Taste of Power

Taste of Power by: Krazytop ---

Part XXX

There are no lines between countries, as seen from outer space.

They say when people first see it—they realize all those definitions—are lines drawn in the sand.

And they break down.

A tiny, fragile world, hanging so small in the black.

Labels, categories, definitions—sand castles. Waiting to be washed away.

People tell themselves they are not animals.

They are not prideful lions. They are not muted dogs; nor are they barking. They have shame; they comprehend good and evil.

They eat apples and open boxes and are punished with the curse of knowing.

Though they know a lot less than they think they do.

By eschewing humanity, I became nothing, but inside nothing, I had a taste of everything.

The rudimentary definitions we fashion are chimeric recipes of what we think we know. You have some things in common with all things and some things out of common with all things. Wrestle with the sewing needle; connect the dots; scatter ingredients in: a quart of coins, a sprinkle of lion, a dash of dog. Split off a bit of cundango, crush up a bit of faggot, mix in some slave, drizzle some masterpiece on top, and add a hint of nothing.

And in that nothing--bake something.

I creep through the forest, leaves crackling underneath.

Zane had told me to come early.

I brush past the doghouse, feeling the icy grass slip between my toes with each step. I try the front door, finding it unlocked.

Zane and Eduardo sit on the couch, shying away from one another, clad in jockstraps. Eduardo looks relieved that I've arrived, while Zane is indifferent.

"On your knees," Zane says, not even looking my way.

I sink to my knees.

"Puta," Eduardo whispers.

"Lose your clothes and get over here," Zane says.

I shed my clothes and crawl over, pausing with my head between his legs. I crane my neck to look at him.

"What's that between cundango's legs?" Eduardo asks.

"A chastity cage," Zane says, kicking it hard enough to send a jolt of pain through my balls. "I locked it up it so it can't get hard and gross."

"Fuckin' sick, man. The cundango went along with that? Shit. Faggots let you do anything."

"No shit."

Zane pets my hair, then grips me by the neck. He swings my head around, bringing me close to his junk, laughing as I tighten up.

"You know your place, don't you cundango?"

"Yessir," I croak, my voice strained from the lingering pain.

"And where is it?"

"On my knees—between your legs, sir. Serving you."

"Eduardo wants a taste of those services. He misses those soft, wet, worshipful lips."

Zane tilts my head.

I wait, gazing into Zane's icy green eyes.

"Do you want to be his faggot?"

"No," I say, lowering my face to Zane's feet. "I want to be yours, sir." I plant a slow, wet kiss.

"But if I told you to do it?"

I suck on Zane's foot, pausing to answer. "I'd make myself do it, sir...even though I'd want to vomit...I'd make myself do it."

"Well, Lalo. I'm not going to make my bitch do something it doesn't want to. That would just be MEAN. And stupid. But you know I'm a gambling man, right?"

"Sure, Zane," Eduardo says, his hands getting clammy. "You have Big Bang Brothers?"

"Does this run-down concrete shack look like it has video games? Wrestling match. A kind of---win and in, for the tournament we will have once Calvin and the guest of honor arrive. If you win, you get to use my fag's mouth and take his spot in the tourney. But if I win--I get to fuck your ass, Lalo."

"What the fuck, Zane?" Eduardo asks. "No fuckin' way!"

"Don't think you can beat me?"

"I know I can't beat you, dawg."

"So then—wrestle Travis. Same wager."

"Travis? Fuck. No. I'm not wagering my ass..."

"You think you could lose to this?"

On cue, I tongue Zane's toes.

"Sick, dude..."

"So do we have a bet?"

"I could still lose..."

"To this piece of shit?"

"He beat me before, okay? He beat me lifting weights. He beat me last time we wrestled."

"Because you punched him in the face and Coach called off the match. If you want, we can allow punches. Fuck if I care."

"Not worth the risk, man," Eduardo shifts, brushing his own side.

"So what if we—tie Travis's hands behind his back?"

"Let me get this straight—I just have to beat up this FAGGOT--when he's all tied up—and then you'll make him suck me off?"

"Sure."

Zane grabs my wrists—my weight shifting into my face, smooshed against his feet. Then Zane ties them roughly behind my back, cutting off blood flow. He pulls me, trembling, to my feet.

"Go on, Eduardo. Knock yourself out."

There's a moment of near silence. Eduardo pauses, looking me up and down, as my heart pounds against my chest.

"You mean--knock out the fag," Eduardo spits, a smile spreading across his face. He bolts to his feet, swinging his fist.

I dodge in place, his arm zooming right past my ear.

Again, he thrusts his arm out, and I lean the other way, chuckling.

Then it stings like fire. Eduardo brings his knee up, connecting straight with my sore, stretched balls.

My mouth juts open, and I fall on my side, crumpling in the fetal position.

