O’Melissokomos
The Bee Keeper

Children of the Sun (mm nc mc anal bond fant rape)

by Wolfpek and Pete

It was the shorts, ultimately, that were his undoing. Can you see them, my brother? That gray flannel material often worn in gyms stretched so tightly of those high pert glutes. That rivulet of sweat that grows just so above the crack? These images you see, I know, are as clear as memories to you, who share my very self. You have seen him, before. You know this one and have looked into his thoughts as I have done.

He is cruel and cocky and extraordinarily vain. Hatred swims through every self-absorbed pore neck and neck with lust for the women he has abused. There have been some nights spent amusing himself by driving around looking for fags to bash. He is the type best left alone. But there were the shorts.

I was cleaning up in the gym area when he came in to shoot a few hoops. He has not bothered with any other clothing, not even socks, just the shorts and crosstrainers.

Shirtless, we see he is surprisingly hairless despite his pure Sicilian ancestry. The narcissistic bastard devoted all his time to maintaining a perfect body with exercise and rigorous diet. At all times, each perfectly trained muscle, sleek and spare, is coiled with seething, kinetic tension waiting to spring upon anyone foolish enough to challenge his inviolate masculinity. He is fast, mean and tightly wound as a starving panther. He was already pissed off, having struck out with a cool blonde nurse last night, and every perfectly defined muscle is quickly covered with a light sheen of sweat and testosterone.

I shouldn't have, but you, who share my heart, know I was unable to help myself. I just couldn't take my eyes off of those shorts. These are not designed to be provocative, They are simple, standard issue, gray sweat shorts, but on him they are more intoxicating than if he had been wearing a thong.. The humble gray material strains to cover the thick basket, and the pert high curve of his melon ass, which juts out abruptly, a solid bubble, from his surprisingly thin waist. Only the prominent apex of the curve, keeps the stretched fabric from hugging the lower curve back to the ripe thigh. Instead it shades those bulging muscles like a cafe curtain. I long to see that lower curve, yet where the fabric pulls taught over those full ripe mounds, I am mesmerized by the play of muscles rubbing underneath the soft gray flannel stained by rivulets of sweat. My reverie is shattered by the most damaging weapon in his limited linguistic arsenal.

"Faggot!" The basketball slams into my forehead with speed, even you would find impressive. My round wire frames shatter across the room. "You lookin at my ass FAGGOT?!"

I stammer, well-played fear. "Nuh... no..."

You wonder why I don't use my powers to defend myself. I want him to enjoy my fear, to build up, really enjoy his superiority. The usual tough guy challenge and posturing ensues. He asks a few rhetorical questions, to which no answer is possible that will save me from an ass kicking. I fuel his anger, by playing the sniveling wimp that most disgusts him.

"You a faggot? Faggot. I'm gonna fuckin' kill you, faggot..."

And he nearly does. This is what you do not understand. Why do I let him? Through the blood trickling in my eyes, I can see him. I can feel the heat of his rage, like sitting too close to fire. I feed on his hate. I want to absorb it, so I can give to back to him completely. He is raw power. He is an animal. He is... delicious.

I manage to roll under a bleacher to avoid the reign of blows. He starts to follow, but his train of rage is cut short by a silvery cool voice.

"Am I interrupting something?"

The unattainable nurse is at the door. I must admit she is icily stunning. A tall Scandinavian type blonde, skirt just short enough, without seeming trashy. Silk blouse subtly drawing his eye, just as required.

"I'm sorry I was a little cold last night" She releases the first few buttons and licks her lips. "I've been thinking about you all day..."

He looks at me/her, at first, in disbelief, and then a sneering smile grows across his stubbled face. Of course she wanted him. Kicking the shit out of some faggot made him hard anyway.

Forgetting where I was, he swaggers over to where I now am and, making sure to flex a bicep, raises an arm protectively over my cool blonde head and leans close, teasingly into my borrowed face. This one doesn't waste time with courtship formalities, and neither does my nurse character. I invite him back to my place. At least he offers to change, but "Inga" won't hear of it, I like him just as he is.

