GayBondageFiction

Dave is bound to a bed while all of the night’s participants recover from the festivities.

24 Hours – Chapter 22: Dark Dreams and a Ray of Light
by Amalaric
Series: 24 Hours

3:30 AM, and two sets of dreams swirled around the quiet corners of the sprawling ranch-style pile that the Hascombes called ‘home’. Well, maybe four sets of dreams if one considered the racing reflections or wild fantasies of the pair of players who remained awake. Roberta lay, sprawled on a divan in the darkened sun room; stripped naked, she casually masturbated imagining herself impaled on Dave’s hungry cock. She had often entertained fantasies of rape- but never envisioned herself as the victim. A slender finger lay buried to the second knuckle in the wet cleft of her silky mound, working slowly around the small knob, scratching an itch that never seemed to go away. She sighed and removed the finger, unable to match vivid imagination to its delicate touch. This would do for Brent’s worm-like appendage but not the artillery riding between the legs of my big marine. She laughed and, exhaling deeply, sank back into the fantasy. In her mind’s eye Dave lay stretched beneath her on the floor, hands bound over his head, legs jacked wide. Though gagged, his big blue eyes betrayed every thought; a potent mixture of terror, disgust and undisguised lust as she straddled him, hips grinding, savoring every unwilling thrust of his rock-hard rod that filled her to the brim…ahhhh, now that’s better!!! When had she picked up the empty bottle of merlot? No matter, its long neck was nearly the right size. She sank back on the divan, eyes half closed, and shuddered.

Bobby was also awake. Alone in the living room he casually surveyed the evidence of the evening’s carnage and grinned. He selected a Chris Isaak cassette and put it in the player. The melancholy music filled the room- Driving slowly, watching the headlights in the rain./Funny how things change. Thinking of good times, wishing you were still with me/the way it used to be- Graduation Day. Watching the stars fall/million dreams have all gone bad… The pale green sofa was streaked with drying blood, it’s back mottled with dark spots of still-damp semen. Admittedly primitive, but effective, toys littered the carpet; wires and whips…kittens with whiskers. Oh! These are the things… He burst into laughter and rubbed his crotch. What a night it had been, and Bobby still had so many plans! Hascombe, of course, had been right- the buck needed a rest (sigh). OK, but not too long. He envisioned Dave, stripped naked and tied spread eagle on the bed upstairs, blanked out from sheer stress and physical exhaustion. Brent had said not to disturb him for an hour…but Bobby was sorely tempted to tip-toe into the darkened room and wake the big stud up. How should he do it, he wondered? Maybe gently in order to bring him back slowly to resumed horror- a salted finger wormed surreptitiously up his abused asshole? Perhaps. Or something more jarring? Bobby considered the effect of paraffin, brought to a near boil, on taut skin covering work-hardened muscle… Reaching a decision, he turned toward the door and was surprised to see the banker standing at the threshold silently watching him.

Hascombe had slept for a while after shutting the door on his slave’s weary agony. Property needed maintenance and he didn’t want to ruin the boy with too much use. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep but, after changing out of clothing splattered with the crazed buck’s semen, he sank into an armchair in his study, a warm glass of Laphroaig clutched in one hand, deeply inhaling the bitter alkaline stains in the discarded trousers…and dozed off. The banker dreamed a disjointed symphony of hoarse, masculine pleas, golden muscle and flying sweat. Oddly, though, it was the sense of smell that pervaded the dream and gave it urgent substance. His rasping breath caught tendrils of naked fear on the still air and he wasn’t certain of the source. Heart pounding, he searched for distraction and buried his face in Dave’s hard chest- Ah! The pounding pulse of my tall, bound slave…his fear; not mine, not mine- sucking up the heady spice of the muscle-bound boy, a hint of drywall plaster, musty male potency harnessed and helpless. Hascombe snorted Dave’s scent as eagerly as the cocaine in his office drawer. He woke with a start, what was that??? Fading images all jumbled up left a bitter taste of anxiety in his mouth. His heart was pounding; a thought raced like lightening across his mind- where was Bobby and what might Roberta get herself up to if left to her own devices? Dave was his property, dammit!! I own him, and that thought, strangely comforting and oppressive at the same time, motivated Hascombe to jack his bulk out of the chair, set down the crystal shot glass of whiskey, and go exploring to…ah…make sure everything was in order.

Roberta was nowhere in sight, but the banker found Bobby easily enough fondling his toys in the living room. He read the fat man’s body language, guessed his intent, and felt the pressure of rising rage behind the fragile levy of his self-control. Bobby turned toward him, grinning, and the taxed levy was breached. Hascombe exploded. ‘You miserable son of a bitch!! Where do you think you’re going?!!’ Bobby’s mirthless smile remained fixed to his broad face. He shuffled (was he blushing??), narrowed eyes as black as ink, and replied, ‘Don’t know what you mean, Brent…’ ‘Ah, FUCK, Bobby!! You know exactly what I mean. Going upstairs for a little surreptitious fun? Seems to me you’ve had ALL THE FUN,’ his voice rose to a mewling shout, ‘and you haven’t even contributed a NICKLE…and, let me tell you (sputtering), slaves like Dave don’t come cheap!!!!! Could have ruined him an hour ago with your damn bazooka shoved up his ass- my investment, my boy. Who the hell do you think you are; waltzing into MY house, acting like the lord of the fucking manner???’ Bobby picked his nose and used every ounce of self-control trying to remain calm. Hascombe, teetering on a precipice all evening, had clearly toppled over the edge. ‘Seems like you’ve had a little fun yourself, Brent.’ His voice was far colder than the still, pre-dawn air outside. ‘GET OUT!!!!!!!’ Hascombe screamed and pointed a shaking finger at the front door. Bobby felt his own anger rising and, besides, there was still so much yet that he wanted to do. He imagined the tall, naked man bound to the bed upstairs. ‘Listen, Brent, not so fast,’ his carefully maintained smile disappeared. ‘How about if I spread the word about some of those internet sites you frequent? Or,’ he paused for effect, ‘maybe go home and get on the telephone to a few of your big shot society friends and let them know what you’ve been up to today?’ He was utterly shocked when Hascombe burst into laughter. More disconcerting by far was the apparent calm that descended like an inverted storm on the passionate outburst of seconds before. The banker matched Bobby’s cold tone then lowered the temperature further, ‘You do that, my young friend, and you…die.’ ‘Make me leave and…I’ll call the cops!’ Bobby’s voice cracked and he hated himself for it. He was stunned seconds later as Hascombe strode across the room and grasped him by the balls through the damp denim of his black jeans. The banker adjusted his grip and twisted hard, laughing again as Bobby yelped. He leaned close and a hoarse, whiskey scented whisper filled the fat man’s ear, ‘Let me tell you something, big boy; half the cops in this town belong to me and the other half would line up outside that bedroom door. Now, you go home and,’ he sighed as if regretting unaccustomed generosity, ‘maybe I won’t make a few special phone calls myself. Hurry, before I change my mind because, if I do, your ample guts will be spread over a ten-mile radius like bright red bunting on the Fourth of July.’ Bobby squeaked assent and a tear navigated the zits on his cheek as the banker released his balls. He glanced at his toys scattered around the room, reconsidered, and headed for the door. Hascombe watched impassively, relishing the cocky bastard’s humiliation. The door slammed behind Bobby’s waddling ass and the old banker sighed, feeling better than he had, oh, maybe since the afternoon when he seared a flaming ‘H’ between the spread thighs of his slave on the picnic table…and that reminded him…

