He rolled toward me, up on his side, his arm bracing him. “Tell you what….buddy a mine, well, he hepped me solve the problem...guess I better do the same for you.”

With that he doubled down to where my flaccid dick was, put it in his mouth and stuck a finger on my perineum, hard, pushing on my prostate. He went slow but the memory of how it felt, how the rush of semen through your system, the anticipation...He cupped my balls.

“Hold on tight, gotta give them a good squeeze, yer juice been too long sittin’  around, need to stir it…. Scream if ya wanna.”

I didn’t but came close. Jesus. Funny, when he finally turned loose, the finger pushing up, his warm almost toothless mouth….I shot everything but a sea gull. Kept it up, knew I had more, fuck, he’d just knocked it loose….didn’t take ten minutes ‘til I was maybe empty….Bergie might have a taste for more…

“Okay, buddy, you got one more thing ole Bergie’s gonna do ya. I know yer a virgin...’til now.”

“Ever fucked a guy?”

My mind  blanked, I panicked, if I hadn’t been in water the sweat would have covered my body. I was trembling.

“Yeah, you has. Just never took it in the ass yerself...’til now. Get you punched ‘n, well, I got us some plans...”

Bergie was strong, that rowing, whatever else he did, kept him that way. Yes, he was old but as with many older men who’ve had to make their own way, work hard….their muscles weren’t bulging but taut, ready to respond. Able.

I was on my stomach, he jerked my head so I wouldn’t drown, held onto my neck like a lion holding a lioness before he mounted her. Tears, I was afraid, now, instantly I was going to feel what I’d done, know what my sons felt when...their own father forced them to accept his penis shoved into their….virginity.

With water sluicing in and out of my mouth I choked out….

“Yeah, fuck me hard, twice, get that cherry….I want to be screwed like a man should be screwed, you’re a bull, mount me, make me take you, Jesus….I WANT TO BE FUCKED NOW…..”

He was going in me like a dropped I beam, stiff, relentless, aiming for the bottom. Water in my mouth made my holler burble, the sound of agony, of crime being punished, made to sound like a fountain needing adjustment.

It went on and in, deep, my prostate was whacked, my cock got stiff, made a hole in the sand, came in it...my ass….suddenly wanted this, wanted more, wanted it all. Trying to say something I cried to Bergie… “Oh yeah, I need this more, in, deep, Jesus….never knew….”

He put one hand under my chin, snapped my head up, “Oh yeah, knew it. The virgin who hates it….okay, we got time….learn somethin’ I want what I’m givin’ you, saw your man cock...good size, I can feel it up my old cunt...wipe your sperm in me….you got plenty...Oh, shit,….here it comes…….HERE IT COMES...”

The torrent in me was hotter than the water around me. Why? I wanted to eat it, drink it, make his milk mine while he got me down, whacked my manhood until it bled….fuck me again….roll in the water, let it clean us….

Time passed, I was sore, by the cliff, on my front….He said I’d learn to take it, stuck a beer bottle up my ass, told me to leave it there, a good reminder of what I’d want again….where he went? Gone. Said to come back day after tomorrow, round sundown….we were going were men need to go….

It was hard to not limp. Told Jac and Ernie that I’d done a dumb thing, climbed the cliff-the tide was in and I could go around it-fell, the usual that happens when you fall. We all laughed-well, they laughed, I tried but all I could produce was a sort of sickly grin.

Next on the island gossip agenda was to mention that Bergie and I were going for a sightseeing trip around the peninsula to some of the other islands.

“Coiba….got to be Coiba...nature preserve, lots to see, old prison, tourist walks, great diving….that’s where he’ll take you. He knows all these islands, as long as he’d been here.”


My only concern had to do with going at night….I assumed that we’d get into what might be open ocean….They both poopoohed that. Better to go at night, in the day, you’d be toast, it’s a long trip, by air, maybe hundred, two hundred miles so by sea...great to watch the sundown, just cruise on around. Bergie knows the waters, maybe a time to get some night diving…

Okay, well, there wasn’t more to ask or know. After my day on the beach I did something I rarely did which was hit the saloon nearer the dock. Maybe eight or ten guys there watching a boxing match on a television powered by hooking the set to a car battery.By now I’d been on Contadora...not long enough to be known but long enough to be recognized. Also, Jac made that his last stop of the day to collect the few passengers who might need a ride from the late ferry. His introduction made me an immediate local plus buying a round or two helped. As with all the residents of they island, they were middle aged and up. After I’d heard about Bergie’s son leaving...I heard it about many sons and daughters….nothing there, couldn’t eat the scenery, no work except like Bergie, pick up….some at the resort, the little inns but nothing.

