Date: Wed, 20 Jul 2016 15:33:37 +0000 (UTC)
From: Victor Herrmann <doublehelix2632@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Rogue Squad Mission Three

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction. Simple as that. This story
contains some graphic descriptions of violence and cruelty as well as rape
that some readers may find offensive.

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Rogue Squad - Mission Three
by Doublehelix26

Ryan, 28, explosives specialist, white, lean build, 6' tall, blond
short-cropped hair.

Johnson, 27, firearms expert, black, heavy but lean build, 6'3", buzz cut.
Peters, 28, recon leader, white, muscly, 6'2", buzz cut blond.
Ramirez, 29, intel lead, Latino, lean and firm build, 5'7", buzz cut.

Recap:

They were four US soldiers, part of an elite squad sent into difficult
territories to gather intel, retrieve US assets, extract hostages and take
out enemy targets. They were sent to remote places where the rule of any
semblance of law and order had one been washed away by years of war and
terror. This team went in when all other options had been exhausted, when
no regular army would want to be caught dead anywhere near those
terrains. Rules are for civilised people. This team didn't operate in
civilisation. Often well behind enemy lines, their mission was all that
mattered. How they accomplished it, wouldn't be questioned. And so, as long
as they delivered results - and they always did - no-one cared what they
got up to along the way.

Ryan, Johnson, Peters and Ramirez and been working together for over two
years. Early on, they'd kept up the pretence that they were good soldiers
with values and and morals. But, soon enough, they'd recognised in each
other a desire to have a little fun out there in the field. Armed to the
teeth and trained in the latest techniques of recon and close-range combat,
no-one could mess with them easily. And so, a bit of looting here, a bit of
coercive questioning (aka. torture) there, no-one would ever hold them
accountable. Lines blur quickly when you're out in hell trying to get work
done. And crossing blurred lines is easy.

Now, they weren't necessarily into the same sort of stuff. Ramirez had made
it clear from the start that he wasn't into torturing people. He also
insisted he was straight. Ryan was basically the exact opposite. He had a
knack for 'convincing' people to give up information (and sometimes the
will to live). And he was most definitely not straight. Johnson and Peters
were fairly flexible when it came to having a bit of fun with helpless
victims of all sorts.

Mission Three:

The squad had been transported from Venezuela to Mexico, their target,
according to usually reliable sources, having been spotted in a fairly
remote area of the Sonora farmland. Finding the target had been no problem
in the end: he had been hiding out in a farmers cottage, probably just in
transit to a more secure location. Which he would now never reach. Not with
that bullet in his head. The laptop and smart phone retrieved from his bag
would provide the intel that the squad had been sent to retrieve. The
target was disposable.

Having ambushed the small farm house, the squad had pushed past the farmer
and his son, tending to a vegetable stand outside their cottage. Many
farmers were selling some of their produce directly, cutting out the middle
man and making a better profit. While Ryan had kept the father and son at
bay, Peters, Johnson and Ramirez and taken care of business inside. The
woman of the house only appeared after the job was done, the dead target
sitting peacefully at the small dining table. He'd never heard the squad
coming. Now the woman was rushing in from another room, the noise of the
single gunshot hardly subtle. She knew to keep it together, screaming would
only make things worse. Getting caught harbouring a criminal was never a
good idea.

'Good job, team,' Ramirez affirmed as he retrieved the laptop and phone
from the target's bag. One eye on the woman, he contemplated the timeline:
three hours till pick-up, estimated 20 minutes by foot to get to the
extraction point. Plenty of time to kill. Not having had his share of fun
in Venezuela, Ramirez was now keen to get some. 'Sweep the house,' he
ordered Johnson and Peters. Checking the two bedrooms and bathroom off the
open-plan living room and kitchen didn't take long: 'All clear, Sir.' In
fluent Spanish Ramirez greeted the woman with mock politeness. The woman, a
girl really, was perhaps 30 and not bad to look at. Her face betrayed years
of farm work but she'd looked after herself. Just what Ramirez needed. He
asked her to show him to the bedroom, pointing his handgun convincingly at
her. As she turned to lead the way, he said to the other two soldiers, 'see
what Ryan is getting up to with the father and son outside. And don't give
me a reason to come out there.'

Peters and Johnson didn't need to be told twice to head out to where the
fun promised to be: sure enough, Ryan was already sporting his usual horny
grin, guarding the farmer and his son. The farmer was also around 30, if
that. Slim, dark complexion, dark hair, a handsome Mexican kept fit by
years of farm work. His son - surprising that there should only be one kid
- perhaps 12 or 13, medium height, lean build, hair buzzed short. Father
and son were both wearing only torn jeans and a T-shirt. No need for more
in this April morning heat. Not that they'd be wearing those clothes much
longer.

A range of fruit and vegetables were stacked up in crates three feet from
the wall of the house, creating a sort of counter. It seemed unlikely that
many customers would come by in the worsening heat. More likely they'd come
in the early morning and later in the afternoon once the sun was
setting. Meaning there'd be no-one around for some time. Bad news for the
father and son. Johnson had a known disdain for Mexicans. Something to do
with his dad being hurt in an accident some years ago that involved a
Mexican or whatever. In any case, he was clearly going to take the lead
this morning.

