Tuesday, April 18, 2006

253. The omniscient narrator

The newly christened "Brother Hardon" was instructed to stand over the table holding one of the hooded, bound men with his cock in his hand.

"You like this, don't you, Brother Hardon?" said Brother Steel.

"Y-yes, sir," the now-frightened but still excited man answered.

"You're a fucked-up freak, too, aren't you, Brother Hardon?" said Brother Steel. "Lookin' at these men like this, wrapped up under inches of plastic, hoods over their faces, knowin' they don't have long to live--it's makin' you horny, ain't it?"


"Well I think you gotta do somethin' about that. Whatta you think, Brother Iron?" said Steel to the third man.

"I agree, Brother Steel," said Iron. "I think he better get that juice out of him, real fast."


"I think he wants to shoot it right onta them bound men," said Brother Steel. "Ain't that right, Brother Hardon?"

"Oh yessir..." Iron and Steel helped Hardon out of his robe. He was terrified by the implications of that gesture, but could no longer resist the temptation to bring himself to orgasm. A thick ribbon of cum flew from him and hit the mummified Green Arrow on the chin and chest. Hardon turned and sprayed the remainder of his fluid onto Robin's prone form, then collapsed on the floor beside them, exhausted and petrified.

"It's all right, Brother Hardon," said Brother Steel. "Everybody's a little bit fucked up. Everybody gets turned on by somethin' a little bit weird. These guys here--" he pointed at the two helpless heroes--"they like puttin' on Halloween costumes and actin' like faggots. You get hard watchin' em all tied up like this. You know what turns me on, Brother Hardon?"

"N-no, s-sir..."

"RIDDIN' THE STREETS OF FUCKIN' TRASH LIKE YOU," Steel said, grabbing a serious-looking mace from the wall and smacking the trembling man with it so hard that he collapsed, unconscious.

"Gimme a hand with this fuckin' loser, will you, Brother Iron?" said Steel.

"Sure thing," said Iron. It did not take long for the two of them to strip their colleague of his street clothes and outfit him in a leather harness, jockstrap, and boots stolen from the club's shop, then shackle him to an iron cross on the wall. They placed a ball gag in his mouth, clamped his nostils shut, and fastened a leather hood over his head.

"Now the cops'll have an even better freakshow to enjoy when they get here," said Brother Steel with an icy laugh. "Three corpses are better than two."

"I like the way you think," said Iron. "They'll shut this place down, the faggots'll stage a protest--which we'll invite them to do at the big 'Houston Male' bash--and just when the club is full to the rafters--"

"--we burn the whole fuckin' thing to the ground. Three dead faggots pavin' the way for three thousand. Okay, let's get the hell out of here. We've got work to do."