R & R
Chapter One
Troy stood under the improvised shower, allowing the sun-heated water run over his body, washing away the grime from the day's labors. A few feet away, on the other side of the wooden privacy fence which enclosed the shower, a large burly young man smiled, and massaged his cock through his worn blue jeans.
Troy leaned his head against the wooden fence and sighed. It had been three months. Three months of freedom. Three months of hell. He could still recall, in perfect clarity, every word and color and smell and sound.
His mother had flounced in, with her latest husband, beaming with the news. "I found some guy who wants all the wood from the old barn on your grandfather's place," she announced. "He'll even tear the place down, and pay us as well."
"No," he told her. "The barn stays."
"You don't talk to your mother that way," his step-father (was it Ben? Stan? Or was it Ron? It was so hard to keep track of all of them) told him, puffing up his chest. Troy snickered. Troy had worked most of his childhood on his grandfather's farm, with his father, and still worked out every day. This guy was short and dumpy, and tried hard to act as if Troy's muscles didn't intimidate him.
"Now, dear, I can do what I like with that property," his mother explained to him, as if he were an idiot. "I know Grandpa left the property to you, but I'm your mother, and I'm allowed to manage your assets."
"I turned 18 two months ago," he reminded her. "And if anyone steps on that property without my permission, I'll have them arrested."
His mother looked shocked, and then her face turned dark. "You ungrateful little beast! After all the years I've raised you..."
"Three years," he corrected her. "Since Dad died. You ran off when I was two, and Dad and Grandpa raised me. So how much do I owe you for three years?" He pulled out his wallet. "Three bucks do? After all, I've gotten my own meals, washed my own laundry, bought my own groceries, paid the utilities every time we got a shut-off notice, and I've even paid for the rent for the past year." He held out the money.
"Get out of my house!" she screamed, snatching the money from him. He bent down and picked up the duffel bag beside him. "I'll let you know when you can pick up the rest of your things."
"First, it's not your house," he told her. "I didn't pay your rent this month, so you're being evicted, effective tomorrow morning. Second, the rest of my things have been shipped already, this afternoon." He smiled, as there was the sound of a car horn outside. "There's my taxi. Have a good life, or not, as the case may be."
"There's only two bucks here!" his mother screamed as he got into the taxi.
Tory soaped up his sun-browned skin and scrubbed at the dirt and grime. Working to clear stumps and bracken from a field, as well as banging on the old fuel-oil water heater, had coated him with bits of bark and wood, streaks of dirty oil, and the dust had caked where streams of sweat had run down his body. He took the brick of lye soap and scrubbed it in to his hair, too. Too many of the biting flies had gotten caught in his long brown hair, and the bites were itching badly. Before long, his whole body was throbbing from the effort, and he could feel his head beginning to ache.
He whirled as the fence gate behind him creaked. He turned to see a blonde man, tall and muscled hard, standing there, stark naked. Once again, Troy's eyes were drawn to the man's crotch, like so many times before. Rob's cock was hard, and reached up like a third arm, thick and long.
"I like that," Rob told him, leering. "Getting yourself nice and clean for me. You must really want it tonight."
"Oh, God no," Troy pleaded, sick at the thought of another round of abuse from Rob. The young man had been a football player in high school, and had lost out on a Big Ten scholarship because of an "accident" on the field one day: the other boy would never walk after what Rob had done to him.
Rob stepped forward, and grabbed him with one hand, swinging him around. A brutal shove slammed Troy into the fence around the outdoor shower, and a second later, Rob was shoving his huge cock up Troy's ass.
Troy gritted his teeth to keep from screaming, knowing it would only excite Rob. Red waves of pain shot through him as Rob repeatedly drove his large cock between his ass-cheeks. Troy tried to blink back the tears, but they continued to flow down his face.
Rob dug his fingers into Troy's arms, as he pumped his cock in and out of the tight hole. He groaned as he felt the mushroom head of his cock push violently at the limits of Troy's rectum. He continued to push, loving the sensation, and gave out a yell as his cock expanded further, gushing a huge load of cum into Troy's already full ass.
"That was great, baby," Rob told him. "I really love that pussy of yours. I better be careful not to stretch it out too much."
Troy leaned against the fence, hoping it was over. But Rob pulled him around, and knocked him to his knees with a punch to the stomach.
"Now you just have to make sure I'm as clean as you are," Rob told him, laughing as he forced his slimy cock between Troy's lips. Troy gagged at the smell and the size of Rob's cock, and received a punch to the side of his head.
"Better be nice to him," Rob told Troy, "or he won't be nice to you anymore, bitch." Rob shoved his cock further between Troy's lips, as far as it would go, and began thrusting back and forth, hard and fast.
Troy put the bar in place on the barn doors, shutting himself in. He crossed his arms and held tight to his biceps to keep from shaking, as he stumbled toward the room at the opposite end of the barn, where the old fuel oil heater, his cot, and his belongs were.
He opened the two small windows a bit to ventilate the place, and fired up the heater. Once that was done, he put his dinner on the top to warm.
Eventually, he sat down on the old bench in front of it, and numbly watched the flames.
