Thirst scratched at his throat like wool against skin. He
dropped to his knees and clawed at the earth, trying to find
a few drops of water. Gouging out a promisingly damp clod,
Alex shoved it into his mouth. The bitter taste of the dark
earth gagged him, and he doubled over, coughing and spitting
before collapsing in a tangle of misery.
There was not even enough moisture in his eyes for tears.
"Hey! What we got here?"
At first Krycek thought he was hallucinating the twangy
voice. Then a pair of scuffed up boots came into his line of
vision. He looked up bleary-eyed at the man to whom the
boots belonged.
"Where'd you come from, friend?" the man asked.
Krycek tried to speak, could only manage a hitching gasp.
The man frowned and bent down to get a better look. Krycek
coughed harshly, and a trickle of oil escaped from the
corner of his mouth and dripped onto the ground.
"Give me a hand, guys."
He heard more men approach, then he was lifted by strong
arms and slung over somebody's shoulder. As they carried him
away, Krycek succumbed to the dark throbbing between his
eyes and slipped once more into unconsciousness.
Alex woke to the odd feeling of being in a womb. He was
surrounded by warm water, and hands were touching him
everywhere. He opened his eyes and saw immediately that he
was in a large tub. Several men wearing quasi-military
khakis knelt around the edge with their sleeves rolled up,
helping wash the oil and grime off their new "guest".
"Look who's awake."
Alex recognized the familiar drawl. The speaker walked
around to the end of the tub, directly facing him. No, Alex
amended, he didn't just walk, he strutted. The man was short
but wiry, with close-set eyes and a shock of bright red
hair. Like many men his size, this one made up for it with a
cocky attitude.
"Give him a drink, Joe."
One of the others left and came back with a glass of ice
water. Krycek took it in trembling hands and managed a
couple of swallows before he had another coughing fit.
"Enough. Don't want you getting sick."
The redhead looked Alex up and down. He could feel those
intense blue eyes crawling over his skin.
"What's your name?"
"A-Alex...Arntzen," stammered Krycek, hoping his
maternal
great-grandfather didn't mind him borrowing his good name.
The redhead nodded. "Okay, Arntzen. You might have guessed,
I'm the leader of this group. Terry Edward Mayhew, at your
service." Mayhew smirked. "You hungry?"
"Yeah," croaked Krycek.
Mayhew gestured, and another militia member stepped out of
the shadows with a bowl of soup. Krycek reached out a
tentative hand for it, but Mayhew shook his head.
"Better get you dry and dressed, I think. Won't take long."
Two of the men put their hands beneath Krycek's armpits and
lifted. They maneuvered him over the side, where he clung to
the edge of the tub for support. Krycek glanced up, saw the
leer on Mayhew's sharp features and suddenly he was very
aware of his own nakedness.
Mayhew watched as Krycek sat on a cot and put on similar
khakis with help from the group. Alex looked all around
himself, anything to keep from having to meet Mayhew's eyes.
He saw a functional cinderblock room furnished with cots, a
scarred wooden table, some vintage 1950's lamps and, of
course, the tub. Krycek guessed that this bunch lived in a
minimalist fashion.
The soup was returned to him, and Krycek ladled some into
his mouth. He knew he should eat slowly, but the hunger
gnawed deep. Inevitably, his stomach rebelled, and a gout of
soup and oil spilled out of his mouth onto his clothes.
Mayhew sighed and grabbed a wet washcloth. Krycek took it
and cleaned himself as best he could.
"Maybe you'd better try food again later," suggested
Mayhew.
Krycek nodded. The warmth of the room and the little bit of
food he'd managed to keep down were conspiring to make him
drowsy. He didn't protest when Mayhew peeled the shirt off
him again and swung his legs onto the cot. In moments,
Krycek was asleep.
The sound of gunfire startled him awake. Alex sat up
suddenly and immediately regretted it when his head began to
pound. Sitting there alone in the room, Alex's stomach
growled out its dissatisfaction. Just as he started to rise,
the door swung open and Mayhew stepped through.
"Hey. Feeling any better?"
"Not much." Krycek's voice sounded rusty to his own
ears.