After a few rounds I slipped in the trip with Bergie. Everyone agreed, great idea, get away from here, he’d know where to go, no worries, have a great time….just stop by and load up on beer….they fell to wondering where we’d go. One thing, he seemed to know all the islands so whichever he chose, sure be a trip, some of them wished they could go…..

Back at the inn, still with a sore butt, I sat on the edge of my bed and thought...about what I’d done, what I’d had done to me, the horror I’d visited on my sons, and only wondered, well, knew, nothing would ever be enough. Pain goes away, even memories will fade...some. The only thing left was….to see them, find out how egregious, how disgusting, how painful they’d taken this. The hope of forgiveness? I couldn’t even wish for that...not even a hand shake...some how I thought, if I’m lucky, I may see them once….maybe.

Surprise visitor the next morning: Bergie.

“Thought I better git you what yer gonna need. This ain’t no pleasure cruise an’ in my leaky tub, gotta be ready for anythin’. See if Ernie will loan you some diving gear not just flips and a mask. I got a coupla tanks so we kin go down a bit. Least ways where it’s safe. Gonna take us most a two days, sure fly over there in unner an hour but this is the guys way to do it, row with your cock.” He laughed, said get in a fight with a ‘Cuda and you’d come away one a two ways, a longer pole or...nothing.

He went through my clothes, laughing at most of them, saying something like you wear those an’ said we’d go over the place where gear was sold, get me set up. “Course at sea, good thing you’ve got a tanned hide, don’t need no duds.” He laughed. “Fuck, just stick your pole oe’r the edge and see what you catch. Gonna be a good trip, yes sir, a good trip an’ we’re lucky full moon, heps the tides...”

I guess he didn’t give a shit about who might be a round. Dropped down and blew me then, just as if I wanted it, shoved me against a wall, fucked me laughed, said “Get you wide….ever had a man’s hand up there?”

Given that to look forward to we sauntered into the village where he picked out what he thought I’d need. Main thing, good boots, “Contadora was easy territory but some of them others, shard of coral, rocks, a mans foot be ripped up for they got ten feet past the fringe palms.” All of it went in a good sized over shoulder packs...I was told we’d be carrying food...twenty pounds each. We’d stop at some place, get water, eat but once we started looking around the islands, it was us against them. Said he’d see me later today at the beach; Bring something slick...or mentholated….or hot sauce...that last said with a real mean, funny grin. Saw Jac coming down the road, hauled on and was gone.

Back at the inn over a beer with Ernie I told her I had real concerns. I was a city boy, sailing at night in what probably wasn’t much of a boat...carrying food….just the concerns any man might have.

“I tell you this, that man, I go any place with him. He knows this water, these islands, the shore. Foo, I hear tell he once slipped in and swam the canal, all the way.” She laughed. “He said when he got bored, just grab on an anchor. I believe he done it...the cops brought him back from San Blas, the islands on the other side...no way there other than fly….or swim.” She laughed. “Do I believe it? Yes, I do. Worst’ll happen to you? More tan and eaten up to your manlies by insects. Oh, take a bottle or two of Deet, ole fool forgot to tell you...that’ll at least keep the ones that eat flesh away.” And laughed some more. I wanted to laugh with her but….what I was afraid of was leaving the island, I was told to go here, possibly find my sons….but this boat trip...I had another beer and looked out at the sea with a storm way out...Hell, go.

Getting fucked the next day was almost as bad as the first simply because I hadn’t even started to heal, my muscles in my ass were stretch, that morning taking a shit...more like it fell out...no way to control it. So.

“I gotta do this...where we’re goin’ all the guys fuck...day or two, you’ll widen, fresh meat….they’ll spread you good.” He laughed and slapped my ass. That hurt.

I ‘neglected’ to bring the hot sauce….he didn’t. Sitting in the salt water, holding my ass open, finally got to the point where I could walk, no tears. Worse, he made dump some on his cock then blow him….drinking salt water helped…. A little. He just laughed and made promises for what we could do out at sea….

The rest of the day was spent with his trying to teach me how to help him sail his little one masted skill. The engine, such as it was, looked more like something ripped off a lawnmower. He said anything heavier and the bow would be almost under water even in small swells...One last thing...he said the next day….he was going to fuck me with an eel….laughed so hard he threw up. I almost did to but not for the same reason-I would have bet eels love prostates..

