Mocking the Masqueros

"You should not have spoken as you did." My grandmother said to my grandfather. We were at the dinner table, eating after a long day of working in our fields. My grandfather had just told her of the meeting that afternoon with some men who he suspected were members of the Masqueros. Knowing that our household consisted of just the three of us, he had defied them, even mocked them.

"What can the Masqueros do to us?" my grandfather protested. "Do you fear that they will enter our home and have their way with you?"

That was the typical punishment for a peasant family like us that didn't cater to the needs of the Masqueros. Either you gave them what they asked for so much as you could, whether it was food from our granary or some of our chickens or such, or they would come in the night and do something to make you regret it. The most typical thing they did (for they didn't want to kill the peasants, or destroy their ability to continue to provide for the Masqueros at need), was they picked the most attractive and nubile female in the house, preferably his virginal, marriageable-aged daughter, and two or three or more of them would deflower her.

"They will not want me." my grandmother agreed. "But they may kill our chickens or take our pigs or burn our grain or our corn."

"They will not." my grandfather was certain of this. "We have only a dozen chickens and the two pigs and not enough grain to make it worth their taking it. As for the rest of it, who are they going to deflower in this house?"

"Yes, Grandmother." I joined in agreeing with Grandfather. "They can do nothing to us. Grandfather pointed that out to the men today. They looked at the farm and they could see that they were wasting their time; it is why they went away." I was living with my grandparents at their request to help them with their farm. Upon their deaths, I would inherit the farm for myself and could consider taking a wife with the hope of being able to support her. As the fourth son of a poor family, this was a windfall for me, as you can imagine, even a farm in this war-torn part of the country. Torn between the Masqueros and the government forces, most peasants could only manage as best they could from day to day and hope to be left enough to survive.

But Grandfather, as you saw, felt safe from the Masqueros. Unless the farm made a good harvest, he had nothing worth taking. The house contained only the bare furniture, and a stove built into one wall that Grandmother used for cooking. There were two rooms, the large one where we now were, and the smaller one that held their bed. I slept on the floor upon some old pieces of cloth and hay under that. A poor life, yes, a life without comforts, but at least a life safe from the interest of the Masqueros.

My grandmother did not feel as safe, but she was the one of this small family who worried the most. Me, I felt as invincible as any young man does who has reached the age of adulthood and has his future mapped out securely. I was young, I was healthy, I had the farm to look forward to owning before all that much longer, there was the work that kept my body busy and tired at the end of the day. The girls of the village when we would go to fiestas were more than happy to spend time and dance with me. So far, it had been little more than the smiles and laughs, but the village was conservative that way, a dozen or so fiestas and I could begin to hope to draw one or more of them aside for the evening, and with soothing and pleasant words, I could perhaps entice them to show me how much they would pleasure me if they were my wife.

Such were the plans I made as I was lying on my pallet that evening, dreaming of the day when I would be the sole owner of this land (if Grandfather died, Grandmother would probably go to live with her oldest son who had a small business in the city), and I could begin to build my own life, free and clear and on my own at last.

At the last fiesta a week ago, I had seen a young woman named Josefina. Dark of skin, white of teeth, shiny of hair, her laugh was the song of birds in springtime and her dance was as the branches of trees blowing in a strong wind, back and forth with sinuous grace. Her I had begun to see as the one with whom I would begin my family one day....

There came a knock at the door. Not a timid, frightened knock such as a neighbor might use, not the stronger, confident knock of a friend, this was the hammering of the knell of doom itself. The Masqueros! They had come here!

I jumped to my feet (I did not need to dress, for I wore all my clothes to bed, removing them only to bathe and change into clean ones) and my grandmother and grandfather, two frightened moons in the darkness, peered through the doorway from their bedroom.

"Stay in there." I said to them. "I will speak to them myself."

"Be careful, Manuel." my grandmother warned me.

After lighting the big candle that stood in a stand beside one wall for light, I went over and opened the door. These guerillas would take what they would take. So long as they did not set fires to our home, we could recover one day....

I was pushed back into the room by the men who entered. "We seek the one known as Valentin Escondido." My grandfather.

"He is in bed and ill." I said with only a quaver in my voice. "What do you want? I am his grandson and the heir to his farm, you can deal with me as you would him."

"You're his heir?" the man didn't seem to believe me. Only two of them, both armed, they were in their mid-twenties, both were strong men, well-muscled, and very military looking in their splotched-green outfits. "Where are his sons and daughters?"

