Date: Tue, 19 Oct 1999 18:43:54 PDT
From: Jason Roberts <jason_roberts_27@hotmail.com>
Subject: Irrigating Alabama

I turned a couple of times as I forked hay up into the loft, cause I could
feel him watching me. "Surprise inspections" he'd call 'em. He'd be standing
there with boots planted shoulder width apart, wearin' his sunglasses and
his cowboy Stetson, with his thumbs hooked in his belt lookin' all satisfied
like he was still in the military keeping an eye on his prisoners. He
stopped in from tractoring the fields, watching me like he owned me or
something. "Get back to work boy, ain't no time to gawk at me" he'd say with
his Texan drawl.

I always felt like shooting back "but you got the time to eye me like a
hawk", but I just let it be. I didn't know why it was he did that; I was
just a farm boy, and he was a hired hand and Pa's big brother, but it always
seemed he found a way to be hoverin' around where I was at, like he was
checkin' up on me or something.

Uncle Billy-Bob used to live in Texas, but moved in after his divorce. Pa
chuckled when he said Billy-Bob liked to knock her around, and his ex-wife
Janet got a restraining order 'gainst him. They never had any kids. Pa
offered him work cause they're real close; they served together as MPs in
the military. I think they liked livin' in the past cause neither of 'em
could let go of it. Kripes, they both still wore military-style buzz cuts,
and they'd kept most of their old uniforms 'n stuff. Pa had framed some old
stars, bars and epaulets and hung them in the living room. Billy-Bob took a
likin' to Pa's decorating tastes and hung his old MP caps, wide duty belts
and black batons on the gun rack. I have to admit I thought that stuff was
sharp, and when my uncle hung up a handcuff collection it downright
fascinated me. I guess I must have gawked a bit at them; he showed me how
they worked, and how easy they was to slap on, and how impossible they was
to get out of. I had a peek inside his room one day, and there was a picture
of him in parade dress well hung on his wall and some more handcuffs hangin'
beside his bed. I guess he, and I both, had a respect about handcuffs. I had
no mom to object to either Billy-Bob or the military fixtures.

Billy-Bob was strong and muscled, but like Pa he fancied his meat and
potatoes and it showed. Even so, Pa said he never had any trouble attractin'
the ladies, tho' I never saw him bring any around. He wore army boots to do
chores, didn't shave much, and his sunglasses, paunch, stubble, and graying
overgrown mustache just reeked of his authoritarian attitude. 'sides from
their imposing size and their army boots, Pa and him sure had that attitude
in common. I guessed it was from havin' too much power in the military, and
maybe their attitude was worse now, on the count of them not havin' as much
power now.

Fact is, they's brothers, and 'bout the biggest difference I could see
between them was at 6 foot 2, Pa's an inch shorter and a staw-colored beard
hides most of his face. But if I closed my eyes I bet I couldn't tell the
difference. By their heft and oversized shoulders you could tell they was
both bred and raised for farmin'.  Pa had a quick temper that I hadn't seen
yet in my uncle, and it had earned him a reputation hereabouts. Maybe it was
deserved, but you just had to understand Pa, I guess; he couldn't abide
foolishness or arrogance. When he was in a fair mood I could roughhouse with
him until my body couldn't take no more, wrassling and such. But just do
something dumb or give him a teeny little lip and his hair-trigger temper
would ensure that I'd get a slap 'cross the face or be given a formal
whuppin', or both. Not seein' Billy-Bob's temper yet I couldn't say for sure
what he'd be like, but he was punched from the same mold. He was already
fittin' right in with his military style attitude and his surprise
inspections.

I felt like askin' Pa if Billy-Bob was supposed to be doin' that to me. One
day I got up the nerve to and I did, but he said "Jake, keep your nose out
of it. It ain't none of your business what your uncle does 'round here."

"Ya sure, Seb, whatever." He ticked me off so I gave him some good lip, even
though I knew I'd live to regret it.

