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 _s_h_i_t_house 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 _s_h_i_t_, 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 _s_h_i_t_ 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 _s_h_i_t_ 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 _d_a_m_n_ 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 god_d_a_m_n_ 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 _c_o_c_k_ ripped from my Playgirl magazine along with some of my pot in a bag.
_s_h_i_t_! 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 _f_u_c_k_in' 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 _f_u_c_k_in' 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 _c_o_c_k_ 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 _c_o_c_k_ 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 _c_o_c_k_, 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 _c_o_c_k_ straight, the other came to the back of my head. In his excitement his enlarged _c_o_c_k_ 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 _c_o_c_k_ 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 _f_u_c_k_er, 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 _c_o_c_k_. 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 _c_o_c_k_, shocked beyond belief. The smell of another man's body sweat reached my nostrils.
Billy-Bob propelled his _c_o_c_k_ 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 _c_o_c_k_ 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 _s_h_i_t_ 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 _c_o_c_k_. "_f_u_c_k_in' 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-_f_u_c_k_ed 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 _c_o_c_k_ twitch and watched his smile widen and his cum filled my mouth. He squeezed the base as his _c_o_c_k_ 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 _c_o_c_k_. 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 _c_o_c_k_ 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 _c_o_c_k_ 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 _c_o_c_k_ 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 _s_e_x_ 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 _f_u_c_k_ me from behind. I have to admit that some of his _s_e_x_ual 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.
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