"All have moved away." I said. "I came back to care for them in their old age. Only the three of us are here."

"Only the three of you?" he couldn't believe me. "Surely there are more than three of you on this farm?" Where are the women, I knew he meant.

"There are only my grandparents and myself." I said. Then, "We are poor farmers with little to offer you. Can you not go to another farm and leave us our few possessions in peace?"

"Only the three of you." the man repeated. "And yet we have our instructions to make an example here, so that you all will never again forget to respect the Masqueros."

I gulped at that. "Then take what you want to." I said. "Though we are poor and have little to take...."

That was when the men grabbed me, both of them by both arms, like the filling in a sandwich, I was roughly taken across the room. I closed my eyes and grunted in fear, they were going to beat me up, hurt me, maybe even cripple me, maybe they would cut me with their knives....

I was tossed by them like a rag doll and landed roughly on my stomach on the table in the center of the room. A loud clatter as Grandmother's metal candleholder in the center of the table was knocked by my head off the table and it crashed onto the floor, loud in the night silence. I heard a gasp of dismay from my grandparents' room as they realized what was happening to me, my grandfather regretting his pride, my grandmother moaning in worry.

I had to do this, get through this. "I understand you have to punish my family through me." I said. "Do what you will, I shall not fight you." I said this not out of bravery, but a hope that the words would slow and diminish the strength of their blows.

What I felt first was the hands at my pants. Not at all gentle, they grasped the waist which was held shut by the thin rope inside the top roll, and the rope constricted and scraped its way down my thighs.

What were they doing? I only whimpered as I thought rapidly of the possibilities. They would cut my manhood off, they would carve a warning onto my buttocks, they would gut me like a fish.

The hand that came down on my bare ass was not a slap, but a caress. "Told you he would be as firm and round as a woman." the man behind me said.

This brought my eyes open for the first time since I had been grabbed, and I saw that the man in front of me on the table had fumbled open the fly of his trousers and his cock was stuck like an angry fish, mouth open, aiming at me. From the mouth of this trouser fish, there reached out an obscene tongue of silvery-shiny liquid that slowly drooped downwards, then swung back down its flank as the guerilla aimed it at my mouth.

"No, no, please!" I immediately pleaded as I understood, finally, what was to befall me for the insult of my grandfather. Other men had been punished by having their daughters violated, my grandfather was to be punished by having me, his heir, similarly treated so. When I felt the other man climb on the table and mount the back of my legs and the touch of the hot, slime-tipped orb at my buttocks, I didn't have to wonder what it was.

My calm willingness to accept the punishment ended at that point. "No, no!" I shouted out. I squirmed, but the men were holding me, both of them, one on top of me and the other was there to prevent me from going anywhere. My flailing about was ineffectual and the men only laughed as I squirmed under the big man on top of me.

I think the squirming excited him rather than otherwise. He let me writhe and finally said, "Enough, now you can hold still or not, but either way, you are mine!"

I stopped (why struggle on?) and his cock again found the crevice of my buttocks and pressed in between them. Like a dog questing after game, the glans sniffed out and found the burrow of my anus, and began to dig into it.

I writhed again at that feeling, the way it pushed my very body apart like it would rip asunder at any moment, the grinding feel as the hard dong drove into me, it would part me half from the other half, and I would be left on the table like a slaughtered pig, the two halves open and exposed to the knives.

"Ah, ah, tight as any virgin's pussy." the man atop me groaned. "If I can't fuck a woman's cunt, I'll take a young man's butt every time, they feel just the same, agh, just the same!"

I grimaced and grunted and whimpered as the man's cock found its deepest point. Oh, God, I was bursting, I was bursting! This was too much, too much! "No more, no more!" I groaned out.

The man standing pretended to misunderstand me. "More? He wants more?" He waggled his pud at me and said, "Here's more for you, feed on this and see if it'll feed your hunger for more."

I thought about biting down as he fed that monstrous organ to me, but I didn't dare. I could only try to slide that huge tube down my gullet as he shoved it into me, endure this, get through this, it would be over soon. All the women they did this to lived through it, they only sought to humiliate and denigrate, not to kill. Those who cared about me wouldn't think any less of me, and those who cared less for me because of it...I could live without them.

So the second man's prick slid down my throat and I moaned around it as the man atop me began to pull out and with it went my last vestige of intactness as my body felt new tears inside me break open, and the hot wash of my blood poured into my intestine.