But instead of raisin' his hand to me, he raised his voice. "Jason Alabama
Parker! What's wrong wit you boy? I'm your Pa. You don't ever call me by my
first name - that's only for Billy-Bob to do. Don't mess with him or I'll
put your sorry ass over the sawhorse. I trust my kin, 'cept you most of the
time. Why do you give a hoot if he does what he does? You got something to
hide? Maybe he's doin' it for me, and did ya ever think maybe he's doin' it
for your own good? Jake, are you listenin' to me?"

My own good? Fat chance. Pa didn't know I napped in the haystack back of the
barn when I was supposed to be pitchin' hay, and maybe sometimes jacked off
with one of the Playboy or Playgirl magazines I kept in the shed, whatever I
felt like at the time. I couldn't do that in my room, cause Pa had a habit
of lookin' in on me, even as I was getting' into bed, and 'sides his room
was next to mine and he could hear dragonflies screwin' on a moss rock a
mile away. So's I knows I'd be in the proverbial absolute shithouse if I
complained his big sweaty brother was putting the skids on my strokin' and
tokin' behind the barn. I'd been in trouble with the law enough times as it
was, what with my fightin', underange drinkin' and drivin', and shootin'
sparrows with Pa's best huntin' rifle. I was lucky that Sheriff Buford an'
him was friends. Pa was all for the sheriff giving me his own personal brand
of punishment and then bringing me home to more from Pa. I think they both
liked that arrangement. Sheriff Buford said more than once how much he
enjoyed whuppin' my ass, and my Pa liked it 'cause I got it twice, and his
boy didn't end up with a record over petty juvenile misconduct. But hell, if
Pa found out about that gay and dope shit, I know he'd be more like a crazed
bear than a human being. I guessed there'd be no tellin' really what he'd
do, but he'd prob'ly whup me in the shed over the sawhorse with my naked
butt in the air so's I couldn't sit for a month and then for 100% sure he'd
cart my ass off to jail - and this time I knowed it'd be for good. Seein' as
both of them was military police in the army neither of them took kindly to
fags or criminal acts, so's with the both of them around I had to really
keep a lookout when I needed to get off like that.

"Ya, I hear ya, Pa." I just let it drop.

I have to say that before that day I liked hangin' around them after dinner,
listenin' to them jaw 'bout hunting buck out of season, their army days,
their arrests and how much they enjoyed patrols and the shit they did to
prisoners on brig duty. They didn't try to make prisoners comfortable,
that's for sure. I especially liked listenin' to them when they was drinkin'
and talkin' about how not havin' a wife no more can make things harder. And
they'd talk about how they used to take their frustrations out on the
prisoners in the brig, but it was worse now cause they couldn't even do that
now either. Them topics was fascinatin' to a developing young boy. Those
were the good times. But after Pa said that Billy-Bob's inspection shit was
gonna keep happenin' no matter what I thought, and it was for my own good,
he could go to hell's far as I was concerned, and I tended to keep more to
myself after that.

A month goes by, and there it was a sweltering Saturday, and there I was,
pitchin' hay again, and there he was standin' in the loft nearby, watchin'
me again. It had got to be a habit with him, and by then I had him figured
out. I could pretty much tell when my uncle'd be watchin'. It got real hot
in the afternoon; he was always comin' in with his dark reflective aviators
and Stetson on, pudgy face gleaming in sweat. Sometimes he'd have his
T-shirt off and slung over his shoulder; I'll bet you could irrigate Alabama
just by wringing out that T-shirt. So here he was lookin' for shade and to
watch me for a spell. He'd just walk in directly onto the half-story loft
from the hill and it was damn uncomfortable lookin' at him that way he stood
there. Me, lookin straight ahead, I'd be about lookin' into his boots, them
boots planted firm with his hands clasped behind his back, him surveyin' me
like a guard while I worked like a prisoner on a chain gang or something. If
I tried to make conversation, he'd cut it short so's he could just watch it
seemed; like he didn't want me to talk. Then as sudden as he come he'd be
gone. This time, I knew that he'd be gone till dinner like he always was, so
I waited a couple of minutes and after makin' sure the coast was clear I
headed for the shed where I got my stash and magazine at, and then for the
haystack. In two shakes of a lamb's tail I had toked, stroked and was
sleepin' like a baby.

