The stench of ripe piss, like rotted fruit, penetrates
through your hangover and swells with your growing consciousness.
Your hands are bound behind you, tight, and your elevated
ass is shoved against the metal cover that walls you in.
The dark world beats you down and you plead to black out
and erase the time.
A muted red light enflames your tight enclosure and you
are tossed forward across the cheap carpet. The only thing
you have on, besides the skivvies that you were wearing
in your girlfriend’s bed, is a sticky sheen of urine
that glows red across your pale skin. You are paralyzed
when you hear a car door open and footsteps moving closer;
you shut your eyes, hold your breath and hope they think
you’re dead. Your mind reels with explanations and
skirts the truth as skillfully as a junkie rationalizes
his next hit.
Two voices approach, men you recognize with a chill. The
Southern cadence of Red’s voice, the con-man who’d
gotten you into this mess, and the deep rumble of Vix44,
the biggest motherfucker you’ve ever seen. The pair
belonged to Havana, the man who’d been stupid enough
to trust you with ten kilos of Columbian, and his thugs
are about to make an example out of you; don’t cross
Havana.
The trunk rises and you are blinded by sharp daylight.
Red pops a cherry into his mouth, bites down hard, spits
the pit out into your face. “Awake, shitbag?”
He smiles, his mustache riding up under his thin nose. This
was the same guy who’d taken you to Havana a year
ago claiming you’d make a mint, a fuckin’ pile
of dough. “Old man’s gonna skin you alive, asshole,”
he says now. Red unzips his fly and sends a fragrant thick
stream into your upturned face. You turn away as your eyes
and mouth are invaded by his salty piss. “Baste that
piglet,” his partner says. Old Vix44. They said his
name came from the width of his cock, and having seen the
size of his hands, you’d believe it.
Vix steps up to the trunk and smiles down at your pathetic
figure. “Gonna marinate the pork,” he snorts
and pulls out his hose to wash you down. Before he shoots
his squirt, he makes sure you get a full eye of the weapon
he’s got in his hand. Even soft it looks like the
arm and fist of a child, and he nods his head and pisses
on you as the reality sinks in. You’d rather be shot
than split open by that thing. “Have me a pork chop
on a plate. You bacon, boy?”
Beyond Vix44 you can see blue sky and trees, fresh air,
and they seem as unreal as your plans for escape. Vix drops
a glob of spit down on your head and slams the trunk closed,
trapping you in the stink of their fresh piss. You wonder
how long you’ve been stuck there, an unwilling toilet,
and how much longer they could drive around before they
put a slug in your head and dump you on the street; an advertisement
of Havana’s power.
The car bumps along rutted roads, your body tossed around
like a cheap slag, making your empty stomach hitch. You’d
die to pass out again as the car swerves to hit an eternal
series of potholes and ditches. The bruises on your arms
and legs paint your skin darker shades of blue and purple.
When the car finally stops, your body still feels the movement,
like sea legs. It seems as if hours pass before the trunk
opens and the oil-tainted air rushes inside. Red smiles
down into your squinting eyes. “Had enough, piss-ass?
Man, you so disappoint.” He looks like a ferret in
a suit as he plucks a cherry from his pocket and sucks it
into his mouth. “Get him outta there, Vix. Havana
wants this skinny shit.”
Vix44 lowers his powerful arms and picks you up in a bear
hug. You choke on his thick cologne. The bristles of his
beard scratch against your face. “He is a pretty thing,
isn’t he Red? Pretty little girly-boy.” He drops
you on the concrete of the garage floor and you look up
at your own car, the brand new BMW that you bought with
the money scammed off Havana. Stupid shit, you
say to yourself. How was I so stupid?
“You ever been to a pig roast, boy?” Vix44
asks you.
You shake your head sadly. “No, sir. I ain’t
no pig today. Come on, Vix, let us go and you can keep the
car. I’ll leave, I swear it, go where nobody knows
me.”
