The Rains Down In Africa
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Solos =&gt; Topic started by: GothicFires on 08-05-2010, 15:47:24</h2>
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				Title: <strong>The Rains Down In Africa</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>GothicFires</strong> on <strong>08-05-2010, 15:47:24</strong>
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				The air was stifling hot and his shirt clung to his flat torso like a second skin. He wanted to take it off with every fiber of his being but as he was on a very short break from seeing patients and there simply wasn’t a fresh shirt to put on, he had no choice but to deal with the itch of the salty sweat being kept close to his skin. As uncomfortable as it was, the job he was doing was worth everything he had given up on in his life.<br><br>While covering up his upbringing was impossible, the light tan he had gotten despite sunscreen and the short stubble on his face for not shaving over the past few days did make him look less like a privileged rich kid, but only barely.&nbsp; Brenden Bowes-Lyon (http://i623.photobucket.com/albums/tt317/in_the_dark_photos/Male/black%20hair/Tom20James4.jpg)… even his name sounded entitled. But it was his high cheekbones, strong jaw line, long eye lashes framing dark brown eyes and a full set of lips that a woman would die to have.. or kiss… was impossible to hide. His straight teeth were perfectly white and his body was deceptively the picture of healthiness. No one in his make shift clinic on the outskirts of a small village in Uganda knew that he had a severe case of asthma. <br><br>Asthma had been a curse and a blessing in his life. It had kept him from playing outside and participating in sports as he had so desperately wanted to do when he was a kid. On the plus side he had submersed himself in books and knowledge letting his mind take him where his body could night. This allowed him to fly through school and graduate high school when he was 14. His study habits didn’t change through collage and now at 22 he was a certified doctor with a focus in emergency medicine. Something desperately needed in a poor war torn country like Uganda. His father had been outraged when Brenden had told that he was going to do volunteer work in a foreign country instead of accepting a position at his choice of elite hospital across the United States. He was cut off from all financial support except his trust fund which already had a couple million in it anyway. So the only painful part of it was his father’s rejection… which would have happened eventually for the simple fact that Brenden was gay.<br><br>There was never one moment in his life where he was conflicted about his orientation. He was twelve when he had his first sexual urge when he accidentally walked up on his brother and their house keeper’s son kissing in the woods. Though his brother George was 17 and Tony DeMarco was only 16, the younger teen had his brother pinned against a tree and still had to support George to keep him from falling down in their mutual heated exchange. When his brother started to lift the other boy’s shirt Brenden blushed and turned to leave accidentally stepping on a twig and scaring George enough to end the exchange.&nbsp; A few days later Tony and his mother moved out of the servant’s cottage. He had been told that it was because she had been caught steeling, but giving his father’s opinion of homosexuals and George’s attempt at being the perfect dutiful son by marrying a woman he hated and having 3.5 children with a two story house and white picket fence… well ok so their house was bigger than that… but his brother was miserable. Brenden was certain that George preferred men over women and just lacked the balls to stand up to their father. Then again their parents didn’t know Brenden was gay… just that they spent a lot of money on his schooling and felt he was squandering it.<br><br>The chair groaned in protest and he tilted it back on two lets to prop his feet up on the desk. Tony DeMarco was a much better thought process than his father. Brenden groaned as his cock swelled with blood, even thinking about the man got him hard but he resisted the urge to touch himself. Tall, broad with a body that showed he wasn't afraid of physical labor. But it was his intense almost black eyes that could stair right into you and set your insides on fire. The few short days before they moved Tony always looked at him as if they shared some secret and he guessed for that short while they did. He had never expected to see his crush again, probably his father's hope. But a few years later Brenden had managed to sneak out of the summer home and spend most of the day getting lost in the woods. He didn't know if it was a pocket of pollen or the smoke of someone burning brush near by but his asthma attack had been so hard and swift that it felt like he got hit in the chest and left him gasping for air. When his inhaler didn't help he panicked and made it even worse. Then his feet came off the ground and his 15 year old body was lifted as easily as if he were 15 months. He didn't have to look to see who it was because Tony's voice hadn't changed one bit. It was warm as woodsy. He had sat in Tony's lap barely breathing as Tony's grandfather drove him to the hospital and then the two men disappeared before his father and mother could arrive. How could he not have had feelings after that?