You know where I have taken him, well not exactly where it is. But you have seen my little "atelier." You know what I keep there. You know what I do there. To his eyes, it looks like a tasteful, if spare apartment. I have thrown in a few Laura Ashley patterns, and stuffed animals. It's what he expects from "chicks." His cock is now thinking for him, and it does not notice that we seem to arrive in no time at all, or wonder how we even got there. Already I have taken hold of a part of his mind.

Eager, he wants to lose the shorts right away, but "Inga" wants to play a game. He is game for this game and happily raises those massive arms to be bound above his head. To him, the energy rays that tighten around his wrists feel like silk scarves.

Join me now, brother, as I step back to admire my work, the hunky fly that has stepped into my parlor. Do you see him there? The bound stud, his weight resting on one lean hip, like a classical statue. Sebastian sans the arrows... for now. Sweat still running in small tears down that flawless torso.

I have a feather. It traces along his square jaw, down the neck, deep in between those over-defined man tits. A detour to torment those pointed wine red nipples and tickle the black hairs under his arms.. See? See how he shudders? And back down that same Andean valley past rows of rounded writhing abdominals, swirling in circles at the heaving belly button. His breath so deep now as I down the treasure trail to the waist band of those tenting shorts. He is ripe, now, for the plucking.

He can bear it now longer. He growls. He calls me "bitch."

I stand on tiptoe to meet his face. He leans into me. His kiss is hungry, needful and insistent. A starving beast, at once as spare, and lush as his baroque torso. He kisses me with the same mindless passion with which he beat me. He kisses me of his own free will. It is the last time he will do so. It is the last time he will know completely free will.

Our loving exchange allows me, like a fisted virus, to grab hold of his cerebral cortex, and override his will, implanting my own. I love what happens now... now... when he pulls back and sees... me.

I am clouded to you brother, it must be so, for I fear you may try something... unwise. But I am not bad you know. Rather hot, in fact. I too have beautifully defined abs, full pecs, and a pleasingly V-shaped torso. Apart from my pale blond head and pubes, I am hairless. My features are sharp, blue eyes, slightly slanted. I am, well, a cute well-built guy, but not massive and head turning, as is my prey. But I am not so unappealing as to earn the look of revulsion that inhabits his masculine visage. In fact I think we look good together. He yanks desperately at the silk scarves to discover, the crackling bonds of lightning that unnecessarily bind his thick forearms so invitingly above his struggling torso. I am again greeted with a torrent of "faggots" and threats on my life, but this time, not followed by fists.

I grab his dick, as tightly as I hold his mind. I am rewarded with a grimace, and what feels like a steel baseball bat that reacts to my impulses now. He is beginning to understand. I feast on that torso for a while, eating away at the ticklish hairs under his arms. You know this is not my goal. I slither around and begin with the base of his neck just below the buzzed stubble that would have been a hairline, and follow that long inviting road of wriggling spine to what I really want.

Do you see my other self? Do you see how from this angle those flawless mounds look like gray covered hills? I kiss down the small of his back, curving down from those huge delts tapering to the tiny waist, and down where mouth meets flannel. This fabric is slightly water resistant so my saliva does not saturate. I taste dirt and sweat and poly blend. I bite into a flannel-covered rock. The flesh is incredibly firm and resistant, like a nearly ripe apple. I have to bite hard to grab a hold of the unyielding muscle. He growls in pain. As you know, most of my victims are weeping in fear or shame at a point like this. All that comes from our new friend is defiance and hatred. He will be a favorite.

I am now the ravening beast. I want to devour every inch of this pert, dimpled hardness. I squeeze possessively with both hands. I smack, my superpowers, now come into play, I stretch the fabric even more tightly. The sight of these perfect globes pushing against the over strained fabric is nearly unbearable. I reach in-between, pulling the thick cock out from the jockstrap and behind, so that I can see the best part of both sides. This hurts him. I like that.

I pull the shorts up for a one-sided wedgie and see the naked lower curve for the first time. It rides beautifully high and dimpled, an inverted shelf above the juicy thigh. One last all encompassing lick of the fabric, dark with my saliva, before yanking these beloved shorts away. I destroy the jock strap with one bite.

