Thief No More

Luis Adam Bree

Forum Regular
Joined
Oct 31, 2016
Messages
138
Location
London England
I was digging a post-hole down in the pasture and thought I saw something moving out of the corner of my eye up by my tool shed.
I had been ripped off many times. I think I knew who was doing it … the 'kids' who lived several miles down the road, but I could never prove it. I call 'em 'kids', but they're twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two year old overgrown brats that act worse than kids. Some were even older.
These 'kids' were skin-head trash. Rode unmuffled motorcycles, had Mohawk haircuts, bullied younger kids and went out and shot up the wildlife in the area, killing squirrels, birds and anything else just for the hell of it. The worst one usually wore a tank-top shirt and had a tattoo of a knife dripping blood on his right biceps. I am tolerant of most people but hate prevailed whenever I saw this 'kid'.
Someone was definitely on my property. The only way they could have gotten in was up the back trail through the forest area. I worked my way around to the back trail, hid in the undergrowth and waited. It wasn't long before the figure appeared. It was the oldest punk all right, carrying away my power drill, a coil of new clothesline, my pour-spout oil can, a loop of barbed wire, a length of siphon hose and various other things which I had on my work bench.
I waited until he passed then jumped out and collared him.
"Whatcha got, boy?"
The 'kid' was surprised. He turned and tried to punch me in the belly and get away. I tripped him sending him spilling on the dirt. He uprighted himself looking at me in a springing position.
"You son-of-a-bitch," he growled.
He had a knife in his hand.
Automatically I took a defensive stance and awaited his attack. Being attacked by a knife bearing person wasn't exactly new to me. I had spent four years in the Army Special Services with hours of training on how to fend off attackers. I also wish to mention I'm a big guy -- six-five, two hundred fifty pounds of solid muscle. -- and when discharged from the service, I earned a few bucks in semi-professional wrestling.
I awaited his attack.
The 'boy' sprung wielding the knife in the air. Really, this was the most amateurish way to effectively use a knife. My arm shot up, caught the knife hand and twisted until the 'boy' cried out in pain and the fingers let go.
I easily broke his wrist. The 'boy' struggled furiously even so and tried to kick me in the nuts.
I started to get pissed. I picked him up over my head and gave him a body slam to the ground, something I hadn't done since I was in the ring. I had knocked out his wind and probably broke a couple ribs in the process.
The 'boy' was stunned. Retrieving his knife, I cut a piece of the clothesline and tied his hands in front of him. There was an oak tree nearby with a protruding limb. I tossed the rest of the rope over the limb, dragged him over and attached the new rope to his already bound hands.
Hauling on the rope, I brought the 'boy' to his feet. His shaky legs supported some of him and the tree rope that had his arms stretched over his head was supporting the rest.
I have never been so angry. The over-grown bastard had tried to kill me. I glared at his stunned body.
I went to the well which was just alongside the tool shed and drew a large bucket of cold water. I don't know why I went in the tool shed but I did. I looked around. On the workbench was a can of axle grease. I took it, gathered the bucket of water and returned to the tree.
The 'boy' was still groggy. I took the bucket and pitched a portion of the cold water on his face. The 'boy' sputtered and shook his head. Getting his senses back, there was fire in his eyes.
"You big turd. You slimy hunk of horse shit. I'm going to get you for this."
The more I looked at this yelling weasel, the angrier I got. I laid a quick moving hand across his face returning with a hard backhand.
The 'boy' shook his head only slightly phased, and screamed,
"You mother-fucking, butt-fucking cock-sucker."
Something snapped inside of me. Those last words.
"You've got two of them right," I growled.
The 'boy' stopped, wishing he could take those last words back. He couldn't and he knew he was helplessly bound. Still he continued screaming every obscenity, straining at his bonds.
This wild mustang needed breaking and I was going to have the satisfaction of doing it.
I approached him and undid his belt. Unbuttoning his fly. His pants dropped to his ankles. I rolled his tank top shirt above his tits. His underpants stayed up.
I stepped back and walked a slow circle looking at his body. The 'boy', knowing his underpants would soon be dropped continued to scream profanities interjected with,
"Don't you dare."
Behind his macho punk facade, I think he was overly modest. The roughing up he thought he could take, but to have his pants dropped exposing his dick and ass was something he couldn't handle.
"Now, Mister Little Tough Guy, you're going to give me a list of everything you've ripped off at my place, aren't you?"
"Go to hell, you son-of-a- bitch."
I grabbed the elastic on either side of hips and yanked down his shorts exposing a rather long, limp, uncut dick.
Getting my hand in his crotch I squeezed his balls -- not too hard this first time. The 'boy' squirmed from side to side trying to get away from my grip.
"You going to tell me now?"
"YOU GOD-DAMN PERVERT, NO!"
I did a second take at this little scummy son-of-a-bitch and my hatred of him increased. I was going to close that garbage mouth of his and show him some humility.