Roberta remained strangely incognito, which was slightly disturbing. Hascombe shrugged and giggled. Out of sight, out of mind…but there was someone upstairs very much on his mind. Time for a wake-up call.

Dave sank into exhausted sleep almost immediately after being bound to the bed…and dreamed. Fighting monsters (hadn’t had a dream like that since he was a kid), running for his life; rearguard action as something breathed down his neck in red fog under a twilight sky that special color of blue when the sun had set but it wasn’t quite dark yet. Such a beautiful color…so beautiful… He stumbled and the Beast was on his back, raking wide, bloody furrows and he knew that it was trying to get inside him, way down deep, to eat his soul. He could hear his mom and dad calling, but they were far away. ‘Stop!!!’ he screamed- not to the Beast, he knew that would be pointless- but to his folks. The dark thing could hear them, could tell where they were and its appetite was insatiable. The pain seemed unbearable and his fear sat like ice in the pit of his stomach, spreading a numbing lassitude outward, slowly paralyzing arms and legs…unshackled? Why did that surprise him? He wrenched free of the thing’s grip and felt sticky blood running down his back, soaking through his tattered tee shirt. Still surprised that he could move hands and feet, Dave knew an unreasoning rush of pure joy and the fear fled, well, almost, and in its wake he discovered a righteous anger kept since boyhood for special occasions in a tightly locked golden box. The monster hesitated, just out of sight behind a slow-moving cloud of black flies, but Dave knew it hadn’t given up, was merely considering and would quickly move in for the kill. He understood that his hope lay in the box and the fear rumbled back as he searched frantically for the key and couldn’t find it. ‘What the hell?’ His old gunny from days in the Corps stepped around a tumble of boulders. Hal Dawson’s dress blues were the same color as the sky. ‘Looking for this, grunt?’ He held out a bright key…

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

A dutch sailor has been brutally interrogated in Breaking News from 19th century China!

Press Release: China
by Cavelo

(KW : LC-TORTURE CHARGE) (ON-LINE WIRE WI1:K0401;IRBX;)
(WB) PROTEST TO CHINA OVER […]

Breaking news from the Canadian frontier by artist Cavelo!

Press Release: Iroquois
by Cavelo

(KW: BC-Iroquois)
(x8010/MTM – A)
(ON-LINE WIRE Wz6:8010;IUBX;) [WB](ATTN: News Editors)
[WB] (C) […]

A powerful, hunky but embarrassingly under-endowed CEO has a humiliating experience when he accidently books a nudist resort for his company retreat in this fun story by new author Hom with illustrations by […]

After checking into the resort, the CEO has no other option but to strip naked and reveal his deficiencies.

Downfall of the Big Boss – Chapters 2 & 3
by Hom
Art by Amalaric
Series: Downfall of the Big […]

The CEO decides to shave off his pubes to de-emphasize his shortcomings with undesirable results!

Downfall of the Big Boss – Chapter 4
by Hom
Art by Amalaric
Series: Downfall of the Big Boss

CHAPTER […]

The captive pigs are given a chance to clean up and forced to shave before they are subjected to an intrusive medical exam and milked of their cum.

This Little Piggy Went to the Market – Chapters 12 & 13
by Horny Old Fag
Series: This Little Piggy Went to the Market

CHAPTER 12

Dawn rose. Abel struggled onto his haunches and peed through the barbed-wire. His stomach cramped. He tugged out his tail and farted filth through the fence. A guard in the watchtower aimed his way. He wiped his crack on the ground and stuffed the plug back into position.

McGee twitched and sniveled. He patted his partner on the shoulder. The rookie recoiled and turned his back.

Logan lay curled on his side with his bandaged foot propped up, clutching his stomach and moaning. “When my team arrives, these motherfuckers are going down.”

Santos crawled around the perimeter of their cage, checking for weak spots in the construction. “Whoever built this knew what they were doing. We’ll never break out with our bare hands.” He traced his fingers over the dusty earth. “Maybe we can dig out.”

Zane snored so loudly he scared a crow away. The border agent must have gone inside with at least a dozen men last night. Abel admired the way his neighbor kept his shit together. He could not imagine spending six days in this hell hole, much less six months.

Angel marched up, toking on his stogie, and shouted in Spanish. Manny and Herman yanked Logan out by the ankles and shocked the protesting agent on the dong with both their prods. The spastic fed curled up and shrieked his willingness to cooperate.

Juan dragged out McGee. The panicked rookie came up punching. The devilish punk zapped his junk. The stunned kid clasped his groin and screamed, but no sound emerged.

Santos scrambled outside without needing to be told. Oscar shocked the trooper on the knob. He doubled over and blew on his fat joint like that might soothe the sting.

Pedro grinned at Abel and brandished his prod. His lazy eye glanced skyward, like he was checking the weather. Abel ducked the blow. “Okay, okay, you don’t have to tell me twice.” The big gorilla zapped his left heel. He recoiled with a shrill squawk. “Geez! Give it a rest. I’m coming.”

“No back talk.” Pedro shocked Abel on the nads. Pain ricocheted throughout his body. He howled and lurched through the gate. The grinning bruiser hauled him onto his feet and shoved his spastic ass toward the barn. He staggered across the prickly ground and stumbled through the door. The surly gang herded he and his fellow officers to the rear atop a rusty metal grate. They huddled, palms cupped over their privates, cautious to avoid brushing against one another.

Angel removed Logan’s bandage. The wincing fed whimpered. His mutilated toe stump had swollen purple.