Vix44 laughs in your ear as he forces you up on your feet
and holds you against him. “You’re my piglet,
boy.” His groin presses into your cuffed hands and
you think about squeezing down on his package. Vix backs
up a step and slaps the side of your head. “Don’t
be a fool bastard, pork chop. You’ll get more a that
than you want.”
Red complains about the smell of you, but it doesn’t
bother Vix44; he hauls you through a door by the back of
your underpants, your cock and balls pulled up into the
tight sack created by your betraying briefs. He tosses you
onto the cement slab floor of a paneled room and steps away.
You stare at the reflective black shoes of Havana’s
feet, whose first comment is a kick in the head.
“You little scumbag shit,” he says, his husky
voice dropping an octave below normal. “You think
you can cut me out, huh? You think you’re such a smart
prick that you can scam me? Do you know who you are messing
with, or do I gotta remind you that you’re playing
with big boys, here?” He drops his cigar next to your
face, grinds it out with his shoe and plants the hot sole
of his foot against your face. “I warned you when
Red brought you in, you do what I tell you, when I tell
you. You don’t think for yourself, got it? I want
some sign that you get me, shit for brains.” He squats
down next to you. “Geez, you smell like fuckin’
hell. Vix, man, you’re one crazy fuck.” Havana
laughs, then after an uncomfortable interval, Vix44 and
Red join in.
You apologize, and apologize, and apologize; a whine of
sorrys that you ever were stupid enough to try to one-up
Havana. “Gonna teach you a lesson, kid. Next time
you sit down on your brains, you’re gonna think of
me, you got it?”
Vix44 hauls you up by the seat of your drawers and slips
them down around your knees. He pushes you over to a counter
and you brace your shoulders against it. “You owe
me fifty grand, kid. I want it. All of it. You got twenty-four
hours.” Havana lights another cigar and the earthy
smoke fills your lungs. “All right, Vix, rip him up.”
The room grows achingly quiet as the boss turns and leaves.
You can hear his footsteps groan up the stairs and across
the floorboards. A football game comes on, loud enough to
drown out any noise you might make.
Vix44 unzips his pants and steps out of them. You can see
his socks close in on you from between your parted legs.
“Come on, man, I get it. I learned my lesson. You
don’t gotta… Shit, Vix. This isn’t fair.”
You close your eyes so that you won’t cry and hope
it will be over quick.
“Basted pork, you gotta love it.” Vix44 spits
on his latexed dick and shoves it up into your ass until
all you see is black and stars. You can feel the burn of
his rod and you pray that you’ll be able to walk or
shit again. Vix burrows into you, holds you by the waist
and pumps you full of flesh. “Yeah, piglet, ride me.”
His cock pummels you, spreading your ass cheeks wide open.
Vix44 grunts as he fucks you, holds you like he’s
jerking himself off with your body and you feel him in your
guts, your lungs, your throat.
His sweating arms hold you down as he pulls out and a cold
breeze blows up into the gaping hole he leaves behind. You
wish he’d put it back in before your guts spill out
between your legs. He slaps your tender ass and the shocking
pain sends a chill over your skin and your face tingles.
“Let’s go, Vix. Plug the guy and get it over
with.” Red pops a cherry in his mouth and sucks it
into his cheek.
“Gonna enjoy myself a little first, with this piglet
here.” Vix44 forces you down on your knees and you
are confronted with the shit-spattered rubber on his cock.
“Give me some blow, piggie, blow your daddy.”
He peels the condom off and drops it with a plop at your
knees and steps up to you, his cock smelling like your ass.
He forces the tip in between your lips and you gag as the
salty meat slides deep into your mouth, filling the back
of your throat. He eases out, gently, then rams it back
in, filling your head. Your mouth is in shock and salvia
builds up and spills out, running along the shaft of Vix’s
cock and dribbles over his hairy balls. “That’s
the worst head I’ve ever had, gonna fuck you raw,”
Vix warns and you make an effort to sweeten the deal and
get him off so he won’t have to fuck you again. “That’s
better, piggie, yeah.” He rides your head.
