Luis Adam Bree
Forum Regular
"What the fuck?!! Stop it!!! Now!!!"
AKA drew back a fist and banged the policeman upside the head.
Hard!
Young Landon grunted, but not so much in pain as in protest.
AKA banged the side of the young man's head a second time.
The angry, muffled protest continued.
As did the pushing, tearing action of the steel-manacled hands buried
deep in AKA's groin.
There was nothing else for it. AKA was forced to pull out.
He tugged the furiously gripping fingers away from his privates and
scrambled up above the cuff-locked arms. Then, with all the force he could
muster, he sat down on the bare bony center of Keith Landon's awkwardly flexed
upper-back.
Gag or no gag, the heavy gush of weight-expelled breath actually stirred
the dense mix of pine-needles layering the ground in front of the young cop's
face.
AKA rose and fell a second time.
Even harder than before.
More breath burst from the violently compressed lungs.
AKA reached around and clamped his right hand over the hot, hissing nose
and sock-filled mouth. Then, placing his left hand on the bone-hard, fever-wet
forehead, he jerked the young cop's head up and then back as far as he could.
Panicked twisting and wrenching immediately ensued, but AKA held on,
determined to drive his message home. The message? You fuck with me and I'll
make things even worse for you than they were, you asshole!
The policeman's legs and feet thumped and scrabbled in the rich,
autumn-soft earth behind them.
AKA reared back.
The neck was actually in danger of snapping now, but AKA didn't care.
I should break your fucking neck! he thought.
The radically thrashing legs became, if anything, even more hysterical
in their useless, flailing, toe-scraping motion.
AKA slowly began to rock the distressed body below him.
Up and down.
Up and down.
As if Keith Landon were some stunted, torso-constricted rocking horse.
Ride 'em, cowboy! Take two!
AKA began to rock faster.
Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.
The frantic features of the face in his hand suddenly ceased to work.
The wrenching, back-bent torso suddenly ceased to wrench.
The hysterically thrashing legs and feet suddenly ceased to thrash.
Still AKA rocked, his head lifted high, staring straight up into and
then through the moon-silvered branches of the stiff, high-towering pines above.
Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.
Stars peppered the black canopy of the world.
They were so beautiful.
Truly beautiful.
AKA's cum, when it came, flew up and out across the dark back of the
young policeman's tightly-held head.
Splat!
Except there was no sound.
Not really.
Just the soft rhythmic crunching of Keith Landon's muscle-taut belly
against the thickly cushioned, autumn-cool forest floor.
Up and down.
Up and down.
Up and . . . .
When AKA let go, the face flopped forward--thunk!--into the mat of
pine-needles.
AKA banged the side of the inert head one last time. Just for good
measure. Then got off.
Well, that wasn't quite the pleasure he had anticipated, but it had been
an interesting turn of events even so. It would count. But once again, the
point was proved. You could never predict how THE GAME would actually go.
AKA pulled up his pants, then re-hooked and zipped them.
The car hummed in the distance.
AKA took a deep breath. He was at last beginning to feel tired. Really
tired. He wasn't as young as he used to be. That was one thing. But it had
also been a while since he had pulled an all-nighter like this.
What the hell! When he got home, he could just load Jorge back into the
freezer and then deal with him anytime. The painters weren't going to go
rummaging through tightly wrapped packages in a nice man's freezer.
The end-game really was in sight now.
Just those two things left to do--not counting the quick burial--and
homeward he could go.
Those two things, unfortunately, required going back to the car.
But, fortunately, even with the ground-covering struggle Landon had put
up, the car wasn't that far away.
AKA wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, turned, and retraced
his steps. Or, to be more precise, followed the trail he had made earlier when
he dragged the unconscious cop's body to the quiet spot between the two pine
trees.
He found what he wanted fairly quickly and then made his way back to
where he had left young Landon, face-down, hardly breathing, out-cold yet again.
Out-cold yet again?
AKA had been sure of it.
But if young Landon had been out-cold, he had recovered consciousness in
what had to be record time.
Because he was not where AKA had left him.
Worse.
He was not to be seen at all.
AKA turned this way, then that way.
Nothing. Not a sound.
What the fuck now?!!!
AKA squatted and examined the mat of pine-needles.
It was hard to tell anything, even in the ever-increasing pre-dawn
moonlight.
It looked like the kid might have gone that way.
Maybe.
AKA stood and moved a few feet in the direction.
There was sudden crunch and snap behind him.
He turned.
And saw the naked, punch-drunk figure of the policeman weaving its way
as straight as it could manage through the intermittent bars of moonlight back
toward AKA's car. Dizziness was clearly interfering with the effort to make a
direct beeline, but the kid was clearly going to make it to the car before AKA
could reach him. There was no doubt about that.
Shit fucking shit!!! AKA exclaimed to himself.
And dashed after.
AKA had left the car door open. Why not? . No one else was around,
and, besides, the interior light was always kept switched. But what this meant
was that the kid wouldn't have to struggle to get it. Another advantage he had.
The question was, when he got in, would he be able to close the door, then
locate and press the door-locks before AKA could stop him? If AKA wasn't able
to prevent that, would he then get behind the wheel and somehow try to drive the
thing away? Could he do that? But how could he do that, handcuffed behind his
back the way he was?
A surreal scenario in which all of those things nonetheless happened
galloped across AKA's madly racing brain.
Keith Landon only had a few feet to go when he slipped once, then again,
then lost his balance, tilted, spun about, and tumbled to the side.
He hit the earth with a noisy whop!, strained to right himself, failed,
then painfully, slowly, rolled over onto his back.