Manny and Herman tugged out everyone’s tails. Abel’s guts rumbled but held. McGee squawked and dropped into a squat to expel a huge turd. Logan farted filth down his thighs. Santos peed through the grate. The brutes doused their heads with buckets of tepid water and tossed bars of soap their way.

“You porkers smell like crap,” Oscar said. The dogface thug grinned and fiddled with his necklace of toe bones. “Wash those butts until they’re clean enough to eat.” He wriggled his tongue suggestively.

Abel ignored the lewd gesture and scrubbed away days worth of dust and Lord knows what else. Even in this hellhole, or perhaps especially here, it felt good to get clean.

The boisterous gang sloshed buckets of water in their faces to rinse the suds away, and afterward wrestled their butts over stacks of wooden pallets and buckled their wrists and ankles to the slats. Abel tested his bonds. He was not going anywhere until the brutes said. No wonder no one ever escaped this hellhole.

Doctor Vega shuffled inside with his wife Inez. The fidgety couple glanced at Angel and his thugs. The old fellow cleared his throat. “We must test you for sexually transmitted infections and check your vitals.”

“Who knows where their dicks have been, am I right?” Manny sniggered. “Pigs are nasty creatures.” The gang snickered and nodded.

Inez ran her fingers down Abel’s cheek and whispered in Spanish. Tears misted her eyes. She tapped his lips. He opened his mouth. She pried back his gums and poked around for a few seconds before slipping a thermometer down his throat. She studied her watch for a minute, retrieved the device, and smiled. “Muy bueno.”

Vega pressed his stethoscope over Logan’s heart and scrawled a note. He examined the grousing agent’s lean torso and droopy scrotum.

Inez shined a light in Abel’s eyes. She snapped her fingers to one side and then the other. His gaze followed. She examined his ears and made a note, and then ask his height and weight in English. He shared six-two and two-ten or thereabouts. He had not eaten in a couple of days so he might have dropped a few pounds.

“You allergic to latex,” the doc asked. Logan crinkled his brow and shook his head. The old guy glanced in Angel’s direction and slipped on a pair of gloves. He lubricated his palms and torqued the bucking fed’s joint.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Let go of my dick, old man, or I’ll—”

Angel pressed a Bowie knife against the protesting fed’s throat. “Or, you’ll what, Agent Douchebag?”

Logan sank against the pallets with a groan and closed his eyes.

“That’s what I thought.”

Vega fisted Logan stiff and laid a ruler alongside his erection. “Diecinueve centimetros.” Inez nodded and scribbled on her pad. The gang smiled and nodded.

Manny pressed a Beretta to the quaking doc’s temple and shouted in Spanish. The old fellow leaned over and licked the startled agent’s knob. His cowboy hat toppled onto the floor. The inked thug teased the trigger and snarled in his ear. He swallowed the cursing fed so deeply he choked. His frogged eyes teared, but he kept sucking.
Logan writhed around, moaning and groaning. His bony hips shot into the air. Vega gagged and staggered backward, clutching his throat. Inez drained the screeching agent into a vial, which she corked and labeled. The doc spat into the slop sink in the corner and gargled a swig from his flask. He pitched his gloves into the trash barrel and scrubbed his hands.

Inez examined Logan and took his temperature. She asked his height and weight. The discombobulated agent mumbled six-one and one-ninety.

Vega checked Abel’s heart with his stethoscope and examined his chest and nads. “No lumps. You’re clean.”

McGee bit Inez. Angel rolled his lit stogie over the rookie’s nads. The bitter stench of singed hairs filled the air. Once the screaming kid calmed down, he left the old woman take his temperature and gave his height as six-foot and weight as one-ninety-eight.

Vega slipped on a fresh pair of gloves and greased his palms. Abel braced for an assault. The shaky old fellow pumped his joint. He closed his eyes and thought about car crashes.

Inez checked Santos’ eyes and ears and took his temperature. She wrote down six-three for his height and two-hundred-and-five for his weight.

Vega slipped a finger up Abel’s butt and tightened his fist. Abel sucked in a sharp breath. The son-of-a-bitch massaged his prostate until his joint throbbed.

Manny sniggered. “Horny grunter sure likes getting poked, don’t he?”

Vega measured Abel. “¡Veintiuno centímetros!” The gang cheered and high-fived.

Herman snatched Inez by the hair and slapped the sobbing woman so hard he bruised her cheek. She leaned forward and swallowed Abel.

“No, please, you don’t have to do this.”

Inez muttered in Spanish. He might not understand her words, but the sadness in her eyes told him she had no choice. She gummed his throbbing shaft and wormed a fat finger up his butt. He shuddered and closed his eyes. His nuts burst. She replaced her lips with a vial and drained his load, labeled and filed his sample, and puked into the sink.

Vega took a long pull on his flask and shared his booze with his wife. He examined McGee, jacked and measured the rookie, and sucked his load into a vial. His wife labeled the sample while her husband spat into the sink. The doc assessed Santos. His wife blew the kid, labeled and stored his sample, and emptied her husband’s flask down her throat.

Vega examined Logan’s mutilated foot. His brow furrowed. He disinfected and bandaged the grimacing fed’s stump. Inez swabbed the scabbed Road Hog scar on Santos’ chest with a pungent antiseptic. The squirming trooper winced and whimpered. The old couple treated their wounded soles and massaged a mentholated salve into their swollen feet.

Inez drew blood from their arms, while Vega injected their thighs with antibiotics and painkillers. The old couple tossed their trash, washed their hands, and glanced expectantly at Angel. The earless thug nodded and stoked his stogie. The relieved pair grabbed their things and scampered out the door.

CHAPTER 13

Taking drugs and getting blood drawn on an empty stomach had left Abel woozy and nauseous. He peeled his tongue from the roof of his mouth. If he did not get sustenance soon, he might faint, which would not only be embarrassing, but potentially fatal. God only knows what medications Vega had injected into his system.

Manny passed out straight razors and Herman handed around cans of shaving cream. Oscar and Pedro set a bucket of water beside Abel and each of his fellow officers.

Pedro lathered Abel and shaved his lip and chin smooth. Abel dared not budge for fear of getting his throat slit. Oscar whisked his armpits clean and trimmed the few stray curls around his nipples, while Pedro sheared his crotch and shaved his legs. Pedro unbuckled his left ankle and pinned his leg back while Oscar manscaped his ass.

Abel’s fellow officers got shaved and given crew cuts. Pasty white patches mottled their sunburnt torsos and hairless groins.

Pedro unstrapped Abel. He stood. His knees buckled. The bruiser hoisted his ass over one shoulder and lumbered outside. He got shoved inside his hogsty, which was what the brutes called their cage. His fellow officers tumbled in after.

