The next morning, we talked. It was slow going, because he had to try and dance around whatever was blocking his tongue, and he also didn’t quite have the mental sharpness he’d had before all of this, but I got a better sense of what was going on. It was clear that there were details he couldn’t reveal, but something was indeed happening to him, and it was something relating to college, or someone at college. He told me that I had to promise him, that no matter what happened, I’d take him back to college on the first day of school, at the end of August. We marked the day on the calendar, and I told him I would do as he asked. He seemed relieved, but he was also…still scared, for some reason. It seemed like he was scared of me, or maybe he was just scared of the entire situation. Still, it was only a couple of months–whatever this was, it was strange as hell, but I told him we would get through it together.
But he kept getting worse and worse, as the next few weeks passed by. I would give him lists of tasks to do around the place, like usual, but he wouldn’t follow them–I’d get home and find him masturbating in a puddle of his own piss, or worse, he’d have disappeared. Those were the worst feelings, when I discovered he’d run off. I knew where he’d gone, of course–always the rest area a few miles down the road to suck cock–but every time he went missing, some icy hand gripped my heart. I was afraid that I might lose him. For a few days, I agonized over the possibility that I was falling in love the the lug, but that wasn’t how it felt–it felt more like I’d misplaced something of value–an object, not a person. Was Brock just a thing to me? That should have worried me more at the time, but if anything I felt relieved that I could keep an emotional distance. Still, it was clear that I couldn’t afford to leave Brock alone anymore, for his own safety, of course, and so I told the foreman that I had a friend of mine staying with me, and asked if he could work on the project for a month or so for a bit of cash. We didn’t really need another worker, but he owed me a favor–so Brock started coming with me each day I went to work–but that…well, maybe if I hadn’t, Brock would still be Brock, but I’m past regrets now. I can’t change what I did, so why worry about it?
Like I said earlier, I worked in heavy machinery, so I spent most of the day sitting in the cab of a backhoe. Brock, on the other hand, was going to be a grunt–fetching and carrying and that sort of stuff. For a few days, it all worked out fine, or at least, it seemed to be working fine, until I noticed that I wasn’t seeing much of Brock out and about the construction site. I watched closely the next day, saw the foreman–Aaron–call Brock into the trailer early, and neither of them came out for hours. That icy hand on my heart–it went from fear straight to jealousy. I busted in there and found Brock on his knees in front of my boss, sucking him off, and I was so fucking furious that this fucker was using my fucking property without even asking my permission–I don’t know what the fuck came over me, but I fucking howled at them, tore Brock away, and tackled Aaron to the ground, beat him and rolled him over, fucking his ass raw. Brock tried to crawl away in fear, but I ordered him to just stare at the wall until I figure out what to do with him, and he did, shaking and quivering, but unable to resist the command. When Aaron finally broke down and shot a load onto the floor of the trailer, I pulled out, dragged Brock outside, bent him over a sawhorse in front of everyone on the crew, and fucked him too.
“This thing is mine, you fucking hear me?” I screamed at them, spittle flying, “You wanna use him? You fucking ask. But he’s mine–anyone tries and take him from me–go see what shape Aaron is in, and think fucking twice.”
We left that evening, and I knew I was going to be in deep shit when Aaron got his act together and called the police, but I didn’t care. Brock was trying to talk to me, trying to apologize, trying to tell me that he couldn’t help it, but I didn’t want to hear any of that. I hauled him inside my trailer, made him face the wall and whipped him with my belt for his fucking uselessness, and then fucked his ass again. He couldn’t look me in the eye for the rest of the night–he was terrified of me, but his cock was rock hard all the same. Good, I thought. Let him be scared, and let him be horny. Those two feelings should be married in his fucking idiot head–but mostly fear, He should be fucking scared of me, they all should. If they feared me, then they’d respect me, and my property.
In my head, I knew it should be the other way around–that he should scare me. Fuck, he was six foot four, and probably close to 300 pounds at that point, most of it bulk. He could have beat me easily in a straight fight, but he’d never do that. I could tell, somehow, that he would never be able to hurt me. Sure, I could tell him to hurt someone, if I wanted to, but I owned him, and he knew it. Still, I was waiting for the knock on the door, for one of the deputies to ask about how I’d assaulted and raped Aaron earlier that day–but no one came. The next day, I thought about not going to the site…but I couldn’t let myself appear that weak, right? So I got Brock ready for work and we drove over–a bit late, in fact–and discovered the entire crew just standing around, looking nervous and unsure of themselves. None of them could look me in the eye, and Aaron was nowhere to be seen.
Bracken's Corner 