GBL 1/GBL 1.iso/gay_text/thief.txt

Text File | 1992-10-15 | 14.3 KB | 296 lines

                          THIEF!
.
.
     I was digging a posthole 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 kid who lived several miles down the
road, but I could never prove it.
     This kid was skinhead trash. Rode an unmuffled
motorcycle, had a Mohawk haircut, 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. He usually wore a tank-top shirt and had a tattoo of a
knife dripping blood on his right bicep. 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
a figure appeared. It was the kid alright, carrying away
my power drill, a coil of new clothesline, my pour spout
oil can, a length of syphon hose and various other things
which I had on my work bench.
     I waited til he passed then jumped out and collared
him. "Whatcha got, boy?"
     The kid was surprised. He turned and tried to punch
me in the stomach 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 when discharged
from the service, I earned a few bucks in semi-profesional
wrestling. I awaited the boys 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
could have easily broken his wrist. I didn't. The boy
struggled furiously 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.
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, the boy was brought to his feet. His
shakey 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 little 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 and a half can of
black paint. A paint brush hung from a pegboard hook. I
took all three, 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 SLIMEY HUNK
OF HORSE SHIT. I'M GOING TO GET YOU FOR THIS."
     The more I looked at this yelling little 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 screaming, "YOU MOTHER-FUCKING, BUTT
FUCKING, COCKSUCKER."
     Something snapped inside of me. This kid had to be
taught some respect and manners and I was going to be
the teacher. Helplessly bound, he still continued to
scream every obscenity. I was going to break this wild
mustang so he showed some politeness.
     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. I left his shorts in place.
I stepped back and walked a slow circle, looking at his
body. The boy, sensing he was going to be stripped nude,
interjected with, "DON'T YOU DARE PULL MY SHORTS DOWN."
Behind his macho punk facade, I think he was very modest.
I felt he could take quite a bit of roughing up, but the
thought of someone stripping him naked 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 jock elastic on either side of hips and
yanked down his shorts exposing a limp uncut dick. Getting
my hand in his crotch, I squeezed his balls.
The boy let out a yelp. "STOP IT!"
     "You going to tell me now?"
     "YOU GODDAM 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. I struck him across
the face again and again until his cheeks glowed. The boy
caved in and started to bawl. I found myself
hyperventilating from my anger.
     I took the water bucket and dashed a splash in his
face to wash away his tears and the snot which was running
from his nose. "You smart assed little bastard," I
said. "I know you and your gang have gone to town to
beat up black people and break Jews windows and now I know
you've ripped me off. No telling how many other
neighbors." I slapped him again.
     "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. "How does it feel to have someone pick on you for a
change?"
     The boy hung his head and sobbed.
     I stood behind him, taking a hold of his balls and
prick. "NO!" said the boy with a whimper and a squirm.
"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 cheesey. The little pig didn't bathe either. The aroma
was too much. I soaked a rag in the bucket of water and
roughly washed his tip, using pressure to wipe the smegma
away. His peter started to rise, growing to full mast. It
was a little on the short side but very hard.
     "Well, it's macho-man with a small dick," I chided.
I"ve seen mice with larger peckers than yours.
      His face reddened with embarrassment. He kept
squirming as I bore the rag in and around his piss hole.
     "Please! Stop! Oh, please stop."
     "I'm just getting started," I said. And you're going
to learn to say that word "please" alot more before I'm
finished with you. Want that face slapped some more?"
      I redipped the rag, walked behind him and
spread his butt. I pushed the cold wet rag into his
crack scrubbing furiously, goosing him as deep as I
could.. He squirmed and flexed tightly.
     "Now you have some clean play parts, boy."
     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 change they WOULD have been
killed by this little sewer rat. I had this little
bastard where I wanted him. I was going to violate him
every way I could.
     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 that tiny dick of yours only has a
puff of air. I'm going to pump your peter raw in finding
out. Now, Goddammit, show me some cum."
     I pumped him furiously, the boy squirmed, struggling
with his bonds. His dick grew harder and started to throb.
The head turned purple and looked like it was going to
split. Spewed by a mighty contraction, his wad blew forth,
landing six feet away. He looked about confused and
bewildered. What had I done to him? I had played with his
most personal private parts and forced him to give his
sperm. He cried in humiliation. I smiled with
satisfaction.