Two stout Mexican women trudged over from the compound lugging slop buckets. The older snapped in Spanish and nodded toward the opposite end of the row. The younger waddled down the line. The women ladled sticky clumps of beans and rice and several ears of corn through the barbed-wire of their hogsties into one side of a galvanized metal trough and filled the other side with water.

Captive officers up and down the row shoved their snouts into their troughs. Abel scooped up a handful of beans and rice and took a whiff. The glop smelled fine. He stuffed a bite into his mouth. Bland but edible. He liked the fresh corn better. He slurped water from his cupped palms and ate his fill. Logan and Santos stuffed grub down their throats as well.

Abel wafted corn under McGee’s nose. The rookie turned his head aside. He had not eaten in days. He needed nourishment. Abel said as much, but his partner ignored his pleas.

They all four huddled beneath the tin roof for shelter from the blazing sun. Logan groaned that his foot burned. Santos cursed his old man and swore to get even one day. McGee broke down and sobbed so hard his shoulders shook. Abel rubbed his partner’s back. The rookie shrank from his touch.

Pedro and Oscar dragged he and his fellow officers from their hogsty. Manny and Herman roped their scrotums together, Abel first, followed by Santos, Logan, and McGee. Juan shocked their calves. They staggered toward the courtyard, flinching and squawking. 

Rosa lay sunning on the roof in her bikini. The brutes trussed their wrists to the eaves, without the iron spikes beneath their heels this time.

“You pigs are first up tonight. You need to look sharp.” Raul flashed his pearly whites. “We always attract a good crowd when we offer fresh pork butt.”

Rosa climbed down and slipped inside the compound. 

“Let’s get the swine ready,” Angel said. He lit a cigar.

Manny settled a square black case with metal trim at Abel’s feet. “Let’s drain some hog balls.” The grinning thug popped open the lid and pulled out a silicone cylinder, which encased a rubber sleeve. Plastic tubing connected the cylinder to the box. He slipped the sleeve over Abel’s junk and flipped a switch.

The cylinder adhered to Abel’s groin and the sleeve suckled like no mouth he had ever experienced. Not that he had much to compare with. In fact, he had only gotten two blowjobs in his life. One on his wedding night and the other on their fifth anniversary. The pressure intensified. He shot forward on on the tips of his toes as far as his restraints allowed. His nads ached for release. He gritted his teeth and whined.

Manny thumped his strained scrotum. He squawked and spewed. The voracious machine syphoned his nads dry and kept on slurping until his skinned joint stung. He screeched and spurted a watery second load. The force abated. He slouched in spasms and whimpered despite his resolve to stay strong.

Herman drained the trap on the machine into a vial. “Five milliliters.” The gang nodded and murmured their approval. The hatchet-faced thug scrawled NP on the vial and stored the sample inside a cooler.

Manny hooked up Logan. The pressurized cylinder suckled the squiggling and squealing agent for a long while. His flapping dong finally stiffened. The machine syphoned his nads dry and continued tormenting his withered joint until he delivered a few more drops.

Herman drained the trap. “Three-and-a-half milliliters. You need to do better than that, Agent Douchebag.” He punched the screeching fed in the junk, labeled the sample AD, and stashed the vial in the cooler.

Seconds after Manny flipped the switch, Santos blew. The moaning trooper produced two more loads before getting freed. “Eight milliliters,” Herman said, which did not sound like much, but the gang cheered. The vial got labeled RH and stored.

Despite his protests to the contrary, McGee surrendered a load and collapsed in sobs. “Four milliliters,” Herman said. “Pitiful.” He scrawled P for Piglet on the vial and stored the sample.

Rosa sashayed out carrying a tray with four syringes. Juan took one and winked. The girl giggled. Pedro pinned Abel’s foot to the ground. The devilish punk injected a vein. The thugs repeated the procedure on the other three.

Abel’s heart raced. Everything would be fine. He and his fellow officers got lowered from the eaves and passed around the yard. Rough hands mauled their tingling bodies. The boisterous gang chattered in Spanish. Abel replied in English, even though he had no clue what the thugs were saying and laughed out loud. Groping fingers teased his joint stiff and bound his junk into a tight bundle.

Carlotta poked her head out. “Bring me, Nigger Pig.”

Anxiety tempered Abel’s elation. Angel marched his ass over to Carlotta’s room and ordered Manny and Herman to stand guard outside the door. He stumbled inside and stared at his broken toe, fearing whatever lay in store. Carlotta might be small, but she was mean as a snake. He hoped he had not unwittingly crossed the bitch.

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Amalaric has written the final chapter of Kronmire4’s series and illustrated it with a ton a manips! In the first part….Stripped naked and chained up, Marty Stiles is humiliated in front of the studio and […]

Local hooligan Jed Kaspar is the next star of the show and he suffers the effects of another new product, the Pro-prod Deluxe Joy Stick!

Selling Tough Love – Part 11 (Page 2)
by Kronmire4
Art by […]

Rob Murray is in serious trouble with the law and unfortunately for him, the State of California has contracted his punishment out to Tough Love Productions. (More to come!)

Selling Tough Love – Part 11 […]

A hairy-chested man suffers torture admirably.

POW tortured in this scene from the film Hanoi Hilton.

The cops’ brutal treatment continues as the customers begin to arrive…..

This Little Piggy Went to the Market – Chapter 10
by Horny Old Fag
Series: This Little Piggy Went to the Market

CHAPTER […]

Abel and his fellow captured officers witness even more cruel, humiliating treatment from their cages in the barn.

This Little Piggy Went to the Market – Chapter 11
by Horny Old Fag
Series: This Little Piggy Went to the Market

CHAPTER 11

Abel feared he might never see Kaila and the girls again. He should think positive, but after getting jumped, beaten, humiliated, starved, threatened, sodomized, sold, transported across the border, tortured, branded, and caged like an animal, that was not easy.

Floodlights illuminated the desert. Salsa music blasted from the courtyard. Armed guards manned the watch tower. Men in suits and shades even though the sun had gone down patrolled the grounds.

Logan rested back on his elbows, with his bandaged foot propped against the side of their cage. “This is fucking bullshit.”

Crouched, legs splayed, Santos fumbled with the knotted twine binding his junk. “These freaks are bonkers.”

“Oh, my God, this has got to go.” McGee leaned forward and tugged on his tail.

“No,” Abel said. “They’ve set their sights on us.” He nodded toward the watchtower. “Amy’s pregnant. You’re gonna leave your wife to raise your unborn child alone?”