By then, of course, AKA had reached him.
AKA drew back a fist and banged the policeman upside the head.
Hard!
Young Landon grunted, but not so much in pain as in protest.
AKA banged the side of the young man's head a second time.
The angry, muffled protest continued.
As did the pushing, tearing action of the steel-manacled hands buried
deep in AKA's groin.
There was nothing else for it. AKA was forced to pull out.
He tugged the furiously gripping fingers away from his privates and
scrambled up above the cuff-locked arms. Then, with all the force he could
muster, he sat down on the bare bony center of Keith Landon's awkwardly flexed
upper-back.
Gag or no gag, the heavy gush of weight-expelled breath actually stirred
the dense mix of pine-needles layering the ground in front of the young cop's
face.
AKA rose and fell a second time.
Even harder than before.
More breath burst from the violently compressed lungs.
AKA reached around and clamped his right hand over the hot, hissing nose
and sock-filled mouth. Then, placing his left hand on the bone-hard, fever-wet
forehead, he jerked the young cop's head up and then back as far as he could.
Panicked twisting and wrenching immediately ensued, but AKA held on,
determined to drive his message home. The message? You fuck with me and I'll
make things even worse for you than they were, you asshole!
The policeman's legs and feet thumped and scrabbled in the rich,
autumn-soft earth behind them.
AKA reared back.
The neck was actually in danger of snapping now, but AKA didn't care.
I should break your fucking neck! he thought.
The radically thrashing legs became, if anything, even more hysterical
in their useless, flailing, toe-scraping motion.
AKA slowly began to rock the distressed body below him.
Up and down.
Up and down.
As if Keith Landon were some stunted, torso-constricted rocking horse.
Ride 'em, cowboy! Take two!
AKA began to rock faster.
Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.
The frantic features of the face in his hand suddenly ceased to work.
The wrenching, back-bent torso suddenly ceased to wrench.
The hysterically thrashing legs and feet suddenly ceased to thrash.
Still AKA rocked, his head lifted high, staring straight up into and
then through the moon-silvered branches of the stiff, high-towering pines above.
Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.
Stars peppered the black canopy of the world.
They were so beautiful.
Truly beautiful.
AKA's cum, when it came, flew up and out across the dark back of the
young policeman's tightly-held head.
Splat!
Except there was no sound.
Not really.
Just the soft rhythmic crunching of Keith Landon's muscle-taut belly
against the thickly cushioned, autumn-cool forest floor.
Up and down.
Up and down.
Up and . . . .
When AKA let go, the face flopped forward--thunk!--into the mat of
pine-needles.
AKA banged the side of the inert head one last time. Just for good
measure. Then got off.
Well, that wasn't quite the pleasure he had anticipated, but it had been
an interesting turn of events even so. It would count. But once again, the
point was proved. You could never predict how THE GAME would actually go.
AKA pulled up his pants, then re-hooked and zipped them.
The car hummed in the distance.
AKA took a deep breath. He was at last beginning to feel tired. Really
tired. He wasn't as young as he used to be. That was one thing. But it had
also been a while since he had pulled an all-nighter like this.
What the hell! When he got home, he could just load Jorge back into the
freezer and then deal with him anytime. The painters weren't going to go
rummaging through tightly wrapped packages in a nice man's freezer.
The end-game really was in sight now.
Just those two things left to do--not counting the quick burial--and
homeward he could go.
Those two things, unfortunately, required going back to the car.
But, fortunately, even with the ground-covering struggle Landon had put
up, the car wasn't that far away.
AKA wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, turned, and retraced
his steps. Or, to be more precise, followed the trail he had made earlier when
he dragged the unconscious cop's body to the quiet spot between the two pine
trees.
He found what he wanted fairly quickly and then made his way back to
where he had left young Landon, face-down, hardly breathing, out-cold yet again.
Out-cold yet again?
AKA had been sure of it.
But if young Landon had been out-cold, he had recovered consciousness in
what had to be record time.
Because he was not where AKA had left him.
Worse.
He was not to be seen at all.
AKA turned this way, then that way.
Nothing. Not a sound.
What the fuck now?!!!
AKA squatted and examined the mat of pine-needles.
It was hard to tell anything, even in the ever-increasing pre-dawn
moonlight.
It looked like the kid might have gone that way.
Maybe.
AKA stood and moved a few feet in the direction.
There was sudden crunch and snap behind him.
He turned.
And saw the naked, punch-drunk figure of the policeman weaving its way
as straight as it could manage through the intermittent bars of moonlight back
toward AKA's car. Dizziness was clearly interfering with the effort to make a
direct beeline, but the kid was clearly going to make it to the car before AKA
could reach him. There was no doubt about that.
Shit fucking shit!!! AKA exclaimed to himself.
And dashed after.
AKA had left the car door open. Why not? . No one else was around,
and, besides, the interior light was always kept switched. But what this meant
was that the kid wouldn't have to struggle to get it. Another advantage he had.
The question was, when he got in, would he be able to close the door, then
locate and press the door-locks before AKA could stop him? If AKA wasn't able
to prevent that, would he then get behind the wheel and somehow try to drive the
thing away? Could he do that? But how could he do that, handcuffed behind his
back the way he was?
A surreal scenario in which all of those things nonetheless happened
galloped across AKA's madly racing brain.
Keith Landon only had a few feet to go when he slipped once, then again,
then lost his balance, tilted, spun about, and tumbled to the side.
He hit the earth with a noisy whop!, strained to right himself, failed,
then painfully, slowly, rolled over onto his back.
By then, of course, AKA had reached him.
