- SLUDGE
I knelt down, dipped my hand in the usually crystal clear stream and…watched it disappear before it even got to my wrist. “Yep, certainly is. Sludge.”
Jack and I stood there looking stupid in chest high waders, carrying our fishing tackle, a cooler that floated and was attached to a strap holding up his wader, poles, bait buckets….everything for a first class day of fly fishing in gin clear, cold, fast rushing water. Not Sludge.
“That shit would rot anything, fuck knows what’s in it…you better find a wet wipe and clean your hand before that accidentally becomes the only trophy we fish out of the river” and tried to laugh but it didn’t work.
It was the ten day long, plus travel time, yearly, two guys fishing/fucking trip. As sacrosanct a date on the Calendar as the Fourth of July or Christmas and just as unmovable, this was the time, we’d been building to it, tying flies to take, trying out every bit of equipment we had, buying new, all the gadgets, tents, water purifiers……All the crap stowed in it, Jack’s new Pick Up looked more like it was off to save a trapped group of settlers crossing the mountains than it did two guys going fishing. But not this year. “Well, fuck.” We stared at each other the question, “What now?” loomed in the air but with no apparent answer so it stayed unasked.
“Maybe, if we wait a day or two….”
“Or until after winter and the snow melt cleans all this muck out. Or two seasons until the fish no longer know it’s a great place to die of suffocation in their own element or….”
You have heard about being up a creek?…With a partner?
I started to unhitch my waders which, when not surrounded by chilled water were hot, difficult to move in and, just now, pointless as a Halloween costume at an Easter Egg Roll. He joined me and shortly, looking just as stupid, we were standing there in our thermal underwear, heavy socks and the sneakers we wore inside the waders.
“Lets get drunk.”
And so we did.
So drunk we couldn’t even fuck each other which was the other main reason for the fishing trip; As any man knows-well, any man who fucks men-fucking in the great out of doors, filled with the scent of pines, fresh air and, eventually, sperm, is terrific. On more than one occasion to combine the two adventures, we’d fucked each other using a just caught fish. (The wiggle in your ass is unlike the gyrations of a cock plus there’s the chill factor.)
The next morning each of our hangovers was of such epic proportions that dunking our heads in the sludge didn’t seem an altogether bad idea, hell, there might have been something curative in it, who knew? Jack’s hands shook as he fired up the propane stove on which coffee could be made and, from past sins, we also each had a warm beer, drunk straight down, that helped. A little. But that still left us with most of eight days to kill; We’d never planned on anything except fishing, more fishing, cleaning the fish, cooking the fish, catching more; Then we’d fuck each other as preparation for a night of the sort of sex we’d found we enjoyed which was rough, fun, without rancor and ended happily with everyone getting what they wanted from the other. Following which we’d take a plunge in the cold water, run back to the over sized tent, dry down and snuggle into our two man sleeping bag. A good time was had by all. But, make no mistake, fishing was the nexus that held all the ancillary activities together and, looking at “our creek”, fishing for anything wasn’t an option. Although, from the day before, there had been some slight though perceptible changes; It now looked less a tormented black and brown but had what seemed to be bearing pustules of exploding gas that seemed to sigh as it oozed its way past our great campsite by the beautiful mountains with the bright sun shining down.
“You bring anything to read?”
“Sure, ‘Huckleberry Finn’..are you nuts? ‘Course not. You?”
“Uh, no, just asked.” I tied the stems of two dandelions and tried to remember how to make a kazoo from weeds.
Jack got up, headed for the tent to sleep off what was left of his hangover. “Wake me if the Pope drops by to bless the fishing fleet….” and disappeared.
Boredom, if you let it, can swamp you with the sort of ennui that prevents action of any sort, you know there’s nothing to do so you give in to doing nothing, save complain about the boredom and there’s the leitmotif for what might be days. I’m a restless soul who falls to stall walking in a slow elevator and the usual instigator of things to do borne from my fear of being bored. Not infrequently this has led to friends and family saying things such as, “For God’s sake Bill, we don’t want to play charades, go on a snipe hunt, look for four leaf clovers, play strip anything or go on a walking tour of our own city block. Shut up, sit down or go away and play with yourself.” They meant it kindly if not literally although having been encouraged to “play with myself”, I retreated to someplace private and did so; At least it killed time pleasantly and I wasn’t bored.
Knowing the keys were in the truck, I got in, turned it on, did a U turn then headed back down the road we’d used coming in; It was the same one we always used, to the same camp we always made. One of the ranchers was kind enough to lease about two hundred yards of stream to us, both sides, which gave us privacy and a good shot at what ever might swim by.
Nothing is more depressing to a fisherman than to be taken to a “secret place” that only your “good buddy’s friend knows about” to find everyone’s good buddy’s friend seems to know about it and, for some dumb reason, there are three hundred guys in a patch of water only somewhat larger than a suburban back yard each trying to “catch a fish”. Need I tell you what they usually caught, and painfully, was each other? I thought not. The rancher did us no favors in terms of price but he did guarantee exclusivity 365, 24/7, even posted it with our initials and some grim wording about what might happen to you if you were found on that piece of property but were not us. The sign was even illustrated with a picture, with remarkable detail, of a man hung from a line which also had fish on it. Also illustrated were the genitals of said person, marked for removal and…whatever happened next. If you didn’t get the idea from the words, the picture should have sealed your decision to turn back; Some things can be seen as ‘gags’, humor, the sort of sign one might by as an amusing gift for anglers; This was in no way one of those.
My thought was to drive up to the ranch house, say “Howdy” and pick the owner’s mind for suggestions. Or anyone who was there and had an idea. Somewhere in the back of my mind my too fertile imagination suddenly focused on a day or two horseback ride to…somewhere, maybe somewhere with fish and no sludge. Given the down pours that had caused the fouling of our creek, and all other running water for miles around, that didn’t seem likely but, ever the budding tour director, it was worth asking. ‘Sides, a few days camping, horses, maybe find a pond that didn’t look like Hershey’s syrup….worked for me. Jack…would probably just want to see if it was true about butt fucking a horse……
Poker Flatz was a retired radio cowboy who, when radio went away, so did he. The name, really Bud Venville, was forgotten but Poker Flatz stuck as a good, memorable handle. As opposed to many “cowboy” stars he came by his country roots honestly and, while he was yodeling for cash, he was buying property, someone slipped him the name “Haloid” now better known as Xerox. Must have been pushing 80, or more, but was still spry, interested and interesting so my visits to him were anticipated by both of us although Jack saw him as a doddering old fool who remembered the past constantly and didn’t know where they were biting, his only interest. He was only too happy to have me go off to visit while he unsnarled leader, made adjustments with a ball peen hammer to a spoon or retied a fly. In his mind, if you were going fishing, you went fishing or did things that related to fishing; end of story. Oh, and of course, fucking me and getting drunk were also a part of “fishing”, sometimes, when “they” weren’t biting, a big part.
Poker, happy as always to see me, invited me in, offered coffee, food, a comfortable chair-he liked to have someone to talk to and as listening audiences go, I was the deluxe model. He looked at me sternly, went to the fridge and got a beer which he opened and handed to me.
“Does it show that badly?”
“Nah, only us old sinners could spot it. Bet you didn’t even get fucked, didcha?”
I peeked out from behind the bottle, signaled that another one would be good, and nodded “no”.
“Sorry about the crick, son, I thought on callin’ you but thought, well, shee-it, theys a gonna come on and tellin’ em they ain’t nothing to catch, well, just didn’t seem right. Course, it didn’t seem right not tellin’ you either….You know, a damned if you do, damned if you don’t sitchiation….Hey, that’s some rig you drove up in, mind if I take a look….been thinkin’ about tradin’ in that rickety ol piece a shit I been drivin’ forever…..”
In other words, he’s looked forward to a visit and knew he could talk about cars to me as I knew absolutely nothing about them but found his way of describing them endearing which made what he had to say important to hear.
His was a classic 1946 Chevrolet six cylinder pickup that was in cherry condition. Collectors everywhere wanted it, Jay Leno had come all the way just to look at it with an eye to purchase. No sale. Poker’s ranch hands had to laugh; He went to bed early and didn’t know or care who Leno was just said he thought he needed a chop job on his nose and chin. Nice guy, wondered why he came all this way?
What Leno thought isn’t known. What was known was that the truck would be sold only after he was dead and maybe not then cuz he’d said, a few times, he was, “thinkin’ on bein’ buried in it”. Some might have laughed at that idea but I did not; For all his breezy sometimes foolish seeming ways, he was a country gentleman who did keep his word, was a good guy and did more than most to “hep the other feller out”; Just now I was the other ‘feller’ and I needed ‘hep’.
Perhaps this is a good moment to put in a word for older men and what they supposedly can’t do, fucking being one of them. Poker was nicely equipped and, best of all, I have never known a man who could get it that hard and keep in that way for as long as he could. Not only was he a world class fucker but he never shut up while he took you, just changed the dialogue from whatever was being discussed to his own version of ‘talkin’ dirty to ya”. And it was. Somewhere in him must have been a latent sadistic streak for once he had you down, and I gave in with no fight, his cock turned from a prime piece of man meat to a well honed stiletto with which he fully intended to carve up ‘yer innards an’ have ‘em fer my breakfast”. If you survived, you could have ‘a mess’ of yours, too. Laying under Poker, if that’s how he chose to take you, you forgot this was an old man but rather that you’d wandered into the field where the bull was kept and were now paying the price for not running faster; He was that good and that hung.
As most people in the country are he was something of a snoop, a fact we’d found out one visit when, on arrival, ten feet out from the bank, there was a large, red hollow bobber apparently attached to the bed of the stream; In it were condoms, lube and a hand written note saying he wished he was a bit younger….there were some parts of show business he did miss. Made it easier for us. If we wanted to lay around naked, screw outside naked, toast our nuts in the campfire naked, we didn’t feel we were bothering anyone and, based on a rather professional looking telescope I’d seen on his terrace, might just be providing some voyeuristic entertainment-was there a video camera-with a telephoto lens attached? My having not seen it did not mean it didn’t exist.
\
Jack never knew it but…a couple of times I’d slipped just enough away to not be heard and called Poker on my cell phone. Nothing important, just a suggestion, if he happened to be outside, he might like to check and make sure the lenses were clean….