I struck him across the face again and again until his cheeks glowed and I found myself hyperventilating.
The 'boy' caved in and started to cry. I let him bawl as I cooled off. I was going to make him shed some more of his punkish arrogance.
I took the water bucket and dashed another splash in his face to wash away the tears and the snot which was running from his nose.
You smart assed little bastard, I thought. I know you and your gang have gone to town to beat up Blacks and break Jews' windows and now I know you've ripped me off. No telling how many other neighbors.
I started slapping his face again. The 'kid' bawled louder starting to go into hysteria. I splashed some more water.
"Please, no more," he sobbed.
"You've never obeyed anyone, you little fart. All you've done is hurt. Right now you're going to get a cram course in respect."
I laid another hard hand across his cheek.
"Yes, Sir", was his docile sobbing reply.
In fact, he reminded me somewhat of a little girl!
"Call me Master."
"Yes, Master," the 'boy' said in a subdued whisper.
The 'boy' hung his head and sobbed.
I stood behind him taking a hold of his balls and prick.
With a whimper and a squirm, the 'boy' said,
"No!"
"Yes," I replied, fondling and squeezing.
I slipped back his foreskin. An aroma of smegma filled the air. I looked at his tip. It was white and cheesy.
The little pig didn't bathe either. The aroma was too much so I soaked a rag in the bucket of water and started wiping the smegma away.
His erection started. It grew to full mast presenting a fairly long dick but not extra fat.
The 'boy' seemed extra sensitive to my touch and to his modesty and kept squirming as I bore the rag in and around his piss hole.
"Please! Stop! I can't stand it!"
"Want that face slapped some more?"
"No, Master."
I continued my work.
"Probably your ass needs to be cleaned too."
I redipped the rag, walked behind him and spread his butt. Brown skid marks were inside his cheeks around his ass-hole. I pushed the cold wet rag into his crack. He flexed tightly.
Young Mr. Macho was becoming less macho all of the time.
My anger still hadn't subsided. I reflected on the knife incident. I could have been killed. If it had been anyone else, there was a good chance he would have been killed by this little sewer rat.
Now I had this little bastard where I wanted him. I was enjoying dealing out his punishment by fucking up his head. Abusing him.
His cursing had stopped. He was pleading and groveling. I fondled his balls then grabbed his hard dick and started pumping.
"You're gonna lag boy."
"Lag?"
"Gonna see how far you can shoot your filthy load.
"I really should cut off your balls so you can't come any more. We don't need a bunch of new little sewer rats running around.
"Maybe you've only got a puff of air. If you don't come I'm going to pump your peter raw in trying
"Now, God-damn-it, give me your wad."
The 'boy' was squirming, struggling with his bonds. He couldn't control the tense feeling. His dick grew harder and started to throb. The head turned purple and looked like it was going to split.
His wad blew forth, landing six feet away, spewed by a mighty contraction. He looked about confused and bewildered.
He started to snivel. I had really violated him. I smiled with satisfaction.
"Well Mr. Skin-head has had his peter pulled.
"What did that garbage mouth of yours call me earlier … a cock- sucker?
"Right!. Let's see if you've got a few drops still left in you."
I put his cock into my mouth and rapidly tongued the tip. It again rose to explosive tightness.
The 'kid' was wiggling his hips attempting to draw away, trying to expel my fast flicking tongue to no avail. An involuntary cry came from his lips as another load slowly worked up through his dick spurting out of his cock into my mouth.
I stood up and spit it on his chest and watched it run down his bare skin. I looked at his weasel face and Mohawk haircut.
I hated him.
His pants were still around his ankles. I wanted them off. I stooped down to lift his foot.
He tried to kick me. I stood up and struck him across the face.
"That does it. Seems you're forgetting who is your Master. Well, you're going to start remembering real quick."
I removed my leather belt, doubled it and dipped it in the pail of water and went to his back side. I whacked the wet leather against his bare cheeks.
"Who is your Master?"
"You are!"
I laid another one on him.
"What do you call me?"
"Master!"
I kept whacking him till his butt was red and he was pleading for me to stop, promising he would obey me and do anything I wished.
He was crying real loud,
"Please stop. I'll do anything -- Anything -- Anything."
I dashed his glowing cheeks with some of the well water to cool them off. I think my belt popped a few pimples on his cheeks -- there were puffy red holes in his skin like I'd used the buckle on his butt, but I hadn't, so pimples must have been it..
I don't know why I cooled his butt. It was too humanitarian for this little jerk.
I did need to do something to keep him from kicking again, so I picked up the knife and placed the tip to the inside of his right thigh.
His face showed fear, and rightly so. I plunged the knife into his leg, twisted and neatly severed his femoral nerve.
He screamed … more an animal wail … and his leg went into spasms until the nerve was completely cut.
Quickly pulling the knife free, I shoved it into his left thigh and repeated the process of ensuring that this 'kid' would never ride a bicycle again.
Two thin rivulets of blood ran down his legs, slowing eventually to a mere ooze.