<br><br>It was three more years before he saw Tony again... just a glimpse... in Rio de Janeiro where he decided to vacation for New Years in his 18th year. He needed a break from everything... collage, his family... pretending to be straight. He and his best collage friend Paul where walking down the beach as Tony was coming out of the ocean. Brenden had been lucky not to have tripped and fell face first in the sand because what shouldn't have been possible was that Tony looked even better than he had 6 years before... he was still miffed at himself for not really remembering what Tony looked like three years ago, but nearly dying made it understandable. The man's arms where bigger, not bulky but perfectly muscular and Brenden had a thing for arms. Beads of water traveled in little rivers over washboard abs and clung to a light dusting of chest hair as if it didn't want to leave such a perfect body... and then there was that that stair from under those thick dark eyebrows as their eyes locked that simply turned the teenager into a boneless mold of heat. Time stopped and they just stood there looking at each other until Paul had pulled him away. His friend had commented on the 'hot man meat' but Brenden could tell his friend was a little hurt and jealous. Both of them were still exploring and had fooled around with each other some. <br><br>To say Tony had been forgotten a few days later would have been lying. Each time he stepped out the hotel room Brendan was looking for the man with no luck to his disappointment. New years eve he and paul had dressed in matching plad kilts and combat boots going regimental underneath so that they could rub up against each other and sneak touches here and there out in public but hidden by the crowds. It was the crowd that ended up separating them a surge near midnight pushed them apart and it was impossible to get through. Brenden had been pushed to the edge of an alley way when he felt a tick arm slide around his waist, pick him up and push him into the brick side of a building. There was only a second to push though the panic and realize that the man who had grabbed him was Tony before their lips where locked. Every pent up desire for the past six years had been released in that kiss. His arms wrapped around Tony's neck and he surrendered to the demanding pressure of the man's tongue and allowed it deep into his mouth to entwine with his own. His cock was now completely rock hard as he remembered how hard he had become back then and to have his erection pressed into Tony's taut abdomen so hard that every slight move elicited a grown from him... much like the sound he was making now. There was no way he would be able to get up and walk sporting what was between his legs so he loosed the tie of his pants and slipped be band below his balls. <br><br>He could remember perfectly the feeling of being pinned against the wall with the bumpy brick pressing into his back. Tony's hands starting at his knees and sliding up his thighs and forcing Brenden to wrap his legs around the man's waist. Those large hands continued up his thighs until reaching his ass and squeezed each cheek firmly grunting with pleasure into the kiss that he was touching bare skin. Brenden stroked himself from base to tip, spreading his precum over the tip of his sensitive head and getting a little lubrication for the next stroke as he remember the sensation of his glutes being pulled a part and then pushed pack together as if he were a stress toy. Up to that point he had never been touched by another male he actually considered a man but there was nothing boyish about Tony anymore, if there ever had been. Fingertips ghosted over his balls and it was all he could do to hold on and respond to the kiss. Up until that moment he had been afraid of going all the way but now he ached to know what it was like and for Tony to show him. With people only a few feet away it had seemed that Brenden was going to get his wish for a thick finger swirled against his virgin rosebud pressing harder and harder each smaller circle until his barrier gave way and the digit sank in.&nbsp; <br><br>The doctor wished he had someone... Tony, to finger his ass while he recalled feeling it for the first time, instead he stroked is own cock with a firm grip because he didn't have time for this... but had no choice in the matter. It had been the most incredible sensation he had ever felt especially coupled with Tony's leather clad erection being rubbed against his own. Branden broke the kiss by crying Tony's name and the other man growled and began to move his finger in and out of that tight hole as if he was pleased that his name was said. After a few moments of in and out and twisting around another finger was pushed in and Brenden saw stars, forgetting even what he was doing if he had been kissing Tony's neck or running his fingers over the soft fuzz of short hair. Brenden remembered the taste of Tony's mouth and the taste of his skin but not actually returning any of the attention it was such a blur to the memory of those to fingers sliding in and out and scissoring open to stretch him so that he would be prepared for the loss of his virginity. Their exchange seemed to go on forever yet too soon it ended when his old crush removed his fingers apparently deeming Brenden ready to enter. The teen not knowing protested his loss but his sounds changed to surprise when he was flipped around and placed stomach first on a wooden crate. The skirt of the kilt lifted to expose his bare hairless ass to the air and the man about to make first use of it. One hand stayed on the small of his back, holding him down as if Tony were afraid he would run away. The other made simple workings of a snap and zipper because it was no time at all before he felt the velvety soft skin of the man's had shaft and drop of precum against his skin. After a run of Tony's fingers under the swell of each of his cheeks the man pressed his cock against Brenden's hole and began to push.