Chapter 9: Ryan

(38 minutes)

The next night was a repeat of the previous one. The girls went at each other’s pussies long and hard after a full day’s work. On Sunday, Helen met up with her sister. and shared a pew with her. Helen’s parents had gone to an earlier mass; that was long over before the girls got up. Helen went home with her sister. That night, Cheryl used the couch instead of the new bed in my room. The next morning, she was dragging. I figured Helen was the same way after a weekend of hard work during the day and bawdy activities at night. Before I left after breakfast, I told Cheryl, “I’ll be gone for a few days. And this time, I’m not sure for how long. What I need to do may take a while. So I may be home in two days or be gone for as long as a week. Feel free to have Helen come over, and you two can sleep in my room if you like. Just make sure your chores are done.”

Cheryl, looking beat, said, “I may have her come over tomorrow. Tonight, I just need sleep. And why don’t you know when you’ll be back? Usually, you have the time almost to the minute.”

“You do know you and Helen can go to bed and go straight to sleep. You two don’t have to spend half the night laughing and goofing off.” Cheryl knew my description of what they were doing was my denial description. I really knew what they were doing, but out loud, whether in public or private, it was better not to be so blunt.

“Yeah, right. Only you wouldn’t laugh and play the night away.” Cheryl said, letting a little of her frustration show through. “And the return time?”

“Just some unknowns this time. Kind of an unplanned last-minute conference.” We also always used gentile terms when discussing my job.

“Well, be careful driving. I kinda need you around.” Again, Cheryl was following the right protocols for the discussion.

“I will be. It is a small conference; just a couple of people should be there. Now to work.” It was the most information I had ever given her. I thought it was only right, considering I wasn’t going to be paid for this trip. It was the outgrowth of our morning in bed being perfectly honest with each other. Cheryl wanted her sweet brother back. I could try and make that happen. By the time I was done, he would be on the path back to that, or no path at all. Her stepmother would be on that path.

I drove straight to Denver after putting a few items I would need in the station wagon. A couple miles from the target house, I found an abandoned drive with an equally abandoned house. It was perfect for my needs. It had running water and a backyard that wasn’t visible to anything but the back of the house. And there was an old, solid metal swing set in the back, concreted into the ground. I made some quick changes to the kitchen that would likely be needed in the near future.

In the master bath, I quickly changed my appearance. I changed my hair color and length with a wig. The length and bandanna gave me a 1960s look. To further that, I added a scraggly beard, lines around my eyes, and a weathered look to the rest of my face. I was fairly sure I could’ve walked up to Cheryl, and she would’ve looked right past me. Only my hands would give away my true age. I couldn’t risk adding prosthetics that might come off, letting my guests know the rest of my appearance might be altered.

Cheryl’s old house had the look of neglect. I could tell at one point it was like the other houses on the street. It previously had a well-manicured lawn, clean windows, and maintained walkways. All those things were gone, and it had torn screens in a quarter of the windows and a missing screen door in the back.

At the back door of Cheryl’s previous house, it wasn’t a home in the end. I knocked. The door opened, and in it stood a teenage boy who, at one time, might have been in pretty good shape. He had fairly broad shoulders and chest. Had the muscle surrounding it been better maintained, it would’ve made him formidable. As it was, I could have taken him out in twenty or fewer seconds had I wanted to expend the energy. Or warn people in the house what was coming.

His face looked angry. “What the fuck do you want?”

“What you don’t,” I said calmly and succinctly.

“Get the fuck out of here, you fucking bum. Before I beat the shit out of you,” the boy, whom I knew was Ryan, said.

“You couldn’t beat the shit out of a fourteen-year-old girl anymore,” I said again, keeping my anger in check. I had learned in my line of work that anger gets you hurt. So I always did my best at keeping it down, though it was hard looking at the piece of shit in front of me.

I could tell he was about to say something but decided better of it when my prototype handgun from Gaston Glock with its silencer was put to his lips. Gaston had let me use his prototype to get some real world data on its performance. I would have to return it later in the year so he could run test on its durability. But for now it was getting its real world use as Ryan’s eyes bugged out, and he froze. “That is a good boy,” I said, as he didn’t do anything stupid. I had promised Cheryl early on, I wouldn’t kill her brother, and I wanted to keep that promise.