"The cundango's straining its cage," Zane says, lowering his voice. "God, if it weren't for that, my fag would be hard right now. Don't lose, coin. You don't want to choke on Eduardo's dick, do you? Taking care of his hardening, grimy dick, now that yours is out of service?"

Throbbing pain.

Memories swirl. Eduardo's piss filling my mouth, followed by his gross cum. Zane, making me gag on a dildo. I can't breathe—drowning, drowning in the black.

Next thing I know, I'm shaking, slithering in place, with Eduardo upon me.

"Squirmy little bitch."

Try as he might, he just can't seem to get a grip on me.

"All that practice getting tied up—it's paying off, isn't it, fag?" Zane says.

I wiggle in place, elbow connecting with Eduardo's gut.

He grunts, falling back to the side, before gasping. I see the look in his eyes. There I see the dawning comprehension...

The wind knocked out of him.

Desperately, I throw myself on him, digging my weight into him...

Eduardo...frozen...

The impossible hitting like in a wall of ice.

Zane reaches down, gripping Eduardo by the hair. "Did you just lose?"

Eduardo's eyes widen. "No," he murmurs. "Please man...no."

"Are you afraid of me, Lalo?" Zane says, tilting Eduardo's face toward his.

"Sh—should I be?"

"Of course not."

"So—you aren't going through with it, right? C'mon man, I just wanted some head..."

"You can still get what you want."

A look of relief falls over Eduardo's face.

Then, Zane flips Eduardo onto his stomach.

"Get him ready," he snarls, shoving my face into Lalo's ass.

I jut my tongue between his ass cheeks, my tongue making a clicking noise as I lap at his crack. I pierce his hole, swirling my tongue inside.

"A bet's a bet," Zane whispers, grabbing me by the hips and tossing me forward. Zane pushes Eduardo's face into my ass. "Return the favor, puta."

I crane my neck to see them.

Eduardo lies stunned in place.

Zane slides his jock down, the uncut head of his snake glinting, greasing the trench between Eduardo's peach-brown butt cheeks.

Eduardo squeaks, his head wriggling, and Zane shoves it deeper into my ass.

"Dumb fuck," Zane says. Then, with a slurp, his cock disappears up Eduardo's tight hole, inflating Lalo's little ass like a beach ball. Zane stretches and contorts it in his palm, chuckling. "Fuck," Zane says.

Eduardo chomps down on my ass, whimpering, as Zane thrusts again and again, taking his time to pound him into the floor.

Eduardo nibbles on my ass, his whimpers turning into meek, voiceless moans.

"Travis is my faggot, Eduardo. Best you get used to it. Next time you try to get involved in our little game, don't be surprised if you find yourself in this position again..."

Eduardo gurgles.

"What was that?"

Eduardo's groan is drowned by my ass.

Jesus. Who isn't going to end up bulldozed by Zane?

Hiro, I suppose, hadn't. I smirk. The weakest member of the team, somehow, resisted his corruption.

But not mine.

A priori.

Piaget read those words, slumping at a desk, pouring over Kant's work.

Inference. Close your eyes; look inside; see what's there.

Something to fall back on, when nothingness consumes you.

"Fag, get over here," Zane says.

With my arms tied, I have to squirm.

"Suck his dick."

"But--you said--"

Zane slaps my face. "I'm telling you to do something, faggot." While holding my skull in one hand, he reaches down and squeezes my balls with the other. "And you said you'd do what I tell you to do. Didn't you?"

"Yes—of course--Master."

Zane smirks, tossing me to the floor.

I burrow under Eduardo—his body eclipsing my view and quaking on top of me.

I explore with my lips, finding the crease in his abdominals, trailing to the base of his dick. After a smacking noise, he shifts, and I find myself inundated by his hairy balls. I drag my tongue across them; I make my way up the shaft of his dick; I slurp the head into my mouth.

The moment I do, it transforms like the Hulk, bursting at the seams of my lips.

A transformation I am painfully aware is out of the question for an imprisoned faggot like me.

"See—you still get your dick sucked," Zane says, as Eduardo's ass squelches around his cock. "Doesn't that feel good?"

"I—I—" Eduardo stutters.

Zane claps his mouth shut.

"If you want to keep this a secret—and future access to Travis's soft, wet fag lips—you'll do exactly as I say."

Eduardo lets out a little moan, and I know that he's lost.

A posteriori.

Experience.

Take something apart, put it back together.

Open your eyes, push a button, see what it does.

And, for the love of God, shuffle some pieces around.

After I swallow the brunt of Eduardo's cum—what doesn't glom to my throat at least—Zane makes me suck what I'd missed out of the carpet. In a trance, he guides me to the doghouse—where I lie, cuffed, caged, and collared.

A few minutes while away in dark silence.