I guess I nodded about a half hour or so. A rustle woke me up. I looked
around but it was just a doe. I pulled up my pants, rounded up my Playgirl
and pot, stashed them back in the shed, and went back at it. Dinner came and
went, and seein' as I wasn't hangin' out with them no more, I headed to my
room. 'bout a couple hours later, as I got into bed, that's when it
happened. I found a goddamn note. It was between the sheets, and it was
weird. It read, "in the shed tomorrow." But I broke out into a sweat because
with it was a picture of a hard cock ripped from my Playgirl magazine along
with some of my pot in a bag.

Shit! My heart pounded. I crumpled up the paper and I was sure it was Uncle
Billy-Bob who wrote it. But there was a slight chance he snitched and my
sadistic ex-MP father had invented this new torture tactic to make me squirm
good. As I tried to sleep, I just kept turning the whole thing over in my
head, but I couldn't sleep, not for hours. I couldn't go out to the shed to
destroy the evidence; what if they heard me, or worse, what if they were
waiting for me to lead them to my other stuff? It was probably 1 a.m. by the
time I finally got slipped away into a fitful sleep.

Breakfast was agonizing, but nothing was said. And I sure as hell didn't
bring it up. The morning was long and not much else went through my mind.
Lunch was quiet; no mention of it. Back in the barn, I began to relax and
think maybe nothin' would happen after all. As I pitched hay I sensed an
oversized figure behind me. I turned and almost knocked into Billy-Bob in
his domineering, authoritarian position, not one foot away, looking at me
real stern-like.

I froze. He says, real lazy, "by the way, I have the rest of your magazine
and pot, if you still want them."

He had a neck wider than his head, hair crawling out from his shirt and
thighs bigger than my waist, but I was a small, trapped animal and my heart
pounded through my shirt. "You mean you can still get the pages apart after
you stole my Playgirl and smoked my pot?" I found out first-hand what this
big sweaty guy's ex-wife must have felt as his temper rose and an oversized
hairy paw came out of the blue and across my face, and I saw stars.

"I know what you mean", he said. "But I ain't never experienced it myself,
watchin' you doin' it is enough for me."

I was weak from the blow, but I was going to do the best I could do with the
crappy hand I held. "Well, if you liked watchin' me, then Janet did right to
get rid of your faggoty lard ass."

I'll bet I know now why they call it bitch-slap, cause he growled "I'll shut
your fuckin' bitch mouth, cum-sucking little bastard", grabbed me up and
slapped me back and forth like a woman, and then just let me drop on my feet
again. I slumped a bit, but managed to stay standing. I thought he smiled at
how easy it was to beat someone half his size.

"Pa is going to kick you out so fast..."

"Do you honestly think your Pa is going to side with a shiftless, lying
crack-head afore the MP he served with in 'nam?"

A bit of blood trickled from my split lip, and the rest drained from my
face. "Did you tell him?"

He waited, and a small wicked smile played across his face.

I suddenly felt freezing cold. He never was big on words, and he still
wasn't talkin' much.

"Well, did you?"

Lighting-quick he dropped me, landing his ample ass on my chest, his shins
pinning my biceps and with one hand pinning both of my wrists above my head.
He almost knocked the wind out of me, and I was immobilized in less than two
seconds in the takedown.

He smiled his wicked smile again. "If I had, do you honestly think you'd
still be here right now?"

Relief would have filled me, if it weren't for the pain of 280 pounds of
ex-military on my chest and in my face. I saw myself struggling in his dark
reflective lenses. He looked down on me like a prize catch in rutting
season.

"I love the smell of handcuffs in the afternoon." He yanked my arms. I saw a
glint and felt the cold grip of army steel; a clicking followed, and then a
little chuckle. "Go ahead. Struggle."