When told to sit in a metal kitchen chair, he did so without so much as a step out of place. He even put the big red gag ball in his mouth without the first bit of dissent. He was no longer able to warn Sheila, and not more than forty seconds passed. I secured his arms behind him and crossed his ankles, as his left ankle was attached to the right chair leg and his right to the left. Despite knowing he couldn’t talk, I said, “You make any noise over what a mouse would make on Christmas, and I will shoot you in the head. Is that understood?”

Ryan nodded, and tears started to flow. I was unimpressed and annoyed by them. “And quit your crying. You did this and worse to your sister.” His blubbering stopped, and he stared, even more terrified than before. “Now is the step-bitch alone in the house?” The blonde hair, similar to Cheryl’s, bounced as he nodded. “You do know what will happen to you if you are lying.” I asked. Again, he nodded.

I found Cheryl’s stepmom, Sheila, on the couch, drunk or stoned out of her mind. She was in a pair of tight, hot-pink shorts. They were so tight, there was a camel toe between her thighs. Thighs that if they were attached to someone else with a body like hers, I’d have been all over them. She was a new enough drunk and drug user. She wasn’t to junkie-level appearance yet. She was still semi-attractive. And her face had yet to succumb to the drinking, smoking, and coke she used. So all in all, she looked attractive enough to fuck, but I knew what I wouldn’t be fucking. And I didn’t need that kind of evil around my cock.

It meant when I rousted her, her tight top showed her fairly firm tits jiggle, and I wasn’t even tempted to grope them or fuck her. Disturbing her chemical-induced bliss had her viciously spew, “Who the fuck are you? Fucking bum, get the fuck out of my house.” I stared in stunned disbelief at her, completely reading the situation wrong. The staring induced a new line of hatred: “What are you, a perv? Think I might fuck you? It’s not happening dickless. I don’t fuck flat wallets.”

“It wouldn’t matter how full my wallet is, anyway. I don’t fuck skanks.” I let her know before showing her the gun. “Now give me your hands, Sheila, ‘cause you have a lot to answer for.”

She squinted at me, gathering her thoughts and getting more sober by the minute. “Who the fuck told you my name? I didn’t.”

“A bitch like you, it gets around. Hands! Now!” I repeated, pointing the silenced pistol at her forehead. The renewed demand had her hold her hands out, but she had a look like she was biding her time. I put a quick end to any ideas she may have had in her chemically-addled brain. It only took two shots with their accompanied pop and the explosion of cushion stuffing that landed on her hair. Even drugged, she understood the implication of the white fluff in her hair. Her hands at that point shook as I clipped the stainless steel handcuffs on one wrist. I threw her over to her stomach while still holding her other wrist. I snapped her wrists together behind her.

Pretty much helpless, I yanked on her hot pink shorts. I ripped them down the kicking legs and screaming woman. Two more pops and a quick, “Shut the fuck up.” Her screaming stopped instantly. I wasn’t surprised there was no underwear of any type I had to contend with. Her round white ass shook when she again kicked her legs, opening them wider, showing her dark and long, thin pussy lips hanging down out of her thick clamshells with no hair.

Ripping off her tight t-shirt was easier than the pants, as it ripped into pieces when I yanked. Her bared tits had some nice nipples atop cones. Her tits were well-formed and shaped like tight teardrops. I was tempted to slap them and start her new life early, but I resisted the urge. Marco would get that honor, but I did have to agree with Cheryl’s earlier statement that she was at least physically pretty.

I dragged Sheila off the couch, putting her removed shorts in her mouth. I didn’t need her screaming on the way to the car. To that end, I put a brown paper bag over her head as we went through the kitchen. Ryan showed his age and lack of situational awareness, getting a hard-on seeing his stepmom and lover parade past him naked. At this point, I found it hard to believe he could be related to Cheryl. She had brains in her head.

When I arrived, I parked the car so it was hidden from most of the neighbors. I looked to make sure the ones who could see the car weren’t looking when I walked the naked woman out the door with the bag on her head. I secured her to a ring in the back of the station wagon and covered her with the tarp Cheryl had hidden under. Then I went back for Ryan. He got a paper bag and a tarp, also.

