Email: Amalaric
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The MOSLA scout was both bored and strangely excited. How this was possible, as two seemingly incompatible emotions jostled side by side, could only be understood by one who operated in his special world where work and play melded into the exciting but often tedious routine of the long hunt. I’m like one of the fucking bushmen you see on those nature shows , he thought with a rueful smile, and it was true in a way; the lone hunter looking for meat, alone with his thoughts, sharp eyes always trained to the variegated terrain, squinting a long gaze in search of elusive quarry. Summer was always a good season for hunting and the scout never doubted that his search would eventually bear fruit, but he was also growing impatient. Damn, I hate this state! The thought circled through his mind for the thousandth time as he raked a palm over his sweaty forehead cursing the broken air conditioner in the company car. The scout had been at it now for nearly a week, cruising the back roads of rural Nebraska, numbed by the endless expanse of flat wheat and corn fields and nearly suffocated by the humid heat that soared into the upper nineties by late morning. His assignment, however, was clear: Bring in one, or maybe two, of the prime Midwestern country stock so prized by collectors around the world. These bucks commanded top dollar but the demand was so high that supply was short and, thus, the scouts were sent out at regular intervals, always on the look out for that special breed of stud roaming the flat farmlands of the great American heartland.
The scout knew he would probably have better luck in the teeming pens of the larger cities; a university campus in Lincoln or Omaha would yield enough long limbed meat to stock an entire auction, but he was a professional and, despite his discomfort, refused to cut corners. City boys had their own charm but that wasn’t what he was looking for…hey!!! What’s this?! He eased a foot on to the brake, slowing to a leisurely twenty MPH, as he passed two young studs tossing a football in a cleared field fifty yards off the road. Both were stripped to the waist, glistening with the new sweat of happy exertion, laughing and carrying on as they tossed the ball. The car glided past, meandered a half a mile up the two lane road then eased to a purring halt under the shade of some wilting trees on the soft shoulder. Fuck me , the scout winked at his reflection in the rearview mirror; we might have just hit some pay dirt . He jacked the car around in a careful U and headed back up the lane, boredom suddenly a thousand miles away and hoping against hope that the bucks would still be hanging out and, sure enough, there they were- tossing the damn football as if life was somehow normal- as the scout pulled over and, opening the side door, eased himself on to the shimmering pavement.
‘Hey, guys!’ He shouted to the two unsuspecting Nebraska farm hands who, looking up, nodded at him; their open faces relaxed with mild curiosity. ‘Can you help me out?’ The scout was inwardly gleeful; In other words, get your handsome asses over here so I can have a long look at you boys and, ah, by all means leave those shirts where they are, draped nice and useless over the wire fence. The bucks briefly conferred with one another, dropped the football onto the grass and ambled over to see what the geek in the fancy car wanted. For his part, the scout- a true professional and something of an aficionado as well- watched with pleasure, noting the fluid grace in the bucks’ movement, measuring muscular potential, and envisioning training or specialty possibilities if the pair were actually taken down and brought in for processing…oh, a million things seemed to flit through his mind in the brief seconds it took for the unsuspecting quarry to cross a mere fifty yards until, at last, they stood in innocent, sun dappled splendor before the man who could (and, he thought with a hidden smile, almost certainly would) change their lives forever. The opening gambit was stunning in its banal simplicity. ‘Hey guys,’ the scout shrugged and put on a confused smile, ‘I seem to have gotten lost out here. Must have took a wrong turn or something a stone’s throw from the last corn field (he laughed nervously) and, besides, it’s damn hot and I’m tired. Any idea how to get into the nearest town where a guy can get a reasonable rate at some motel with maybe a swimming pool and half way decent restaurant?’ The pair of studs smiled patronizingly, shuffling slightly on their well-worn Nikes and one of them glanced back toward the football laying in the weeds. ‘Nearest town’s only around five miles straight down this road, mister. Don’t know how you could’ve got lost.’ That’s not the point, dumb shit . The scout stifled a smile and merely looked sheepish. He shrugged and replied, ‘Thanks boys…’ and then, as if an afterthought, ‘You know, I’m headed to a video game convention down in Omaha. You guys into that sort of thing?’ He knew the answer by the gleam in two pairs of eyes- sky blue and new-furrow brown; both mirrored instant assent matched by appreciative nods. ‘Well, I got a little time,’ the scout said, ‘care to check the latest model out.’ ‘Shit yeah!’ The deep throated, enthusiastic duet assured the company agent the ice was, indeed, broken and, he reckoned, the rest of the day might just be a piece of proverbial cake…
Todd Granger sat perched on the edge of the fence, football long forgotten, with the new video game device clutched in his right hand. Clearly the leader, Todd smiled broadly as his buddy Ricky DiCampo, stood shotgun patiently waiting his turn. The scout gladly let them play, sizing each of the studs up at leisure, rapidly making professional calculations and (might as well admit it) enjoying himself immensely in the process. He decided to take them both down and mentally ticked off a mock sigh of pity for the sidekick’s bad luck to be hanging out with the real prize of the day. Even so, Ricky wasn’t bad in his own right and might, given the proper circumstances, develop into something spectacular. It had happened before. Todd, on the other hand, wasn’t only the alpha buck, he was also bigger and better looking than his friend- the kind of prime meat much sought after in world markets but especially Asia where a young slave of his type would fetch a price maybe upwards of six digits after extensive processing and training. The scout casually sized him up; probably around six feet tall, nineteen or twenty years old, his broad naked shoulders clean cut over a deep, smooth chest with well defined pecs tapering down creamy flanks to lean, muscular abs, cute navel, and no discernable mid drift even as he sat on the fence fiddling with the game controls. Todd’s back was broad, tanned and rippling with muscle and he possessed well developed and furry legs baked to golden bronze by the sun. The baggy cutoff cargo shorts hid what the scout fervently hoped was a package of reasonable proportions nestled in the hot confines of the white briefs that rode high over the waistband of the sagging trousers. Oblivious to it all, Todd smiled in the golden light and, all unconscious, showed off in the process one of his greatest assets; a boyish face of pure perfection- thoroughly masculine, filled with the promise of his budding manhood, open and innocent though somehow, at the same time, worldly and, above all, crackling with casual and unfeigned sexual potency. The kid was a winner and the scout knew that he would have him; time to lay the trap and then, when the moment was ripe, to bag his prize.
‘Hey, you know…’ the scout shuffled as if hesitant or embarrassed, ‘if you guys have some spare time it’d be great to get your help with some marketing research.’ He paused, pretending to be unsure of himself. ‘What do you mean?’ Todd Granger was clearly intrigued. ‘Well, I can tell that you’re both really into the games and, well, I have a whole set that haven’t even been marketed yet in the trunk of my car. If you’d be interested, we could run into town, get a place where I can unload them and try some out. I’d be grateful for the opinions of a couple of honest to God consumers.’ Ricky instinctively looked toward his buddy, but the body language was unmistakable. Todd laughed and, punching his friend playfully in the ribs, broke into a wider grin and said, ‘Shit yeah, man! If you got some games…never been seen or played before???? Hell, let me at ‘em!’ He handed the console already in his hands to his friend, flexed the brown muscles of biceps and forearms, and hopped off the fence.