“Who are you kidding? We’re never getting out of this human cesspool alive.”

“Trust me, son,” Logan said. “My team will find us.”

McGee heaved a sigh and hugged his knees. “I keep thinking I’m gonna wake up and find this is all some twisted nightmare.”

“It’s a nightmare, all right,” Santos said, “but you’re not asleep.”

A couple dozen other naked guys outfitted with snouts and tails huddled inside pens to either side of their cage. Some groused, some cursed, some whimpered, some argued with themselves, some stared shell-shocked through the barbed-wire. Creepy did not come close describe the appalling scene.

A car arrived. Moments later, a pickup truck pulled up and parked, followed a bit later by a van and two more cars. Carlotta and Raul greeted their guests and accepted wads of cash.

Angel and his brutes wrestled seven guys from their pens and hustled the grousing lot down to the courtyard. The bumbling fellows lined up and got injected in their arms or feet. The lewd mob manhandled their bodies and wrestled whoever they chose inside the compound. Shouts rang out, followed by shrieks and sobs, peppered with an occasional burst of laughter.

Abel and his fellow officers huddled in silence, horrified they might get chosen next. Abel prayed for strength and guidance.

An RV rumbled up. Four old white guys in flashy suits and sunglasses emerged, cackling like fools, and slapped one another on the back. Raul rushed out to welcome the rowdy bunch. 

Manny and Herman hustled past their cage wielding cattle prods and chattering in Spanish. The chortling brutes drove a scruffy white guy with broad shoulders and leathery flesh from a pen near the opposite end of the row. The big fellow was so gaunt his ribs showed. A stout brass ring pierced his septum. A similar ring decorated the fat knob of his pendulous dong. His curly tail wiggled as he crawled.

“What the bejesus,” Logan muttered.

Santos shook his head. “That is some seriously fucked up shit.”

Abel agreed. He did not understand how anyone could treat a fellow human being with such contempt.

A second rail-thin white guy around the same height and age crawled out. A bushy brown beard covered his ruddy cheeks and chin. His snout had gotten smashed, his tail bent. Rings pierced his thick septum and stubby joint. He wobbled into line.

“We gotta get outta here,” McGee said, “before we end up like them.”

“Patience, son,” Logan said. “When my team arrives, the shits gonna hit the fan.”

A bug-eyed Latino of indeterminate age with rings through his nose and foreskin slunk out and scurried into line. The slight fellow appeared at least a half a foot shorter than the first two, perhaps five-eight or nine. Gray strands peppered his thick black hair.

Logan’s jaw dropped. “How many more men can there be?”

A pale, chubby kid of perhaps twenty with a mop of dusty brown curls and a scraggly beard wriggled out and waddled into place. Rings pierced his nose and knob. Although shorter even than the Latino, his hands and feet were huge, as was his joint.

Abel flushed. He did not make a habit of studying other men’s junk, but when faced with a crime scene, he had a duty to note all the facts. Sometimes the slightest detail was all it took to tip the scales of justice. He might be just a wee bit curious how he measured up, too, but he would never admit that out loud.  

Herman snapped a steel chain to the brass ring piercing the lead guy’s knob and yanked his dong back between his hairy thighs. The grimacing fellow yelped. The hatchet-faced thug hooked the free end of the chain to the next guy’s schnoz. Manny tossed his buddy another chain. Herman stretched the wincing second guy’s joint longer than God intended and chained his knob to the rat-faced Latino. He clipped the whining Latino’s strained foreskin to the pug nose of the chubby kid bringing up the rear.

“Let’s go, swine.” Manny clipped a leather leash to the lead guy’s nose ring. “Your favorite johns are here and looking to play.” He shocked the lead guy on the dong. The haggard fellow screaked and lumbered toward the courtyard. The others scrambled along behind. Their tormented joints strained like rubber bands ready to burst. All four whined they needed a spike, whatever that meant. A rash of red bumps covered their filthy limbs and feet, likely insect bites from the way they scratched. The chubby kid struggled to keep pace.

“Given everything those boys have gone through, I’m surprised they’re still alive.”

Abel peered around. A hairless white guy with a mahogany tan, sporting a snout and tail, but no piercings, whispered through the slats of the next cage over.

“Those poor blokes were here when I got brought in. Except the fat punk. He only arrived last week and has already gotten on Carlotta’s bad side.”

“Does Carlotta have a good side?”

“That bitch goes from bad to worse to wish you were dead in seconds flat. Got a temper like a pissed off rattlesnake.”

“Tell me something. What’s a ‘chota?’”

“A snitch or dirty cop.”

“So, they’re all law enforcement, too?”

“Bloke in front is Detective Brock West, LAPD. Behind West is Mike Smithers with the DEA. Following Smithers is Fernando Diaz, a prosecutor out of Mexico City, and the fat punk is Deputy Sam Austin from Humble, Texas.”

“That is so messed up. When did the brutes grab you?”

“About six months ago I got ambushed while patrolling the border south of Yuma.” He sighed. “Name’s Younger, Agent Younger, but call me Zane.”

“Robert Abel, Chicago PD. My wife Kaila and I got two girls, Destiny and Indigo. I bet their losing their minds. I know I am.”

Younger picked at a scab in the crook of his elbow. “I’ve got a wife and kids, too. Knowing they’re safe keeps me going.”

“Roger that. I’d do anything for my family.”

“Take my advice. You’ll wanna escape, but you can’t. I know. I’ve tried.” He lifted both feet. His toes were mere stumps. “I’m not gonna lie, it won’t be easy, especially at first. I’ve gotten assaulted so many times I’ve lost count. Probably bought in a hundred grand or more for the cartel.”

“No way. That’s insane.”

“It’s a blatant violation of international human trafficking laws is what it is. But, if you want to survive and keep your family safe, you’ll do what you’re told, when you’re told, where you’re told, with whoever you’re told.” 

“So, the cartel is behind this shit show?”

“Los Zetas to be precise. Those savages got no regard for anyone but themselves. A couple months back they brought in this bounty hunter named Cosmo. No matter how many times they beat him, or which body parts they cut off, or how brutally they raped his ass, the big bloke refused to submit to their twisted shenanigans.”

“Good for Cosmo.”

“The savages raped and slaughtered his entire family—wife, kids, parents, in-laws, two brothers, a sister, an uncle, even a pregnant cousin—right before his eyes.”

“That’s pure evil.”

“There’s more. Raul sold Cosmo to some big game hunters. Carlotta showed us pictures of the big bloke’s naked corpse afterward, stuffed and mounted and sporting a giant woody. It was obscene.”