At the abandoned house, I got Sheila out first, taking her to the back and the swing set. Ryan got a room in the house to be secured in. I decided I would start with Sheila. She had tortured Cheryl with a spiked collar and treated her like a dog. I planned on equal punishment while she was in my possession. And I had planned this long before Cheryl had said she missed her brother.

I pulled the bag off her head. That way, I could see her reactions as I explained why she was in her predicament. And what I was going to do to her. Before I pulled the pants from her mouth, I informed her, “Holler or scream, and I will cut your voice box right out of your neck and watch you bleed to death slowly. And likely feel good about it.” My face made it clear. It was no idle threat. There was a terror in her face that I was sure would keep her quiet, letting me take the pants out of her mouth. “I understand you had a stepdaughter by the name of Carol.”

She didn’t holler, but she did feel the need to talk. “Yeah, you know where that little slut is? The fucking tramp ran away.”

“Yes, I do know where the sweet and lovable young lady is,” I stated while clipping on a spiked collar whose spikes had been filed to razor-sharp edges around her neck.

“Is the little slut fucking and blowing you, so you will believe her lies? What did she tell you? Did she tell you I was mean to her, treated her unfairly while sucking your puny cock.” She spit out.

“Listen, you’re not going to make me upset or anything like that. I believed what she told me. I could see it in what she was wearing when I met her and the way she acted. And lastly, by the bowl that was still on the kitchen floor. And you have no dog.” I said, clipping cuffs above her knees.

“She’s a slut. What else would you expect a slut to wear but something that showed off her body? She knew the way to get top dollar from men was to show them what they’d be getting. I bet she has you paying a lot. You sound like a sucker.” Sheila said, showing her true colors.

I clipped two new cuffs on her wrist saying, “Well I maybe. But I look at you and believe you’d make a sweet girl go around the house naked for your perverse pleasure of demeaning her. An added bonus was you could also get her brother to see her as little more than a dog by treating her as such. Having her eat out of the bowl. A bowl you hadn’t even bothered to pick up off the kitchen floor six months after she left, makes me believe her. The way you think she’d blow me makes me think you had her do that to other men and likely her brother for your amusement and to pay your debts. So yeah, I sucker for her.” I locked a short chain to each of her cuffs and ran it through the spiked choke collar. Kicking the back of her knees, she crumpled down onto them and her hands. On all fours, I locked the other end of the chains to each of her knees’ cuffs. In doing so, I finished my thought, “But being a sucker for her is better than being a breeding bitch for a bunch of dogs. Which is what I imagine you will end up as in the end.”

She tried to stand up as I turned to leave. The collar and cuffs made it impossible for her to stand without driving the razors into her neck. She felt the pain and immediately fell back down in a ball. It was then, I told her, “If you try and stand, the collar will tighten. If you do it too tight or too often, you are likely to have a spike end up in a vein or artery that shouldn’t have a hole put in it. So stay out here like a good dog. I’ll get you in the morning.

She cried out, “But it’s gonna be cold tonight. You can’t leave me in the cold like this.”

As flat and emotionless as anything I’ve ever said, I said, “I can and will. Oh, I forgot. You make a peep, and I will be pulling on that collar. Plus, look around. There isn’t a house around that will hear you.” The trees and fence made it so she’d have no idea if I was lying or not.

She then started to beg, “Come back ... I’ll suck your dick better than Carol ever did ... Please let me in. You can fuck me ... Yeah, you can fuck me in the ass if you want. I don’t care. Please let me in ... I’ll be a good slut for you.” I just kept walking.

I got Ryan from his holding room after preparing the kitchen’s island cabinets. He walked him to the prepared surface, securing one of his arms to the new anchor point. I removed the gag so I could talk to him and looked at him, wishing I hadn’t made the promise to his sister. I imagined by the time I left him, he would wish the same thing.

His punishment started with a simple question and me pointing, “How could you let that bitch out there get you to treat your sister that way?”

“What? Carol loved every minute of it.” Ryan said, having convinced himself that what he said was true.

“She loved having you spank her.” I asked, anger building.

“Yes. If she didn’t, why did she keep smarting off and doing things Sheila didn’t like?” He replied. “Plus, she liked being in my lap with her cute butt up in the air for me to smack.”