I suppose Zane needs to speak with Eduardo about something. Tonight, maybe. Did he mean for Eduardo to be some kind of insurance policy?

The creaky door whines open and before my eyes make sense of it I feel the tug of the leash.

Zane pulls me flat on my stomach, and looms over me, pressing his bare foot into my face. I smell fresh dirt; I can feel it crushing up against my face. "I had some parting words for Eduardo, but it's just you and me for a while now."

I gaze up at what I can see between his toes. He sneers down at me, light slicing like daggers in his green eyes.

"Come along, Princess."

He tugs the leash again, walking me across the backyard, my heart racing. It feels like eternity.

I would worry the neighbors see...but at this point...

We make our way inside.

Zane sits back on the couch, flexing, sweat steaming off his body. He positions me between his legs, my chin resting on the couch cushion.

He slaps my face. "Stop thinking, faggot. That's not your job. My cock is still dirty. Where are you manners?"

I whimper, nuzzling into his balls.

"C'mon, bitch," Zane says, pulling on my hair.

I lap at the shaft of his cock, swirling my tongue, slurping up the shiny and grungy streaks.

"God," Zane says. "You'd rather it was your faggot ass I was fucking, right?"

I nod, planting a kiss to his balls.

"Get up here." He pulls me up by the hair, and I scramble up onto the couch, curling up. Zane pushes my face into his balls, blacking out my vision; I feel him grope my ass. His finger dances along the rim before sliding inside my hole with a little POP.

"MMph."

I push back up into him, sucking hard on his balls.

"Okay, puppy. We can't have Calvin and Chris seeing how far gone you are when they get here. Everything will fall apart too soon..."

"Rmmf."

"I'm going to take your leash off, and you are going to pretend to be a person for a while...okay?"

I nod, breathing deeply. Zane pulls me up to a sitting position, unlatching my collar, and dropping it on the floor next to the couch.

"It's better when you don't think too much. I mean--where did that ever get you?"

"Nowhere, sir."

"But I want you to understand something. Chris and Calvin—want to take you away from me."

I shake my head. "Why, sir?"

"Because they think they know what's best for you."

"You know what's best for me, Zane."

"I know. But people will stop at nothing to control each other. And they contrive self-serving morals in order to justify when it's allowed. I'm only one person--in a world against you."

"But you aren't just anyone," I say. I lean on him, and he wraps his arm around my shoulder, palming it. Slowly, he strokes my hair with his other hand.

I close my eyes, trying to catch my breath.

Zane tightens grips my head and tilts it toward him. "This seem--too sweet for us?"

I open my eyes, getting lost in the wicked glee sparkling in his eyes. I nod gently.

Without losing his gaze, I twist out of his grasp, kiss his shoulderblade, and prod my tongue into his armpit. Zane sighs. "You can't go three seconds without being a pathetic faggot."

I open my mouth wide and lick the length of his armpit, gulping down all the sweat that gathered there when he was pounding the hell out of Lalo.

Zane pushes my face roughly into his pit, smothering me in it. "I could get you to do anything, couldn't I?"

I nod, rolling my tongue around, clicking it, basking in the flavor. Zane tightens his grip on the back of my head, jutting his pectorals up, and smearing my face around.

"They'll stop trying to meddle soon enough. They'll come to understand...it's too late."

He's right, isn't he? He asked me to act like a person, and I lasted about a minute. I just can't do it anymore.

KNOCK, KNOCK KNOCK.

The door rattles, and I steal a glance at my collar.

"Not yet, faggot. Put on that jockstrap."

"But you said those are for men. Not fags."

"So...fucking MAKE-BELIEVE."

I scramble to put on the jockstrap, Zane's pit sweat still wet on my face, blasting me with his scent.

Zane slips his cock away and gets the door.

Calvin and Chris stand side by side in the doorway. They didn't come together—I can see each of their cars.

I wonder which one waited for the other?

Did Calvin sit in his car, brooding about what was going on inside the house, biding his time for Chris to come and be his personal amulet? Or was it the other way around?

Zane sits back down on the couch next to me, and I wait in place, keeping cool, doing my best impression of a man.

"Let's get this over with," Zane says.

Chris says nothing, looking me over.

Calvin gets out the cup of straws, trembling, but before he even gets to offering it to Zane and me, Calvin and Chris pick out the red ones.

"Go ahead, then," Zane says, sneering.

Calvin and Chris look into one another's eyes, nodding, steeling themselves.

Chris opens with a half-smile as he tugs off his clothes, till he's down to just his silk boxer briefs. Calvin's eyes flash as he strips down to his jock strap.

"Sorry I have to do this, Calvin," Chris says softly.

"Don't get ahead of yourself."

My heartbeat hastens as they prepare to wrestle.

This is it.