Abel curled up with a groan and covered his ears to block out the debauched goings-on over at the compound. He tossed and turned on the hard ground, surprised by how cold the desert got at night. His broken toe throbbed, his pierced heels stung, his overtaxed asshole burned.

A scorpion skittered across his shin. He recoiled with an unmanly shriek. The venomous crustacean scrambled through the barbed-wire and skittered away. He wondered what other nasty surprises lurked in the desert.

Manny and Herman tethered the pierced officers to the fountain by their noses. The old farts whipped the screaming fellows and demanded they squeal like pigs, which they did loud and clear. The yowling prosecutor floundered so violently he ripped out his nose ring. The sadistic pricks lashed the hysterical fellow senseless, yanked out his tail, and raped his ass into the dirt.

Raul shot the stupefied prosecutor in the face. A husky white guy in overalls handed the sinister Mexican a wad of cash and violated his corpse. Manny and Herman lugged the body out behind the compound afterward.

Abel dry heaved. The prosecutor’s family would likely go to their graves without ever knowing what became of their loved one and maybe that was for the best. Were he to suffer such a shameful fate, he would never want Kaila and the girls to find out.

Pedro and a gang of surly thugs lugged five officers back dripping wet and stuffed the barely conscious fellows inside their cages. They dragged out six other guys to replace those, including Zane in the next cage over, and marched the agitated officers over to the courtyard to get injected. A mob of licentious perverts groped the squirming officers and hustled whoever they chose inside the nearest room. Anyone who resisted got his ass kicked. The dazed officers staggered outside afterward rubbing their butts and got back in line.

The squat, beefy officer with the bushy black curls and beard who had gotten assaulted the prior afternoon for failing to get an erection got kicked out for biting this time. The panicked fellow swore it was an accident. Pedro bounds his arms behind his back while Manny sprung a steel spider gag inside his mouth. His fat lips flattened back in an absurd grin. The rowdy mob choked the slobbering officer on their joints until he puked and raped his hairy rear inside out. 

Using wicked-looking sex toys, the old farts from the RV sodomized the remaining three pierced officers and teased their junk to orgasm. The overwrought fellows begged the bastards to spare their assholes, even offered their mouths instead. The chortling pricks punched their fists inside the yowling trio. The spazzed officers hugged the fountain and screeched soprano; twitched and shuddered like they were getting electrocuted and beat their feet against the ground.

Abel clamped both palms over his mouth to stifle his sobs. For the first time it hit home he might die in this hellhole, or worse wish he had.

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Black cop Abel, his partner and soon other abducted officers make their way in the trunk of a car across the border.

This Little Piggy Went to the Market – Chapters 5 & 6
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Series: This Little […]

The captured cops meet their buyers and endure a violent & brutal introduction to their new lives.

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by Horny Old Fag
Series: This Little Piggy Went to the Market

CHAPTER 8

Abel swiped the sweat from his brow. His fellow officers lay still and silent, conserving their energy. Following a hushed debate, they had voted to fight their way out the next chance they got. He felt around for anything he could wield as a weapon. The trunk had been stripped bare.

The road conditions gradually worsened. The car veered right, slowed, and took a left. They drove another hour or so and turned right onto an even rougher patch. They bounced along some ways further and lurched to a halt.

Doors open and shut. The trunk popped. Abel shot up onto his haunches, fists raised, and froze.

Raul and a dozen armed men stood crowded around a stern woman wearing a gaucho hat and jodhpurs and carrying a sturdy cane nearly as tall as she. The woman covered her nose and muttered in Spanish. The men chuckled.

“Looks like you filthy pigs got loose,” she said. “You should not have done that.” She turned to a grim fellow with a bushy mustache who was missing his left earlobe. “Angel unload the swine.”

Angel stubbed out his stogie and shouted in Spanish. Four menacing thugs wielding cattle prods surrounded the trunk.

Abel groaned and threw up his arms. McGee and Logan followed suit. Santos lunged. A heavily-inked bald thug zapped the trooper on the gut. The stunned kid pitched backward and landed in a gasping heap.

“Muy bueno, Manny,” the woman said.

Manny grinned. The sun glinted off his gold tooth. “Herman, give me a hand.” A hatchet-faced thug with long black hair shuffled over and helped drag Abel from the trunk.

Manny groped his ass. “Su gran culo negro nos hará ricos.” The gang sniggered.

Abel seethed, but remained calm. Now was not the time to make a scene.

“Juan, vamos.” Angel snapped his fingers. A cocky young thug with stringy dark hair and a devilish goatee grabbed McGee. The overwrought rookie threw several wild punches and hollered for help. The smirking punk pistol whipped the stunned kid and kneed his groin. The kid doubled over and warbled a low moan.

“That’ll teach you to fuck with me, you ornery oinker.” The punk snatched the young officer by the nads. “These will make a nice leash.” The anguished rookie hopped up onto the balls of his wide dogs and howled.

Angel sparked up a fresh stogie. “Pedro!” A hulking bruiser with a bulbous schnoz and lazy eye hauled Logan from the trunk. The frantic agent kicked and cursed. The big ape flung the irate fed over one shoulder and spanked his bony butt until he slouched in surrender.

“Oscar, rapido.” A dogface thug with a Neanderthal brow and bushy beard brandished a cattle prod at Santos. The wide-eyed Asian kid shrieked and scrambled out of the trunk to cup his palms over his privates. Bruises mottled his long legs. Scabs covered his knees. Patches of flesh on the top of his dogs had gotten scraped off. Perhaps following his accident, he had gotten dragged somewhere.

Manny gave Abel a shove. He hobbled across the desert on the balls of his big dogs, palms cupped over his crotch, dodging scraggly bushes and prickly cacti. He leaped across an anthill and stubbed his toe on a buried rock. He hopped around on one foot and bit his lip to stifle his squeals. His bladder cramped. He winced and clutched his gut. He and his fellow officers got driven a ways further into the desert and kicked to their knees.

“Let her rip, hog snogs,” Raul said, and he chuckled.

Abel aimed his dick for the ground. After several painful seconds, his bladder released. He peed a long while. His bowels gurgled. He stared into the dirt and pelleted turds. The crude mob pointed and cackled. Manny and Herman seized his ankles and swiped his crack clean over the rough desert floor.

A chubby Mexican woman shuffled over to set a sloshing bucket on the ground and scurried away.