“I see. Then, if you don’t do what I say, it’s because you want to be spanked.” I asked.

“Fuck you. You’re not spanking me.” Ryan was defiant, not seeing a gun.

Though I have no homosexual tendencies at all, I am not opposed to using homosexual acts when needed. I had been trained to compartmentalize the abhorrent acts I had to do in the name of getting a mission done. And I learned that forcing a straight male into the act of being buttfucked was a way to demoralize and break him. To that end, I said, “Now, take down your pants and ask me to fuck you in the ass. Tell me you really want my dick up your butt.”

“Fuck you, I’m never saying that.” He yanked on his chained arm.

“Then I guess you want me to spank you. Though, I won’t be putting you on my lap,” I stated, seizing the other arm I had left free so he could lower his pants. He was way too weak to prevent me from dragging his torso up onto the dusty countertop, leaving his ass hanging over the edge. “Now I think you had Carol pull her panties down when you let her wear them to spank her. Now ask me to pull your pants down so I can spank you.”

“Again, fuck you ... You homo,” he said while he continued struggling against the anchors.

“I see,” I spit out at him. The slap across his face wrenched his head around. The whole side of his face was red when he brought it back around. I slapped the other side just as hard, wrenching his head the other way. “You know what to say, so say it.” I gave him half a minute to gather his wits and decide his course of action.

“Screw you,” he finally sputtered.

“You know what? I’m glad you said that.” I followed that with two head-twisting slaps that he was lucky didn’t dislodge his jaw. The man was crying like a baby, his face lying on the counter. I again demanded, “Tell me to pull down your pants so I can spank you. Or tell me you want me to fuck you hard in the ass. Do one of the two or pay the consequences.”

His bawling continued, making his face dirty with dust turned to dirt by his tears. Still, he said, “Fuck you.”

“Consequences, it is,” I came up from behind him. He kicked at me while undid his pants. I could have just cut them off him, but I wanted him to be able to pull them down at some point after asking me to fuck him in the ass. I got his jeans and underwear as far as his knees, further limiting his kicking.

The thick, two-inch-wide leather belt felt good in my hand. My muscles strained, and I don’t think I could have swung it any harder at his ass. The doubled-over belt wrapped across his pale butt cheeks. The pop echoed in the air, as did his almost instant wailing. The line across his ass welted up in an angry-looking red. I was fairly sure that had I told him to say he wanted me to fuck him, he would have, but first, there were the consequences.

The consequences continued. I strained as I twisted, getting maximum velocity on the leather strap. Ten more times, I did this to his unrestrained wails. The flesh of his ass tenderized under the lashes, and the last one left a gash that trickled blood. To the bawling captive, I said, “I am going to pull up your pants. At which time you will pull them down and say you want me to fuck you in the ass hard. Is that understood? If not, I will continue this, but on your balls.”

The blonde-headed man’s head nodded while still lying on the countertop, smearing more dirt on his face. I put his pants back up around his waist, letting the blood on his ass cheek soak into his underwear. With his pants in place, I undid one hand from its anchor. The hand shook in terror as he worked his pants back down, all the while saying, “Please, mister, Fuck me in the ass. Fuck me hard in the butt.” The pain in his voice was as plain as day.

He wasn’t there yet, so I said, “Ask me again tomorrow.” I clipped his hand back to the anchor I had released it from. I left with him bent over the countertop, his bare ass sticking out. From a small black bag, I pulled out a syringe and vial of stimulant. Sticking the needle in the raw ass, I pushed the plunger down. Ryan, now, would not sleep all night but be left to think of his situation.

Pulling up his pants back around his waist, I informed him, “Make a peep tonight, and there won’t be a tomorrow.” I let him hear the cock of the proto-type Glock, at which point I was sure I would get some sleep. I was also fairly sure Sheila would not make a peep after hearing all of Ryan’s howling.

Having not killed the two perpetrators who inflicted the pain in Cheryl’s life, I was content for the time being. In the morning, I would finish with Ryan, and Sheila would go to Marco. Then I could go back to Cheryl and the home we were building together, literally as well as figuratively.

In the morning, I saw Ryan had pissed himself at some point the night before. It meant I had gotten him to the first stage. Hopefully, he wouldn’t backslide when I talked to him. “Good morning, Ryan.” I started with pleasantries, hoping he would reciprocate.