Poker was fascinated by the ever increasing gadgets that were applied to cars and trucks, he lingered curiously over things he considered to be pointless laughed at the electronic “gimcrackery” and, when we got to the bed, almost bent double at the custom made, drop in metal and paint protector. “Sheeeit. Beds is made to get roughed up, fucked in, hop up, I’ll show ya, thas why they’re there. Look at my ol heap, those boards in the back been changed I don’t know how many times….thing still runs don’t it?” He leaned over the top of the bed, arms folded on the edge and looked straight at me;
“Time to change a lot a things ain’t it? He don’t love you, least ways that’s how it looks when he comes up here with some dude in a convertible and that dude ain’t you.”
“No. No, I guess it isn’t..” stumbled into trying to laugh, didn’t work,… “…nice to know Andy puts the top down, never thought he did….Ginger haired? Almost flaming red?”
Poker just nodded his head. “Yeah, well, that’s who it would be.” I turned my back and leaned against the quarter panel.
“You hear me son? It’s time to get rid a him before he plum kills you with heart ache. I got someone fer ye but ya gotta get rid a that cheatin’ sonofabitch. Hear Me?” I nodded, too dumb struck to say anything do, maybe tears were coming. Poker rounded the truck and stood in front of me. “I need to talk to ya but git that ass up on that fancy shit lining bed and see if’n it resists fuckin’”.
I did as asked and wondered if the bed liner was stronger than Poker’s semen?
Of course, taking me was just a time out, he had something on his mind and I was going to hear it.
“No, son, you didn’t hear me, I said, get rid of him, not let him turn you in on a newer model, you’re too fine a stallion for that.” I looked at him and tried to catch what he was throwing…but…it wasn’t quite there. I had all the words but the meaning….”You got to dispose of him, kill him, thas what I mean when I say git rid a him. Permanent, so’s you won’t run into him every damn time you turn a corner. Come on back in the house, Ol Poker has a story to tell you…bout a time years ago when we wasn’t just broke, we was poorly broke. Stumps had more’n we did and my brother and I used to play like we’s a sittin’ down to a big meal, all the good things, like double Christmas but weren’t nothin but the wind, the dust and one almost dried up farm pond that was only good if you was fishin fer mud.” We went in the house, he pushed me down and told me a story.
Four hours later driving back to our camp I HAD learned a lot, had a lot to think about and not too much time to get done what Poker told me to do. At one point during the story he was telling me he’d noticed that I’d drifted away and, to prove I wasn’t listening or paying attention, got up slapped me, hard, open hand, across my face. “Thas what I’m a tellin you, fergit him, now….” Stung but realizing he was telling me the truth I concentrated and, before long, was cheered up quite a bit. Poker did have a story and it was one with contemporary application.
Jack was sitting on a cooler in his boxers drinking a beer and, based on the empties, it wasn’t is second or, for that, his sixth. (We brought it by the case and, with the water to chill it, always had a cold one available. The code for wanting a fresh one was to holler out, “Hey, fucker, go an catch me one of those brown eyed label holders.” This time putting the bottles in the water wasn’t a good idea so, for several hours, Jack had been making do with what was still cold and in the cooler. Knowing that I’d got some ice from Poker, the sight of which cheered him. A little. The up side was that Jack wasn’t in what I might call a resistant mood to my suggestions. Without his realizing it, although he was the structured one, I more than contributed by thinking of things to do when we weren’t fishing, fucking or sleeping. As much as we enjoyed it, standing in the cold water all day, getting a good sun burn could become, for that day, more than you wanted to do. He even seemed glad to have me back and had assumed where I’d gone.
“Well, how is the old fart? Dead yet? You get the story of his life from ages three and a half to four and three quarters, Jesus, he’s so full of shit, I don’t know how you can stand him….”
“Ah, he’s a nice old guy, and he had an idea I think we can use. Seems he and some of the other ranchers own a lake about twenty miles from here that’s sheltered from any crap in it ’cause it’s fed by a spring and, this is what I think is neat, there’s a kinda notch where there’s a hot spring, can’t get too close but you can slide in and relax plus they stock the lake. Like Poker, most of ’em are old guys so they don’t go up much…he reckons there must be some in there, ten, twelve pounds…”
“Of what?…”
“Fish.”
“What kind of fish? I doubt if we’re going to waste our time going up to this place looking for Flipper or the Loch Ness Monster. Shit head, what sort of fish do they stock it with?”
“Trout”, I blurted out…
“Okay, that’s a start, what kind of trout? Cut throat? Rainbow? Brown…..?”
“How the hell would I know, Poker said Trout and I didn’t ask him for the menu. Jeez…Anyway, he’s sending up one of his hands to make sure it’s clear, no one using it and he said tomorrow, unless we heard otherwise, just go on up. He’s gonna have a stake with a flag driven in the road so we’ll know where to turn off the road to find the hot spring…”
“Off the road? The truck isn’t even paid for and you want me to rip it up so you can go dip your nuts in a hot tub? You can do that at home.”
“He also let me borrow wet suits so we can swim out in the lake and do some skin diving with spear guns…”
He looked at me as if I’d lost it.
“Wet suits? In a lake to go snorkeling? What’s really in that pond, Jaws?”
I was already mad but this torqued me. “Look, we can’t fish here, we can go there and try it. So have some more beer, shut up about it and try and enjoy what was meant to please by an old man doing a favor, Okay?’ And slammed into the tent, regretting there was no door for impact, with every intention of taking a nap.
From the outside. “Okay…but if this doesn’t pan out….”
“Go fuck yourself”.
It was not a happy evening. Since we’d planned on a primarily fish diet, the other edibles we’d brought were side dishes or vegetables. Dinner was baked potatoes, corn, some sort of ready to cook corn bread plus plastic wrapped snacks for desert that looked almost less appetizing than the stream.
We slept back to back.
The stream almost made moving mandatory; Around four we both woke up on the verge of retching from the stench. A quick look with the flash lights revealed a dead skunk, the loser in a battle with some larger animal, on the other side but in it’s death throes had shot every bit of defensive spray it had which was now lingering over our campsite. Without even discussing it and by common consent we pulled on some clothes and started packing up. Given Jacks love of “stuff” this took some little while so that by the time we could seal ourselves in the truck and allow twenty first century air conditioning filtering to salve our lungs, the sun was well up.
As Poker had said, it was about a twenty mile drive, entirely scenic but, for once, I abandoned my jolly tour guide mode and kept my thoughts to myself. Jack was hungover-again-or, maybe, still so I drove. Normally he liked to be the Captain of his own ship but in his precarious condition he yielded the helm to his second in command, indulged Commander’s privilege by undoing his pants, took his dick in hand and indulged in another of his favorite off road activities, the long, slow, jack off. I’d known him to go to sleep mid stroke which was what happened this morning. Helpful as a Christmas Elf, I’d made masks for us but pointed out he could drink beer through the fabric which would cut the smell of the skunk which he’d done.
The road was decent enough better than one might expect but to spare Jack’s sacred truck, I turned on the cruise control to as low as it would go allowing me time to think and steer without much effort. My visit with Poker had been an eye opening experience on many levels. Beyond just finding I was now the former boyfriend, his insistence that the insult required no less than the death penalty seemed a bit too much until I thought it over. Why not shoot the sonofabitch? In fifteen years he’d not been much to me and, increasingly, apart from some sport fucking, not even part of my life. I saw him infrequnetly, we had our big deal fishing trip, we fucked even less and beyond that….nothing. The word “love” had never crept in and, now, wasn’t likely to. I said I supposed I wasn’t bright enough to guess there was another man but Poker had another view on that.
“Yer too good a man, you’d a know’d . Fuck, even after he’d dumped you he’d probably still call to ask you to do errands for him, he’s a user and it’s time he got used.” There was a pause while he diddled something into his cell phone. “Hey, Pepper? We got any of that sausage left? Whomp up a mess a sausage gravy and biscuits for our young friend here.” He turned back to me. “Can’t have puny looking murderers can we, cause that’s what you’re going to do; Murder him.”
Oddly this was arousing and I was a bit embarrassed to let Poker see how turned on by the idea I was. He liked that I was getting off on it. “Take it out, shuck it down, hell, let ol Poker suck it off, an after I git done, Pepper’ll be next, taught that boy about suckin’ myself. I knew you had it in ya to do this. And when you get ‘er done, you’ll be a new man, I promise.” With that, he took out his dentures and gave me an A number one suck job. A man with no teeth but soft gums and an artful tongue should be a national treasure. When he finished I was so completely relaxed, I just crumpled against the pillows on the couch. With a smile that couldn’t come off. Poker just gave me a shit eating grin and said, “Good thing we’re on the same side, that’s a high powered flavor you shot, makes me a wonder what the rest of you might be like….” I wondered if he’d run quality control and make Pepper give him a taste of what, if anything, he could pull from me. Oh, yeah, Pepper….followed orders perfectly; It was like being edged but by two people. Even after the last shot, I lay there wondering if I could drive back to our camp? Getting that quality of blow jobs took it out of a man. Two different ways.
I guess the guy who showed up was again, Pepper as he had a steaming plate covered with biscuits and sausage gravy. It was the sort of smell that had so much power it reached up to you, insinuated itself into your nose, you knew it would be the best you ever had. And it was. The food was such that I wondered if Pepper was up for round three? Dump some gravy on my cock and eat that.
With gravy dripping down my chin I finally could stop long enough to ask where he’d got the sausage and was told it was made right here on the ranch. There was a pause while a strange smile came across his face. “You really like it, huh?” I nodded as much as I could without having gravy drip from my mouth to the floor. “Well that’s good ’cause in a day or maybe two, that’s what yer buddy is going to be, sausage.”
I didn’t even put down my spoon-using a fork would have allowed gravy to drip through the tines. “No shit? Wow, best he will have ever tasted. I wasn’t quite putting two and two together. Where’d you get the meat?”
He paused, thoughtful, “Hey, Pepper, where’d that batch a sausage come from? I fergit.”
Pepper, an affable young man with a good rangy cowboy build, happy blue eyes and an attractive selection of deep dimples, thought a bit himself. “Seems like that was the poacher we caught about a week ago? That sound about right? Yeah, cuz, that jerk that came to see about clear cutting a swathe was before him-member? We did him in a pine bough smoker?”
I looked up. “This sausage is made from a man? I’m eating a man?” With three quarters of the plate empty, I hadn’t thrown up and…it tasted great.
“Right. So you like man meat? Enough to harvest your own?”
“You mean if it’s Jack?”
“Yeah, him first and then ole Poker will teach you how to fend for yourself, should always have a man around that needs cooking and, as you look around, yer gonna find theys a lot of them. All the boys up here with me, well, we wouldn’t touch a beef steak anymore, man meat or nothing. Right Pepper?” Pepper had a beatific smile that agreed with more than words.