"Ah, gah, yeah!" the guy fucking me said. "Feel that tight man-pussy breaking open. You'll be ready to take any man's dong after I get done with you. Be like fucking a whore's pussy, nothing tight about you any more, yeah, uh, guh, yeah!"

Nothing tight about me any more. I felt the words like the knell of doom. Nothing tight about me any more, I'd be open to any man who wanted to fuck me from now on. My dreams of resuming a normal life was foredoomed to failure. This was the life I would have from now on, being the fuck-piece for horny men.

I crashed down to the depths of despair, and found the bottom to be made of brittle glass that shattered as I struck it, I went beyond...beyond.

Perhaps the human spirit is truly unsinkable, perhaps there is a survival instinct that lets you shift your morality at need, you become a new person that sees the world with new eyes.

Suddenly, I wasn't feeling at all violated, my body shifted, my ravaged innards accommodated the intruder cock, my mouth gushed saliva over the dong in my mouth, I was at once comfortable with being fucked by two horny men and eager to participate.

"Ah, guh, I love it when they get into it." the man on top of me said. He had somehow felt the way my body stopped resisted and started cooperating, I supposed.

In case he hadn't, I started moving my hips, to help him fuck my ass. The man gave a rich chuckle of sound and the tight grip of his hand on my chest turned itself into a caress. I used the freedom this gave me to begin to bob up and down on the man fucking my face, now I was sucking him as he moaned in appreciation.

My ass began to milk at the man's cock in my butt, and I felt his prick heat up and he groaned. Now I was in control this much, I had gone from being the man held down and used by two men, to being the man that was working two men's cocks and forcing them to experience the pleasure wracking their bodies and making them writhe with their rising climaxes.

Yes, as I said, a different approach to life was all it took, I was now able to take these two men and they were left groaning and gasping and their punishment had been converted to something I could live with, and live through. I wondered what the priest at my confessional would say to such a revelation as this, would he call it a divine intercession, or a devilish triumph?

"Ah, guh, uh, time to fill your butt with the revenge of the Masqueros!" the man atop me grunted. "And, uh, guh, here, uh, you, guh, are, GAH-GHUHHHH!"

The hot flood of jizz into my bowels scalded me, branded me, I felt like I'd now been marked in a way that I could never remove or obscure, for the rest of my life, it would glow out from my every pore, I had been fucked by this man and that was the single most defining moment of my life, the filter through which my life would be lived from now on.

And in that recognition, my body shuddered, I went from nothing to raging orgasm in a heartbeat, my body shuddered with the intensity of that instant ecstasy, a gift from parts unknown to bestow upon me the benediction of joy to the degradation of submission.

The man I was sucking groaned, grabbed my head, hunched my face a few times and thrust inside me, deep as he could, he held me pinioned and his spunk jetted down my throat, too deep to taste, too deep to feel, only the warm sensation in my throat and stomach told me he had squirted his load into me. Only when he was done and pulling his cock out of my mouth, a drop fell onto my tongue, a dot of salt and heat and arrogance that sank into my soul.

The two bodies above me, one upon me, one near me, were a pair of heaving bellows of air, the panting gasps of men who had been wracked by climax and were still recovering.

Myself, I lay there as I was, felt the man on my back heave himself up and off the table and there were the vague rustling sounds of men's flies being fastened, and I lay there as I was.

"You will remember, now, what happens to those who mock the Masqueros." the man concluded.

"I will remember." I said to him without looking up. There was silence for some unknown time, and when I looked up again, they were gone. I rose from the table and adjusted my clothes with a groan, my butt had been stretched and abused, my jaw ached from the unaccustomed labor, but I was otherwise unharmed.

"Manuel? Manuel?" my name came like timid mice from the door of my grandparents' bedroom. "Are you all right?"

"I will live." I settled for saying.

"Are they gone now?"

"Yes." I said. "They are gone."

My grandfather cursed the Masqueros vehemently as my grandmother insisted on drawing me a bath and heating water to make it comfortable for me to wash myself in. And when light came, when we checked to see how much of our livestock was left, we found that the Masqueros had not taken a single chicken or pig or kernel of corn.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have done no special research for this story's background, and I am not wanting to associate this particular tale with any particular Latin American country. I have simply made up appropriate-sounding Latino names and such as I went along and hope I haven't put anything too offensively wrong here.]

THE END
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