Read Online The Hood of Justice by Mark Alders - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mark Alders
Tags: GLBT, Paranormal, Action
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longer tingled, so another docking to make him forget again wouldn't be possible.
Casey stuffed his dick away and zipped up. Peter didn't notice, more because his mind would still be numbed by the effects of the docking. That and the fact he would have a wet, sticky feeling in his pants for no apparent reason. Poor bloke. Casey could only imagine his confusion.
"You were about to show us the south entrance," Bruce said.
"Is Mr. Piper in trouble?" Peter asked, genuine concern imbued in his voice.
Bruce nodded. "We're not sure, but we've got to check it out."
"Yes, of course. I'll call for backup." He pressed his radio talk button, one which rested on his right shoulder. "John, meet me at the south of the building in ten minutes, Mr. Piper's private garage entrance. Over."
A crackle pierced the air. "Sure thing. Are those cops still with you? Over."
Bruce gave Peter a gesture which conveyed in no uncertain terms he should remain silent. Peter understood. "Just meet me there. Over."
Casey said, "Thanks. We don't know who's involved, so trust no one."
"So Mr. Piper's in trouble then?"
Bruce said, "Just get us to the entrance, we'll do the rest."
Chapter Seven
Randy didn't seem to take notice of Jason's screaming, or the incessant cursing he unleashed when he caught his breath back, creating words he normally never used. Seemed his torturer was more interesting in having his fun first, the determination and joy in his expression more than enough evidence of such a thing.
The man continued to clamp him, cover his cock and balls in the metallic objects. Jason wept, unable to form a coherent sentence. The pain from each pinch on his genitals were worse than those on his chest and stomach. He writhed in agony, the stinging sensation didn't subside as quickly as it had done before.
Then Randy stopped.
If Jason didn't know any better, he'd swear he heard an alarm sounding. He wasn't sure, namely because of the cloud of pain which had dulled his senses, and because he knew Randy would more than likely work his way through the cabinet of tools until he was beaten, whipped, and prodded to death. Glancing over to the man in the stocks proof of such a hypothesis. He was sure the man was dead, or if not, within the last few breaths of his life, anyway. Poor fucking bastard.
"You…finished…already?" Jason asked with a slur, summoning all his will to do so, trying to be as defiant as he could. He spat again. Unfortunately, the globule missed his torturer.
Randy's said, "Silence, filth." To emphasis those words, he struck him across his face with his hand. "Someone approaches. Let's just hope it's our dear friend, Constable Casey and his faithful companion. I am so in the mood to have a lot more fun tonight."
"You're…a…fuckin' cunt."
Randy had taken out a whip from the tool cabinet, one with barbs, placing it onto the floor in front of the container. A container now empty of clamps. "Oh, come now, my man, don't fall apart on me just yet. Surely you must appreciate what I have done to you. I mean, since you sucked on your mother's teat, who else has given you this much attention?"
Jason didn't answer. He couldn't. Randy had disappeared from his sight. He heard him walk up the steps. The door closed. He imagined his torturer had to check out why the alarm had been tripped. He breathed a sigh of relief. Not that he could escape, not that he held any hope of living much longer, but still, to be rid of the sight of the sick fuck Randy was a small pleasure.
The lights flicked off. Darkness surrounded him once more. Welcome darkness.
* * * *
Randy fumed, the door to his dungeon slamming behind him to emphasis his foul mood. He hated interruptions to his fun. The last time he got disturbed, his play thing died before he could witness the event. He loved to watch his victims in their last seconds of life, see the breath leave them, their eyes dull. What was he paying John and Peter for? To sit around and look pretty?
If
Casey stuffed his dick away and zipped up. Peter didn't notice, more because his mind would still be numbed by the effects of the docking. That and the fact he would have a wet, sticky feeling in his pants for no apparent reason. Poor bloke. Casey could only imagine his confusion.
"You were about to show us the south entrance," Bruce said.
"Is Mr. Piper in trouble?" Peter asked, genuine concern imbued in his voice.
Bruce nodded. "We're not sure, but we've got to check it out."
"Yes, of course. I'll call for backup." He pressed his radio talk button, one which rested on his right shoulder. "John, meet me at the south of the building in ten minutes, Mr. Piper's private garage entrance. Over."
A crackle pierced the air. "Sure thing. Are those cops still with you? Over."
Bruce gave Peter a gesture which conveyed in no uncertain terms he should remain silent. Peter understood. "Just meet me there. Over."
Casey said, "Thanks. We don't know who's involved, so trust no one."
"So Mr. Piper's in trouble then?"
Bruce said, "Just get us to the entrance, we'll do the rest."
Chapter Seven
Randy didn't seem to take notice of Jason's screaming, or the incessant cursing he unleashed when he caught his breath back, creating words he normally never used. Seemed his torturer was more interesting in having his fun first, the determination and joy in his expression more than enough evidence of such a thing.
The man continued to clamp him, cover his cock and balls in the metallic objects. Jason wept, unable to form a coherent sentence. The pain from each pinch on his genitals were worse than those on his chest and stomach. He writhed in agony, the stinging sensation didn't subside as quickly as it had done before.
Then Randy stopped.
If Jason didn't know any better, he'd swear he heard an alarm sounding. He wasn't sure, namely because of the cloud of pain which had dulled his senses, and because he knew Randy would more than likely work his way through the cabinet of tools until he was beaten, whipped, and prodded to death. Glancing over to the man in the stocks proof of such a hypothesis. He was sure the man was dead, or if not, within the last few breaths of his life, anyway. Poor fucking bastard.
"You…finished…already?" Jason asked with a slur, summoning all his will to do so, trying to be as defiant as he could. He spat again. Unfortunately, the globule missed his torturer.
Randy's said, "Silence, filth." To emphasis those words, he struck him across his face with his hand. "Someone approaches. Let's just hope it's our dear friend, Constable Casey and his faithful companion. I am so in the mood to have a lot more fun tonight."
"You're…a…fuckin' cunt."
Randy had taken out a whip from the tool cabinet, one with barbs, placing it onto the floor in front of the container. A container now empty of clamps. "Oh, come now, my man, don't fall apart on me just yet. Surely you must appreciate what I have done to you. I mean, since you sucked on your mother's teat, who else has given you this much attention?"
Jason didn't answer. He couldn't. Randy had disappeared from his sight. He heard him walk up the steps. The door closed. He imagined his torturer had to check out why the alarm had been tripped. He breathed a sigh of relief. Not that he could escape, not that he held any hope of living much longer, but still, to be rid of the sight of the sick fuck Randy was a small pleasure.
The lights flicked off. Darkness surrounded him once more. Welcome darkness.
* * * *
Randy fumed, the door to his dungeon slamming behind him to emphasis his foul mood. He hated interruptions to his fun. The last time he got disturbed, his play thing died before he could witness the event. He loved to watch his victims in their last seconds of life, see the breath leave them, their eyes dull. What was he paying John and Peter for? To sit around and look pretty?
If
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