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On Duty 3
By Emile 2011
Usual Caveats apply.
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He sat sprawled in his throne like chair, powerful thighs spread wide between his splayed knees so his fat skin cigar could swing freely between his legs. The cocaine cowboy's cock had tamed many men before, his three best traits being fighting, fucking over and fucking. He ran the cartel with an iron fist and an iron hard dick, and every man feared his sadistic lust if they crossed him. It was unseasonably warm in the tropical heat, but the windows were open, the air humid and still, just the way he liked it, slouching naked it made his dick tingle and his muscles glisten with sweat. In his villa, in his light cotton clothes and constant air con, he was suave and sophisticated, a purring companion to his elegant society wife. But he was a drug lord, and 'at work' his persona changed to the slick hypermasculine panther that currently waited patiently for its next victim to come across his path.
The guards pushed Pedro into the room. He was still wearing the army gear they'd dressed him in, although the singlet was smeared with blood from the battering they'd given him, and the pants torn from being dragged across the ground. His dog tags had been torn from his neck, and he feared for his family if they found them. His mission, he was told, was to distract the drug lord while they raided an outlying farm, as they were building up a case to incriminate him. They told Pedro they didn't trust a dumbfuck like him with subterfuge, so he would go in exactly as he seemed, a stupid gaucho grunt that had wandered into the wrong territory. He'd be questioned a while, but since he didn't know anything there was no risk, just a distraction. They'd take care of the rest, they said.
The drug lord's cock lurched when he saw Pedro, not just because he was young and muscular, but that he was an army boy, poor and scared, just as he liked them. And he could see the fear in Pedro's eyes as he got his first glimpse of the man's mythic cock, long and fat, arching from the thick root out, curving down from its own weight, the hooded plum head grazing the side of his knee. It was a fucking monster of the deep, the thick serpentine shaft twitching as the blood began draining into the meaty vessel. The thin halo of hair he kept trimmed around his cockroot, barely a cuntlick more than Pedro's own smooth tackle, made the prong seem even more menacing, and as Pedro was pushed to his knees in front of it, he gave the long snake a coaking rub, clutching it lightly around the corona until a bead of precum welled at the head of the retracting foreskin. His cock was legendary, once it began rising, it was inexorable, a fat leaking tower that would keep going, ever drooling, until it came in copious spurts, sometimes hours after it first began to rise. Hours of attention he demanded, of sloppy cock worship.
He'd once decided to punish fuck a thieving young captain in his squad, his own 20 year old cousin, just by raping his mouth. They'd hog tied the guy and he had slowly and methodically fed him his shaft until his lips were stretched wide, and dickdrool leaked down his throat. And then he'd fucked his throat, slow and steady, for hours, until his stomach was so clogged with goop that he couldn't swallow any more, and every forward thrust made him choke, the dickleak oozing out the sides, and every withdrawal made him gasp a cummy breath. He was so stuffed with cockjuice he begged though his clogged throat for anything else, even anal rape, just to survive, but the punishment was relentless, the crescendo a fountain of cum so thick and endless that he blacked out before it had finished squirting. The kid had to be hospitalised, he couldn't even eat without gagging after that, and had cockrape nightmares daily. He was a fucked out mess after just one taste.
But he had far more exotic tastes than that, and when the two guards ripped away Pedro's flimsy covering, revealing his own aching bald and ringed heavily dangling dick, and swinging cuffed balls, he began to get other ideas. It wasn't just that Pedro's swollen uncut dork was a smaller version of his own, or that his body looked primed for abuse, or even the thrill of knowing the terror in those deep brown eyes if he even nudged the blunt head against Pedro's precious chute, it was the knowledge Pedro had been planted there (since he was no fool), and that the hunky latino cadet would have no choice but to do whatever he demanded, however filthy, in order to fulfil his 'mission'. Eventually he would get that out of him, but for now, he just wondered how far he could push him.
"Down" he ordered, and the two guards pushed Pedro on the small of his back, spreading his knees apart. It made his cockhead slap against the tiles and fat ballbag swing wildly. Kicking his thighs wider, they made him assume a demeaning stance, melon arse up and cock down, and crawl towards their boss. Pedro's engorged cockhead was swollen and weighed down by the homing beacon they'd sutured into the underside of his meatus, a location they'd chosen so the fresh stitches would be hidden by the flap of his foreskin, and to stop him jacking off, and for the fun of fucking with him. Pedro didn't know it, but even if he made it back from the mission alive, and the wound had healed and not festered, they had no intention of removing it - making pushing his already blunt wide head into his blushing bride's snatch an even harder and more painful task for both of them. The general wanted it so that even with his shaft quivering and pulsing for attention, he would never be able to jam it into his wife and get the pleasure of a fuck again. But for now, the homing beacon was serving other purposes - the first being its obvious military task, the second was to weight down the cockhead terribly, and make it drag behind him on the ground like a slug, even leaving its own slug trail of leaky prefuck behind him. He approached the drug lord in that aching fuck-me pose that the General had him practice many times before, face up to the sneering swarthy man above.
His domineering cock, now at half mast, hovered in front of Pedro's face, the eye visibly pulsing. A pearl of prefuck, thick and juicy, oozed out of the dicklips and dangled down, eventually splattering on Pedro's face. To be accurate, it was more of a string of cocklube - the path laid, more cockjuice flowed down, turning the spatter into a small lake that sat on his cheek, welling up and dripping down like a tear onto Pedro's outthrust chest. "Has he been fucked before?" the boss asked, and before Pedro could stammer a reply, one of the bashers that had dragged him in stepped forward, thrusting two fingers harshly into his arsetrench. The force made him lurch forward with a grunt, the cocksap now leaking into his hair. "Yes boss" he confirmed, kneeding with his fingers brutally. A third finger joined the other two, stretching out his arsepucker wildly, and Pedro gaped in pain. "He will be tight for you, boss, but he is loose enough for many men..." the guerilla reported, enjoying mauling the arsepucker roughly as he spoke. The boss smiled, and leaned down, his face hovering above his own cock, only inches from Pedro's own. "Ah my young soldier, then you are in for a special treat tonight. It has been a long while since I have fucked, I ruin arseholes so easily. .."
He stood up, coaxing Pedro to his feet, forcing the man behind him to hastily disengage from his arse. The boss stood much taller than him, his face at his chest height, but still the boss managed to tuck his meaty arm under Pedro's armpit and pull him close to his own hairy flesh. Their cocks grazed, the air thick with sexual anticipation. "I'm not to be disturbed for five hours, I have a mood for a good hard fuck. Do you think you gauchos can manage that? Good." Effortlessly, still hugging Pedro's hard body against his own, he led the muscular prisoner away, to do his duty...
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