He pulled me up and dragged me by my shirt out of the barn, toward the shed.
"I think you know your Pa don't play games when it comes to breakin' the
law, and you bein' his boy makes him come down all the harder on you. I'd do
the same thing with my own, if I had one." He was leaning closer now,
practically breathing down my neck, and he said real low practically
whispering right in my ear "He wouldn't put up with a cum-sucking dope-head
like you. You should count yourself lucky I found you jackin' off and not
him." His revelation raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Now inside the
shed, I felt his hands grip my biceps, pinning me against the wooden bench,
holding me in place. I felt his stiffening crotch brush lightly against my
ass as he pushed me forward. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable right
here?" he said sarcastically. Now with one hand, I felt a tug on my waist
band and my ass suddenly exposed to the air. "I'll be easier on you than
him, if you want it. I'll give you a choice. I can turn you in, or I can
straighten you out - it's up to you."

He was right on the money, Pa would both thrash me and then haul my ass down
to the sheriff's and leave me to rot. But Jesus! He had me where he wanted
me! If I gave in I would be totally humiliated by this hulking control
freak, and my survival instinct kicked in.

"I thought so", I said.

He was suddenly enraged, and crushed me with the full force of his weight
pressed against me, grabbing me by the hair and yanking my head back,
yelling in my ear like he was still in the military, "What the hell did you
say, you punk?"

I gulped. "I said, I thought you wanted my fuckin' ass from the minute you
first saw it."

He breathed hard, trembling with rage but somehow pleased like. He lowered
his voice. "You callin' me a fag, boy? You think I'm a fag? Well, you're the
fag here. I'm a red-neck from deep in the heart of Texas, and we don't take
lightly to fags down there. Down there, we don't eat fags for breakfast, we
make them eat us for breakfast." He chuckled. "My big red-blooded Texan cock
is gonna be deep in the heart of your ass. Oh yea, you're gonna pay for
that. I make the laws, and I'm gonna _make_ you."

He pushed my arms forward, hooking the cuffs over a nail on the exposed
two-by-four wall stud. My engorged cock hung down, pressing against the cold
metal handle of the old wooden drawer. "You need to be shown who's the boss
around here." He grabbed his belt from his waist, suddenly cutting through
the air and landing with a resounding crack square on my ass. Fourteen times
I felt the searing sting before he was through, and he was breathing hard
throughout. I heard his belt replaced in the loops.

He rested against me as one of his hands followed the curve of my shoulder
muscle up to the back of my neck. I could feel an incredible stiffness in
his pants against the crack of my ass. He held me firmly like a puppy held
by the scruff, and with the other hand unhooked my wrists, and pulled me
away from the bench. "You're about to pay for your sins. On your knees."

I struggled desperately but he won out. I was down. "I would recommend that
you comply with my orders and be my obedient servant if you want to stay out
of jail." He was reaching inside his fly.

"You try that and Pa will have you arrested."

"You know, I kinda like your mouth. You're gonna pay for your wisecracks
with your smart mouth. You think I'm the faggot? Well I'll show you who's
the faggot around here. Faggots suck cock, and faggots take it up the ass,
and that sure as hell ain't gonna be me. Start praying, and you'd better
pray real good." One hand came up and held his cock straight, the other came
to the back of my head. In his excitement his enlarged cock jutted out; it
was sticky and smelled musky. "Eat it." My uncle had been watching me since
he got on the farm, and he was still watching me now as he tried to push his
cock between my lips. I kept them closed tight, and it slipped off to one
side, and then the other. He slapped my face and my brain rattled in my
skull, but I wasn't givin' in. After a few more tries, the fucker, he
pinched my nose shut. I couldn't breath. I held my breath but all too soon I
had to gasp for air. No soon had I opened my mouth than it was full of cock.
There was no more resisting this 280 pound crazed bear, making him madder
was just not working, so I let him push it in.

"Good boy. I like obedience." He rocked his hips back and forth, forward and
back. "Oh, your lips are soft, like Janet's were, and like the son's I never
had." After 10 minutes my jaw was sore and my lips were numb. "Good boy,
just relax. I'll have a nice big load for your warm little throat soon,
son".

I heard a rustle behind me and suddenly I was startled awake as I felt a
second pair of paws, these ones on my ass. I felt something big and hot
wedge between my ass-cheeks, sliding up and prodding at the entrance. I
started to struggle, choking on Billy-Bob's cock, shocked beyond belief. The
smell of another man's body sweat reached my nostrils.