We then, the three of us had a conversation that was generally about catching and cooking men and specifically about cooking Jack; Poker and Pepper considered him pretty much caught. From there it was details, working out a schedule, picking up the equipment and some other arrangements. I would have stayed longer but I knew eventually Jack would want his truck back-I was just an accessory-so we finished up knowing who would be where and when.
On my way out the door I promised to have my teeth pulled and come back to show my appreciation. For everything. Poker almost bent double laughing.
Driving back, apart from some flavorful burbs, I laughed all the way. Apart from what Poker lined out, visions of Jack being strung up, on the rack, burned at the stake, meeting the guillotine….But mainly, even though I had been a chump, emancipation was at hand and I was about to gain a new title, “Premeditated Murderer”. Laughed so hard I almost took Jack’s truck….well the truck that belonged to the soon to be late Jack into a ditch.
Jack actually liked the look of the lake, the little cove with the tongue of the lake that came in and was steaming in one spot. After the sludge of the past few days, this was more inviting than something in a travel agency pamphlet, so much so that I stripped off my clothes and ran in…right up to my nuts.
Ever notice that the water doesn’t really get cold until it hits your balls? Well, at first contact I reversed course and headed for the hot spring being careful to stay away from the steaming, hissing part. Jesus did it feel good. The water in it actually felt soft, as if you were wrapped in swaddling clothes, I yelled for Jack to come on and give it a try. Which he didn’t. He had his laugh watching me zoom out of the lake and now was on to the serious business of checking to make sure his truck hadn’t been damaged while I was driving it. Also, he felt only he could properly set up camp so I let him. Comfortable, warm, full of ideas, I lay there with just my head out of the water and, taking a suggestion from Poker, wore my sun glasses so I could watch what Jack was doing and where he put things. The only glitch in the plan was a large bag of diving stuff I’d collected and which was to stay under my control. That had been explained to Jack and since it was of no interest to him, he didn’t even look in it.
You can get too warm so I hauled myself out, had another quick dip in the deep freeze, dried off and got into my thermal underwear, my waders, picked up a pole, a hat with tied flies on it and waded in to about my waist. No doubt about it, this was fresh, cold water. I could feel my nuts pull up in my body along with my dick but at last I was fishing. First cast out, a good long one, must have gone thirty yards, I saw something flash out of the water and just missed the fly. Jack, standing on the bank, saw it too and ran to suit up; Now we were really fishing. However before he could get too involved in that, I got back out and suggested he try the wet suit over his thermals. According to Poker the really big ones were almost impossible to catch by line and bait, you needed to be in the water with them, your spear gun and some of them could and would fight. That was right up his alley. We got him in, thermals and all, booties, fins, and a spear gun and he shoved off from the bank. Not five minutes later I heard him calling, “Holy shit, I just saw a walleye the size of a sixty pound cat, this is going to be great.” I found I could but agree.
Back at the campsite I looked around the trees where I’d been told to go and found a grill on legs about a foot tall. It came in sections to accommodate the length of the thing to be grilled. Pepper and his partner Rusty had made a camp a several hundred yards from ours near the helicopter and the parking area-neither of which I’d mentioned, to my fishing buddy. They had other supplies for me and, to avoid being seen-although by now Jack was deeply engrossed in Water World and wouldn’t have noticed if I’d put up a Ferris Wheel-we were a bit cautious; Jack had a suspicious streak along with his other lacks of character. Just to be on the safe side, Rusty gave me his gun and said if anything went wrong and they couldn’t get there quick enough, shoot to kill. I was pretty much set up now all that I had to do was start the game so that I could also finish it-I hoped I could be as good a winner as Jack was going to be a good loser.
Jack came in a time or two to show me what he’d caught and I suggested that, as it was getting late, he pick one to cook and throw the others back, they’d be there tomorrow.
Worked for him and off he went to get…whatever. I started the fire under the grill, got a pot of coffee going, started baking potatoes in the embers, had some succotash Pepper brought, garlic toast, all that lacked was the main event which arrived on schedule. Great seven pound brown trout. I congratulated my fisher friend, suggested he get out of his wet suit and thermals, take a plunge in the hot spring and I’d get dinner ready.
I’m a whizz at scaling, gutting and deboning fish so within twenty minutes I had it on the grill over a slow fire ready to be pushed toward the hotter spots when Jack was ready to eat. He, too, found the hot spot to be a great place and, when he got out to come and eat, suggested we go back there after dinner just to relax…..
It was actually a good dinner. Food was all fresh, plenty of it, the light from the embers merged with the late dusk, the moon came up and was reflected in the almost still surface of the lake. Every so often a fish would jump and Jack would almost jump with it. “Jesus, did you see that? Must have been a twenty pounder…”He was finally happy, in his element, seduced by what he wanted to do, unwary, willing to do what came along. We finally turned in and, as he mounted me-he was really hard- he even thanked me for finding this place. I dozed off before he even came.
After his workout in the lake plus the energy he expended screwing me, he was almost immediately asleep when I slid out of the tent and met Pepper and Rusty for a few more “touches” and refining what we were going to do. There was only one thing that was slightly left to chance but, knowing Jack and his aggressive competitiveness, I didn’t think we had much to worry about. Apparently I was part of their group now as it was made clear that I’d move up to the bunk house with the other hands after we got the business here taken care of-After all, however much a good idea this seemed, I still ended up a murderer and murderers, too, need a place to lay their head. And get laid. (Poker was of the Code-of-the-West theory that bumping off Jack wasn’t murder, just a chore that needed doing. He did, however, feel that after the deed was done, my presence in polite society was better if it didn’t exist.)
Remembering an event of a day or so past, I suggested to Rusty that Pepper and I recreate a scene from our recent past, fuck me, while Rusty did an old fashioned edging. I almost suggested that, as asleep as he was, we all slip in and fuck my soon to be cooked partner….well, it seemed a good idea and, besides, this might be his last outing. Whether he knew it or not. ar
Pepper even said that I looked like I might taste real good….I took it as a compliment. Started to think of myself, as did the other guys around Poker, as fresh meat to be used if ever needed; Part of the deal of living there was that in a pinch you were the pot roast…. It was implicit that in the eventuality that there was no meat in the cupboard, we’d all draw straws and short straw got to be ‘it’.
Back in the tent I finally dropped off and got a excellent night’s sleep during which I could see Jack, all in one piece, in a butcher’s display case, offered up as so fresh it still had the ‘oink’. Can you laugh in your sleep? Apparently I did as Pepper mentioned he thought he heard me during the night…..
It was all I could do to keep Jack out of the lake before the sun rose. He didn’t even want a beer, just, as quick as I could get it done, some coffee, oatmeal, whatever, he just wanted protein in him when he swam out to take on in him whatever he was going to take on in the lake. I managed to slow his departure by series of annoying events that only depth charged his early morning plans. Such as I boiled the coffee pot and then found I’d failed to add the coffee. Start over. He had several sets of thermals-we’d learned from hard experience that they didn’t dry overnight and really needed sun to get the job done.
Off he went, leaving me to clean up, start the grill- and to meet Pepper and Rusty to help them set up the cameras. Poker always had some sort of something to photograph his prizes and now I’d have mine. In color and live action, my first kill; It was like memorializing your first fuck, something you’ll always remember.
I let him fool around in the lake for an hour until he came toward me and I threw an apple at him, calling for him to bob for it! He did, enjoyed the game, threw it back to me and I tossed it out again. After the next round he pretended to be a seal catching a fish and put it in his mouth, brought it to the shore and dropped it at my feet, pretending to slap his flippers and go “Arf”. This time I patted his head said “Good Boy, Go Fetch! And gave it a real heave. Just like a water Spaniel he reeled about and headed for it.
One more time and I had a suggestion….how about if I were the fisherman and he were the fish. I’d cast out with a piece of wood, something that would sink and he’d go after it. It was an instant hit. For the next two hours using ever larger things and heavier line I cast out and he’d dive down, grab it and, eventually, began to act more the fish and fight with me as I tried to reel him in. Loved it, he said, great sport. But….he wanted to make it more real. I hadn’t planned on that but it was great from my standpoint so I looked the suit over and said…what if we taped your biceps to your sides? He’d have those gigantic swim fins, was a strong swimmer himself….I could see him think it over. As he pointed out, fish had pectoral fins and if his arms were marginally tied down….easy. We’d just tape them down at the elbow and.. how would he feel about having his legs taped at his knees? That seemed okay and the last swim of the day had him newly restrained, figuring out how to make it work.
After all his exertion I gave him a beer, told him to go sit in the thermal pool and, lacking a fish, I’d come up with something for dinner. An hour later I proudly served him sausage gravy and biscuits, telling him Poker had given me that gravy and I’d forgot I’d put it in the lake to chill and keep the meat fresh. He slurped down two big platefuls and I could see was contemplating a third but held off saying he hoped there was enough for breakfast….Another beer, we spent an hour in the warm water, I jacked him off and he kissed my forehead in thanks. Pleading exhaustion, he left me behind and entered the tent. Within moments he was snoring which was the cue for Pepper and Rusty to join me. Quietly laughing, they said they couldn’t wait for me to see the tape of him leaping like a seal in the water catching things and bringing them to me. Rusty said it would only get funnier tomorrow; I thought I agreed with them.
Jack slept in. During the night he’d barely moved, I don’t think he realized what a strenuous workout I’d put him through and particularly at the end where he’d had to use more muscle to produce less effect. Just for the hell of it, I fucked him, he never noticed.
Morning and, again, he begged to be almost restrained; He was into this game and, I realized, he was beginning to see this as real contest between me, the fisherman, and him, as the fish; Suddenly it was serious for him, typical, Jack could never just play, it always turned to competition. On about his second trip in he suggested I tie something to a line with a sinker and then cast it out. Fine, just what I had in mind. We tried several things none of which gave his teeth the purchase to fight with me when “hooked”. We tried an apple but he ate half of it. Chain, I told him, could damage his teeth but…what if the chain was attached to a rubber ball? It would sink, pulled down by the chain, he could get his mouth around it and the fight would be on. Worked just like a charm with him never wondering where I got a rubber ball. All morning I cast further and further out and he, gaining ability with his restrictions, got more ambitious at how deep he’d dive and how far out he’d swim.