Carlotta ladled tepid water over his scalp. He lapped up a few stray drops and whimpered for more. Manny wrenched his elbows between his shoulder blades and shoved his face into the bucket. He choked and sputtered. The inked brute let go and demanded he wait until his fellow officers drank their fill before quenching his thirst. He barely gulped down two swallows before Carlotta kicked over the bucket. The dry ground soaked up the spill in seconds flat.

“Bienvenido a la Casa de la Puerco,” Carlotta said. Her lips curled in a sly smile. “Do not expect to enjoy your stay.”

* * *

Manny and Herman pinioned Abel against the ground. Abel roared at the grappling brutes to back off. Pedro pummeled his ribs until he capitulated. The thugs wrenched his arms behind his back, shackled his wrists to his ankles, and hauled him onto his feet.

“You’ll never get away with this,” Abel said. Raul kneed him in the nads. He doubled over and groaned long and low.

The sly bastard sneered. “We already have.”

The surly gang shoved he and his grousing fellow officers toward a horseshoe-shaped single-story compound constructed of white stucco and concrete that surrounded a barren courtyard. Armed guards in fatigues manned a tall watchtower. Carlotta hobbled along after. Men in suits and shades circled the perimeter. A couple dozen probably Mexican guys lounged in the shade, drinking beer and smoking reefer. A teenage girl sunbathed on the roof.

Two middle-aged women in peasant skirts waddled outside and laid metal skewers across the grate of a fire pit. High noon in the desert seemed an odd time to cook.

An obese white guy wearing an ill-fitting tan suit slunk out one of several doors and dashed to his car to speed away in a cloud of dust. Two stocky Mexicans stubbed out their smokes and swaggered inside. Seconds later, a lanky white guy sporting a pink snout and tail tumbled out the door naked, with chota tattooed across his rear, whatever that meant.

The smirking brutes flogged the floundering fellow across the desert toward a corrugated metal barn. A flock of chickens scratched and flapped in the dirt inside a coop to the structure’s left. Pale animals, sheep perhaps or pigs, squirmed around inside a row of cages to the right. A trio of scrawny ponies grazed in the distance.
Two shirtless black cowboys judging from their hats booted a buff Latino around his partner’s age and a ropey balding white guy from their room. The disheveled fellows sported snouts and tails and had chota tattooed across their rears. The savage brothers shoved the quaking pair onto their knees and flogged their backsides until they squealed like frightened pigs.

Angel stubbed out his cigar and shouted in Spanish. The brothers beat the shrieking fellows back inside their room and slammed the door.

Carlotta tapped Abel on the privates with the tip of her cane and commented in Spanish. He did not need to speak the language to understand, “Pene enorme.” The ogling gang grinned and nodded. The chick on the roof giggled.
The sadistic bitch batted Agent Logan’s dangling dong back and forth. The cursing fed grimaced. She smirked. “Este cerdo tiene un pene grande, también.” The lewd gang nodded. She prodded McGee’s crotch. The rookie whimpered. She snickered. “Pene pequeño.” Everyone chuckled. She tapped Trooper Santos on the knob. “Pene muy pequeño. Especially for such a big piggy.” The flushed Asian recoiled. They all cackled with laughter.
Raul flashed his pearly whites and addressed the gang. “But who gives a shit about pig dicks, right? Our Johns pay to snog a hog with a deep throat and a tight asshole who’ll squeal for his supper. Now, let’s process these porkers.”

Dizzy from the heat and lack of food, Abel blinked the sweat from his eyes, and struggled to follow what was going on. Angel barked orders in Spanish. A dozen burly brutes lugged out four pairs of stout wooden stocks similar to a set he had once seen in a museum. The gang shoved he and his fellow officers to the ground, yanked their limbs out long, and locked their wrists and ankles between the boards, trapping their hands and feet.

“You swine untied yourselves and tried to get away,” Carlotta said. “You should not have done that.” She tapped her cane against their hands. “Palms up. Let’s go.” They flipped over their hands. She hobbled down the line, smacking their fingers for emphasis, which stung something fierce. “You will do what I say, when I say, where I say, with whoever I say. Understand?” They winced and nodded, excepting Logan.

“Goddammit, this is bullshit.” The veins in the red-faced fed’s shiny temples throbbed. “I’m an agent of the United States government for Christ’s sake. You can’t treat me like this.”

“Manny,” Carlotta said, “demonstrate on this mouthy boar what happens to bad little piggies who try to escape.”
Manny’s mug widened in a goofy grin. “With pleasure, mistress. Thank you.”

Carlotta caned Logan’s flapping soles, while Manny dug through a shed in the corner. The inked thug pulled out a portable chainsaw designed to prune hedges and squeezed the trigger. The steel jaws clamped shut and the sinister device whirred to life.

“What the hell—?” Agent Logan frantically struggled to free his limbs. “Don’t come near me with that thing. Stay back. Shit! You can’t do this to me. I with the goddamn FBI for fuck’s sake.”

Manny brandished the chainsaw at the panicked fed. “How’d you like to go through life without a penis, oinker?”

“Oh, God, please don’t”—Logan peed down his thigh—“don’t cut off my pecker.”

“Manny’s just being cruel,” Carlotta said. “We’re not monsters.” She winked at Logan. “We’re just gonna snip off a couple of toes.” She glanced around. “Herman, fetch Doc Vega.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t do this, you crazy bitch!” Agent Logan tugged so hard he scraped the flesh from his wrists and ankles. “Please, I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever you say. I swear.”

Herman pounded on a door in the corner and hollered in Spanish. A wrinkled old raisin of a man with bushy gray hair and a caterpillar mustache shuffled outside carrying a leather satchel. He adjusted his dusty cowboy hat to shield his eyes. A chunky old brown woman followed.

“We need to amputate some toes, Doc,” Carlotta said. “Do what you must to preserve the insolent boar’s life, but don’t dull his pain too much—or I’ll cut off your wife’s other nipple. Hey, Inez.”

The old woman blanched and bobbed her head.

Vega cinched a tourniquet around Logan’s right foot. Inez filled a syringe and injected the freaked fed between the toes. She studied her watch for a moment and nodded.

Carlotta gave a thumbs up. Manny lowered the chainsaw. “Pinche gringo. Hold still or I’ll chop off your whole damn foot.”

Logan’s dark eyes misted. “Why the fuck are you doing this?”

“You pissed off the wrong man,” Carlotta said.

Logan shook his head.

“Caesar Rodrigo?” Carlotta cocked her head and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, shit. Iris, I mean Agent Harris, tracked the kingpin to Phoenix when she disappeared. I flew down to find her.”