Look my brother, does not your mouth water with mine? He is frantic now within his bonds. Too much, I use my mind to control his motion. Something more undulating, I think... there. Do you see how I present it for you? Is it not perfect? Apple, melon, what is the right metaphor for this perfect round ripeness I display so enticingly for you? Words fail. Mine anyway. His come in a torrent of ragged obscenity.

"Shhh shh," I stroke the magnificent haunches gently, as if to calm a crazed stallion. "You will grow hoarse."

This only enrages him further. It is like music, as I fall again on that nude and helpless ass.

"You have been a very bad boy haven't you? I know who you have abused, bashed, and you must be punished" The olive skin turns red under the severe spanking I apply. The naked skin stretched taut over his ass feels so good under my avenging hand. He issues threats, but does not cry out.

Next I use my long, long tongue. I follow a line of sweat that slowly creeps to the top of the cleft and works into that musty brown pucker. Disturbing currents of pleasure rush into his blown mind, but he will not allow. He bellows and bucks. I answer by squeezing his dripping cock. I stand behind him and whisper into his ear, "You might grow used to this over time." I tease the hole with my own rigid member. I am thick there too and very long.

"I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU FUCKING FAGGOT!!"

I enter, just to the point where I knock at the interior sphincter. His mind is, at this point, an open book to us. He realizes how much such a thing can hurt. Do you feel him tighten in anticipation of the onslaught? They all make this mistake. It only hurts more.

I pull out, wait for a sigh of uncertain relief, and stab back in. My balls smash against the cliff wall of his ass. He tries to double over into a fetal position but is bound high. Alternating between his tits and cock, I keep all of his tender spots guessing, as I slam mercilessly into that sweet tight hole. The buzzed head falls forward, shocked into a swoon, and I release the energy bonds.

I am a jackhammer. I follow his limp form down and nail him flat into the floor. Telepathically-maneuvered hips rise to meet the assault. He groans as he returns to nightmarish consciousness. Our minds melded--yours, mine, and his--his cock responds as mine rigid and hard at the thought of his own rape he grinds it into the ground, and back up to present his ass. The sight of this ruined perfection before me brings us all to aching climax, and I feed him my super human seed in steaming spurts, as his own puddles on the ground beneath him, sticky, on the flat sweaty stomach.

I look at him there. That naked, ruined ass raised high just for me. I lie on top of him and whisper in his ear.

"Do you love me?"

"I will kill you, you fucking faggot"

"Good. I have taken your body, but you still hate me." I nibble his ear. "I have broken some of you too completely." My hand trails freely along his exposed ticklish side. "That will make fucking you so much better. Rest for a bit, then you may go. You will find you will know the way out, and back again, for when I want you... Your dick will tell you that."

I turn back, as if in afterthought, and grab the slightly longer hairs on the top of his head.

"When you come back, make sure you wear these." I stuff the filthy shorts in his mouth, and let his head drop heavily on the ground. "I have plans for your ass in these."

I smack the luscious upraised ass one more time. I chuckle and leave. Did you enjoy my little transmission? You are good at math brother, how many is it now? How many have I recruited in this fashion? My army is nearly complete now. Think of the power. Won't you join me?

Part 2

My brother, I worry about you so much that soon you will reveal far too much about us bring great danger upon the both of us. I have dedicated my life to the sheer pursuit of pleasure. I have no need to entrap these angry men. It is far too easy instead for me to bend the will of the weak and suggestible to my wishes.

I came here to boot camp to follow you, yes, but also to pursue my own uncontrollable desires for men. The first day here we were made to change out of our civilian clothes and shower up. How easy it was for me to enter the shower after my fellow battalion-mates who had already lathered up. There were about four of them, each more delicious than the next.

There was Joe, the tattooed biker, tough who had come here seeking some structure in his life. Daniel a young farm boy sent by his family in the hopes that he would make something of himself. Joshua, whose father and grandfather had served in the army, and Jamal, who came for the adventure. They had no idea the structure and adventures I have planned for them.