     "Well Mr. Skinhead has had his peter pulled. What did
that garbage mouth of yours call me earlier...a
cocksucker? 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. I grabbed his balls.
An unvoluntary cry came from his lips as another load
slowly worked up his dick spurting into my mouth. I
stood up, spit it on his chest, and watched it run down
his bare skin. I looked at his weasel face and Mohawk
haircut. I was full of hate.
     His pants were still around his ankles. I stooped to
get them off. He tried to kick me.
     "That does it! Seems you're forgetting who is in
charge. Well, you're going to start remembering real
quick."
    I removed my leather belt, doubled it, dipped it
in the pail of water and went to his back side. I whacked
the wet leather against his bare cheeks. I kept whacking
him til his butt was red and he was yelling real loud.
     "What's that nice word you learned earlier?"
     "PLEASE!, PLEASE!"
     "Please stop. I'll do anything-Anything-ANYTHING."
     I had hit him pretty hard. Bet I even popped a few of
those pimples he had on his butt. I dashed his red cheeks
with cool well water. I don't know why I cooled him. It
was too humanitarian for this little jerk.
     "So you White Supremist, how does it feel to have
someone else in control?  How do you like it Mr.
Skinhead?"
     The punk hung his head, then docily lifted one leg,
then the other, allowing me to remove his shoes, pants and
shorts. Except for his pulled up tank-top shirt he was
naked.
     I hobbed tied his ankles. "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 play with my balls, pull my peter and whip
me," he sobbed.
     "Right, and I'm going to keep punishing you until you
learn your lesson in obedience."
My anger was returning. "You little......"
     I loosened the overhang rope and the boys arms
lowered to his sides. His hands were still tied in front
of him. " Now face me and drop to your knees."
     The boy followed my command. I dropped my pants and
aimed my erected cock at his face. "Suck it!."  The
skinhead started to sniffle. "Suck it," I said. "Hurry up!
You want your butt to start stinging again."
     Tears were in his eyes as he opened his mouth
and I slid my dick inside.
     "Now you keep running your tongue around and around
my tip and don't stop."
     I felt his tongues pleasures as he obeyed.
     "When I come, you swallow every drop."
     I grasped his head when I felt my cum rising. I
rammed my dick  back into his throat and shot my wad. The
boy pushed me away swallowing and gagging rolling on the
ground trying to vomit.
     Long from being a tough, smart-assed skinhead, he
now begged for me to stop.
"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 get down on your
knees and put your head on the ground. The skinhead,
shaking with fear, meekly obeyed. I put my fingers in
the axle grease I had brought and lubed his asshole. I
dropped my pants and greased my own hard dick.
Unceremoniously I put it against its mark and pushed. His
asshole 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. This would smart for awhile.
Might be good for him. Every time he took a shit his
memory would be refreshed. I blew my wad and withdrew. I
ordered him to stay on all fours and not move. I stood
back and just stared at his ugly pimply butt.
     I reclaimed the pour spot 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."
      "Your getting one anyway. While I'm running water up
your ass, your going to tell me all you swiped and you're
going to return it all to me. I know what's missing and
the water is going to keep running 'til all is accounted
for.
     I shoved the tube up his bent over butt, held the
pour can. Tipping it, I started pouring water down the
tube. The punk was soon babbling out a large inventory as
the water ran up 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. I topped him off with
another half a can.
     "Shit here and I'll rub your face in it."
     When I was satisfied, I removed the tube. The kid
stood up and started dancing around. His cheeks were
really flexed tight. He really had to shit. He was crying
again. I scooped up his clothes and handed them to him and
cut the tether rope from his ankles.
     "Now run."
     He sped down the pathway, didn't get very far before
he let out a big spray. He ran a little further, squatted
and sprayed again. I guess he shit all of the way home.
     The next day I found all of my missing tools on my
porch. Shortly after, I heard he had moved to the city to
live with his sister. Heard he had grown a regular head of
hair and was back in school getting good grades. Maybe one
day I'll get a thank you letter from him for teaching him
right.
     The black paint and paint brush I brought down from
the took shed? Well, he was such a radical against blacks,
I was going to paint his balls and pecker black, but I
think he had learned enough of a lesson.
.
                         THE END