Browsing through the piles of vegetables, Johnson instructs the father and
son to strip. The squad is fluent in Spanish, making this whole thing a lot
easier for everyone. The father nevertheless seems not to understand. He
needs convincing by Ryan, who points his handgun with added emphasis at the
son. The boy starts to cry but pulls himself together at his father's
advice. When the father and son have stripped, Johnson asks Peters to make
sure the boy watches but doesn't interfere. He asks Ryan to help him make
this father lie down on the ground. They force him into a foetal position,
knees tucked to his torso, and make him embrace his knees with both
arms. Folded into a small packages, lying on his side, they tie the father
up with a length of rope. The Mexican knows better than to protest, but he
is clearly nervous. 'Please don't hurt my son,' he dares implore the
squad. They just ignore him. Lying there on his side, the father's ass is
now exposed, his balls squeezed out in between his legs, and his cock
pointing out.

Johnson sorts through a pile of cucumbers and finds a large specimen:
perhaps a foot long and a good two inches in diameter. He holds the large
vegetable to the son and says, 'I need you to lick this cucumber, boy.' The
boy doesn't seem to understand, so Johnson explains, 'this cucumber is
going to into your scumbag dad's ass. And I'm offering you a chance to get
this vegetable nice and wet before I ram it in there.' Which gets the boy
to lick the cucumber. The act looks dirty in itself and the three soldiers
are turned on just by watching. After a minute or so Johnson grows
impatient and take the larger cucumber to the father. Not too gently he
starts pushing it into the guy's ass. The Mexican whines and whimpers,
clearly not used to being penetrated. 'That's what you get for harbouring
criminals,' Johnson explains, mercilessly pushing the cucumber deeper into
the man's anus. When it's a good few inches inside, Johnson pulls it all
the way out, only to then shove it back in with renewed
determination. Gradually, he starts fucking the guy's ass with the large
cucumber. The fresh vegetable holds up well in the process.

Ryan watches with fascination. 'What about the boy?' he asks. Johnson is
preoccupied with the father, so Peters suggests, 'there are carrots here.'
Which have the advantage of having pointed tips. The father begs, 'please,
no,' which annoys Johnson. He pulls the cucumber out roughly - it is almost
all the way in by now - and shoves the greasy vegetable the Mexican's
mouth. 'Shut the fuck up, scumbag!' He grabs another cucumber and rams it
back into the man's ass. Annoyed now, he himself gets up and grabs a nice
fat carrot. To Ryan he says, 'make sure that scumbag sees this,' as he
grabs the boy and motions Peters to spread the kid's ass cheeks. Standing
up, the boy gets penetrated by the carrot, pointed tip first. The boy is
clearly not enjoying the unfamiliar sensation but he takes it well, having
been told earlier by his dad not to show tears. All the way in the pointed
root vegetable goes, until only some green is sticking out of the boy's
ass.

Now the soldier's want their pay-off. Johnson addresses the boy: 'Your
scumbag father here, that piece of dirt on the floor with the cucumbers in
his ass and mouth, has been sheltering a criminal. And we had to go through
all this trouble to come here and take care of that criminal. We could
easily kill your parents and no-one would ever question us. Do you want
that to happen?' Of course the boy shakes his head, tears now rolling down
his face. Johnson continues, 'ok, fine. Luckily, you there's something you
can do to save your parents. You do want to save them, right?' Of course
the boy does.

And so, Johnson, satisfied sadistic smile on his face, pushes the boy onto
his knees. He unzips his combat trousers and takes out his large black
soldier cock, throbbing hard from anticipation. 'Show me how bad you want
to save your parents,' he tells the boy and the kid knows to get to work on
Johnson's cock. The boy isn't half bad and soon gets Johnson to enjoy
himself. With slow thrusts from his hip, he helps the kid along. The large
cock barely fits inside the boy's mouth. Soon the large cockhead glistens
with the boy's saliva, mixed with generous amounts of Johnson's precum. He
announces, 'I'm going to shoot in your mouth, boy, and you're going to
swallow my load, you understand!?' Shortly after which he explodes inside
the boy's mouth. The father has no choice but to watch the big black
soldier cum in his son's mouth. The boy dutifully swallows.

'My turn,' claims Peters, who pulls out his own not-so-small cock. He is
less gentle with the boy, impatiently fucking the child's mouth. The father
is watching as Peters, too, shoots in the boy's mouth and the shoves him
off roughly.

Ryan, ever the sadist, has a different idea. He pushes the boy onto all
fours and tells him, 'suck off your dad.' Father and son both look
incredulous but they know they have no choice. The boy obediently gets to
work on his father penis, protruding awkwardly from the Mexican's
restrained position. Johnson resumes the cucumber fucking to help stimulate
the father to an erection, which duly emerges, if slowly. As soon as the
boy has a hard cock to work with, Ryan knees down, roughly pulls the carrot
from the boy's ass and aggressively enters him from behind. Sucking his
father at one end, the boy is getting fucked at the other. Johnson works
the cucumber against the father's prostate and this is effective: the man
actually gets more and more aroused. Suddenly he whines, 'I'm so sorry, my
boy,' before he shoots in his own son's mouth. Ryan takes this as his
signal to redouble his effort to fuck the boy, working him harder until he
cums inside his ass.

Spent, the three soldiers gather their things. They call out for Ramirez
who emerges shortly after. He has a satisfied look on him. Looking down on
the tied father and the naked son still kneeling by his side, Ramirez
doesn't nee to know any details.

The squad leave the father and son to clean up after themselves. No need to
cover their tracks as no-one would believe those Mexicans anyway. Heading
towards the extraction point, the squad feels relaxed. Ready for another
adventure.

Mission accomplished.