“That fat slut’s quite popular with the fudge packers. Brought in half a million pesos last month off her ass alone, and that much again off her mouth and cunt. We’ve got a couple of brothels for sows, but only this one for boars.”

Abel did not know the conversion rate, but that sounded like a lot of money, and that was one officer for one month. He wondered how much those cowboy brothers paid to torture and humiliate those two officers.

Manny squeezed the trigger. The jaws of the chainsaw clamped shut. Logan yowled. Blood spurted across the yard. The floundering fed’s toe flew off. Oscar caught and threaded the severed digit onto a gold string around his neck, alongside dozens of similarly sized blanched bones.

Abel closed his eyes and choked back bile. None of the gang activity he had dealt with in Chicago had ever gotten this barbaric.

Vega knocked back a hearty glug of tequila and emptied the rest of the flask over Logan’s foot. The traumatized agent screeched. Rosa packed a white powdery substance over the bloody stump to stave the flow and the doc stitched the wound shut.

Manny brandished the saw dangerously close to Logan’s other foot. The pallid fed shook his head and blubbered, “No, please, not again. I won’t cause any trouble. I promise.”

“Hold on, Manny,” Carlotta said. She winked at Logan. “You think you learned your lesson, swine?”

“Yes, whatever you say.”

Carlotta whacked Logan on the heel. “Yes, Mistress Carlotta. Address me properly.” She traced the tip of her cane down the the flinching fed’s flexed sole. He whined. “Yes, Mistress Carlotta. Oh, God, please don’t cut off any more of my toes.”

CHAPTER 9

Carlotta rapped her cane against Abel and his fellow officers’ trapped soles. “You swine must learn to stay put. The best way to drill that lesson into your tiny pig brains is to beat your stinking hooves until you can’t walk, much less run.” She whacked Abel across his right arch. He wheezed through clenched teeth. His broken toe throbbed. She thrashed away. “Scream, Nigger Pig! Scream!”

Abel bit his lip to stifle his squawks. He detested that vile slur but refused to get riled over mere words. The cane smacked his arch. He howled. The twisted crowd cheered.

“You recall those little sluts you hauled off the street last year?” Carlotta said.

“Maria, Jasmin, and Soon-Yi, sure.” How could he ever forget? He had barely booked those girls when they made bail. A week later, their bodies had washed up on the shore of Lake Michigan.

“Dead whores don’t make bank.” Carlotta whacked his left sole. “But, busybody swine sure do.” The sadistic bitch smacked again. He winced. “This is how things are going to go. You’re gonna put that fine pork butt to work earning what you lost us on those sluts. Or, we’ll sell your ass for sausage and turn out that pretty sow of yours and those precious piglets you whelped.”

“You keep away from my family, you crazy bitch. You hear me? If you so much as look at them wrong I’ll kill you. I swear.”

“I don’t think so, Nigger Pig.” Carlotta whacked Abel on his left heel. He squawked and bit his lip. “Don’t”—she smacked again—“ever”—and again, even harder—“run.” She beat his big dogs fast and furiously. “Got that, Nigger Pig?”

To save his soles, Abel swallowed his pride. “Yes, Mistress Carlotta, I won’t run. I swear. Shit! Cut it out! Please, oh please, stop! Ow! Ouch! Ooh!”

Carlotta moved on to attack poor McGee. The besieged rookie screeched. “Just so we’re clear, Nigger Pig. This fine young porker is only here because of you.” She grinned. “That’s right, Piglet is collateral damage. No doubt the stout young porker will prove quite popular with our crowd.”

Abel’s good intentions had gotten those girls murdered and dragged his partner down. Two major blots on an otherwise stellar record. Three counting his getting jumped and abducted.

Carlotta thrashed Santos and cursed his narco agent father in Spanglish. Apparently, the screeching trooper’s old man had masterminded several major drug busts. The gang abducted his son as retribution.

Abel had a choice. Submit or risk dragging Kiara and the girls into this insanity. There was no way he would let that happen.

“Bring me Nigger Pig.” Carlotta rested her cane against the fountain. Angel passed her a skewer from the brazer, only the glowing rod was a branding iron. Chota was not tattooed on those poor fellows’ rears, it was seared into their flesh.

“You can’t be serious,” Abel stammered. “That’s insane.”

Angel shouted in Spanish. Pedro pinned Abel, while Juan freed his hands and feet. Oscar leaped into the fray and helped wrestled his ass over his haunches. The brutes shoved his sternum into the dirt. Manny yanked his ass into the air by the scrotum. He fought like hell to squirm free. The inked thug pummeled his nads until he succumbed.
“Welcome to the herd, Nigger Pig,” Carlotta said. “This ass is mine now.”

The evil bitch pressed the scalding iron against his left buttock. His seared flesh sizzled. Blinding pain racked every fiber of his being. He unleashed a primal roar and floundered loose to flop across the ground on his belly. He collapsed in a rasping heap and peered over his shoulder. The sickeningly sweet smell of barbecued meat assaulted his nostrils. He salivated. His stomach turned.

In less than two days, he had gone from being a decorated Chicago police officer to lying naked and branded in the middle of the Mexican desert. The absurd transformation blew his simple mind.

Carlotta ordered Logan brought out. The blubbering agent pled to be spared. The smirking bitch shoved the red-hot iron against his bony butt. He screeched and shuddered long after she moved on. Poor McGee yowled and beat his brow against the dirt. Trooper Santos erupted in convulsions and passed out cold.

Angel and his gang strapped pink snouts over their noses and shoved bulbous plugs with curly tails spiraling off their bases up their sore butts.

“Any swine caught without his snout or tail gets shot on sight,” Angel said. “No exceptions.”

“Unless you’re taking a shit, of course,” Carlotta added. “Or working. You have permission to remove your tails, so guests can fuck your asses.”

“Johns can do whatever they please,” Raul said. “For the right price.”

“If they got the gwap,” Manny said, “we got the cop.”

Abel swallowed hard.

“Truss the swine,” Carlotta said. The scary bitch glared at Abel and his fellow officers. “You naughty piggies must now get punished for untying yourselves on the ride down.” She turned on her heels and hobbled away. Raul followed her through a door in the corner.

CONTINUE THE STORY:PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Once powerful, now humbled kings face the reversal of their fortunes in this 4 part series from Amalaric. In Part 1, an arrogant young king is overthrown and humiliated.

Fate of the Barbarian Kings – Part […]

A young brave King makes the ultimate sacrifice to save his kingdom from a menacing dragon.

Fate of the Barbarian Kings – Part 2: Dragon Stone
by Amalaric
Series: Fate of the Barbarian Kings

DRAGON […]