THE INITIATION

I was curled up in my blanket, roused from my slumber by the revelry outside. The bonfires still burned brightly and the Mohawkers, Gayboy Berserkers, Smegma Crazies, Skinheads and other scavengers moved about the camp site. I didn’t dare venture outside the tent. I still had no idea where Wez vanished to. All night, I slept alone. Sometimes I would wake when I’d hear one of the Mohawkers curiously poking around the tent, but no one dared to enter the canvas shelter that was my new home. I sensed Wez was highly respected among these savages, and even greatly feared. Nobody would touch his most prized possession.

        Possession. Glumly, I fingered the chain dangling from my collar. I was nothing but property, a treasure shut tight in a jeweled box to be worn by a sadistic animal. My family was dead just so this animal could claim me as his own.

        Sudden movement outside of the shelter startled me. The tent flap drew back and Wez sat on his haunches.

        “Come,” he said in his gruff voice.

        He rose and I quickly vacated the tent, following him. He stopped at one of the vehicles and went through the box of the truck. I watched him grab some fresh water, along with other items and he motioned for me to continue walking, which I did.

        We only walked about another twenty feet, but we were now shrouded in darkness and the flames from the camp fires gave minimal light. He yanked the blanket from around me and tossed the wool garment on the ground. Then he set down his saddlebag. Before I realized what he was up to, he grabbed the container of water and doused me with the cold liquid. I held my tongue, not daring to protest. He grabbed a rag, along with soap and proceeded to wash me down. No doubt I smelled since I didn’t bathe for at least a week since water was so precious. In the past, I always shared a sponge bath with my uncle so we could conserve the priceless liquid.

        I winced slightly when Wez touched me in my most private places. But he didn’t have his way with my body like he did the night before. Instead, he grabbed the container once again and poured the water over me, rinsing the soap from my hair and skin. I shivered since the sun still hadn’t risen and the air was so chilly. It sure didn’t help being soaking wet. Wez then reached for a towel and he began drying down my flesh. He then worked on my hair, squeezing the moisture from my silken strands with the cloth.

        Again, he reached into his saddlebag. He drew out black, leather pants and motioned for me to step into the garment, which I did. Then he produced a pair of black, leather boots that possessed a two-inch heel. The boots were decorated with silver chains spanning the front width. Great, more chains. I held out my foot and he slipped the one boot on. Then he drew the other boot over my right foot.

        Already some warmth began returning to my chilled body. The leather was a great insulator, trapping my natural heat next to my skin.

        When Wez held out my, well, supposed shirt, I realized the garment was nothing but decoration instead of serving as protection from the cold. I wouldn’t even call the black, leather, sleeveless material a shirt. It was a vest, only minus protection for my chest, since my pecs and stomach would be exposed.

        Wez held out the garment and I slipped my arms through both holes. He fastened the top button just under my collar. Then he tightened the band under my chest. Lastly, he buckled the bottom of the garment which sat above my navel. I gazed down at my exposed stomach and chest. I could feel my chain of slavery brushing against my flesh. He had fastened the chain under the garment, instead of over and then closed the clip around the belt loop of my pants.

        My gaze met his. His eyes narrowed. I understood what he meant. No longer would he chain me to him, yet, the collar and metal bondage remained to show his ownership over me.
 

“Come,” he said.

I followed Wez back to the camp site. He led me to one of the bonfires and my stomach growled since it had now been over a good day-and-a-half since I’d last eaten. He motioned for me to sit, which I did. Another Mohawker handed Wez a can of food, most likely acquired during a raid. The label said Dog Food. But I didn’t turn away from the unappetizing meal. I gladly reached for the can.

        Wez headed to the other side of the camp. Fear made me shake since I was left alone with these strange savages, and I fought to control my anxiety since I was being closely scrutinized by the Mohawkers, Smegma Crazies, Gayboy Berserkers and Skinheads. I tried to concentrate on swallowing the processed meat. My hunger ravaged body demanded to be replenished with energy. When I swallowed the last bite, a Mohawker handed me another can of food, which I took.

        The jovial man from yesterday looked in my direction. “It’s the Golden Youth,” he exclaimed. Then he approached me. “I am the Toadie, oh youth of the Mighty Wez.” He mockingly bowed to me.

        His humorous, good nature took me by surprise. I never imagined one of these marauders to possess a sense of humor.

        All I did was nod my head. When the Toadie realized I wouldn’t speak, he turned and shuffled back to another group of marauders to tease.

        A Mohawker then broke through the crowd. He carried a kit and strode straight in my direction. This man’s strip of hair was the color of green. Earrings dangled from his lobes and both his arms were sleeved with tattoos.

