Still, Brock came over a lot, after I bailed him out. I certainly didn’t mind the company, but it was also awkward. I’d try to bring up the sex but he’d end up shutting down the conversation or simply leaving, and so I left it. I also tried to discuss these…changes, or whatever was happening to him, but he clammed up even more whenever that subject came up. I didn’t know what to do about any of it, but I also got the sense that Brock had no clue either–but it was quickly becoming obvious that someone needed to do something, or else Brock was going to end up in jail again, and I didn’t think my uncle was going to be very lenient the next time. But Brock was growing bigger–not simply taller, but every time I saw him he looked to have packed on another two or three pounds of muscle as well. He was constantly horny as well–and whenever he was over at my place he’d start jacking off, staring at me the entire time. I’d tell him to stop, and he would–but I could see how frustrated he was getting, and he’d run off again–but the only place he could go for sex now that he was banned from Hobo’s, the bar, was probably one of the rest areas on the highway. I tried to convince myself it wasn’t my problem, but I was worried about him all the same, and when he showed up on my steps and told me he’d gotten kicked out of his parent’s house…I told him he’d be staying with me. He looked relieved in some ways, but terrified in others, but I needed to keep an eye on him–someone had to, after all.
Still, those first few days living with me–it was a bit of a nightmare. I came home from work and discovered the place was a filthy mess, with Brock at the center of it. He’d lost all sense of hygiene and decorum, so badly that he hadn’t even bothered using the toilet to piss–he’d just done it in a corner of the kitchen. I was fucking furious, of course, and so I’d forced him to clean it all up, and while he was resistant…he obeyed everything I told him to do without question or pushback, and telling him what to do…it felt fucking amazing. Seeing him on his knees cleaning the floor–I spent that whole evening ordering him around. I expected him to hate it, or to yell at me, but he just seemed…resigned, and when I told him to massage my feet, and then to suck my cock…
I tried to tell myself I was just trying to help him get back on his feet. Something was wrong in his life, obviously–probably something with his parents–and I just needed to give him some order and structure to help him get his life back on track. I would give him long lists of tasks to finish while I was at work–usually enough to keep him busy all day, but sometimes I’d still come home to a mess, and make him clean that up too. He…seemed to enjoy those moments, when he’d failed, knowing I’d be pissed at him. I started to wonder if I needed to bring him with me to work somehow, just to keep a better eye on him.
After a week of this, I got a phone call I hadn’t been expecting–it was from my uncle. Apparently, Brock’s parents had called the day before, and reported Brock missing–he’d gone out one day, and simply hadn’t returned home. Because of his erratic behavior, they’d assumed he’d come back, but he hadn’t–my uncle asked if I’d seen him. I told him that Brock was with me, and had been living with me since leaving his parents, but had told me he’d been kicked out. My uncle hadn’t cared for the details–since Brock was an adult, he could live wherever he wanted, and he said he’d talk to Brock’s folks about the issue. I, however, was going to have to have a talk with Brock. I ordered him to sit down, and started yelling at him.
“Why the fuck did you lie to me about your fucking parents?”
He didn’t answer right away, but his face got really red. “Because…My dad. He figured it out, a bit. What he could make me do. But he’s…I couldn’t stay with him. You’re…I want to be with you, sir. I trust you’ll do the right things for me. That you’ll help me figure this out. Help me be…me again.”
“Figure out what? You won’t tell me what the fuck is wrong with you! I’m stuck wondering if I need to put you in diapers, since you seem intent on pissing all over the place. I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong and how I can help you fix this, because I’m not a miracle worker, Brock.”
He tried to speak, but the sounds he made…they didn’t sound human, somehow, like his mouth was fighting him. “I can’t sir! I can’t talk about it, but please. You’ll help me. I know you will sir, please. You’re…a good person, not like him. I just have to get through the summer, and get back, please don’t make me go back home, he’ll never let me back out of his sight.”
He got down and started rubbing his beard against my crotch, just the way I liked it. I…had enjoyed this, in some fucked up fashion. I fed him my cock, which he was obviously asking for, and told him I’d do my best–but I wasn’t prepared for Brock’s dad to come roaring up that night, and demand his son come home with him. I settled things quick, with a right hook I’ve always been known for, and sent him home with his tail between his legs, telling him that Brock was mine–and I fucked his hot ass that night, to prove it to both him…and to myself. It was the first time I’d fucked him, and while Brock had seemed hesitant to let me, he also didn’t say no when I told him to bend over the side of the bed–and from his deep moans and clutching of sheets, he certainly enjoyed himself plenty too.
Bracken's Corner 