"What's going on?"
"Oh, that?" Mayhew shrugged towards the door. "Target
practice. Nothin' to worry about."
"Could I get some food?"
"Sure. Hang on, there's cereal if you think you can handle
it."
He went into another room that Krycek had not noticed
before. Mayhew returned a minute later with a bowl of oat
bran and a carton of milk. He sat on the cot next to Krycek
and watched him eat with a concentration that made Alex
nervous.
"Done?"
Krycek handed him the bowl without speaking. Mayhew set it
aside and stood up.
"Come on outside. We'll join the rest."
Krycek followed Mayhew up a set of wooden stairs and through
a door. He was surprised to see that it was dark outside. He
had no idea if it was still the same night he'd been found
or the next.
"Come on over here, boys," Mayhew yelled. "This
here's Alex
Arntzen. He wants to join our group."
The men offered shouts of encouragement and a few catcalls.
A couple of them grinned at each other in a way that made
Alex nervous. They were all dressed in different variations
of the same basic khakis, several of them with a rifle slung
over their shoulders.
"Hey Little Mac," someone yelled. "What night
is it?"
"Little" Mac, who weighed around two hundred and
twenty
pounds by Krycek's estimation, laughed.
"It's initiation night, you know that. At least it is
for
Arntzen here."
Before Alex could react, he was being pushed towards an open
space beneath some trees. The militiamen circled around him,
cutting him off from escape. He fought hard to keep cool,
figuring this was some regular prank the group played on
newcomers.
Mayhew separated himself from the crowd and joined Krycek in
the middle of the circle.
"Okay, Alex. Don't let these assholes bother you."
The men around them chuckled, not at all put off by the
epithet.
"Umm." Krycek cleared his throat. "Initiation?"
"Yeah, well, for lack of a better word. We usually let
the
new guy pair off with the partner of his choice. But you're
too good looking to waste on these lowlifes."
Krycek blanched. Mayhew's smile was vicious.
"I—what do you mean?"
"I'm offering you protection. The chance to be my
personal...companion," said Mayhew, sneering.
Krycek swallowed and tried to look tough.
"What if I say no?"
"Then I give you to the group. Whenever and wherever they
want a piece of you."
One of the larger men stepped forward, cradling his rifle
casually. The message was not lost on Krycek.
"Uh-huh." He nodded at Mayhew and managed a smile.
"Well
then, let's go."
Mayhew shook his head slowly. "Right here."
"What?"
Krycek's voice came out in a harsh rasp. He resisted the
urge to look for help among the others. There would be none
anyway.
"You heard the man."
Little Mac produced a weapon seemingly out of nowhere. Not
a
hunting rifle, but a fully automatic Kalashnikov. He touched
the muzzle to Krycek's throat, then made a show of skimming
it lightly down his chest to his groin. Krycek began to
sweat. Several men in the crowd snickered. Little Mac laid
one beefy hand on Krycek's shoulder and pushed him down to
his knees.
"All right," gasped Alex.
Mayhew stepped up to him. With elaborate slowness he
unzipped his pants and tucked his fingers inside. He pushed
the material down, exposing the root of his cock, which was
surrounded by gingery hair. Mayhew wrapped a fist around the
shaft and pulled it free, inch by inch. Krycek's eyes
widened as Mayhew popped the last of his enormous cock out
of his fly. The shaft immediately lifted and thickened as if
exposure to the air had given him the semi-erection.
"No." Alex spoke calmly, but his heart was in his
throat.
Mayhew raised an eyebrow. "Yes," he snarled.
The Kalashnikov reappeared, its muzzle laid against Krycek's
head just above the right ear. If it were to go off, his
brains would scatter over the entire circle. A fine sweat
broke out over his forehead. He swallowed hard and closed
his eyes involuntarily.
When he opened them again, his vision was filled by Mayhew's
cock. It danced before his mouth, the head an angry dragon
spitting pre-come. Krycek steeled himself. //I am a
survivor// he repeated like a mantra, and opened his mouth
wide.