Swallowing his meat brings tears to your eyes, but as he
pumps your face, you catch his rhythm and bob your head
timed by his thrusts, tasting the silvery pre-cum as it
flows into your mouth. “Aw’ right. Kid’s
got it down. Gonna turn you into a first rate cocksucker,
cheese dick…yeah. Oh fuck.” Vix pulls out and
jerks his dick into your face and you are bathed in a shower
of cum as he jets onto your chin, chest and legs. He hovers
until a thin stream of piss follows and trickles over your
head. “You gotta give this one here a go, Red. Kid
was rough at first, but he’s a natural. Got him all
warmed up for ya.”
Red spits the cherry out into his palm, stares at it, then
shakes his head. “Your job, Vix, not mine. Let’s
go, get the kid, dump him in the car. Get him outta here
before Mrs. H. gets home.” He drops the cherry back
into his mouth and then spits the pit on the floor near
your knees.
“You don’t gotta do it, man. I don’t
wanna die.”
“Havana says you get to go, little fish. You tell
your smokin’ buddies who’s in charge here, and
you tell them what will happen if they try to fuck over
Havana, you got that? You’re the example. They’re
fish food.” To finalize his point, Red takes his squirt
on you with his semi-erect cock.
Vix44 zips up and then picks you up by your handcuffed
wrists and drags you back to the car. “Have half a
mind to keep this pussy right where I can find him. Tightest
ass I’ve ever had.”
“Havana says to dump him. You listenin’ kid?
You don’t do your job you’re gonna spend the
rest of your life eatin’ his spunk, got it?”
You nod your head frantically. “Yeah, Red, I hear
you.” Your jaw is stiff, your ass like burning fire.
Vix44 lowers you back into your own trunk, and you think
the next car will have a bigger one. You collapse against
the blue carpet, smelling of piss and spunk and feeling
wide at both ends. Red spits a cherry pit on you before
he closes you in. They back out the car and careen through
the streets, tossing you around in the bruised dark.
When the car finally stops it is nighttime. You can hear
the chatter and gibber of your block, music blasting from
Skeeter’s car, Elmo and his girl shouting. Vix44 lifts
you out and drops you in the gutter but not before poking
a thumb in your wounded asshole.
“You learn your lesson, boy, and you better teach
it too or Vix and I’ll be back for you,” Red
says. The two men smile and nod at each other. “We’ll
be back tomorrow for the fifty grand you owe Havana. Better
have it. Six o’clock.”
Vix44 smiles widely. “Don’t make us wait, bacon.
You don’t wanna piss me off.” He uncuffs one
wrist and drags you over to the bus sign and clamps the
open side to it. “Tell your tale, pork chop.”
The men get back into your car and drive down the block,
leaving you naked, stained and bleeding and chained where
you stand. The guys from the street start to gather around
you. Your boys who you used to trust, who sold with you,
sold for you, now poking and laughing at your skinny frame.
“Oh, shit, Vix44 done that boy good.” Skeeter
laughs and his girl, Tamara squeals with derisive laughter.
“Won’t even need to sit down to shit,”
Elmo says. More catcalls and whistles as you struggle to
squeeze out of the handcuffs, and when Jimmie comes to your
rescue with the bolt-cutters, you are already planning your
escape. “Havana gonna get you, boy,” Skeeter
says as you crawl up the fire escape to your apartment window,
“Havana’s gonna blow your mind.”
© 2008 Sean Meriwether
Sean Meriwether’s fiction has appeared
in Best
Gay Love Stories 2006, Hot
Cops, Best
of the Best Gay Erotica 2, and other notorious
publications. In addition to managing Velvet Mafia,
he co-edited Men
of Mystery: Homoerotic Tales of Intrigue and Suspense
with Greg Wharton. Sean lives in Brooklyn, NY.
Wanna
know more about Sean Meriwether? www.penboy7.com
