Tecpatl
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- Joined
- Jan 3, 2011
- Messages
- 501
- Location
- USA
A fantasy based on all the cute dead Mexican boys we keep seeing around here. The last day of two young friends captured by a rival cartel and the two boys who kill them as part of their initiation. Influenced some by Aztec rituals. Apologies to those who really do know Mexican culture.
"Gael?"
"Yeah?"
"What do you think they're gonna do to us?"
The two boys, both in their early 20's had their wrists tied tight behind their backs. They sat on a concrete floor against the wall in an empty basement room. A boarded up window gave little light.
"I don't like to think about it."
"Chingame," said Salvador, "fuck me."
"They probably will, Chava, and that'll be the easy part,"*Gael said staring at his shoes.
Chava was a nickname for Salvador, but it was also a name a boyfriend called his girl. Salvador liked when Gael called him that. Gael was stronger than Salvador, and a year older. They had grown up together in a town far from Ciudad Juarez and decided as boys they would go "norte." Back then that meant Chicago or New York. Getting rich in the States.*
They never got further than Juarez. Gael found a way to make some money, easy and quick. Salvador followed him, as Salvador always had. Soon, like so many boys just out of their teens, they were working for the cartel. They never left Juarez. Now they never would.
"We knew this was possible," Gael looked up at the ceiling. He couldn't look at Salvador, "Sorry. I really hoped it'd end up with us each owning a mansion and a black Mercedes."
"At least you got to drive one." It sounded like Salvador choked back a sob.
"Once," said Gael trying to get the picture out of his mind. He had driven the jefe to an execution. Nine guys. His age. And he had watched them one by one get thrown down in the dust in the light from the headlights while two guys held them down and another sawed their heads off with a knife. They died slow. Pleading and screaming and whimpering and gurgling. He had been proud that night, watching those enemies die. Now friends of those enemies had him. The only hope he had left was to die better.
Voices sounded outside, excited. Feet crunched on the gravel outside the window. The door opened upstairs.
"Shit I wish I had a hit of something to make this easier," said Gael, "Anything."
Of course their enemies had everything they'd been carrying. His first exchange on his own and he'd been set up. Nothing big. He'd asked to take Salvador along as his partner. It should have been easy and home. But they were jumped from behind. They both had bruises from the fight. Strange, there were others there who just stood and watched until the two guys who jumped them had them beaten and groggy. Then they were thrown in the back of a van. They didn't know where they were. But they knew what was about to happen. And Gael knew Salvador's death would be his fault.*
The door opened and a group of guys came in. In the middle were the two, faces bruised and smiling. They looked about Gael and Salvador's age. Not new recruits, but young enough to still be finding a place.
"jefe wants you," said one, "It's time."
They were drug up the stairs and across the compound to an old barn-like building. They struggled a bit just to make it more difficult for their captors. But they both knew they were not going to get out of this. Inside they were thrown down in the middle of a concrete floor. Overhead they saw what looked like charms made from bones and feathers dangling from the rafters. A circle of men moved in to surround them. One, his shirt off and his torso tattooed with a mixture of ancient symbols, was obviously the jefe.*
He looked intently from Gael to Salvador and back, staring deeply into their eyes. His gaze was ice cold. They were transfixed and neither moved, or even breathed.
At last he looked up.
"Who brings this one?" he said pointing a long finger at Gael.
"I bring him," said one of the two, a bruise purpling his left eye and scratches on his throat, "I have brought him and his life is now yours."
"His life is mine, and I give it back to you."
It sounded like a ritual. The other boy moved toward Salvador.
"Farewell, Chava," Gael said in a whisper, just as the boy drug him out of the circle.
"Ah, his chava," Salvador heard the voice in his ear from the boy who had his arms wrapped around him, holding him so he couldn't move. "Well now you get to watch your novio suffer."
Salvador bucked against the arms holding him.
"Shhhh. Just watch. This will be you and me tomorrow, chava."
The boy who had jumped Gael had a knife out. Two others held Gael on his feet. He struggled half-heartedly.
"Prepare him," said the jefe.
As the boy came toward him with the knife, Gael struggled wildly. The jefe hit him hard across the face, stunning him.
"Quiet, puto. Andres is going to tear out your life and wear your skin. And then he will be fully one of us. We are going to feast on what miserable muscle you have on your bones. Your hands and your feet, your head and your shriveled little polla we will leave for your jefe to find, so he knows who is the real jefe." *
The boy used the knife to cut off Gael's shirt, his shorts. Bit by bit, his smooth, muscled body was revealed. As Salvador saw the body of his friend for the last time, he felt his cock growing hard. It was something he had always managed to hide from Gael, but he couldn't hide it from the boy who held him now. The boy had one arm through his tied arms behind his back, the other reached around and a hand squeezed his cock through his tented shorts.
"Oooh, so you like this," a low voice said in his ear, "Why don't I help you enjoy it? It gets much better."