“Fuck you, asshole,” came as his reply. “I can’t believe you left me on this counter and Sheila outside.”

“I wouldn’t worry about Sheila if I were you. You have enough problems of your own.” I explained. “And they are problems of your making. You see, had you not treated your sister so badly, she wouldn’t have needed to run away. And then she wouldn’t have happened to stow away in my car. I didn’t know she existed until I found her curled up, scared, and defiant in my car. My finding out she was a sweet girl and what you and that bitch out there did to the sweet girl is what has led me to your doorstep. And, as you might have figured out, I’m not someone you want at your doorstep. So your predicament is of your own making.”

“Yeah, well, you can fuck her all you want. You won’t get me to play your fucked up game.” Ryan had definitely taken a step back.

Ignoring him, I said, “You know what to say and do.”

“Fuck you, didn’t you just hear me?” he screeched.

“OK, I’ll be back in a second. I have to feed the dog.” I replied.

In the yard, Sheila was curled in a ball, shivering. I kicked her ass after putting down the bowl I had picked up off the kitchen floor. It was the one that she had made Cheryl use. I poured out the same food that she had normally put in the bowl. “Breakfast,” I said to the shaking woman. “Oh wait, you need water too.” I unzipped my pants and pissed on the food in the bowl. “If I were you, I’d eat it before it gets too soggy to pick up with your hands, and you have to put your whole face in it. And if you’re thinking of not eating, well, you are burning calories galore out here in the cold. And eating will likely keep you alive by giving you the calories you need.” She looked at me with hate, which was fine by me considering the way I felt about her.

She only yelled, “Asshole.” As I walked back in for more time with her stepson, who needed rehabilitation. She could die for all I cared.

“You have something you want to say to me?” I asked Ryan,

“Yeah. Let my ass go, faggot,” he angrily declared.

“OK. I guess I was too nice last night. I’ll have to remedy that,” I stated. I once again pulled his pants down to his knees, exposing his ass with its whelps. Ryan again squirmed, trying to get me away from his balls.

“Faggot, get away from me,” he repeated over and over. I grabbed his testicles, wrapping a string around their base. The other end of the string was around the neck of a full, two-liter soda bottle.

“You know what you need to say,” I said, giving Ryan one more chance.

“Yeah, you’re a homo,” he said, at which point I dropped the bottle. His ball sack stretched as the noose tightened and lengthened his sack. He bellowed, “Fuck!”

“One more try. You have something you want to say?” I asked with the leather belt once again in my hand.

He whimpered, “No.” The snap of the belt off his balls was immediate. He screeched and cried harder. The skin under his blond pubes turned red and stayed that way as I continued hitting them with the end of the belt.

I taunted him, “You must like this. You keep doing things, so I’ll spank you.” The belt this time crossed his already-whelped butt. I did this a couple of times, listening to him moan. I left him to marinate in the pain of the hanging bottle. Standing in front of him again, “Well, I guess I’ll just have to fuck your ass when you’re dead,”

I put the muzzle of the silencer between his lips. Ryan, at this point, was pleading not to be killed. I pulled the trigger, and it went “Click.”

“Damn prototype, I forgot to cock it. Gaston needs to put some kind of indication it is cocked,” I said. Ryan was out of his mind, flailing around, making the heavy bottle swing and pulling on his nuts even more.

“Please, God, please don’t shoot me.” The bottle bouncing off his leg re-focused his attention on his balls. “God damn it, it hurt so bad. Let me go...” But he went back to the real threat: “Shit, I’ll do anything. Please don’t shoot.”

I slid the slide back and again pulled the trigger. Again, it only got a “click.” I knew it would, as I had put an empty clip in the gun.

“Well shit. Now a misfire. I’m going to have to let Mr. Glock know. But you know what? It is the first time this has happened in the past six months. I guess it is your lucky day,” I said, acting as if the weapon had failed again. “Or maybe not, I guess I’ll have to do it another way.” Letting him see me looking around, I asked, “Where did I put that trash bag?”

“Fuck, don’t suffocate me ... Please, I said, I’d do what you ask,” he pleaded.