"So you White Supremacist, how does it feel to have someone in control of you?
"You are my scum. I am your Master.
"How do you like it Mr. Skin-head?"
The punk hung his head. I lifted each of his now useless legs and removed his shoes, pants and shorts.
Except for his pulled up tank-top shirt he was now naked.
"I'm going to cut you down. If you fail to follow my instructions I'll hoist you up and start all over again.
"Now you repeat to me what I'll do.
"You'll cut me again, hurt my balls, pull my peter and whip me, Master."
"Right, and low-life scum like you have got to be kept in their place."
My anger was returning.
"You little…."
I loosened the overhang rope the 'boy' collapsed on the ground. His hands were still tied in front of him.
"Now face me and raise yourself up on your hands."
The 'boy' had trouble but followed my command. I dropped my pants and aimed my erected cock at his face.
"Suck it!."
The skin-head started to sniffle.
"Suck it," I said. "Hurry up! You want something else cut on you again?."
Tears were in his eyes as he opened his mouth and I slid my dick inside. He was learning humility.
"Now you keep running your tongue around and around my tip and don't stop."
I felt his tongue's pleasures as he obeyed.
"When I come, you swallow every drop."
I grasped his head when I felt my cum rising. I knew I was going to shoot so I rammed my dick way back into his throat and shot my wad.
The 'boy' pushed me away swallowing and gagging then rolled on the ground trying to vomit.
Long from being a tough, smart-assed skin-head, he now begged for me to stop violating him.
"Let me go," he pleaded. "I'll be a good boy."
A good boy?? This was one tough 'kid' who was broken down to saying he would be a 'good boy'. He was trembling, but I was not done.
"So, you hate Jews.
"Moses parted the ocean. I can't do that but I can part your butt. Now roll over on your stomach."
The skin-head, shaking with fright, meekly obeyed.
I spread his useless legs apart and then put my fingers in the axle grease I had brought and lubed his ass-hole. I dropped my pants and greased my own hard dick.
Unceremoniously, I put it against its mark and pushed.
His ass-hole stayed shut. I tried again. I slipped in enough to get a lock-in then I shoved harder. My dick slid all of the way.
The 'boy' screamed and clawed the ground.
I had probably stretched him so far that I had created a fissure or two. That was going to be the least of his problems.
I shot my wad and withdrew. I ordered him to stay and not move. I pulled back and just stared at his pimply cheeks with a crack up the middle.
I reclaimed the pour-spout can and the rubber hose he had swiped. I filled the pour-spout can with well water and greased up one end of the hose.
"I'm going to give you a hosing, boy."
"Oh please. Oh please don't. Don't do anything more to me.
"Don't give me an enema. I promise to be good. I won't steal from you any more."
"Well, you're getting one anyway. While I'm running water up your ass you're going to tell me all you swiped.
"I know what's missing and the water is going to keep running till all is accounted for."
I ran the tube up his butt, took the pour-can and started water running down the tube.
The punk was soon babbling out a large inventory as the water ran into his ass filling his gut. He even mentioned some things I hadn't missed.
"I'm full. I have to shit. I can't hold it any longer. Oh, God, Please!"
I figured he could hold more and topped him off with a couple more cups.
"Shit here and I'll rub your face in it."
When I was satisfied, I removed the tube.
The 'kid' laid there with his cheeks really clenched tight. He really had to shit. He was crying again.
I looked around and finally found a new-fallen branch, just the right size. His sweat streaked face followed every move as I wrapped a few feet of stolen barbed wire around one end.
"Since you wanted all this stuff so bad I think it's the least I can do to let you have it. -- At least one more time," I snarled.
Smearing some more grease on the business end, I placed it against his tightly clenched hole and shoved.
He screamed a high, keening howl of pain as the wire cut into the tender tissues of his ass, making long ragged tears along the whole length of his rectum.
When it bottomed out, I gave him two savage twists and yanked about four inches out of him. Pieces of his rectal tissue, blood, shit and water spewed out of his ass.
I plunged it into him again, this time pushing past the normal obstruction and deep into his belly.
I left him there, wrists bound, doubled over and his useless legs flailing, with the branch still up his ass. I gathered my things and went back home.
A day later I went back and found him there, not far from where I'd left him. A pool of blood had spilled from his ass onto the ground under him. Most however showed that it had collected in his distended belly.
This was one punk that would never bother anyone again.
The shallow grave I dug for him was later joined by those for his two younger brothers -- nineteen and twenty-one according to their driver's licenses. But that is a different story….
 
You have a great sadistic and erotic imagination as well as an ability to write well using our joint language. I always enjoy reading your offerings on this site and I suspect I am not unique in this.
Thanks for posting.
And I anticipate reading how the two younger brothers meet their ends. Please!
 
sounds like you treated that boy real merciful by giving him the mercy of death, figure he would have made a fine convict slave for that cowboy.
 
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