<br><br>It wasn't the climax of the memory that took him over the edge of his current masturbation session, it was the thought of what it would have felt like after the pain of entry to have the only man he had ever dreamed of to fill him completely because before that last bit of pressure that would have let him know exactly what it felt like to have another man inside him. A male voice called out what must have been Tony's nick name and with out a word the man tucked himself away and walked way only taking a pause to lower Brenden's kilt so that he was not exposed to the people behind him. Had he not cum before he got to that part of the memory before he came it might have killed his pleasure but it was a loud bang, like a gun shot intruded on the air. At first he thought it might be one of their trucks backfiring but then came the screens and the sound of automatic fire. The only thing that kept him from panicking was the fact that they had an emergency plan if just such a thing were to occur. Lives where more important that gear though everything here was a desperate need. He put himself away as he moved across the room for his gun, the mess that he made where his cum had landed on his desk and floor would have to wait until later. <br><br>Brenden hated guns. First he had studied and then seen first hand... day after day... the damage they could do to the human body. That he had learned to use one and now held it in his hands turned his stomach. But this wasn't the time to let his personal convictions get in the way of making sure his staff, patients and supplies were safe. It didn't take long to get down the small hallway of their administration building but before he could hide the door to their supply cellar there was another round of automatic gunfire and a familiar voice calling his name. His interpreter called his name again, obviously in pain. There was no way that he could let the man suffer now for supplies in that could help people in the future. Logically it was a bad call but not one Brenden could make. He dropped his gun behind heavy furniture and walked out of the building with his hands in the air. There was a sharp pain on the side of his head and the world went black.
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Rains Down In Africa</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Torch</strong> on <strong>07-06-2010, 05:08:29</strong>
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				The sour smell of explosive discharge filled the air of the rebel camp, and was the first thing Tony DeMarco noticed as he climbed out of the battered Land Rover. He was used to the stench, although he would never be one to say he loved the smell of napalm in the morning. The armed gunmen that surrounded the vehicle eyed him fiercely, their Israeli-manufactured TAR-21 assault rifles at the ready. Tony ignored them for the most part; they knew why he was here, which was the only reason his body wasn’t already riddled with bullets. Very few people without a purpose left the main camp of the Ugandan Democratic Christian Army alive. <br><br>Despite its name, there was nothing Democratic or Christian about this particular band of rebels. Named as a terrorist group by the UN, the UDCA waged war on the native Ugandan government forces, participated in genocide and child trafficking, and committed a host of human rights violations including murder, abduction, mutilation and the sexual enslavement of men, women and children. Their followers were loyal to the point of death, a point not lost on Tony as he made his way to the large edifice that served as the camp’s headquarters. Once a Catholic missionary outpost, a scarred cross still sat atop the steeple roof, a perverse reminder of the building’s former peaceful existence.<br><br>A large man wearing fatigues blocked the entrance to the building, and he stared Tony down with black eyes. "Dominic Ongwen. He's expecting me." Tony announced calmly, as if he were taking a business meeting in a suit and tie instead of his stained camo pants and black T-shirt. The large man looked Tony over, especially the Luger 9MM strapped to his hip. But in this part of the world, a man who didn't arm himself deserved whatever fate he received, so the large man nodded and moved aside, allowing Tony entry. <br><br>The mission had been almost completely dismantled, the sanctuary benches and kneelers having been removed and replaced by crates filled with ordnance and explosives, and the altar had been turned into the office of Dominic Ongwen, the leader of the UDCA. Sitting behind a massive mahogany wood desk, the man was clad in a sport shirt and slacks, with mirrored sunglasses covering his ebony black eyes, and the only concession to his position of power was the ivory handled pistol he wore strapped to his thigh. He looked nothing like the typical megalomaniac (if there was such a thing), and that fact alone made Ongwen far more ruthless and deadly. Tony wasn't fooled by Dominic's calm demeanor; he knew human life meant little to a man like Ongwen, and the rebel leader would order a village massacre the way anyone else would order a meal.