“Yeah, but I heard it will be way more fun for you if you’re asphyxiating while I cum in your ass. At least until you’re dead.” I said flat-toned. Seeing the bag, I got it and put it over his head. I left it there for a while before pulling it off. “You know, I bet that is what it was like for Carol? Feeling like she was being slowly suffocated. The joy in life being snuffed out.”

“Please...” He pleaded, saying nothing else. It seemed like he was mostly broken. I took the weighted string from his balls and pulled back up his pants. I released one hand again and waited. The freed hand shook and started working his pants back down. He stopped multiple times, saying to himself, “Oh god ... I can’t do this.” Each time, he started back working his pants down. When they were below his knees, he finally said, “Mister, please fuck me in the ass hard. I would love your dick to fuck my butt.” There were tears in his eyes as he said what I required.

“Maybe later. I’m not really in the mood right now. Usually, I need to be sucked on before I can ass fuck someone. I’ll come back later when I’m in the mood.” And I left him with the one hand free long enough to work his pants back up.

Four hours later, I came back in. He was half asleep on the countertop. “I see you’ve pissed your pants again. You need to drink something so you don’t get too dehydrated after pissing out all that fluid.”

“Yes, please, can I have some water?” He asked.

“Sure, you can have something to drink,” I said, not fully answering his question. I got a cup of water from the faucet, and was happy the water still worked. Ryan immediately opened his mouth, thinking I’d pour the water into his mouth. I put the glass to my lips instead, and though stagnant, I drank it all. Then I unzipped my fly and pulled out my cock, pointing it at his face.

His mouth closed except to say, “What the fuck? I need water.”

“Your sister needed a brother to protect her from that bitch out there.” I again pointed toward the door. “She didn’t get that. Instead, she metaphorically got pissed on by you. So I figured I’d do it literally to you. Now open up. It’s the only fluid you’re getting.” Ryan kept his mouth and eyes closed as I hosed down his face in piss. I left and went back to the room I had chosen and read more from the book on computers. I suspected they were the wave of the future, and I needed to know how to exploit them.

Two hours later, I came back in and said, “Ok, now tell me you want to suck my cock so I can fuck you in the ass hard. That it would be an honor to suck my cock and have it up your ass.”

Ryan was back to being belligerent. And like the other times, his pants came down and the belt was used on his ass. This time I taped his ass cheeks apart so the belt would land on his asshole. The expected response of screaming and swearing followed. He again gave in, cried, and broke just a bit further. When I put glowing red nails in his ear canal, letting them touch against the outer canal. I excoriated him, saying, “I’ll drive this hot metal spike into your eardrums. Hell, they aren’t doing you any good anyway. How could they be? You didn’t listen to your sister’s crying and asking for help. In fact, you made it worse than doing nothing.”

After lowering his pants, he pleaded, “Please, I’d love sucking your cock. Please put it all the way up my asshole.” I left him like that, going back to my reading. He was left crying on the flat surface, though not fully broken in my book.

We repeated the cycle one more time, three hours later. Though this time, I had the glowing nail at his eye. Again, I condemned his actions. “You made Carol walk around nude so you could get off watching her. And you had her do it in front of others. Did she seem like she liked it, or was it just you and Sheila that liked it? Demeaning her.” The nail burning a line of skin on his eyelid was what had him saying what was necessary. I think he assumed that, like the other times, I’d walk away while his pants were at his knees.

I instead unzipped my pants, pulled my flaccid cock, and walked up to him with the gun in hand. Putting the silencer to his ear, I said, “Open up and suck nice like you wanted Carol to do. And like you just said, you’d love to suck my cock. And if you bite even once, the new owners will be cleaning your brains off that wall over there.”

He did as instructed, and having a hand free, he directed my cock to his mouth. His lips wrapped around my flaccid tool. I had never been sucked off by a guy before, and didn’t know what I was in for. Ryan had evidently never given a blowjob, either. He started out very tentatively and tried to keep his tongue from my cock. His sucking was fairly weak, and he didn’t move. I finally said, pushing the barrel tighter to his ear, “Like you wanted Carol to do.” After which, the blowjob got much better. Soon I forgot it was a guy sucking on my rod and started enjoying his tongue wrapping around my head. It was not like this would be a usual thing. It was just an enjoyable part of this particular job.