The last tournament.

It's almost nostalgic, right?

Part of me wonders if they'll abandon the game and attack Zane. They look over at him enough that I plan what I'll do when they strike...but it seems Calvin must have convinced Chris to play by the rules this time.

It's true that attacking Zane last time backfired.

But it's going to backfire no matter what they do.

I smirk, remembering when Calvin convinced me to come here for the first time and stand up for myself. Zane taught me to drink piss that night.

Everything backfires when facing Zane.

The only thing that doesn't backfire is giving up and being a faggot.

Calvin and Chris circle one another, flexing and feinting. A bit of fire has returned to Chris's eyes; Calvin trembles before puffing out a bit of air.

Zane tugs on me, pulling me into his lap. I feel his cock through his jock, prodding between my ass cheeks.

I crane my neck, looking quizzically into Zane's eyes. He leans in and bites my lip; then pulls back, raising his eyebrows. He threads his cock out of the pouch, poking at my ass.

I pull my ass cheeks apart, making space for it. I rise up till I feel it prodding my hole. I wiggle into place, my eyes lighting up once it hits the spot. I sink down, my ass swallowing up his thick, meaty cock in one fell swoop. My eyes roll back; my mouth hinges open.

I take Zane's cock for a ride as I watch Chris and Calvin grapple. For a moment, they are oblivious.

And then...

"What the fuck?" Calvin says, his voice breaking. "Shouldn't you wait for the outcome of the tournament?"

"Nah," Zane says, pushing me down by the shoulders.

"Let him go!" Calvin says, crawling toward us.

Chris grabs him by the ankle, pulling him back into the match. "There's no point," Chris says. "Can't you see he's brainwashed?"

"Screw that!" Calvin says, a tear rolling down his cheek. "SCREW THAT!"

"Listen to Chris, why don't you?" Zane says. "He's right about Travis."

"No he's not."

"You are my brainwashed faggot, aren't you bitch?"

I nod slowly, rising and falling.

Zane clamps the collar around my neck; I feel the leash stiffen.

Calvin goes red first, then white.

Zane tugs me around on the leash, covering my mouth with his palm. I lick him, before sucking his fingers into my mouth one by one, moaning.

"Show him," Zane says. "Show him your cage."

I pull down the front of my jockstrap, flipping out my useless, caged dick.

Chris holds Calvin back; wrapping his arms around him, pushing him into the floor.

I don't think Calvin even realizes he lost, his face ghost-white, his knuckles clenched. He's so distracted; the match totally escapes him.

In a sense, it's his most dignified loss yet. He isn't exactly present in the game, and as such, his excuse is built-in.

It isn't weakness that does him in.

It's expectation.

He thinks I am more than I am.

Didn't I say, Calvin?

Never overestimate me.

"Get him off the leash," Calvin says softly, his voice quavering.

"You lost," Zane says. "Do you understand, Calvin? Your last, pitiful attempt at chivalry—didn't even reach me. And it sure as hell didn't reach my faggot."

"I don't care. Get him off the leash!"

"Take the leash off," Chris booms. "It's you and me now. Win, and you can put it on me."

"It's not Chris and Zane," Calvin hisses. "It's Zane and Travis first."

"This bullshit again?" Zane says, pulling me back by the hair, making me look at my old best friend. "Bark for your old friend, puppy. Let him know that Travis is gone."

"RRuf," I whimper. "RRrruf!"

"Good puppy," Zane says, muzzling my mouth with his palm. "Calvin's trying to get between us. But I won't let that happen. I won't let them—take you away."

Chris walks over to us, unbuckling the collar. It unclenches my neck, falling to the floor. "Calvin's right," Chris says, his half-smile playing in the light. "You should have to get through Travis before you can get to me. It's only fair."

"Do we really have to go through this shit again?" Zane asks. He pushes me off of him, his cock coming out with another pop, dumping me in an empty heap on the floor.

I hear Zane tuck his cock away in his jockstrap.

"Faggot pussy position."

I bow between his legs, pressing my face into the ground and jutting my stretched ass into the air.

I look up, and Zane glares down at me. "Remember what happened last time we wrestled?"

I tremble. "Yes," I say, my voice soft and high.

"It was a JOKE. Do we need to go through that again?"

"No Zane," I whimper.

"RESIGN."

I kiss his foot. "I resign, Zane."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a faggot."

"Utterly inferior to me? A complete—nothing?"

"Yes," I croak, slurping on his foot. "Yes, yes, yes."

Zane sneers, humming an assent, before turning and pulling my face into his ass. "To a fucked up mind like yours, I'm sure flaunting your downfall—is fucking delicious."

--- Feedback keeps me in the mood to write and brainstorm and is always appreciated. :) email: krazytop@gmail.com tumblr: krazytop.tumblr.com