Short lunch, long nap. I insisted he strip, get in the hot pool, then rest if not nap. Of course he was asleep immediately and stayed that way for two hours. His only comment when he finally made an appearance was to ask why the grill was so long to which I pointed out that, fun as the game was, if he didn’t catch something dinner was going to be noticeably bland. Also, I wanted to smoke some of the catch. He walked on. To get him rigged up took a good thirty minutes and he laughingly said that sausage must be putting the pounds on him as the suit felt tight. Then down to the edge, the fisherman and his catch to be. The red ball with the weight dangling and he was after it. I had on my waders and, what he didn’t see, was that Pepper hot footed it out from the tree line, attached a solid rope to me so that I couldn’t be pulled in. Or, if things went wrong, Rusty was in a tree with a high powered rifle and a scope; He’d float until we could get to him and haul him to shore, one of the advantages of the wet suit was it had some buoyancy, even if Rusty didn’t get a kill shot, he’d float and we could haul him in. In some ways, that wasn’t what I wanted, what we planned….was far more interesting and far more instructive to my soon to be grilled former boy friend.
The third cast was made with a new pole, heavy line and a new red ball with the chain weights. For maximum distance in casting I swung from the side and back handed; The line must have gone, following the weight, almost two hundred feet and sank fast. He was after it. He dove for it and I felt in the line he had it in his mouth. All it took was one good, strong tug and the triple bladed Marlin hook that I’d sank in the new rubber ball stuck in his jaw. This time there was a fight and it was for the life of the fish. With every pull back I set the hook deeper forcing him up to breath before trying to hide under the water. Why? Why does any fish try to run after being hooked?
He knew not to get too near me and yet…he still thought this might be a game, maybe some sort of accident. The hook must have hurt like thunder and wouldn’t allow him to close his mouth. On the bank every time I gave it another strong yank, it tore into his gums then impaled itself in his jaw bone more sharply. Rattled by pain and confusion he tried to reach the offending implement with his hands but in this suit-we’d switched while he was sleeping-the arms were sewn down and then to conceal that, covered with the tape we’d previously used. Just as in a real contest with a real fish, he fought, but was coming closer; for every three feet he ran away, I pulled him in four and finally he was ten feet out, the fight gone all that was left to do was wade out, gaff him in his suit, pull him to shore and begin his conversion from man to man meat.
He tried to struggle, the blood from his mouth was oozing and, because of the spikes he couldn’t speak, just stare at me. Wondering. Pepper and Rusty came out of the bushes and helped me cut away the suit, strip him, get him cuffed and then, just for the look of it, we slung him from a pole and marched him to the grill where he was temporarily hung between two stakes. He continued to stare at me, wanting to know, wondering if this was still a game. When I took pliers and further pulled the Marlin hook into his jaw and mouth he figured it out. As with any good fish, preparation means scaling which is what I did next which also removed all of the hair from his body-the stink of burning hair adds nothing to any occasion, even a murder. He could see the smoke and the white hot embers waiting under the long grill. I hadn’t lied to him, I was going to smoke and grill my catch of the day, him.
Without going all the way in, I started an incision from his sternum to the top of his pubic bone but only going less than a half inch in. In a fish, I would have flipped him on his side, made a deep cut along the bottom, pulled out the guts, opened to filet it, pull the bones and either put it in a press for smoking or prepared to pan fry it. But Jack presented some larger problems. Committed as I was to killing him, butchering him and enjoying him, I wanted just a bit more from him, more pain, more realization from him of what was happening. I’d decided on an initial smoking and to better infuse the flesh, I took a flensing knife and made a series of close cuts the length of the body to allow the smoke and its flavor to get in. Wasn’t necessary to put him in a wire press as he could be turned and secured onto a grill set well above a smokey fire and, to help that, we were going to tent the area. Rusty had constructed an Indian smoking frame with adjustments for a man. It was a stick figure with the arms and legs wide out so that all portions of him were accessible to the heat and the smoke. As they bound him to that, I kept dragging my knife up and down his body, over his face, his lips, his feet, hands, all of him. Blood seeped but when that hit the low fire the iron in it would produce a form of nitrous oxide gas that would further eat into his tissues while making him happy. The guys had brought up a tent they used for smoking fish which was put over Jack, the glowing embers, the smoke….
One last thing, I stood by his head and casually said that I’d called Andy, cell phones distort voices so he believed I was Jack, and he was coming up day after tomorrow and I’d penciled him in to be roasted and served Saturday night. Then I stepped away, dropped the edge of the tent, grabbed a beer and thanked the guys for their help. Four hours later we opened it up to find there was some slight pulse but he was unconscious. The guys flipped him on his side, I stuck in my knife and pulled it the length of his torso letting the guts fall out. Just to make sure, I reached in and pulled out his heart. Then we lowered the grill to the frame, resumed the smoking and, some hours later took our smoked meat up to Poker and the rest of the gang.
His butcher did the honors, cutting of the head, the feet, hands…his cock and balls, offered to me-I declined them saying I’d already had them too many times already. Thirty minutes later he was on the center of the table surrounded by condiments his skin so crisp you could just pull it off to get to the flesh. Bottles of rough red Italian wine were on the table as well as bowls of Cole slaw, corn on the cob and a humongous chocolate cake for desert. Wasn’t enough left of Jack to bother to save so his bones and bits and pieces of meat were taken a few miles away and put where a pack of wolves could enjoy the remnants of him; They were particularly fond of breaking the bones to get the marrow.
“Well, son, when you fixin’ to get yer teeth yanked? I believe you made me a promise. And remember I got something for you sort of a surprise.”
I called Pepper over and whispered something in his ear. He gave me that, “Jesus…” He stared at me. “Are you fucking serious?” look to which I said, “… as a heart attack”
A few minutes later he was back with a set of pliers and two guys to hold me down. Just before they started yanking I looked Poker and said, “Man eaters need sharper teeth.” They started to pull.
After my gums finally became just lines of soft tissue, I found a dentist two hundred miles away who made several pair of dentures for me. As I’d said to Poker, man eaters do need sharper teeth so one of the pairs could rip through flesh, living or dead. Also, on the last trip when my various sets were put in and adjusted, I’d had Pepper follow me; The idea being I’d leave Jack’s truck in the long term lot at the airport. I hadn’t seen one, but knew there had been posters asking for information about both of us, finding the truck wouldn’t help, particularly when they found a semen sample-atypical of a crime scene-along with blood spatter, in the cab. Clearly we’d been in it, something had happened there but now….? Every thing was dried, months since either of the supposed victims had been in it and…Jesus, I wanted to see the deputy who figured out what the semen was, wonder what the fuck….?
As to his boyfriend, too dumb not to come when called, I had a special fate for him. Almost too easy to catch, I’d personally escorted him to the place where we tossed leftover meat and bones for our pack of friendly Wolves that lived in the area. Didn’t even bother to slice him, just made sure he was cuffed then one leg staked to a steel spike we kept for just such purposes; One last touch, I made some slashes that weren’t deep, wouldn’t kill a man but would bleed and attract carnivores…Never saw it but heard tell that sometimes the vultures got into with the wolves as to which group got what first….Poker was determined to get a film of that some way.
That night, as I blew Poker with my soft gums, the howling was particularly loud; We guessed they didn’t get live game very often. Only sorry we couldn’t hear the screams….before they got his throat.
I settled into the routine of Poker’s place. He had things he liked his men to be, sorta hairy for one and tan for another, said it made us look more like animals. When the sun was out, part of each day was spent on the look-out porch, naked, working out, deciding on when we needed to go to the ‘market’ again. It was into Fall and Poker wanted a full freezer; The weather could and did seal us in with snow for several weeks occasionally so beyond non perishables, kerosene, lots of chopped wood there was the larger issue of meat. (We had an old fashioned root cellar in which we kept things like potatoes, corn, parsnips, the vegetables we grew that, once picked, kept a long time in a place with a lowered temperature.) We weren’t lazy, now and again two or three would go off and pick off something that would last a few days-one time we had a stroke of luck, six hippies came round, real polite, asked if they could camp down the way a bit for one of their rituals, the one where, in their bizarre culture, the men were wholly circumcised then staked out so ‘Father Sun’ could welcome their man head into….whatever.
Poker, feigning interest in a culture that wasn’t his, asked if a couple of his men might attend, not as participants but as respectful observers, even agreed to be sort of helpers, stripped, body painted….As it worked out, they waited until the three who were to be staked out were down then cut the throats of the three ‘Celebrants’. Guess the guys on the ground thought this was some part of the ceremony they didn’t know about. Just to play it one step further, our guys already stripped and covered in completely made up symbols, slathered ashes on their bodies then, still with the ceremony, crawled to each of those staked out, cut off their nuts, a treat for Poker….about then they figured it out. With six men in the freezer, we could lean back for a while, get ready for hard winter, fuck each other more….in fact, sex became our main activity every day. Making a snow angel and getting plowed at the same time….may be the only angel mark with a cock and balls.
I had became Poker’s favorite, seemed to like his old man hard cock and was ready for it whenever. Right here, whatever you think of old men and sex, you could be wrong. You could have used his meat as an anvil, it was that hard plus tipped so when it went in you, you were effectively staked out until he decided to let you up. Almost like a dog, he could knot his pecker inside you which locked him in-that was the moment he liked me to carefully turn 180 and let him almost eat my cock. He said, and I believed him, that only his affection for me and his other men kept him from eating their cocks and balls…seems somewhere he’d developed a taste for them. Occasionally some of the guys found some temporary work on a ranch doing the branding and gelding, part of round up . Got a bucket full of calf nuts after a steering session on a local ranch and while we gobbled them up, he said they had to come from a man or he wasn’t interested.
Being Poker’s favorite seemed to cause no problems with the other guys. His constant mantra to me was that….someday he had a surprise for me, something I would like. Okay, but I was happy with or without whatever he had in mind. One thing. I felt now that we were at the first edge of Winter, I wanted to organize my own shopping trip, bring in a good haul that would supplement what we had….would prove my appropriateness to stay there, to seem to become….something I didn’t fully understand but knew it existed.
Months had passed. My lover of fifteen years was now part of me; I’d eaten him. I’d become part of a group of men who relished the taste of male flesh and had banded together to guarantee their continuing supply of slaughter house quality men. Back then, seems so long ago, I was a guy with a so/so job, a less than satisfactory boyfriend and a certain sense of aimlessness that wasn’t bad but was the proverbial treadmill. And then we went fishing.