He hadn't been back on the farm a full day before Rob had showed up. The other man had seen the delivery truck, and had followed his sadistic instincts to the back of the barn, where Troy was already clearing out the overgrown blackberry bushes.
The first time, Rob had simply started beating him. Troy had been able to get in a few punches of his own, until he realized that the other man was only getting more vicious when he fought back.
The bruises had taken over a week to heal. But Rob was back soon after that, and that was when the real trouble started, when Rob caught him skinny-dipping at the old swimming hole.
Troy tried to focus on what needed to be done on the farm. The barn was the only building still standing, the fire that had killed his dad had destroyed the house. The other buildings had been pulled down by vandals at some point, and Troy was perversely glad that his grandfather had never left the convalescent center to see it.
Troy ignored the plate of canned stew beside him, and just drew the old quilt around him, staring at the flames in the heater.
He jerked out of his doze with a start, unable to figure out where he was for a brief time. But then the noise came again, the noise that had woken him. He crept out of the room, staring down the length of the barn towards the barred barn door.
The door shook slightly as somebody banged on it. His heart froze in his chest, until he realized what he was hearing.
"Hello? Anybody in there?" The voice was male, but not Troy's. It was rougher, stronger, and deeper. It reminded Troy of his grandfather's voice from when he was little.
"Just-" Troy's voice squeaked and he swallowed to get it under control. "Just a minute!" he called out, stronger.
He trotted over to the door, the old quilt still wrapped around him, and pulled the bar across. He pulled the door open.
Standing in the dark and the drizzling rain was a tall, grizzled man in leathers. He had a motorcycle helmet in one hand, and was dressed for the road.
"Hey there," the man nodded. "My bike died down the road, and I was wondering if there was a place I could get out of the wet for the night." He gestured behind him, and Troy could barely make out the shape of a motorcycle behind him. "Saw a bit of light, thought maybe there was a house."
"House burned down three years ago," Troy told him. He pulled the quilt closer around him, trying to close out the cold. "But you're welcome to share the barn. My grandfather never turned nobody away, and it would be poor of me to disrespect his memory that way."
The man grinned, and Troy smiled sheepishly in return. He moved out of the way, and let the man into the barn.
"You can bring your motorcycle in, too," Troy told him. The man nodded again, and went to fetch the motorcycle. Troy went back to the room to turn up the heat a bit, just enough to warm the barn up again.
"That there is a treat," the man said from behind him. Troy turned to look at the man standing in the doorway of the room.
He was taller than Troy, a good span above six foot. His green eyes stood out in a face was sun- and wind-burned, with a short beard that was black as night. He was solidly built too. His motorcycle leathers were tight around solid thighs, and, as he took off his weather-beaten jacket, Troy could see the knotted muscles of his arms and chest under the t-shirt he wore. He shook the rain out of his long black hair.
"You're not exactly dressed for this weather," Troy remarked.
"I tend to forget about weather until it sneaks up on me," the man admitted. He stuck out a hand. "Friends call me Jawbone."
"Why do they call you that?" Troy grinned as he shook hands.
"Mostly because once you get me started, I don't shut up," Jawbone grinned back. "That, and I tend to break knuckles on my jaw."
"I'm Troy," he nodded. "Make yourself at home." He looked around, and spied the cold plate of stew, and suddenly felt hungry. "I was about to heat up some stew. It's just canned, but it sticks to your ribs." He picked up the cold plate and put it in the washtub sitting to one side.
"Well, thank you," Jawbone nodded. "As long as you let me repay you by washing dishes."
"I usually wash the dishes around lunchtime," Troy shrugged. "By then the water is hot, got a solar shower out back." He busied himself with heating up some canned stew, and also started a pot of coffee going, on top of the heater.
"This all you got, then?" Jawbone asked. "Just the barn?"
Troy shrugged. "Trying to get the important things fixed. This is good enough for now. If I can get the rest going, I'll have time to build something better later."
"You working the whole place by yourself?" the biker asked, concerned.
"Don't have the money to hire anyone right now," Troy shrugged, glancing over his shoulder at the biker. "Ah, shit, you must be freezing, let me get you a blanket. You need to get out of those wet clothes."
"Well, I'm starting to warm up," Jawbone shrugged. "But if you don't mind, I would like to get out of these clothes."
Troy hurried over to the trunks by one wall "No, I don't mind at all," he said, as he dug out a couple more blankets. "You'll catch cold in those wet things, I-" He stopped as he turned around.
Jawbone had shucked off his clothes pretty quickly, and was warming himself next to the oil heater.
"I knew your dad, and your granddad," Jawbone told him, looking cross. "They used to let a bunch of us camp out back behind this very barn. What the hell happened? You can't tell me they didn't leave you provided for better than this!"
Troy shut his eyes, and gripped the blankets, hard. "I really would rather not talk about that right now," he said, shaking. "Not... not at night, you know?"
Suddenly there were two strong arms around him. "You poor tyke," Jawbone said. "I bet you're still going through it, ain't ya?"
Troy clenched his teeth from the sob that threatened to escape from him, and tried to twist away. But the other man wouldn't let him go, either.