I strode into the shower displaying my muscular arms complete with a spiral tattoo that wraps around my left bicep (I know you've seen it in your dreams of my when you wake up panting covered in cum). My lean torso, my shaved balls that provide a throne for my bulbous relentless nine-inch cock. I tousled my short brown hair looked in each of their eyes quickly and simply stated, "Gentlemen attend."

The poor things, my brother. They were all on their knees feeling each other's dicks while staring at mine with such hunger. This is not the vicious brutality you show your victims, my brother. I simply open their minds to all the tasty possibilities I can avail to them. Jamal responded to my commands the most quickly and began to gently suck and then inhale my cock, while sweet Joshua surprised me by fingering and probing my ass. Joe and Daniel began to explore each other as Joe pinned the boy to the floor on his stomach and began playfully stroking his cock against Daniel's sweet hole. I was so engrossed with watching Joe's powerful hunger to fuck Daniel that I was stunned when I felt my brave Joshua thrust his young hard prick into my ass.

Brother, to awaken such desire in a young man is truly wonderful as Joshua began to thurst his burning hot cock in and out of me with same ferocity as Jamal began swallowing my cock. It was if the two were in absolute synchronicity in their sucking and fucking of me as was Joe in fucking Daniel. We all felt our desire and passions became enflamed, and we all came like monsoons. Cum filled my ass and Daniel's as Jamal's mouth filled with cum, and his the now rock-hard edifice I had created between his legs spurted volumes. Daniel through the sheer delight of experiencing his first man-fuck exploded all over the steamy tile floor.

Then it happened as it always does when I choose to use my powers--Joshua, Daniel, Jamal and Joe all just ceased to exist. They simply vanished. This has happened so many times before that after I take control of these men I seem to lose them literally to where I do not know. So now I stand before you my brother looking at your bound captive. I could so easily make him your slave but I fear that if I were to play with him this wonderful specimen would be destroyed as well. Brother, I need your help.

Part 3

Peek a boo!!!

Do you know this game? It is actually a cognitive exercise. At the earliest stages of life, humans do not connect that something they do not see can still exist. But you are not a child, and you are not human.

I fear you have been on this small blue rock so long you do not know your natural senses, and to wield your power without understanding of it, can only invite disaster. Or do you taunt me, by attempting to hide the alluring Joe from my acquisitive eye?

You warn me of danger, and I caution you to stop, absorb your environment and listen. If you do not, it will over take you, and you may vanish as well.

Disappear.

Dis-appear. Interesting word, is it not? To un-appear.

Apart from the enticing male of the human species, I believe my favorite earth creature must be the giraffe. Truly one of the most bizarre creatures to inhabit the universe, and yet, within its habitat, unless one learns how to see it, this creature also will dis-appear simply by standing still, becoming one with the mottled green-golds of the savanna. If you do not see the giraffe under the baobob, is it not there? Or is there something within your own perception that has vanished? I know the secret of the giraffe, and if you have the courage to open yourself to the knowledge within you, you will as well. Then perhaps you will find your missing bath toys.

Focus, with our fraternal senses, do you see? Do you hear the thoughts of my latest conquest? I have chosen my method of approach to help you to understand. Breathe deeply with me,. Fill your lungs with the opiate of his musky, dangerous rage. This is the rage that beat Pvt. Lonagan into a coma on the mere suspicion of homosexuality. The charge that later had him discharged without honor. This rage does not ask, or tell. It simply reacts. It is irresistible to me.

Not sated with this destruction, he roams tonight. He thirsts to destroy what he hates. He hunts, and he does not hunt alone. I hunt as well. I hitch a ride on his rage. I am the echo of his footsteps, the glint of streetlight glinting sharply off of his spit-shined boots, the dark reflection of his hate. His name, if it matters, is Chodacki. Sgt. David Chodacki. He is 26 years old, and what you have learned to expect from my prey, golden boy quarterback of his Chicago area high school and locker room nemesis of all smaller, smarter boys, nerds, and sissies, before foregoing college to enlist.