I don’t even remember Jack ‘cept he’d tasted good, Poker was right, killing him got him off my mind permanently. One of the guys, as a joke, cut off his cock and balls, had ’em stuffed and I used them as a key ring for a while, the sort biker wear, hanging outside your pants on a chain. That gets looks you better believe. Had it ended in a slightly different way, I might have had his cock made into a dildo but under the circumstances, no. Eventually, since no keys were necessary, I added them to a group of ‘souvenirs’ of ‘guests’ who had stayed to be dinner. A couple of our meals had interesting tattoos which someone suggested we skin and make into whatever. That was just too close to Ilse Koch and the Third Reich so the idea was abandoned.
However, each of us had ink of some variety. Just depended on your taste and how far you were willing to go. One thing, Poker drew a line at tats that were vulgar, tasteless, without some meaning to the owner. I had the physics symbol meaning ‘forever’ on my chest looped around my breasts. Poker had my nipples pierced, both up and down as well as back and forth. One difference, the inner most bar had a hole in it for a chain that connected each side and, when he wanted, a longer one that led from me to a place where I was hung by my wrists while he flogged me. Said it built character. Only Pepper also was treated to this and only Pepper had pierced nipples, but only one way…
For his own reasons he wanted his men to look like his idea of grizzled saddle tramps. Kept us outdoors, naked, even in winter when the sun was bright cutting into the cold. We cut each others hair which….looked like something an old saddle tramp might have done. None of us looked like we did when we arrived….never asked but it was assumed some of the guys were on the run from some form of crime or another. One thing, and Poker knew who’d done what, he preferred men who’d murdered or, like me, killed a partner who, in is mind, deserved to be killed. Never got talked about but….it built a strange camaraderie plus it sure as hell made it easier to change our catches to table meat. Once, and only once, had supplies really run low so without saying anything, straws were drawn and short one….Guess they made his departure easy on him.
I knew Poker had good intentions for me, he proved it every day and I was one of the few men there he fucked because I wanted him to. Old man cock is still hard and he knew how to ride my pony all night long. Sometimes he’d put a soft bit in my mouth with a bridle while he held the reins. He’d kneel behind me his big cock well oiled and in me. talkin’ to me…”Yes, sir, yer a good’n and I got something for you, just learn a few more things and then Old Pokers gonna make you a gift. Member the night you had Pepper get the pliers and yank out some of your teeth? Greatest gift a man ever gave me, not just because you kept your word but cuz I knew you really wanted to be able to suck my dick just like I sucked yours, and that meant no teeth. When I look at your new choppers, specially the ones made to tear through raw meat, I think …. there’s my man. I could mount you a thousand times a day and you’d be happy to have me…means somethin’…take a couple of deep shots…oh yeah, clench that ass,..grab my old man stick…I’m the last man you’ll every let fuck you unless you really want to let some one but yer gonna be a sweetheart of a fucker and you got meanness now, just like you should have. Doesn’t mean yer a bad man, just got hardened up a bit. I watched you jerk off that last time when Jack was being smoked on the grill, I almos’ fell down when you blew that load and shoved it up his nose, probably that’s what killed him but I member that, what a great idea, cum stuffin’ their nose. You gotta good strong back need ta do some more weights cuz when you bring in those two hundred pounders, a man don’t want a bad back…you knew I’m fixin’ to brand you I spect….”
“No, didn’t.. When….?”
“Oh when there’s a good time, you’ll know it, I betcha right now if I called for Pepper to start the forge and git out the brandin’ irons you’d go for it wouldn’t chee?”
“ Fuck me deep for a minute and I’ll tell you….Oh, yeah, bash in this man’s g spot, feels sooo good.” I could feel his cock stiffen at the idea of branding me which moved the action along; Kinda turned me on too. It was almost quiet ‘cept for his deep, throaty moans and my chorus egging him on, forcing him to get his seed in me….I wanted it… Got whipped out and fast as I could I pivoted around and licked him clean….Then rolled back.
“Old man, you have your brand on me in every way. Each time I feel your seed I’m your man and I’m gonna be proud to carry your mark wherever you put it. When ever you want to. Make that iron hot cuz I wanta sizzle like steak when you run it on me….”
He got up, sat on the edge of the bed, rolled a cigarette and looked at me. “Member I told you I had a gift for you? Well, I still do and it’s about time to let you have it. Tell Pepper to get the irons hot for tomorrow just after breakfast, all the guys need to see this.” Also, tonight, you, Pepper, Rusty, Jakey, Sancho…. you’re all sleeping in my bed, paid enough for that big fucker, might as well use it. I’ll explain why tonight. Now scat, wash my cum that’s leaking out of my man’s faucet. Have Pepper take you to the horse tank, give you a cowboy tubbing…..”
He was right, those baths in the troughs were a treat. They looked just like ordinary horse troughs but they had hot and cold running water, jets that shot water up your ass, massage jets, a person could sit in there for hours. Some days, if we were cooking a man outside, you could watch the meat on the spit turning, getting a crisp shell on the outside to keep it juicy on the inside. Always good when we’d stuck him still living and you could see the pain in his eyes as he went around. Moments like that made a jet of water up your ass feel real good. Some one would come out and baste the meat, dampen the fire to produce more smoke, check the degree of done-ness and go back in the kitchen. Just the smell of roasting man meat wafting over you got you hard, said there’s good eating tonight. Wondered who it was but it didn’t matter.
Took a nap, Poker could always ride me hard and put me up wet, even after the bath and almost missed the bell for chow.
Dinner was always informal, beer, meat, maybe corn-Poker said show him a man who didn’t like corn and he’d show you a man you couldn’t trust-maybe dessert but mainly we just sat around, slopped down food and planned where to get our next load of meat and if anyone had any suggestions. Maybe watch one of the cooking channels for ideas but mainly they weren’t much help. Nice people probably but damn, they never cooked anything that weighed over three pounds. One guy, an oriental on something called “Iron Chef” looked like he’d make good Sushi but we weren’t much into that. Tartare on occasion but Sushi? I’ll take a pass.
Just as we were breaking up going off to do whatever we did Poker said that tonight we all were to sleep in with him-great shouts of approval- and then tomorrow morning….he looked all around the room, I was gonna get branded. Great respect to me. Every man shook my hand, said they knew it, that it’d be me but it was just fuckin’ great. And they’d shore be there. Sancho handed me a beer and told me to come to him after it was done to have some salted cream on it that would make it heal in raised letters, knew I’d want that.
The evening passed, watched television, played cards, read, then Poker appeared and said it was lights out and the guys damn near stripped on their way to his big room. Poker had evolved the idea of a pack of men rather than just a bunch of guys hanging out. When we hunted we did so as a pack, took the kill as a pack with the Alpha Man, Poker, having first rights to rip into the kill with his special teeth, like mine, made for ripping and tearing flesh. ‘Course he never did cause it was to be shared out with all of us but it was the respect of the thing. In bed we played like cubs, rolling, slobbering, just enjoying each other. Jakey had his dick sewed to his abdomen, just like a dog or a wolf-to piss, he had to go outside and lift his leg at a tree- and he’d fuck guys that way or whatever; Only doggy style for him . There was no pecking order in our fucking or whatever we were doing with each other, just a sense of pleasure you were getting and giving. Finally Poker’d had enough and he’d take up a dog quirt he had and swipe it around, catching everyone on the butt and we’d make noises like pups hurt then shut up. Just like very young animals everywhere, we slept in a pile fighting to be closest to the warmth or the bottom or wherever you wanted. That night, late, Poker, extracted me from the group and quietly leaned into my ear.
“You took this ril good, an’ I’m proud. Not one man here has anythin’ but the most respect for you an’ that includes me. I want one last fuck before I take your stud cherry with my brands-there are two of ’em-so roll on over and do what you know you can do; He leaned over, kissed my ass then moved in to mount me.
This time he said nothing, just his hard cock in my tight hole without fighting for dominance, it was a partnership. Easy in, out, in out, I was sweating and laying there fearing that the sun might start up and he’d finish me off but, in the end, he silently slid out, pulled around and, holding his hard old man’s cock up like a fountain let me take his juice and when I finished, mouthed him, showed the Alpha I respected him, then lay on my back while he came again on my belly and licked it up.
Like all puppies, we woke up slowly, yarring, stretching, boxing at each other but finally, one at a time, drifted across the floor grabbing clothes, just whose it didn’t really matter. Some one started the range, made coffee, got out the bottles of juice-no glasses, we just drank straight from the container and breakfast was under way. The idea wasn’t to eat and run but sorta hang around until everybody was there. Drink coffee, talk about nothing, eat, get up fix your own eggs or have a bowl of cereal…could take two hours but by the end of the meal everyone knew what the day would bring, one or two of the highlights and what they were supposed to do.
This morning Pepper quietly came up behind me and asked that I have a moment with him, private like. Okay, no problem. He took me out on the terrace where there was an iron pot hot with coals and two sticks coming out and a saw horse, one with straps at the wrists and ankles and a board that extended down at an angle from the horse that didn’t touch the ground.
He gave me a sympathetic look. “Bill, I need you to strip and bend over the horse so I can strap you down and then go get the guys. Two minutes later I was ass in the air, legs and arms wide spread and attached to the legs of the horse and, I assumed, ready to get branded. He quietly slipped a thick piece of balsa wood in my gums to conceal most of my screaming, rubbed my butt and left.
Everyone assembled, naked, this was a ceremony so to mark it, special attentions had been taken. The guys, my pack, stood in a row to one side so they could see the brands going in and coming away leaving an angry, permanent mark. What it would be….no one knew. Poker had made the brands and, even after they were in the fire getting almost blue hot, still never said.
Standing there Poker said the words that everyone expected and yet…didn’t. First up, I was the new Alpha Male, he’d still be one as well but the old must give way to the young and here, as opposed to a pack out there, we didn’t kill the old, we just put up with their stories. Everyone laughed. He’s going to be the same Bill we’ve come to love but now he leads. Anyone doesn’t like that, thinks he’s been shorted, leave-if he thought he could without the rest of us keeping him as food. That done, he asked Pepper to hand him the largest one.
“See that letter, that there’s an A like in the Greek alphabet, like in Alpha Male and it goes here” he swung slightly to his right, and sunk it into my cheek just below the eye. I may have passed out, don’t know.
“Now, before we can do the other one, gotta do some work.” From the floor where he’d had them laid he picked up two nails and a hammer. Reaching down, he grabbed my ball sack, pulled it down over the piece of wood that extended from the horse but didn’t make contact with the ground. He stretched me as far as he could, then taking a nail to the furthest point pulled away, he pounded it in. Second nail, same way. “This here little brand says to anyone that he is from our tribe, he is the seed of our tribe, the Alpha and, here, the Omega”. I only thought the brand on my face hurt. I could smell the sizzle of hair and flesh and feel it, oh my God, could I feel it. He made a point of making sure it went right on top of my left ball….I wondered if I was now half castrated? Could heat cook a nut?