An hour later the scout, with two excited young bucks in the back of his car, pulled into the yard of a secluded house purchased by the company six months before expressly for the drama about to unfold. He had told his passengers a while back that they would skip the nearest town and head for the next. That raised some eyebrows but ended in shrugs and, at first, Todd and Ricky were blissfully unaware that things might be just slightly out of the ordinary but the scout was suddenly wary, knowing that wouldn’t last long and not wanting to be caught unprepared if his quarry decided to make a run for it or, worse, got belligerent. The vehicle eased up a long dirt drive and the scout galvanized himself to smooth action; switching off the ignition and simultaneously reaching into the glove compartment. Fairly dancing out of the car he walked to the passenger door and motioned for Todd to roll down the window. The look on the young stud’s handsome face was priceless as the scout shoved a pistol in his face and without further explanation barked, ‘Out of the car, boys, and lie flat on the ground.’ He laughed at the meat’s expression of stunned disbelief and added, ‘Move it, boys! I want to see you both kissing dirt in ten seconds flat or I blow your collective heads off.’ That got results and just under ten seconds later two long forms of prime manhood lay face down by the side of the hiccupping car, shaking with rage or fear or a combination of both, but the scout didn’t care about that; he had bagged his quarry and, staring down at Todd Granger, began fantasizing about what the fat bonus would feel like in his bank account. The studs were quickly cuffed with their hands behind their backs and ordered to stand. ‘What the fuck you doing, man!!!!???’ The ritual exclamation was book-standard par for the course and the scout had his pat, smart ass reply ready, ‘Making money, boys…lots of it.’ He marched them into the house and ordered both bucks to stand ten feet apart, legs spread, foreheads pressed against the wall. Pulling out his cell phone, he quickly punched in a number and sighed with satisfaction. ‘Central? Yeah, Harry here.’ After a short pause, ‘Took down two by the side of the road and need a fast pickup. Right, no heat yet, but you know how it is- need to move fast. OK, an hour and a half? No prob,’ he looked at the two shaking studs drinking in every word and said, ‘Relax for a while boys, we ain’t going nowhere.’
‘OK, boys, pick up’s on its way and we got a little time on our hands.’ ‘Please, man, what’s going on?’ It was Ricky DiCampo, muffled voice against the wall close to tears, ‘We ain’t got no money, man.’ ‘Turn around,’ the scout really wasn’t interested in conversation, having a couple of other things on his mind instead. Even so, he reckoned it would be safe now to introduce himself and took a perverse pleasure in doing so. ‘Name’s Harry, boys, and if you don’t mind me saying so- you guys are in a shit load of bad trouble.’ Ricky began to cry in earnest and Harry wondered about the advisability of taking the ass hole, but re-considered. Some stiff training would toughen him up…but it wasn’t really Ricky he was interested in. Pulling a gag out of his pocket he stuffed it into the kid’s mouth and ordered him back onto the floor where, hogtied, he was shoved into a nearby corner to wait for the pickup. The scout turned his attention to the tall form of Todd Granger, square jaw working with horrified rage, handsome curved upper lip beaded with the cold sweat of racing fear. You got a reason, kid…a real good reason. The scout took a few minutes looking Todd’s long muscular form up and down, glad that the tee shirts had been casually left behind hanging from the rail of a wood fence miles away by the side of the road. ‘You’re a damn good looking catch, dude.’ The simple remark was a revelation and Todd’s brown eyes widened with dawning comprehension of (what he thought was) his worst nightmare. Harry, reading his victim’s expression, wasn’t in any mood to disabuse the notion exploding techno-color, high gloss brilliance in the farm hand’s reeling mind and, toying with him a little, added some gasoline to the fire, ‘Yep, you got that right. There’s gonna be some stuff done to you boy that you really can’t even imagine right now. Take your worst fear and multiply it by ten and you still won’t even come close. Now aren’t you sorry that you grew up so handsome?’ He laughed and continued, ‘Tell you what, though, there is one thing I wanted to do way back by the side of the road while you were fiddling with that damn video game.’ Todd’s eyes shifted toward a window and he tried to bolt. The scout sighed and, extending a booted foot, tripped the panicked prisoner, sending him sprawling, once again face down on the floor. He moved slowly toward the supine form, broad back heaving with ragged fear and, binding his feet, flipped him over. Todd lay on his back like a primed sacrifice readied for the voracious rites of an unspeakable god as the scout leaned over and pinned his squirming form with a knee planted firmly on his chest. The scout reached down and casually unzipped the farmhand’s khaki trousers, baring the snowy expanse of damp jockey shorts. He whistled in appreciation at the bulge that he had hoped would be there, more than vindicated and satisfied at last. Todd turned his head to the side, brown eyes screwed shut against the gathering horror as a single outraged tear slid down his tanned cheek. ‘Better have a good look,’ the scout muttered and pulled shorts and trousers down around the gasping stud’s ankles. Hefting Todd’s big cock and slack, sweaty balls in the palm of his hand he smiled and sighed, ‘Grade-A all the way, kid. The company’s gonna love you and when you finally reach the block, well, I just have a feeling the bidding’s gonna bring down the house.’
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