Reunions (Part 4)
[Pictured: Uncle Mitch training his nephew in the garage.]
A few miles away from the family compound, Brent finally spoke up.
“What did they do to you?”
“They didn’t do anythin’ to me. I did it to myself.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Fuck you, you…you know what Brent? Fuck you. You don’t want anyone to be happy, and you can’t be happy for anyone. You’re such a whiny fuckin’ faggot.”
“Then why in the fuck did you come get me! I didn’t want to fucking come anyway.”
“Cause we’re family—”
“We aren’t fucking family, you just…I mean, you can’t just, make up family.”
“I’m not making it up, fucker. Yer such an asshole, you know that?”
Brent sulked for a moment, still clutching his bag and not at all sure what he was going to do now. They drove down the gravel drive and Aaron parked next to the trucks already there, and Brent saw Jed and Butch were hanging out, watching people arrive.
“Hey Jed! How’s it hangin’ man?” Aaron shouted as he stepped out of the truck, and Brent looked back in time to see Aaron grab his uncle’s crotch in one hand, shove their big bellies together and lock lips, and he looked on, horrified. Jed was caught completely off guard, but he didn’t push Aaron away—in fact he blushed, and leaned in a bit, so that when Aaron pulled back abruptly Jed fell forward a step to keep his balance and licked his lips.
“Brent, get the fuck out of the truck, come over here and say hello to your uncle.”
Brent was frozen now. He couldn’t get out there, he didn’t know what was going on, he just wanted to go home. Aaron waited a moment for him, and then tromped around the truck, opened the passenger door and dragged him out onto the ground. “Ya little shithead, show some fuckin’ respect for family for once in your goddamn life.”
“Aww, leave the faggot alone,” Jed said, coming around to Aaron and giving his belly a rub, “He just doesn’t get it, and he never will. Now come on Aaron, how about you and I…you know…”
“Latter Jed, promise, but I gotta get this fucker situated before he runs off and hides in the barn like usual.”
Aaron dragged him and his bag over to the pasture proper, Aaron explaining along the way that Trent and him had decided it was high time that Brent joined the rest of the Taylor men, and quit sleeping with the boys like a damn coward. Brent asked if he was going to be sleeping with Aaron, and he laughed. Aaron was bunking with Brent’s dad in the farmhouse—Brent was going to be sleeping with Mitch—his second or third cousin twice removed, who Brent met shortly, a short, thin and very musky redneck at least fifteen years his senior, already reeking of whisky, and he pulled Brent into an uncomfortable hug which lasted several beats too long. Brent immediately decided he would never be sleeping here, even if that meant he stayed awake all week long.
Unlike previous years, the reunion hit full capacity early—the pasture seething with barechested, heavy gutted men by the first day. It was a particularly hot summer, the stench of redneck was overwhelming, but every time Brent tried to worm away from the throng, Aaron was there dragging him back into the thick of it. He fought him at first, but after a particularly fierce backhand broke his nose and left him streaming blood all over his shirt, he relented—allowing Aaron to ply him with other things instead. Against his will, Aaron and three other cousins forced him into a kegstand—he wound up blackout drunk, and woke in his tent in the early morning, wrapped in the arms of Mitch, the older man’s hard cock leaking against Brent’s bare leg, his ass raw and aching. This did not disturb him. For a moment, he pushed back into the smell of his cousin, until he woke up and realized what must have happened.
Disgusted and terrified, he struggled out of Mitch’s grasp and scrambled out into the camp, totally naked, and found himself surrounded by the sounds of sex in every direction. Aaron was up and waiting for him, also naked, hard and starring Brent down across the camp, but he made no effort to approach him—he only wanted to remind him who was really in change here. Brent looked down and realized he was hard too—and still quite drunk from the evening, and he wrapped his hand around the shaft, Aaron grinning at him.
The terror and panic overwhelmed him again. He spun and raced out of the camp, unable to let go of his cock, away from Aaron, hearing men surge out of their tents after him, his old friend leading the charge, and they caught hold of him before he could reach the wooded edge of the clearing, dragging him back, kicking and shouting and screaming and dumping him at Aaron’s feet.
“Please—please stop, why are you doing this to me?”
“Shut the fuck up, faggot, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“With me? What about all of you? You’ve all gone insane!”
Aaron bent down and picked the struggling Brent up under the armpits, kicking and writhing, and pulled him into a tight hug.
“I love you, you stupid faggot, I fuckin’ love you to shit,” Aaron said in his ear, and then started kissing Brent, sucking on his unwilling face, and Brent felt that same sloth he’d felt in the tent. He was still drunk, he was tired and exhausted, and Aaron was warm and sweaty, almost the same temperature as the night air, and he was hard and horny, grinding his cock into Aaron’s gut mindlessly now, kissing back, when without warning Aaron dropped him to the ground.
“Better. Now how about you and Mitch finish getting acquainted? I think he’s going to have to keep you on a shorter lead though, since you have a tendency to run off.”
Brent got up, wiping Aaron’s slobber from his face and tromped off. He knew where to go, but had no idea where he was going. The men watched him round the farmhouse and head towards the side door of the garage, and they all returned to their earlier fucking, now simply coalescing into a large orgy at the center of the pasture, Aaron in the center, his cock buried down Jed’s throat.
As soon as the door shut behind him, Brent felt his mind clear. He turned to leave, to run as far away as he could but a leather hood came down over his entire face, blinding him. He struggled with his attacker, hearing Mitch laugh as he dragged him into the middle of the garage. sawhorses had become slings, wrenches and hammers were now paddles and dildos. “Gonna break you in real good, yeah,” Mitch panted, “Gonna break you in piggy, gonna make me a hot fuckin’ piggy by the end of the week, yeah…”
His mind was clouded again. He fought against it, but he couldn’t get enough air in through the small holes near his nose. The collar Mick forced onto him, while only supple leather, was so heavy Brent collapsed to his knees, and when Mick tugged the leash he felt compelled to crawl after him. A zipper releasing his mouth, something pressed to his lips—something gritty, the toe of a boot. Lick the boot, lick it all, lick it for Aaron, for Mitch, for Dad lick it, lick it good like a good little piggy…
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