A proletariat hero, an early twentieth century fascistic propaganda poster come to life, he stands proudly at 6' 1", with a Slavic face as broad as his shoulders which belies his sculpted form. His olive T-shirt, as a tunic from the Elgin marbles, glued by sweat and the dark humidity of the night to the slabs of pectoral muscle. The street lamp highlights the vast muscles of the upper back and the tight muscles of the ass that rub and strain against the fabric of his pants, but the curved lower back is cast into dark shadow. His blonde buzz-cut and china-blue eyes are obscured by his lucky Cubs cap accessorized by the bat in his hand. He does not intend to play ball tonight.

A neon glow indicates that his destination is near. The alley behind the gay bar, where he will find the deviant, the weak. It is weakness that he hates. He will beat it out of these perverts, the way his coaches, priests, and father beat the weakness out of him. His voluptuous upper lip curves in disgust at the furtive couple he finds trysting against the brick. They look fairly tough, but older, and with leather pants around their ankles in no position to fend off a surprise attack. The bat smashes a garbage bin just to get their attention.

"Die faggots!"

There is no time to zip up before the bat finds its more damaging target. Our hearts, already joined, quicken with bloodlust as the first doubles over, and the second falls to the ground. I will not allow this.

The three visible men freeze at the pulse of blue siren's wail, and my brave hero decides to retreat.

"You got lucky this time, faggots!" He backs into miasmic shadow and finds himself in another alley he does not recognize. Not the type to panic, he retraces several times only to find a series of dead ends. Out of siren earshot, he pauses to asses. A visceral shadow brushes the taut muscles of his chest, so real he nearly jumps. The barest echo of a laugh teases his ear. The situation is not that funny to me, but the cat-like reflex to danger entices.

A gentle hand cups his right buttock, hard and firm as I had hoped. The bat slices the air in direction of the advance, but I am the shadow. I am the muscle that wields the bat. The same bat falls to the ground as I squeeze hard on his low hanging balls. He is fast. He kicks away from the attack. I feel this one. Even I must be careful. I press up behind him, so that he can feel the steel of my cock against his ass. Yes Sergeant, there is no question your assailant is male... and hard.

He growls with rage. He moves to attack, but his arms, as if of their own volition slam above his head against the brick wall. His wrists slams together, and he feels tight, invisible bonds render his massive arms useless. His legs are pulled wide by the same phantom bonds. See the beautiful striations of muscle, as this stud struggles against his bonds? Few things are more beautiful. He is not frightened. He is angry. Do you smell the anger? Sulfur. It burns the nose. He roars threats and expletives. It makes me hard. I dwell in his rage. I feed my lust with it.

His howling is cut short by a ghostly tongue flickering against his tonsils, and sinewy body pressing insistently against his own. Both vanish like smoke before he can bite the invader from his mouth, leaving him gagging and sputtering at something that could not have ever been there.

His eyes widen as the neck of his T-shirt pulls out all on its own and violently rends itself in two. His pants fly apart in similar fashion, leaving only a jockstrap to protect his modesty, or from my view, enhance his vulnerable nudity.

I pause.

He takes my breath away. Great marbled slabs of raw meat curving in and out of the shadows, the sweat of the hunt gleaming in the streetlight. He is my prey. I fall on him. I devour him with my eyes, my hands, my teeth and tongue. Nothing in boot camp, or combat experience could prepare him for this sort of attack, bound by unseen chains, and molested by what seems a thousand unseen hands, and mouths. Scratches appear, randomly over the classic torso. Perfection made sublime by imperfection.

I lick the shimmering rivers of sweat from heroic pecs and quivering abdominals. I torture and nibble at the sensitive nipples, working my way down the downy treasure trail eager for what rubs up against the bulging cup.

He is hard.

The unseeing eye at the tip peeks blindly just out from the waistband. Does it already begin to already to weep? I look forward to hearing sobs. A shadow-salamander tongue swabs away the tear, and his breathing becomes labored and intense. I fear I will lose him to asphyxiation; I rip away the last impediment to his destruction. The empty cup falls to the ground. I will retain this for my trophy case.