Although I didn’t want to….somehow….this was Contadora, whatever happened here, whoever, I wanted my sons and maybe this was some sort of test….although to what purpose...maybe to get me off the island so they could be brought on...that was one of my fantasies. I come back and there they are, mad as hell but alive and on the beach...yeah, that was a fantasy.

Maybe I expected it, maybe I even saw being fucked by the old fart as part of the penalty for what I’d done...anyway...he did it again said, come back just before sun down, tide would be up and we could push the boat around the cliff, the water would be deep enough then. Maybe to make me feel better about all this, he blew me, said off islanders tasted better….slapped me on he ass again and disappeared into the sea.

I know nothing about tides but at the saloon, some of the guys said Bergie had picked the perfect night, first, the outgoing would carry us far enough so when we started to round the peninsula of Panama with the incoming tide, it would be a snap. Just lay back, have a beer, jerk off and enjoy the ride. Somehow I thought their estimates of tides and their helpfulness was….optimistic. On the other hand, the old saying, “Time and Tide Wait for No Man”. Not that it meant a fuck in this situation.

Panama is close enough to the equator that sunrise and set doesn’t vary much from month to month. We were a month before the Autumnal Equinox so...put in around eight when there was still full light...get, maybe, two hours of twilight...same on the other side, when the tide was coming in, the sun would be rising. That would be our sailing day...as we passed the end of the peninsula and headed for the islands. Depending on weather...Bergie figured we’d make someplace to put in close to midnight, try and spot a stream coming out to let us scrape off the salt...make a camp, sleep...see how things were in the morning then set off….Just me but….I’d have felt better if there’d been a map, something to show me where we were, where we where headed….and always...was I getting closer to or further from my sons, my boys...Jesus I loved them...how I could have traded them, just the word, “trade” marked me….a word close “Traitor”.

It was easy, the two of us got the boat around the point of the cliff with the full tide, we were up to our chests but there was no pull in the water so the little boat was an easy chore. I’d never seen the other side….where Bergie apparently ‘lived’ or spent most of his time. Part of the reason it had been easy to tow around the cliff was that the engine, gas, back packs of food, gallon jugs of water were all there.  Beached, it was easy to get everything on board. Once loaded, along with us, the gunnels were, to me, perilously close to the surface….didn’t seem to bother him.

While we still has substantial light, he hauled out the oars, had us row...saved gas. IF we ran into heavy weather and had to run for shore, we’d need all the gas for the engine ….didn’t plan on that. He said tomorrow I’d become an old salt, get to learn to lay back in the shadow of the sail and enjoy it. Have a beer...see what we could catch to eat...easy trip. And oh how I wanted to believe that.

By midnight we were well aware from the island-I was really surprised at how quickly the skiff answered to just two guys rowing. Looking back, the island was just a dark lump, barely see some lights on the peninsula  but what was around that? ‘Bout then Bergie had us ship the oars, tied down the sail in a very light wind, tied off the rudder; We were set to sail on an ersatz form of auto pilot.

“Well, got us a good course, jist enough breeze, sail itself. And then he turned on me.

“Men don’t come to the island like you did just to rest...they’s a reason, usually cuz they’re running from sumpin or….just pausin’ there to see what happens.” Thats when he reached in a pack and pulled a gun.

“Give me your hands.” Cuffs were produced. Tied my ankles then drew my arms over my knees, tied them to my ankles, like being hog tied only right side up.

“What’s your story….an’ I heerd a lot a them so better be truth or...out here, never find yer body. I kin help ya, maybe but ya gotta tell me the truth.

Shame made me tell it. The deal that couldn’t miss, the laughing bet that if it didn’t come through, I’d trade...the man said...the most valuable thing you have….so, my sons they were most valuable...the man added about how I’d have to fuck them upon delivery, IF the deal failed, never thought….

I knew the deal went bust but...time...maybe….but one night he slipped in, dragged me out, explained how things were going to be, he had a cage in a truck just two sons size….His only words, after he put the belt with cuffs around me.

“Go Get ‘Em”

“Didja, just like he told ya? Fucked?”

I couldn’t look up, just nodded my head. “He told me he could tell if I’d...I’d...”

They were gone. Or dear lord the sight of them, chained each in a cage going away. The only thing. The one thing, the card with “Contadora” on it….I was afraid to ask if Bergie knew...anything.