Billy-Bob propelled his cock forward, and held up a bag of dope, saying,
"Why did you do it, son? Did you think you could you hide this from me?" The
prodding from behind continued, slipping up and down my crack in vain
attempts at entry. The pounding continued in my face without mercy. "You
lied to me. You knew I wouldn't tolerate narcotics."

Uncle Billy-Bob pulled my chin up as his cock slid from my lips. "Look at
me." I struggled to look up as I felt a finger penetrate my ass. He had a
big smile on his face now; and I saw an evil glint in his eye. "You didn't
think your Pa and me were this close, did ya? We have a lot more in common
that it seems; we like the same things, specially when it comes to
satisfyin' our urges." The finger wiggled inside, and another entered, my
hole unwillingly stretching wider, making me whimper and squirm. "We've
always been close, even this close in the armed forces. Deliverance. Jake,
you ever seen Deliverance? We must've seen that movie at least a dozen
times, eh Seb? Ain't that how we found out how much fun this can be? Oooo...
squeel like a pig boy, squeal like a little stuck pig." I felt Pa's hard
dick pushing at my asshole, and he broke in, grunting, I let out a yelp as
he popped my cherry. Billy-Bob stifled my yelp with his dick, pumping my
face saying "Ye-ha, ye-ha". He rode it hard like a bronco, and pumped fast
like a piston. Pa slipped in and out, breathing heavier and getting
sweatier. I could feel the weight of his chest; his smoothed mat of hair
painting sweat onto my back as he re-entered, and his huge penis pushed deep
into my ass. I was knocked around like a rag doll for what seemed like an
hour. Uncle Billy-Bob kept telling me to look up at him, and I would as long
as I could but the piston-like motion of his hips in my face made me want to
close my eyes. He never let go of my head once the whole time, 'cept to slap
me when I closed my eyes, while Pa punished my red strapped ass with his
pounding.

"Beat your meat, you little faggot" my uncle Billy-Bob ordered. "Show me how
much you likes this dick of mine reamin' your sweet little mouth, and how
much you like your Pa's boner reamin' your tight little ass."

"Do just as he says, Jake", Pa commanded, "but don't you dare cream."

I started to stroke my engorged shaft with my handcuffed hands.

My uncle pulled out and watched me expressionless, but it was as if he was
watchin' to make sure I was followin' his orders. "You got off easy tonight
son, you got the chance you never should have. I told your Pa about it. He
was gonna turn you in. I convinced your Pa that he should turn you over to
me for a while instead. You're mouthy, but I could handle you. You'll make
me a good boy, like the son I never had. You're Pa doesn't care to put up
with your juvenile shit no more. But I can handle you" uncle Billy-Bob
preached. "You need some self-control. I'm gonna teach you some of that
there self-control. Let me see you take a deep breath and hold it awhile
so's I can shove my big dick all the way down your throat and hold it there.
Come on, take a deep breath."

I breathed in. The invader filled my mouth and pushed down into my throat. I
started to gag a couple of times, but managed it somehow for a half-minute
or so, him hugging my head into his padded pelvis the entire time. I gagged
on it again, and this time he pulled out.
"See that? That there's self-control. See how good I can teach you? You'll
be better off with me. And 'sides, you'll make me proud the way you can pray
on your knees like that. Come on, little faggot, show me again how much self
control you got." I barely had time to breath in before he filled my throat
with his slimy thick dick, holding the back of my head with both hands and
pushin' hard all the way in. A minute later, he withdrew, rubbing his dick
head around on my face.

"Yea, that's good." He looked down at my jutting dick, and was suddenly
enraged. "Who told you to stop strokin', boy? Did I tell you to stop?"
Another stinging slap fell across my face. "Get strokin' again... _now_,
boy. Ah knows you like it, but I control you now, including your dick. And
don't you dare squirt unless I _let_ you. I know you jacked off yesterday,
but I don't ever want you to dare cum again without askin' my permission
first."

Pa's rough fingers clamped around the base of my cock. "Fuckin' no-good
faggot", he said, squeezing hard.