Salvador bucked against the boy but he managed to hold on to Salvador and his stiffening cock.
Gael was spread-eagled on the ground now. Four boys holding his naked body to the concrete.
"Gael?"
"Yeah?"
"What do you think they're gonna do to us?"
The two boys, both in their early 20's had their wrists tied tight behind their backs. They sat on a concrete floor against the wall in an empty basement room. A boarded up window gave little light.
"I don't like to think about it."
"Chingame," said Salvador, "fuck me."
"They probably will, Chava, and that'll be the easy part,"*Gael said staring at his shoes.
Chava was a nickname for Salvador, but it was also a name a boyfriend called his girl. Salvador liked when Gael called him that. Gael was stronger than Salvador, and a year older. They had grown up together in a town far from Ciudad Juarez and decided as boys they would go "norte." Back then that meant Chicago or New York. Getting rich in the States.*
They never got further than Juarez. Gael found a way to make some money, easy and quick. Salvador followed him, as Salvador always had. Soon, like so many boys just out of their teens, they were working for the cartel. They never left Juarez. Now they never would.
"We knew this was possible," Gael looked up at the ceiling. He couldn't look at Salvador, "Sorry. I really hoped it'd end up with us each owning a mansion and a black Mercedes."
"At least you got to drive one." It sounded like Salvador choked back a sob.
"Once," said Gael trying to get the picture out of his mind. He had driven the jefe to an execution. Nine guys. His age. And he had watched them one by one get thrown down in the dust in the light from the headlights while two guys held them down and another sawed their heads off with a knife. They died slow. Pleading and screaming and whimpering and gurgling. He had been proud that night, watching those enemies die. Now friends of those enemies had him. The only hope he had left was to die better.
Voices sounded outside, excited. Feet crunched on the gravel outside the window. The door opened upstairs.
"Shit I wish I had a hit of something to make this easier," said Gael, "Anything."
Of course their enemies had everything they'd been carrying. His first exchange on his own and he'd been set up. Nothing big. He'd asked to take Salvador along as his partner. It should have been easy and home. But they were jumped from behind. They both had bruises from the fight. Strange, there were others there who just stood and watched until the two guys who jumped them had them beaten and groggy. Then they were thrown in the back of a van. They didn't know where they were. But they knew what was about to happen. And Gael knew Salvador's death would be his fault.*
The door opened and a group of guys came in. In the middle were the two, faces bruised and smiling. They looked about Gael and Salvador's age. Not new recruits, but young enough to still be finding a place.
"jefe wants you," said one, "It's time."
They were drug up the stairs and across the compound to an old barn-like building. They struggled a bit just to make it more difficult for their captors. But they both knew they were not going to get out of this. Inside they were thrown down in the middle of a concrete floor. Overhead they saw what looked like charms made from bones and feathers dangling from the rafters. A circle of men moved in to surround them. One, his shirt off and his torso tattooed with a mixture of ancient symbols, was obviously the jefe.*
He looked intently from Gael to Salvador and back, staring deeply into their eyes. His gaze was ice cold. They were transfixed and neither moved, or even breathed.
At last he looked up.
"Who brings this one?" he said pointing a long finger at Gael.
"I bring him," said one of the two, a bruise purpling his left eye and scratches on his throat, "I have brought him and his life is now yours."
"His life is mine, and I give it back to you."
It sounded like a ritual. The other boy moved toward Salvador.
"Farewell, Chava," Gael said in a whisper, just as the boy drug him out of the circle.
"Ah, his chava," Salvador heard the voice in his ear from the boy who had his arms wrapped around him, holding him so he couldn't move. "Well now you get to watch your novio suffer."
Salvador bucked against the arms holding him.
"Shhhh. Just watch. This will be you and me tomorrow, chava."
The boy who had jumped Gael had a knife out. Two others held Gael on his feet. He struggled half-heartedly.
"Prepare him," said the jefe.
As the boy came toward him with the knife, Gael struggled wildly. The jefe hit him hard across the face, stunning him.
"Quiet, puto. Andres is going to tear out your life and wear your skin. And then he will be fully one of us. We are going to feast on what miserable muscle you have on your bones. Your hands and your feet, your head and your shriveled little polla we will leave for your jefe to find, so he knows who is the real jefe." *
The boy used the knife to cut off Gael's shirt, his shorts. Bit by bit, his smooth, muscled body was revealed. As Salvador saw the body of his friend for the last time, he felt his cock growing hard. It was something he had always managed to hide from Gael, but he couldn't hide it from the boy who held him now. The boy had one arm through his tied arms behind his back, the other reached around and a hand squeezed his cock through his tented shorts.
"Oooh, so you like this," a low voice said in his ear, "Why don't I help you enjoy it? It gets much better."
Salvador bucked against the boy but he managed to hold on to Salvador and his stiffening cock.
Gael was spread-eagled on the ground now. Four boys holding his naked body to the concrete.
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