No answer, just pushed me over, got his hard and fucked me. When he went dry and soft stuck something hard up to replace him.

“Wish I coulda hurt you more...cuz sonofabitch, you deserve it. Shit, a man bets his sons for….money. Well, you deserved to lose….jus’ sorry those poor lads...fucked by their own father...took their cherry...watched ‘em put in a cage….” He sat back on his haunches, stared at me. “I seen ‘em low, I seen some dirty deals but this….outa just throw you over, make a coupla slices in your gut, call you chum….blood in the water. Like to sit here, watch the surface berl up, turn red then get quiet….that’s what you deserve. Ever’ one believe me iffen I say you plum fell over an’ a great white….ever’ one knows how it goes...”

We were both silent. There was just the gentlest slap of very small waves against the side of the boat. Maybe I wanted him to throw me over….maybe word gets back to the man...I’m gone, can’t come for my sons...their fate if I don’t? Somehow, I have to keep going, find out…

“Bergie...you can hate me for the rest of my life, for all of time, nobody knows, more than me, what a terrible thing I did but maybe I’ll find them...this man is all about trades, look what he took instead of money? Just, please, help me….”

He was as quiet as space. Silence. Even the moon seemed to talk but slowly… “Don’t seem right but….iffen I don’ hep then...” I wished I could see his eyes. Somewhere a man, a real man was trying to make a decision about a wasted human….Everything I’d heard about him….he was a good man…

“Okay...cuz if I don’t show up back there without you, too many fucking questions...oh, they’d believe whatever I tol’ em but...I don’ want any blood on my hands, nope, that I do not want.”

He took off some of the bindings off. “Least ways you kin still row with the cuffs...if I could….I’d weld them on you...somethin’ about ‘the chains we forge in life…’ well, mister, you done did that...”

It was hours before he said anything. Looking ahead I could see what was a very large colorless lump….unlike Contadora, only meant it was further from us...also there were other shapes almost floating on the mercury bright and smooth water. It was dawn.

“Know where I’ll be takin’ ya….shame they done closed the prison on Coiba...iffen it was still open, drop you off, tell ‘em some lie an they’d take you in. Ever been chained to a wall?”

I bent my neck, shook my head ‘no’ and tried not to think but knew what he was saying had happened. Recently, I’d read a little of the history of Panama so knew the prison had only been closed less than ten years…

He hustled around, set the engine where the rudder had been, put in jerry can full of fuel, fired it up….

“This ain’t no fun no more….git you where we’re goin’ then head back...”

We scooted around the largest island, Coiba, could see the tourist boats pulling up. Beyond that, ahead, were five, six more islands, various sizes, none large but Bergie seemed to know, headed for one.

With the engine running we went far up the soft sand beach. “We’re there.” He took off the cuffs, gave me a chance to rub my wrists, we each had a beer, why? He secured the boat to a Palm tree. Bergie didn’t look happy, pissed off, kept giving me dirty looks, mumbling...didn’t blame him. Told me to strip...there was a creek, we could get the salt off in that.

Walking over, he was behind me, he pushed me down, said, “Aw fuck….you deserve this”. That’s when the paddling started….eventually I could feel the blood dribble down my hips, almost circle round, get into the hair by my nuts…

“Get up, go over there, sit in that water.” He took a rope which he tied around my neck then to the trunk of a tree. “Know how fast them things kin grow? Leave you here long enough ‘n they’d a find what’s left of you hanging six feet up. Yer fuckin’ lucky I don’t scout out an find a coconut crab, biggest suckers….eat flesh.”

We both spent quite a while in the trickle of water...took that long to get enough to get all the salt off then...Bergie laid down in the little bit that moved past us to the sea...told me to do so...all I wanted to do was get my ass in it...must have been there...hours, I could tell just where I couldn’t see it, the sun must be setting.

“Up, hands behind yer back tie them to yer neck, you shore ain’t gonna get away. Gotta walk some...find these guys….”

It was immediately gloomy in the heavy growth...no path but it was obvious where you could and could not walk even if sometimes it seemed more like a labyrinth.

He found someplace, almost an opening but really just a place where fewer trees were. He pushed me down, again tied me to a heavy piece of wood then wandered off. In two seconds I couldn’t see him.

It wasn’t long, he and three men returned...I knew what was coming….they were naked, cocks hard and….Bergie untied me, took off the cuffs, looked at them….then walked away. He’d had his.