Billy-Bob's fist went round his meat and pumped. "Call me Pa" he said. "I'm
gonna take you over for a while, so you's better get used to it."

I guess I took too long, cause just then a callused palm came hard across my
face. My brain fogged over.

"Okay... Pa", I said.

Billy-Bob told me to open wide, called me the son he never had, then slipped
it in again and started a rhythmic thrust. Pa's hand held the back of my
neck, keeping my head firmly in place for Billy-Bob's thrusts. Uncle
Billy-Bob continued to pump my face, and to instruct me. "Good boy, just
relax. Here comes your new Daddy's big load. Look up, and take it down your
warm little throat, son." All those days he watched me, I wondered what he
wanted. And now I watched him and I knew. He wanted to own me. He
face-fucked me for a couple of more strokes, looking down into my upturned
face, and started grunting. "You'd better take a deep breath, cause here I
come." I breathed in sharply. "Take it all down your warm little throat,
son". He slapped my face again and our eyes locked. I felt his cock twitch
and watched his smile widen and his cum filled my mouth. He squeezed the
base as his cock spurted, making it even bigger. With a deep long moan, he
pushed it down my throat, and his groin filled my view, emptying his bag
directly down my throat, his balls contracting up to the base of his dick,
pushing against my chin. He crushed my face into his pubic hair for an
eternity, gripping tightly with both his hands at the back of my head.
Finally, after a full minute, he slowly drew back and it slid out, and he
starting milking it, squeezing out dollops of cum, using my face to wipe
them off. As he milked some more, more oozed out, and some dripped from my
chin.

"Looks like my new boy made a mess... and I just polished that boot too. You
know, there ain't much better way for a young boy to show respect to his Pa
but to spit-shine his boots for him. As your new Pa, that's gonna be the
first thing I'll have you do for me." He stopped milking his dick, and let
it hang like a two-by-four. He placed his hands on his hips and said "Lick
my boot, son." Billy-Bobs first official order as my new guardian was
designed to humiliate me. I looked down at his cum-covered boot. I didn't
want to and shook my head in protest.

Pa was mad. "If your new Pa tells you to lick, you'd better lick it, Jake"

Even madder'n Pa, Billy-Boy glared down at me, leaned forward and yelled "I
said, _l_i_c_k_ _i_t_ _c_l_e_a_n_."

I shut my mind off, and I complied. My ass jutted out as I groveled on my
elbows, face to the floor,.

"That's it boy, lick it clean." Billy-Boy murmered. As I tried to lick, Pa
got real excited, pushed my knees wide apart and pumped my ass angrily for a
while, bumping my face roughly against Billy-Bob's boot. I guess the sight
was exciting to Pa. He withdrew, and pulled my feet back, laying me out on
the planks. He put his legs between mine and pushed in his cock. He went
deep and hard, pounding me vigorously against the wooden floor. Within a few
brutal animalistic thrusts, he started grunting and I felt his cock twitch
and convulse inside as he planted it deep. He pushed my head down smearing
my face in Billy-Bob's cum. With Pa's writhing cock dumping his own cum deep
inside, I strained to lap up Billy-Bob's. Pa rested his weight on his elbows
and on my hips, his throbbing cock penetrating still deep inside, his body
twitching and throbbing; he moaned and squeezed the last bits of his wad out
and into my gut. I licked off the last of the cum from Billy-Bob's freshly
polished army boot.

"You make me proud, son."

Billy-Bob issued his second official order. "Cum now, boy." I suddenly shot
all over the wooden shed floor and as my body convulsed, my face rested on
dark polished leather. My brain was spun 'round and dizzily I sunk into the
bittersweet blackness of Billy-Bob's boot.