<br><br>Ongwen was typing away on a laptop, with a Blackberry crooked underneath his chin as he shouted orders into the phone. Terrorism had heartily embraced the modern age, as evidenced by the proliferation of latest Silicon Valley offerings in use by the rebel soldiers. Tony's deep brown eyes missed nothing as he approached the man, and he knew one mistake on his part would cost him his life, and the lives of countless others. Ongwen barked a final command before putting down the phone and folding his hands in front of him, a small smile stretching his lips.<br><br>"So, Mr. DeMarco. We have business to attend to. I need first-class weapons for my soldiers. I cannot win a war with outdated armaments. I understand your connections can provide me with what I need...for a price, of course." Ongwen smiled, an oily smile that was reminiscent of a snake. The leader's lieutenants stood restlessly around the makeshift office, eying Tony with unmasked suspicion.<br><br>Tony's face was a blank mask as he nodded. "I can have a shipment of 500 brand new Baretta ARX-160 rifles complete with 40mm grenade launcher dropped here in less than 48 hours...for a price. A non-negotiable price." Ongwen's didn't diminish a bit. "Yes, with you Americans everything is non-negotiable. Fine, Mr. DeMarco. Let's talk price. What is your offer?"<br><br>"The price is $2.5 million dollars. Cash only, wired to a bank account in the Cayman Islands. I give you the account number, you make the transfer as the shipment arrives. We both go home happy." Ongwen didn't move, and Tony wished he could read the eyes behind the mirrored sunglasses the man always wore. For sixty long seconds, the two men gazed at each other, neither one giving quarter. A Toyota Land Cruiser drove by the open window, and the shouts of men could be heard in the courtyard surrounding the building. Apparently a raid in a nearby village was a success, if the exited nature of the voices was any indication. <br><br>Ongwen's Blackberry buzzed on the desk, and the man reached for it and put it to his ear. Whatever was said brought a grin to the man's face, and it apparently helped him come to a decision. "Bring him inside. He could be valuable in many ways." The rebel leader gave his order into the phone then turned to Tony. "Congratulations, Mr. DeMarco. We have a deal." The man stood up and held out his hand, and Tony shook it without hesitation, masking the revulsion he was feeling inside. <br><br>He wondered if he has just made a deal with the Devil.
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Rains Down In Africa</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>GothicFires</strong> on <strong>11-06-2010, 05:37:30</strong>
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				He woke up to another explosion of pain, this time as his head bounced up against a wheel well in the back of a vehicle as after it had been driven over a pot hole, a rather large pot hole. His vision threatened to fade as he was about to pass out again but through some miracle he managed a good lung full of air and pushed past the pain and nausea. There was a pillow case over his head and his hands and feet were bound. Brandon wasn't delusional from his head injury, he knew that he most likely wouldn't live through out the day. He could only hope that the medicine had remained secured and that another doctor would be brave enough to come help the people that so desperately needed it.<br><br>Perhaps it was acceptance of death that the situation didn't trigger his asthma. The cloth over his head kept him from breathing in too much of the dirt that the vehicle traveled over the poorly built roads and trails. He didn't have long to ponder it however as the vehicle pulled to a stop and he was dragged by his feet toward the gate. There was a tug on the ropes at his feet and he felt a stinging pain as the blood rushed back in them after being tied too tight for the unknown duration of the ride. He almost fell as he was pulled to his feet because they were numb. But who ever had a strong hold of his arms intended on him going some where and half pulled him over the ground, not seeming to mind his 160 pound frame.<br><br>He had no idea which faction of rebels had him, even if he did he was too terrified to be frightened anymore. The voices that he heard were speaking Swahili and he only knew simple phrases: hello, i am your doctor, how are you feeling, where does it hurt... There simply hadn't been enough time in the day to see patients and emerge himself in the language to become a fluent speaker. Just when he found good footing not to be dragged along, they stopped. His guard saying something rapidly he didn't understand and another many replying. The hinges of a door creaked indicating it being opened. Then the pillow case was pulled off his head and he was shoved though the door, stumbling a few steps before loosing his balance and crashing hard against his left shoulder on the ground. Brandon felt another impact on this back in the area of his kidneys and rolled a few times in the small room, only realizing when he had stopped that he had been kicked. He was proud of himself that he had only grunted on each impact when what he really wanted to do was curl into a ball and cry. His breathing was kept shallow because he feared knowing that any part of his lungs weren’t functioning at the moment... shallow... calm... he kept repeating himself because even if they had stolen the clinic’s medicine, his medicine was not kept with it.