The murky shadows of the alley, torment every inch of exposed skin, as I descent on his cock. Like him, it is stocky, thick, and angry. I am the blood that fills the thick vein along the shaft. I am the hand that strangles the round thick balls. He gasps for air. He is close, so close.

I pull away.

Tears well up in his eyes yearning for satisfaction. I loose his bounds, and he falls heavily to the ground to find his hands once again shackles behind his back. This is decorative. He is not going anywhere.

An exposed steel girder shall act as pedestal for this work of art. He still struggles, faintly, as I toss him, waist bent, along the steel beam. His legs so thick with muscle that they are somewhat out of proportion with his beautifully formed upper torso, hang limply to the ground. I pull the raging beer can of a cock out behind. I want to see everything.

The rusty steel digs into the tender flesh of his groin, hurting him. I like this. Humans are easy to repair. His ass, like his legs, is heavily over-muscled, and seems large in comparison to his slender waist. In the local dialect, I believe, the word is "booty." There is no fat, just steely round muscle.

I begin slowly by kissing the center of each bubble round check. I spend time exploring with lips and tongue, circumnavigating each globe, driving myself into predatory frenzy . I dive, face first into the valley between fleshy worlds. Tasting the murky, dark, shadows. His moan touches, what might be called, my heart, as my tongue enters his hole far in to introduce myself to his prostate, clawing his rippling ass apart.

He struggles widely, whether to receive or escape me I cannot tell from the in articulate grunts, in-between desperate gasps for air. He no longer knows himself.

It is time.

I enter to the first circle of his fleshy inferno. And for the first time, I sense fear. I am gentle. I tease. Enjoying the dread and confusion of his spinning mind. He wants to kill me. How can you kill a ghost?

What must this look like to an onlooker? A bound muscle man, naked save storm trooper boots, bent over a steel girder, his hole stretched wide by some unseen force? He growls, and whimpers. A wild dog in the embrace of a python. I cup each rounded pec in my animal claws, and I slam through the ring with the force of our combined anger.

I feed on the screams as I fuck into him, his head bouncing on the beam. My invisible body constricts around his undulating form. His groin digs into the rusty girder as I fuck him. I fuck him off the beam and onto the ground. I pull him on top of me. He rides an invisible bronco. Back again onto his side, twisting his legs into the air. I pound him, face down, rubbing is dick into the cobbles. I am now, irrevocably, in possession of his mind. We explode together. He swoons, a puddle in the dark alley. The shadows swirl over him into me, a caped dark figure who pulls out of him and kicks the ruined hunk face up. I collect the discarded jockstrap, inhale it deeply and pocket it.

I bend, grab his veined forearm and toss him, a sack of Idaho russets, over my shoulder. His meaty ass rides, helpless and high the apex of his limp extremities and swaying head. The hard streetlight illuminating the thick ass muscles, safe in my avaricious grasp. I collect the bat and find my way back to the scene of the incomplete crime.

The thunderclap and gust of wind that blows open the door of the gay bar is probably too operatic, as is the caped figure, whose face never comes into complete focus, but I can't resist. They stare open mouthed, at the luscious ass on obscene display over my shoulder. I spy his recovering victims tended by their friends at the fare end of the bar.

"Gentlemen, I have a present for you. Surely you remember our friend here."

I carry my swaying burden to those he considered "weak perverts." Glasses shatter as I clear a space and drop him heavily along the bar and slap the handsome face awake. I cup his square jaw in one hand and allow the paintbox blue eyes to focus on my face.

"Y..You...?"

He knew me. I was on his faggot list. He was right.

"You call me master now."

He spits in my face, but has no choice but to say it. "Master."

"Good. Now you owe these gentlemen an apology. You will give it to them in any way that they want. Then you will report back to me. You will find you know the way."

"Yes... M-master"

I kiss him deeply and slap him hard. I hand the bat to the leather man who took its first blow. I stride out to the unmistakable music of the bat finding its new home. I will have to spend time repairing this one before he joins my forces. It will be fun.

Look in your own shadows for your friends yourself, brother. What is unseen is never gone. Good luck on your journey.

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