After that I tried to run away a few times but Pa would call the sheriff and
Buford would find me somehow, whup my ass down desolate Old Cherry Lane and
then haul me home. I knew Buford, Pa and Billy-Bob grew up together, but the
first time he drove me home I risked tryin' to tell him anyway about the
unnatural goin's-on in the shed. Sure as shootin' he had the nerve to ask me
if I liked it! What the hell could I say to that? I said hell no, it weren't
right. He was quiet for a minute and then like he hadn't even heard me asked
me again if I liked it. That made me stop and think. I thought for a long
while and finally said, "well, I guess I might have a little, but that don't
make it right." He said that it was normal. "Hell son, ain't nothin' you or
I can do 'bout that; the country courthouse would overflow and only women
and young-un's would be left to plow the fields if I had to lock decent
people up for that kind of activity." He patted my knee, let his hand rest
and said "Mind your Pa and Billy-Bob. They're red-blooded patriots, they
served their country and maybe they's just a bit frustrated and maybe they
take their frustrations out on you, but they's just doin' what comes
naturally. They's bringin' you up right." His hand slid up my thigh, and
things started getting' uncomfortable, but we was just pullin' up to the
house so I got out right then.

When I ran away for a second and third time, the sheriff took more
advantage. After puttin' me in 'cuffs and whuppin' me over the trunk of the
squad car, he fished out his boner and had his way with me. It was real hard
on my ass, all that whuppin' and stretchin'. "Your Pa said to teach you a
lesson for runnin' away, boy." I wasn't sure if Pa had told him he could do
that, but even so somehow it didn't make much sense to complain to Pa or
Billy-Bob. Even a kid like me could see that runnin' away wasn't workin'
either, so I eventually had to resign myself to my home situation.

After a while I decided my life wasn't so bad after all.

My real Pa was tired of my tricks and the farm had its share of problems so
he was happy to not pay me much mind and gave Uncle Billy-Bob free and full
reign with me. I got more than my share of attention from my new Pa. He was
about my real Pa's age, and about my real Pa's size, with a neck wider than
his head and thighs bigger than my waist. He was strict in the fields, but
enough fun after dinner though, drinkin' beers and playin' Whist. He started
wearin' military flashes on the shoulders of his blue work shirts, and
wearin' his old patrol belt - the one with the handcuffs attached. He said
this was to remind me that he was always up for the challenge of
straightening me out, which was because he never had a real son of his own.

Sometimes as we worked pitching bales onto the flatbed; he'd stand up top
and tell me to pitch them to him, but he'd tick me off cause if I didn't
pitch it up right he throw it back down again. He'd slap those cuffs on and
whip my ass right there if I even looked at him sideways, and even sometimes
when I didn't, just for good measure. And he was always watchin' me, so's I
wouldn't get myself into any more real bad trouble. He'd get up close, and
I'd always do as he said, not wanting to experience the MP-style takedown
any more often that I had to. And besides he was twice my size. I always had
to pay for lip with service in the shed, and I'd never know who I'd find
coming into my room at night, unless Billy-Bob got drunk, in which case I
could be sure at least he'd be there, tellin' me to pray for him, and
teachin' me more self-control than I could stand.

In the following year I became Billy-Bob's pride.

I didn't used to know at first why Pa liked his brother so much; such a mean
lookin' ex-military type. I sure do now.  I guess some things are just
destined to be.

I'm all grown up now, but I still still go back. When I'm needin' some
discipline, I find my way back to the farm, back to the barn and the shed.
Pa's gone now, but Billy-Bob's always there, willin' to give me more of the
authority I want, and teachin' me more self-control.

______________________________________________________________________
This story is fantasy, but is based on a cop who picked me up a few years
ago. He was metro police, very possessive and we had an on-and-off
relationship for two years. He lived alone and no-one knew about him and me.
He didn't reciprocate, was very aggressive, liked to give orders and he was
turned on by my obedience. He had a lightening-quick temper and got
turned-on and hard when he slapped me. When we had sex he'd put a work shirt
on and was always on top. While we made out he liked to put me in cuffs and
he told me to call him Daddy. He wanted to handcuff me to the bedpost and
fuck me from behind. I have to admit that some of his sexual turn-ons at
first repelled me, but they molded me. He said I would grow to like it and I
did. I fantasized afterward about what he did to me, and I still do, and now
men like him are the only kind that turn me on. His bulk, possessiveness,
imagination and temper became Billy-Bob in this story.

If you liked this story, I'd loved to hear from you. Send me an email -
jason_roberts_27@hotmail.com