It went on for hours. Two cocks up my ass while what felt like two cocks in my mouth. Spanking, whippings, one guy pulled my tongue out and just split the first little bit….If I my ass hadn’t been widened….at one point someone had a round piece of wood…up it went.

Eventually I was just laying there, couldn’t stand, hoped I wouln’t bleed to death. Didn’t so much go to sleep as collapsed.

It was bright when I came to. Pain? Everywhere. I could see the blood on the ground but I also saw a pair of shoes.

“Guess you want to trade again.” I looked up, him, from the garage, from the deal.

“I got him, come here guys, give a look at what’s left of your dad...wanta fuck him? He’ll do it? He owes you one.

They just hung back. I couldn’t even get up. Wanted to hug them tell them what a horrible thing I’d done but….we were beyond that. I could see I was dead to them.

“Guess it’s time for another trade. Frankly, didn’t expect to find you here but, what the hell, any place is a good place for trading.

I couldn’t even think what I had to trade….

Last time you traded the studs over there so….guess it’s there turn to trade...YOU….easy enough, you’re mine and they’re off and back home...I’m gonna ask you if we have a trade but….” He laughed “I am betting, cuz I’m a betting man, that trade is already made.”

I just barely shook my head, whimpered, “Yeah”. Then fell on the ground in agony and sorrow. Last look….they were on either side of him, had an arm on each of their shoulders….gave each a hug and a kiss, gently swatted their butts and….into the permanent shade….I guessed forever. Nothing to do, just lay there, bawl….hurt…

Nothing to do but lay there. He brought a bottle of water, some clothes dipped in something medicinal, wiped me off. Told me to just stay down, rest...he brought a sleeping bag, some pills...gave me a shot...and that was that.

Ten days later I wasn’t what I had been, never would be again but I was alive, living in a hotel in Panama City. Okay, so I was now a ‘trade’ but compared to where I had been. Asked him about my sons….said, what I’d seen of them, they looked well.

Smiled. “Yep, they’re back in Vegas, in school, doing real well, you’d be proud of them. Sure they fought me at first but...when it was explained to them, didn’t keep in those cages for more than a couple of hours...well...you don’t really wanta know what they thought of you.”

No, I didn’t. He went on.

“Course you ruined ‘em, but….worked out for the best...see I got a buddy in Vegas who runs a sort of training school for young men. I traded them to him….with a can full of guarantees about their education, treatment….they came around….Good looking GPAs and….since they’re young meat, and well trained, get about as much per ‘date’ as any of the hookers in Vegas…

My eyes shot tears, my sons, my boys, whores...it’s my fault, it’s all my fault.

“Yeah, I can see you feel bad about it but, hey, that was the deal and you honored it just like I honored the one with your boys….find you, give you to me and they’re free. Guess even though they’ll go back...like their school...Bryan’s a great soccer player...and a terrific lay...so I’m told. You don’t need to worry about ‘em….they’re happy, taken care of...making their way….sometime if you’re out there, I’ll tell you how to get in touch...just remember, their in a cash only business…..”

“So now you’re stuck with me, bottom of the trading barrel….”

He smiled. “Buddy, I never take a deal unless I’ve got the next one. Kind of like chess...you don’t make a move unless you can see two or three ahead. I got a trade for you.”

I couldn’t imagine what, sarcastically said so.

He lounged in a chair. “Well sometimes it’s just a matter of finding what someone wants and then finding what they’ll trade for it. You gotta know...I have no scruples….took your sons, had you fuck ‘em.”

I almost laughed. “Well, it’s for sure I’m not material for hookerdom.”

He laughed as well. “No, not you….You’re a trade for a collector….”

I just stared at him.

He came to me, sat down. “Yeah, this guys collects bits and pieces, is, I guess, a real good amateur taxidermist….”

I looked at him.

“Yep, I saw some of his collection….real proud of everything in it was alive when he….harvested it.”

A small snake of dread went down my spine into my ass.

He cupped my balls with his hand…. “Yep, always takes ‘em fresh, cock too, says they look better in their cases that way.”

I just looked at him….. “Ah, don’t worry, he knows how to do it….I’ve seen yours, he’s getting a primo addition to his collection….I’ll bet, yes, I’ll bet when yours go into their case, he’ll have your cock hard….”. That’s when he turned me around, slipped the cuffs on….

“Got a plane waiting for us at Tocumen….he’s excited to get started...seen your pictures….” He could sense my horror. “Hey, look at it this way, one for each son….right?”

I couldn’t even reach down and feel them one last time...they’d been traded.

by Petr-Johan

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