Mayhew jutted his hips forward, sliding the fat head of his
prick over Krycek's tongue. He withdrew and thrust again,
controlling his movements so that only the crown itself
entered Krycek's mouth. Alex began to relax as Mayhew kept
his thrusts shallow. He sucked at the shaft and prodded the
slit with the tip of his tongue, paying special attention to
the sweet spot on the underside of the crown.
Mayhew hissed his appreciation of this treatment and stroked
a little deeper into Krycek's mouth. Alex felt the gun
barrel move away. In return, he put one hand on Mayhew's
lean hips and used the other to massage his scrotum. From
the corner of his eye, he saw several of the men jerking
themselves off frantically.
The militia leader kept this up for another couple of
minutes. Krycek sensed the impending orgasm and moved his
hand to the base of Mayhew's cock, meaning to help him to
completion. Mayhew slapped the hand away with a curse. He
grabbed the back of Krycek's head and pushed forward
roughly.
Suddenly Alex was choking. He screamed around the thick meat
in his throat, but it came out as a gurgle. Mayhew held
tight and pounded even deeper. Little Mac held Krycek's arms
against his sides as Mayhew pulled on his hair and tilted
his head for easier access. Tears of pain poured from
Krycek's eyes. He struggled uselessly against the rigid
column of flesh battering his windpipe.
Mayhew grimaced, stiffened, and came. He pushed forward yet
another inch into his victim's throat, his cock pulsing so
much bitter semen that it began to spill out of Krycek's
lips. Alex squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on
breathing through his nose as more come filled his mouth and
throat. When Mayhew finally released him, Alex bent forward,
coughing violently to rid himself of Mayhew's foul taste.
Krycek lifted his head and stared up at Mayhew.
"Satisfied?" he asked defiantly.
Mayhew's lip curled slowly. He hefted the length of his cock
in one hand, running his fingers lightly over the veined
shaft. To Krycek's dismay, the massive organ remained hard
and throbbing.
"Not quite," sneered Mayhew.
Rough hands pinned Krycek to the ground and tore at his
clothing. He struggled as Mayhew and Little Mac peeled the
jeans down to his ankles and exposed his ass. One of them
smeared some gel on his anus, then the blunt head of
Mayhew's cock forced its way inside.
Krycek bit his lip so hard it bled. He would not scream.
Mayhew withdrew, then slammed forward until Krycek was
certain that the delicate skin of his perineum had been
torn. He kept his head down, but none of the militiamen were
paying much attention now. From the grunting sounds that
came to Krycek's ears, they were all too busy getting
themselves off.
He suffered through the assault stoically. After all, Mayhew
had called this an initiation. Maybe this was the group's
way of making sure each newcomer could take pain. Then
Mayhew skewered Alex so deeply that he shattered his
philosophical thoughts into a million pieces; he howled in
agony like a madman.
Krycek's scream finally set Mayhew off. He spewed more come
into his victim's bruised ass, thrusting even harder with
each spurt. When Mayhew pulled out, Krycek yelled again and
barely kept from fainting.
It was over. Suddenly Mayhew was lifting Krycek up and
slapping him on the back as if they were the best of
friends. He helped Krycek pull up his jeans, then he and
Little Mac supported Alex and walked him through the
cheering throng towards the bunker.
"Hell of a good sport," laughed Mayhew as if he had
just
played a tennis match, not fucked a man into the ground.
Krycek bit back a nasty comment. He even managed a smile.
"Yeah. Does this mean I'm in?"
"You bet. No more lessons today, though. You need your
rest."
"And a hot bath," Krycek added.
"Yep." Mayhew wound an arm around Krycek's neck and
leaned
close to his ear. "You're okay, Alex. I'm looking forward
to
screwing you every night."
Krycek offered a sickly grin. Inwardly he vowed to betray
this piece of scum and every other member of this ridiculous
militia.
All he had to do was survive.
END...
Initiation
by Russianrat
Alex Krycek stumbled over a frozen patch of ground and
nearly fell. The skin of his face and hands was still tacky
with oil, and his knuckles bled from pounding on the silo
door. He had no memory of escape. One minute he was lying on
concrete, the next he opened his eyes to the wintry
landscape of North Dakota.