Some one threw a buck of cold water on me, pulled the nails, hurried hands untied me, lifted me up, all the guys looked at me with new respect. As promised, Sancho put his arm around my shoulder and took me off for another date with pain when he put the salt cream in. But, as he said, “Man, those are the proudest marks any man could have. I half expected you to scream, fuckin’ hell, but you just stayed where you were….”
I gave him as much of a smile as I could find. “Don’t think it didn’t hurt cuz it sure as fuck did.”
“Get back in, the other guys will want to be with you, nuzzle you, their new Alpha, we’d all worried….” and then didn’t finish the sentence.
“Can I get some clothes, or do we stay….?”
“Hell, no, buddy, grab some of mine, shorts, shirt, you know how it is with our clothes out here.” And I did. Better to stay naked, to exhibit my new Alpha State, it’s what would be expected-couldn’t see the mark on my balls through shorts…
Back in the main room I found everyone else some partially clad, some nude and watching Poker as he crossed the branding irons and tried to find a place on the wall to display them. “Next Person to use ’em will be Bill when he finds the next Alpha. Well, don’t just stand there staring at your new pack leader, get him a beer, hug him, show you accept him as your Alpha…”
I was immediately surrounded by my pack, happy, showing me, some licked me, some just pressed against me, some kissed my cock-no one touched my ball sack they knew how that would hurt. But Poker, maybe knowing that the tide hadn’t completely shifted, took one more liberty. “Bills a good name, no denying but..an Alpha Man needs something a bit better and here it is: Bullet. From now on, Bill was then an’ Bullet is now.”
I liked the name for no reason. Didn’t really suit me, I didn’t shoot much but the concept of being the bullet, the thing that will kill when other things won’t, yeah, I liked it a lot. Poker was through with public announcements and so meandered through the crowd finally ending up by my side. He touched the still smarting place on my cheek. “Damn fine, son, damn fine. Looks good on you. Not going to ask you how you feel just yet but come some days we’ll sit down and palaver about everything. Oh, I’m moving your room next to mine so you might run down there and see if it’s in good condition, apart from some drunks once in a while, hasn’t been anyone reglar in that room in twenty years. Git…you need some rest. That’s gonna sting for a bit and the one on your nuts will hurt every time you walk but that’ll go away-in time.”
I headed for the room by Poker’s trying to remember if I’d ever been in it. The door was open and Pepper was making some passes at trying to clean up, make it ready for occupancy..
“Hey, just making sure everything you need….uh, Bullet? Member how Poker said he had somethin’ for you?”
I nodded in an absent sort of way, had wondered but Poker had his ways of doing things and I assumed, when he got to the right time, he’d tell me.
“Well, I’m your gift….”
Pepper? I focused on him. The brown curls on his forehead, the downcast eyes, the dimple, the freckles… “See, Poker knows that you need someone, kind of a partner, you’re not used to bein’ alone like he is an’, anyway, an Alpha always has his bitch so he thought, since I liked you an all…”
I took him in my arms, kissed him and made him get down on all fours. He knew what to do instinctively and only using one paw got my cock out and quickly drained it. When he was finished cleaning me I got him back into my arms and just held him.
“Like yer surprize I see.” Poker was standing in the open door. “Pepper came to me about a year ago, when we first saw that red head an’ he was in tears, sayin’ Bill was too good a guy for that to happen to him. Offered to go shoot what’s his name right then but I told him to hold his horses, I had somethin’ in mind. Which I did. I’m an old man, can’t last forever and I needed to know the Alpha who took my place was the man I wanted him to be and that’s you, Bullet. An’ every Alpha male needs his right hand man, to be his man an’ I been trainin’ ole Pepper here just for you. If you liked me fucking you, well, Pepper’s been trained to be a stud but only for you. He’s the only one that can mount you an’ you don’t let another man touch him cuz he’s yers. Now I want to see the two of you get up on that bed and Bullet, sink it into him. Deep like you know how to do. Show him you been taught good.”
“One day I’ll take him out to where I do my iron work, get a collar for him, seal it shut…..”. Pepper dropped his head, then looked at me… “Bullet I’m your man….I asked Poker for the collar….it’ll mean a lot to me…specially if you’re there while it’s welded on….”. I held him again whispering in his ear that I would be proud to own him…..he just needed to say one word to make him completely mine. He looked right into my eyes, didn’t blink, said four, “ Bullet, I’m your Slave.” I held him, kissed him….Poker stood by us while I finished off the first part….took my knife and carved my sign, a bullet, in his breast. Later, I’d get some cream from Sancho to make sure they stayed prominent and permanent. Never had a slave but….truth was, I genuinely prized Pepper , he was a good, kind man so only in his mind was he my slave. However, Poker would have approved this, any man make a move on him and they’d be sausage-whether they were one of the guys here or a stranger, no difference, Pepper was private property, marked and soon to be steel collared as such.
We had a few men come up, try figure our what was going on, got Pepper, tried to fuck him…. and they learned their fate….after they hung in the smoke house for several days following which I shot off their nuts one at a time with a shot gun…..Alphas don’t fuck around.
Wasn’t much to do but follow his orders. Pepper was smooth fleshed, only a little hair over his dick and on his head, his ass hole hairless, tanned, inviting. He knew how to work it and I could tell we’d never lack for something to do. Poker watched as he licked me up to an erection then laid me back and impaled himself on my cock. I had to do nothing, just lay there and let his ass eat me, massage me, pull me up into him. He was strong and reached behind him to first massage and then pull my nipples as he began to sweat. It was slow and deep and good, just right for morning. I flicked his ass with my finger and he knew that meant finish which he accomplished by turning around and stroking himself off as I shot in him.
“Feed me.” He took his finger and ladled his sperm into my mouth until there was none. Ole Poker just smiled, turned away and closed the door. Pepper crawled up beside me, his lean, hard body warm and moist and yielding to me. I took him in my arms, rolled him so his head was on my chest and let him rest while I licked the sweat and new blood from his chest. He relaxed, we slept.
In the darkness of sleep I planned my first kill…
When I could walk without smarting and when my cheek was settling down, or, rather, up, thanks to Sancho and his constantly peeling the scab, salting the wound and making it stand up, the larder was getting low; It was time for a me to plan what we’d do. Poker hung back letting me take the lead, make the decision, estimate how much meat we’d need for how long. It was coming up mid fall and winters could be hard, needed extra protein for a man to stay in shape. In my mind, I was thinking about hunting, well, hunting season and how the forests were already filled with hunters who, lacking any real knowledge, shot everything that moved from signs swaying in the wind to each other. This last was a dynamic I could and would use to my advantage.
One evening we dragged out our boxes of ‘hunting gear’ or what would make us look like legitimate hunters come up from wherever to…hunt. I’m not really a fan of “style” so the vogue for camouflage everything had missed my attention but that oversight was corrected as they dumped the box of clothing on the floor. Just to make it quicker, we divided everything into six piles, one for each of us with no thought as to what might be in them, the primary sort could fix that. As we went through it, I grew more and more mystified as to why anyone with a lick of sense felt that….camouflage socks-with epaulets-contributed to hunting. Ditto the many kinds of underwear, from jocks to boxers, similarly covered were of much use but some manufacturer must have thought they could sell them and, obviously, they were right.
Apart from the curiosities in the bunches, we each had several outfits that were appropriate for actual hunting, well made, warm, had the look of authenticity. Garbed in that and carrying a shotgun or a rifle or a bow and arrow or a spear gun or a cross bow-you never knew….and you were welcomed into the brotherhood of the amateur assassin. Well, others were, we were just some good guys out doing the grocery shopping and happened to be wearing cast offs from everybody from the Army and the Marines to L.L.Bean; We looked like what they bought all that expensive shit to look like, real hunters of game. We just switched the game so they were the hunted.
In a sense, our hunts were short and to the point, we weren’t stalking a deer with any points, but rather the man who was stalking it. Or whatever they were trying to kill to, I guess, bring home to surprise their families with the expense spared them of shopping for meat. Of course, that didn’t factor in the costs of all the shit they’d bought to dress down, be one of the guys, get dirty, greasy, etc. And it’s hard to know how grateful families might be to find a passel of song birds, vultures, rodents-imagine a housewife charged with “cleaning” a porcupine-and then the finale when they attempted to cook whatever they’d shot. In the back of my mind I’m reasonably certain that the American Palate does not immediately accept bear or skunk or falcon or … you see my point. Our palate, however, was all set to accept the hunter as a meal and so, before dawn broke some days later, Jakey and I wandered into the forest to go “hunting”.
I liked doing things with Jakey, beyond his cock sewed to his abdomen like a dog or a wolf, he’d kept the foreskin so when his prick came out, looked just like an animal. Never used the indoor plumbing, peed on a tree or squatted to take a shit, carefully burying it to prevent predators from finding it. If you didn’t know that, he looked just like a slightly suburban dad hunting for meat for his family, nice guy, trust him, clearly a good man. His animal instincts somehow made it easier and quicker for us to find the lure we would need; a kill to show the hunters/prey we were after and leaving a treat for our Wolf buddies, all hung and bled out. Sometime I was afraid he might decided to stay and join the pack which could only end one way but….giving himself to his pseudo pals in the woods was the best way he could imagine. We talked about it…while it gave me the shivers, as Alpha, if that’s what he wanted…and was ever really serious, come to me and I had an idea that he might just like. Something that would guarantee his finding the pack that normally was near our home.
We drove an old pickup-left for us by a previous meal- along a road at some distance from our place until we began to notice signs of other hunters; Cars and trucks by the side of the road, signs of brush disturbed as they stomped in trying to keep quiet and we slowed down when we saw a brand new fifty thousand dollar pick up with Rhode Island tags, too new to yet have Trump stickers and we knew we were on to our game. I jumped out to give it the once over while Jakey pulled on down the road and let our heap sorta slide into the brush, not hidden but not obvious. He’d find me and we would wander off into the woods, each of us carrying a gun and a large back pack.
We looked grizzled, un shaved, the prototypical local hunter and, from the sounds of a running creek nearby, I knew lunch, dinner and breakfast were about to be served. I looked at Jakey and he made an obscene gesture with his tongue that said, yep, this was the place. Based on what I’d seen, I knew there were two men; the truck had things on both sides of the console, there was even a note in the window saying in case of emergency…and then listed their names and who to call in the event of a problem.