<br><br>"Dr. Brenden Bowes-Lyon. We are happy for you to volunteer your presence at our humble facility." At tall thin man stood up from behind a desk and walked around it. Brenden's brown eyes opened wide with surprise as the man was nothing at all what he expected a military dictator to be. The man would blend in on any American street. He was dressed expensively... and Brenden knew the difference between high dollar cloths and knock offs at a glance. "I am General Ongwen. My brother was shot two days ago and was brought to our facility last night. Your life depends on you saving his. If he dies, you will wish you were never born." The man's cold tone put a sense of dread in the pit of the doctor's stomach. A bullet wound two days old in this environment was most certainly a death sentence... and so it seemed it would be his. The man nodded to someone and one of the 'soldiers' reached down and pulled him to his unsteadily feet. It was then he noticed the fourth person in the room with him and his heart stopped beating.<br><br><em>Tony</em> he had wanted to say out loud, but Brenden wasn't stupid and his voice would have failed him anyway. While he never really knew Tony, the knowledge that his crush would associate with men who terrorized and killed their own people heartlessly, shattered his will and made him feel sick to his very core. They weren't given long enough to give away that they knew each other by body language as Brenden was pulled away and forced across the compound toward another building. It took asking several times in frustrating single words of Swahili and English to get them to cut the ropes that bound his hands so that he could use them when they arrived. Though he knew how to fire a gun and a bit of self defense, Brenden knew he was far out of his league against a trained soldier with an automatic rifle and there were plenty of drills going on in the area that showed this group weren't slacking on the training. He wondered if the UN knew exactly how well organized this cell was.<br><br>He was brought into a room that was almost as opposite from a surgery room as one could get. It was dusty, grimy, trash and dishes with half eaten food scattered around. A man laid on a cot as still as death, a sheen of sweat sparkling on his body in dim light. The wound was in the leg, survivable if Brenden had seen him in his clinic two days ago when the incident occurred. "I need more light." He said slowly. English was spoken in Uganda to, but it was rare for most citizens to have that kind of education. So he said light in Swahili and a moment later a flash light was shown on the dying man's wound. It was ugly and smelled of rot. Gangrene had set in and it was obvious by the man's fever that the bacteria had already gotten into his bloodstream. The entire leg below the would was cold. Amputation would have been required but the man would have lived... two days ago.<br><br>"There is nothing I can do for him." He stood and turned just in time to see Ongwen at the door. Those dark sunglasses hiding the rage that those words caused.<br><br>"You will save him!" The words were short and sharp, like the man was commanding any other soldier under his command.<br><br>Brenden shook his head gently trying not to let himself feel sorry for a murderer loosing a member of his family. "His leg is dead, rotting and he had a bacterial infection in his blood stream. He wouldn't survive the amputation out here. Probably not even in a hospital and I can't treat his infection. He would need a full body transfusion." His words where spoken gently, sympathetically... honestly. He truly did have regret that he could not save a life. "I can give him some morphine for his pain, but he probably will not last another hour."<br><br>He would never know if it was instinct or if he stumbled backwards to avoid the full swing of the fist coming toward his face, but it grazed his thick hair as he fell on his ass. The jarring of his body sent shock waves of pain through his injured head and back. Though he missed Ongwen was not finished with him. The general grabbed a hand full of Brenden's thick, wavy, blood matted brown hair and drug him outside flinging his body across the ground. He winced as he rolled over rocks adding more bruises to his already battered body. He wasn’t built for this kind of punishment. And he fully expected more.<br><br>To his surprise more abuse didn’t come. Instead the general made good on the threat that Branden would wish he had never been born. “Chain him up where everyone can see him. He will be the entertainment tonight.” Then Ongwen repeated the words in Swahili. Soldiers lifted him up and pulled him toward two polls in the middle of the yard. A shackle was placed around each wrist keeping his arms above his head. Entertainment... were they going to have fun torturing him? Would they rape him? His chest was so tight that he could barely get air. There was no protests as they cut his scrubs from him with a sharp knife leaving him naked except for his boxer briefs and his shoes. His mind kept going back to Tony, how his far his childhood fantasy had gone from reality when he had felt protected every time he had been around Tony... even in that dark alley when the man was about to take virginity. To see what kind of man Tony had become was worse than the thought of being raped.<br>
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