I almost laughed. There was about to be a “problem” but no one would call the carefully listed numbers to report their demise. Ever.
Anyway, we set up our camp, found theirs, noticed it looked more like a photograph from “Field and Stream” than a real camp but, so what, it made them happy and also very findable. Back at our place we stripped, took a swim in the cold water, built a fire, warmed beside it, fucked Jakey-watched him lift his sewn on cock to take a piss (I’d watched him fuck guys with that, redefined doggy style)-then decided what way would be the most fun for us. That they were dead meat in our minds was a given, it was just a matter of assisting them to their mortality.
When you have a pair to be taken down it’s only marginally harder and the hard part can be that you might have to physically haul your kill out. We’d done it but…today there was a better plan, a ploy, one we called “wounded bird”. As afternoon came on, Jakey went out and took down a deer which he brought back for us to hang, bleed and be our lure. Next, taking a twelve pack, we ambled down the creek until, Surprise! (well, to them) there were our fellow campers.
We looked the part, talked the part and were accepted as accomplished hunters. Plus, thanks to technology, we had a picture of our kill hanging back at our camp. Just up the creek a piece and, well, sure, we’d be happy for them to come on up and have a look, Jakey offered to show them, since they said they were new at this, how to gut and speed butcher in the field but…it was still bleeding out so why not have a beer, or three, and then we could all go up and they could see what lay ahead.
What is it in people that makes them believe that a man dressed like a hunter in the forest with beer and a fresh kill is any less dangerous than a Muslim terrorist trying to blow up the Supreme Court Building in Washington? Of course the simple answer is that this is one sort of brotherhood, we looked non-threatening, probably from a down and out suburb who really needed the meat. We were good guys, wide eyed at their magnificent spread, eager to show them what we had that they had not: A kill. They were not used to the strenuous days of activity and made more tired by five or six beers, we headed back to our camp. I went ahead to make sure the fire was lit, the few artificial lights we had were on while Jakey stayed with them, guiding them to…the snare.
In sight of the hung deer, one of them hit a carefully constructed trap that looked like an ordinary piece of wood over which a man could fall and injure himself. Which is just what happened. We could hear the bone snap and the guy scream in pain and watch his buddy stop and wonder what to do. But he needn’t have bothered; Seasoned men of the forest, we knew what to do and did it. No time to get back to their camp, we needed to get out while there was some lingering twilight and get the wounded gentleman up to our place where we could make him comfortable and call for more assistance. The presence of a helicopter was mentioned which, given their other concerns just then, they took as normal. The leg was easily if painfully splinted and he was held up by his buddy with Jakey and I taking turns assisting. We’d made our camp so we were closer to our truck than theirs but offered to get it and one of us could drive it while the other took point and led us to our place.
What great guys we were, even to having a bottle of Bourbon that wouldn’t kill the pain but wouldn’t make it hurt more. We found our truck, managed to get their truck and formed our party to drive back. My suggestion was that both of them ride in the bed of their truck where one could lay out flat not having to try and bend the leg. We insisted that each of them have a sort of improvised seat belt, especially the guy laying down, and roped them to the sidewalls so they wouldn’t bounce out-and also couldn’t get out if they tried.. Jakey and I got up in the truck bed with rope they apparently didn’t realize they had and, while securing them so they wouldn’t fall out, bashed them in the skull and they were down for the count.
Life was easier then. No noise, no wearying questions about what the fuck was going on, just two hunters returning from a successful day leaving only a run down campsite with a deer that, by morning, would be pretty much eaten up, appreciatively, by the local wildlife. As to the campsite of our guests? Eventually someone would find it and then the usual would commence. Of course, no one would miss them for several days and by then, well, their fate would have taken a turn for the table.
While the guys off loaded our cargo, Poker and I stood beside the truck and he cast his usual distrustful glances at it. “Shit, spend that kinda money on this? Whattaya reckon this piece of painted tin set them back? Forty, fifty thousand?”
“At least, maybe more. You’d hate the doodads in the cabin, Jakey pushed one just to see what it did and got a dial tone. Turn that off fast.” He looked at me. “ I checked, no tracking devices, just the direction finder that failed to tell them they were driving into trouble.” I sneered a bit as did Poker.
We walked into the kitchen where the meat was having their clothes stripped and were about to be tied down, the one with a bad leg out flat, the other hung by his wrist, tied together, over a pair of hooks, spreader bar between his ankles which had a tie down on the bottom that just fit the hook on the floor-good thing he wasn’t taller, wouldn’t have been so convenient. We all got a beer then settled down waiting for them to wake up so the fun could begin; Half an hour later we doused them with cold water and that turned the trick. Sputtering, confused, one of them in pain, they came around making the usual demands, once they’d noticed they were naked, not free to go, while we just sat and watched them.
This was the part where they changed into meat not only in our minds but, with some coaching, theirs as well. The guy with the broken leg was in almost too much pain to worry about anything else-without his pants it proved to be a nasty green stick fracture. We let him holler for a bit and then Poker went over, got his attention and allowed as how that must hurt like fuck. The guy on the table just mumbled something which Poker took to mean, “uhuh”.
“Well, that’s the shits ain’t it. A fine big man like you hobbled up with a bum leg, all that pain. Gotta take care of that.” I took the Alpha position. “Looks real bad, don’t it, Bullet, you need to do somethin’ about that leg, looks mean…”
That’s when I swung the axe I was holding and cut it off neatly, right at the hip joint. No point in having it tied down, not in the condition it was in, so I picked it up and tossed it to Sancho who ran the foot through a hook in the ceiling by the other guy and let the blood come out. We knew the guy on the table was going to be in shock so what we did, as we explained, to his buddy, was just a sort of show and tell for his benefit. He was encouraged to watch closely to see if he could remember the order in which things were done.
As quickly as possible the femoral artery was clamped off, if that hadn’t been done he’d have died from blood loss, even laying down, in two, maybe three minutes. Poker leaned against the wall as a sort of tour guide for the meat still alive and hanging there.
Waited a few minutes and then revived the guy on the table who was so disoriented I’m not sure he remembered his leg had just been chopped off; If anything he was actually in less pain which was or was not to his benefit.
Depended.
Poker started his tutorial. “See, if he was upright, hanging, we’d a just cut his feet off and let him bleed out but seein’s how he’s lying down, we’d just get it in spurts, go everywhere, as the heart pumps. You know, pump out spurt, pump in, no spurt and that’s a turrible mess, even on these floor that were made to be cleaned with a fire hose. By the way, name’s Poker, Poker Flatz and this here, the kindly gentleman holding the ax is my man, Bullet. He’s fixin to decide what to do with your buddy or, more likely, trying to think whether he’d be better as a roast, smoke him, grill him or butcher him for the freezer. He’s pret near two hundred pounds an I spect we could git, uh, maybe hundred pounds of good eatin off him. Whaddaya think?” He gave the meat by him a friendly pinch that was more in the way of a palpating his flesh, checking for resiliency, possible fat levels, lean muscle, all the things that determine the best thing to be done with meat.
“Hey, Bullet, this one’s prime fer shure. You thinking what I’m thinkin?”
I looked over as Poker ran his hand over the gut: Sausage, smoked sausage. I could see on the faces of the other guys they had that in mind, too. A big sausage feed where you ate till you threw up and then laid around the rest of the day. On a cold day by a roaring fire, later you could cook hot dogs for dinner if anyone had the courage to eat. Beer, sleep and wake up to more of it only this time it stayed down.
“So…for this one…?”
“Get him out of the way, everyone take a saw or whatever and speed butcher him as is. The parts can be hung before they’re wrapped and the intestines washed and then soaked in brine. Okay, Go.”
As the Alpha, I always got to take first cut and, while he was still living and could understand what was happening, I had someone hold up his head while I first castrated him and then cut off his cock. Our usual was to stuff them in his mouth as the head would be thrown out and, I felt, it gave him the final sense of no longer being a man and really being meat. I held them, they were nothing to brag about, over his head, pulled down his jaw and shoved them in. I’d barely stepped back when his body turned into a carcass and then into butchered parts in about five minutes. Before we broke to rest a spell, have a beer, maybe a Bourbon, he was hung up in parts all around his partner to bleed out leaving only the genital stuffed head on the board turned to face the remaining meat, something for him to ponder while we went elsewhere.
“Overnight? It’s still early so we could have some fun with him, get him in the smokehouse and, tomorrow, finish him off, ready to roast or maybe…there’s just something about him that pisses me off so that means….”
“Holy Shit, you’re gonna spit roast him alive, ain’t ya?”
I smiled my quiet smile for which I was getting famous, it made my eyes become furtive, conspiratorial….”yeah, spit him, live. Least until he quits screaming unless he really gets to me and I whack off his tongue. Agreed?” I could tell by the looks on their faces that they were planning what we did on these occasions. First, we’d take him to the roasting pit, secure him to a tree while we got the coals going, tested the rotisserie, added some more coals, then, two of us to an end, pulled him out straight, arms tied to his sides but crooked a bit to let the heat get to his side ribs, pry open his mouth…but that was a tease. He’d seen the spit so guessed what was coming only he missed a formality: Getting his ass opened to accept the rounded end of the spit. We each fucked him then when he was still crying in humiliation, the spit would slowly be run through him being careful to do as little damage to the organs as possible. I liked it to come out just above his sternum, leaving his throat open to breath, then up thru his lower jaw and out his mouth. But that was for tomorrow. Then, when his skin was beginning to crackle and blister open allowing fat to drip into the fires, we’d all hang out, roll smokes, have a beer, play with each other, just watching him until that got boring and we went away leaving him to turn and cook. I liked a good cowboy tubbing right about then, the smell of the meat, Pepper behind me washing my back, it was a good comforting way. That’s what I though about tomorrow then rolled over, found Pepper, ruffled his hair and kissed him good night. Sleep.
But later that night in bed I wakened, put my head back leaning on my hands while I thought. There was something more here, I didn’t quite have it but…there was an answer to be found. Problem was, there wasn’t a question. Pepper was sleeping peacefully and I hated to wake him but…
“What’s the problem, someone in the house?”
“No, but…I need to do something.”
“What?”
“Don’t know just get up and get dressed, remember it’s cold out so dress warm, we may be outside a bit….” Faithful as a bird dog, he not only got himself dressed but handed me clothes to put on that, in his opinion, would keep me warm. “Do you know where we’re going? Should I grab the keys to something….?”
And then I knew.
“Yeah, find the keys to the pickup we brought home today, we’re going on a treasure hunt of sorts.” He looked puzzled so I gave him a Dutch rub, swatted his butt, smiled at him. On the way out I grabbed a large canvas bag and some shears for no reason but one never knew when something would need to be cut and it had been my experience not infrequently, shears were easier to use than a knife.
The pick up was the very popular silver color and in the moonlight looked like the ghost of GMC. Working methodically, I opened all the doors, which turned on the cab lights and just stared at it. And then I saw what I knew would be there and had a use; Behind the front seats were two brief cases just as I knew there would be. Our guests were not the sort to really let go, relax, not bring business with them and so they hadn’t. Because the truck was so new there was virtually nothing else in it that was of interest but I had my trophy and knew what I’d do with it.
Back in the house, Pepper and I went through the contents finding about what I’d expected. Clearly what was missing was in another room with their clothes but my find, the thing I’d hoped for, was there; A camera. It was a matter of just looking back at the pictures they’d already taken to assure me I could get away with my nasty little idea. I leaned back and almost laughed. Pepper looked nonplussed as he couldn’t see anything. Suddenly I was horny as hell knowing what I was going to do so I pulled out my fattening dick, told Pepper to shuck off his britches and we’d play horsey, he could ride me home to the stable. A quick swipe with his tongue and a little spit to harden me up and he was over his target about to intercept it and flow down the hard spike until he was sitting on my lap facing me. We got naked from the waist down then made out until I shot. It was a good beginning to a great day. (No man was ever given a better present than Pepper. Even shined his steel collar and wanted a pair of matching cuffs..with attachments. I thought about something similar in a large cock ring but decided to wait until I had him pierced and inked the way I wanted him.)
Spit roasting is all well and good but it requires more physical effort than just taking a roast from the freezer, thawing it, marinating it, searing it, putting it in a pan and then to the oven. I suppose there are homes with fire places large enough to handle meat the size we had on a spit but ours wasn’t one of them. Pepper and I rolled into the room where the meat was still hanging, his hands probably dead from lack of blood and his shoulders beyond pain from being hung for that many hours. Still, he was alert which is what I wanted. Also, this morning marked the conclusion of his hunting trip which could be seen at some point in the future.
Clearly his hands were useless and had been so secured blood, if any had got through, wouldn’t be enough. Sancho showed up, scratching and holding the coffee pot in one hand and several mugs in the other. We all sat on the edge of the table by the head of his former hunting partner and sipped to get warm, to get our hearts started, to get launched into the day.
“Guys, what I want is…for him to be cut down and retied only in an X shape. Also, get the whole body off the floor so if you have to use a hook in his back to keep in up, that’s what I want. Then we’ll begin our photography session.” They looked surprised. I could hear Poker laughing, old man knew what I was going to and he already thought it was funny.
Our meat wasn’t very cooperative although a lot of the fight had been hung out of him. Not wanting him dehydrated a tube was shoved down his throat and a pint or water was put in him and then…we were about ready. I’d brought his camera in and explained that he’d already captured his trip up and their first day on it and we were going to show the rest of the trip, right up to the end frame by frame. So I took a picture of him in his X posture, showed the hook put in his back and that being attached to a point on the wall. Since this was only a still camera we had to lead the viewer through the activities so they’d fully understand what was going on. Next was a shot of his chest after it was shaved and then another showing his full body denuded. The multiple enemas to clean him out had to be demonstrated I two shots, one of the tube up his ass and the next of the outflow of clear water followed by a third which was the stuffing mixed with beer being forced into him through another tube. Couple of frames of him being coated in marinade, one or two close ups of an apple being put in his mouth and, just before we moved him outside, another medium shot of his body with his genitals followed by one after he’d been castrated and had his cock cut off. To fill in I took a picture of his buddy’s head with them already stuck in to suggest what would happen to him. To avoid being in the pictures with him there were some pauses during which things happened that the viewer didn’t see. Next up was of a pit with a low fire, a shot of him, tied up but with a spit beside him, one of him stretched out, another of the spit going in his ass and, of course, coming out his mouth. One or two of him clearly living and turning. Got some real good ones as his guts spilled out and he was bled and, finally, another of him with his chest cavity split open, still turning on the rotisserie with the fire crackling under him. Later when we took him off the spit, I’d take one last of his head after it had been cut off and then put the camera back in the brief case and the case in the truck. I knew, eventually, someone would find it. I wondered who would see it first, probably some sheriff’s deputy or similar and they’d have to tell the families that these pictures existed but….they didn’t think they’d want to see them. However, not knowing good advice, they would insist saying something dumb like “How bad can they be?”….
The day went on, after thoroughly cleaning every thing we’d touched, Pepper and I returned the vehicle to about where we’d found it, making sure it was enough off the road so you couldn’t immediately see it but clearly not concealed. And, of course, we made certain the notices they’d written out as to whom to call if there was a problem were prominently displayed then we high tailed it back. Dinner was coming up and we didn’t want to miss that. Jakey had let him cool a bit when they took him down-made easier by the spit, he could just be brought in the house on that and plunked on the butchering table. Waited a while to pull out the spit-if we took it out too fast some of the internal tissue stuck to it and that made a mess. But even just laid out before Jakey cut him up, the aroma could have drawn bees it was so sweet. Those who wanted to risk a burned finger could push on the crisp skin and find that underneath was firm, juicy flesh-I’m not ashamed to say we were all drooling about then, the smell of man meat making us hungry and horny; Looking around at the guys, wasn’t one that wasn’t sporting a tent pole in their britches.
Dinner was delicious. He was a good sized piece of meat and all we had was a rump roast and two thighs and that filled everyone. Leaning back, with some of my men, Jakey and I told them some of the details of the hunt and a couple of them said maybe tomorrow or the day after they’d go after some hunters themselves; While they were out there was the best time to cull the herd and bring ’em in for the winter. No point in running low. Once, Poker told me, they’d been reduced to waylaying the UPS truck but…that was done in desperation and, besides, the UPS guys were generally a bit tough from running to and from doors all day. It was kind of the same with joggers; If they were miles from town you knew they were hard core, were all stringy muscle, no meat on their tail, better ground up as bone meal for the spring garden. In short, we were contented, well fed, food to snack on if you felt like it and a whole butchered meat in the freezer for whenever we wanted. I hoped someone had the ambition to make sausage tonight as I had my taste buds set on sausage gravy and biscuits next morning.
Winter came easily but up here it was cold. The ground froze, baths in the horse troughs were still great but you had to fight your way through the steam to get to them. Hunting was going well, Sancho and Rich had a run of luck when the found an SUV upside down with four guys all unconscious but none of ’em under 200 pounds. Simple matter to pull them out, tie them down and bring ’em home. There were the usual screams, the yells when they came to and found themselves in what was suddenly a production line butchery but it provided meat for a good long time. We could all lay back, enjoy life, enjoy the difference between the warm fire inside and the cold outside.
At night I lay by Pepper and thought about the future, what mine was, how to care for the pups, how to get one or two new ones. Then I took to stall walking, one problem to resolve and one night I did. I’d missed something and went to get it.
Poker was sitting up in his huge bed, alone as he often was anymore, didn’t even look up when I came in.
“I been expectin’ you. What took you so long? I guess I know what you want…”
“Yeah, bout so and I’m not happy for a lot a reasons. But that’s the nature of the beasts, you know that…”
“Yeup, cain’t never have two stallions in the same box, they’d kill each other.” He paused. “You got it figgered out? Spect you do.”
“Yeah, all worked out in my mind but there’s something else…” I looked at him in the dim light. “…only you can do it for me”.
He laughed his sneaky old man laugh, tossed back the covers and jerked his head meaning for me to get over there. He was still smiling broadly when I crawled in and went straight for his cock, wanted to get it good and hard.
“You want it the hard way I spect?”
I just nodded. He fooled around under the bed, pulled out the box with cuffs, manacles, hooks, chain.
“On your knees Bullet.”
In the end he had me chained to the bed post, a gag in my mouth, my eyes covered, hooks in my nipples that were attached to a chain that he was going to use as reins. Made me take out my teeth and a hard bit with points on it went in and he held the controls to that as well. Ankles both manacled and chained…then he came at me first with the whip and then with his cock. I could feel the blood drip down from the slashes that would mark me and never go away fall on the tops of my calves, felt the tip of the whip crack on my biceps and his nails pulled into my breasts as he fucked me harder than ever. I knew he was finished when he fell away, worn out. Finally had to give up, all his seed in me, nothing left. He let me hang by my nipples and nuts until he could rouse himself and then softly took me down, let me fall on his bloodied bed and rest.
An hour went by. I could get up, move and, both of us naked, we went down the hall, through the room with just the embers of fire and onto the cold porch.
“Here?”
“Yeah, here. Wanted you to see the whole thing.”
“Over the saw horse?”
“No, man to man, face to face.” And then he knew.
“Holy Jesus, I never ate a man raw but…that’s the best way for this isn’t it. Just…let me linger to watch you do it. Ain’t much meat so watch where you bite…”
I had in my teeth that were made to tear and chew raw meat. He was ready, always had been, this was the ultimate end for a former Alpha, to be eaten alive and raw by his successor. To honor his wishes, I started in on places that wouldn’t cause too much blood but finally there weren’t any other places. He was staggering and his blood was beginning to flow freely. I leaned down, tore off his ball sac and put it in his mouth. He choked and was almost at the end. Holding him, with blood running down both of us. “Old man, I did it out here so when I tear of your cock, it’ll freeze and tomorrow I’ll have it made into a dildo. I think he tried to laugh but the blood in his throat choked him. Looking straight at him, I reached down and tore off his cock then pulled him down so I could continue to feed. Even after he’d been dead for an hour I was still pulling bits of meat off…kept warm by my own ferocity.
Later that morning when the guys were moving they found the carcass, almost completely torn apart in my Alpha rage to protect my type and nothing was said. Each of them wondered who would come along to take me down and would they have the balls to eat me alive? They knew it would not be one of them, no Alpha ever really comes from the pack but is someone the pack completely accepts.
Pepper brought me coffee in bed and tried to wash my back but I refused. That was my final gift from Poker, my whipping marks, proud of them, too because of the man who laid them on me and partly because it secured my position, I was Alpha, no question.
Some days later I shoved his cock, now mounted and harder than it had been in life up my ass and smiled at all the memories. I licked my lips and remembered him most of all. Hoped I’d taste as good to the next Alpha but….that was a long time away.
m3mayhem 