        “Keep eating,” he ordered me in a low voice.

        He grabbed a pail and turned it upside down and seated himself on the bottom, using the bucket as a makeshift chair.

        “Hold out your arm,” he coldly said.

        Quickly, I did as requested, not daring to question what he wanted of me. He opened the kit and laid out ink, needles and quill pens. I realized my arm would be decorated. While I continued to eat the dog food, he began inking my upper arm. I wondered if Wez gave the order for my tattoo.

        The sun was beginning to rise and I gazed at the brilliant colors of purple, orange, red and yellow flashing over the horizon. I patiently sat while the man continued to work on my arm. Finally, just as the sun rose above the rolling hills, he set down the needle and studied his work. He then grabbed the bucket and sat on my left side. I glanced at my right arm. Dogs of War, along with some kind of hideous monster decorated my flesh. I then realized this was the symbol of this marauding gang. I was now a member.

        As he began working on my other arm, I spotted Wez with the Humungus. They spoke at the powerful vehicle that belonged to the leader, seeming to be going over some plan of attack. For the longest time they talked, both nodding their heads as they continued to confer. By the time they were finished speaking, and the sun shone brightly at a peak between the desert plains and the sky, the Mohawker completed my other tattoo and Wez strode over to me.

        I glanced at my left arm. What I dreaded was inscribed in my flesh. The symbol indicated I was the property of Wez. Truly, he was now my master.

        “Come,” Wez beckoned.

        I rose off the ground and followed him to the big Kawasaki. Two other Mohawkers joined us while three Gayboy Berserkers fired up their modified Landau.

        My soul filled with dread. I knew Wez was leading another scavenge run and I would partake in this event as a newly initiated Dog of War. Could I do this? Could I really kill another person and rob a human being of their possessions? Was I to be stripped of the last of my humanity?

        I sat on the leather seat, drawing my boots on the foot rests. Wez fired up the bike and he nodded his head, motioning for the others to follow. The wind whipped at my hair as we roared down the highway at top speed. The other two bikes caught up and the motorcycles formed a triangle with the big Kawasaki in the lead. The Landau brought up the rear.

        We drove for about sixty kilometres when Wez steered us off the main highway and down a gravel road. After driving for about another fifteen minutes, he slowed the bike and we came to a halt on top of a hill. The two bikes and the Landau pulled up behind us.

Wez reached into his saddlebag and he withdrew his binoculars. “Look,” he informed the marauders.

Oh God, I knew he found a settlement.

        Wez turned to one of the Gayboy Berserkers in the car. He nodded his head and the man stepped from the vehicle. I watched the Berserker withdraw my bat from the trunk. All along I thought the bat had remained back at the house, but I realized Wez or one of his comrades had ensured to grab my weapon. The task was most likely performed after Wez knocked me out.

        The man strode over to the bike and Wez nodded his head again. So the Berserker held out the bat and I wrapped my fingers around the handle.

        “Let’s go,” Wez barked. He gunned the engine and with pebbles spitting out from under the tires, we roared down the road.

        I clutched the bat tightly, resting the hard wood across my back while lightly holding Wez’s hip with my free hand. I tried not to think. But yet, the fearful thoughts swam though my mind. My uncle had given me this weapon as a means of protection. And now, instead of using this gift to defend myself from marauding scavengers, I would be on the other side of the fence, a golden attacker arriving with the grim reaper.

        Wez never stopped to confer with the others. Nor did he seem to have any kind of battle plan. His only goal was to pillage the home and most likely rape the women.

        The longer we drove, the more I could sense his excitement. His fingers now tightly gripped the handle bars. Over the roar of the engine, I could hear his heavy breaths of anticipation. It seemed as if he needed to do this. His black soul thirsted for blood and hungered to hear the screams and cries of his victims.

        Wez now formed one unit with the bike since his face was between the handle bars as he crouched like an animal, ready to leap on his prey.

        When we crested another hill, the farm house came into view. I could make out two men, a woman and a young boy who didn’t look any older than ten. No, not a child. Oh God, I wanted to cry out to the boy, ‘Run! Run quickly. Get out of here. Save yourself!’ But I said nothing.

        The one man heard the powerful engines of the bikes. He seemed to be yelling as he motioned fiercely with his arms. The woman took the hand of the child and began running. The men quickly raced to an old tool shed, hurriedly arming themselves with their only means of defense: hand-to-hand combat weapons and a cross bow.

        We broke through the wooden gate at stop speed. The one man fired his cross bow at us. Swiftly, Wez swerved the bike. While the man tried to reload his weapon, Rebel pulled ahead of us and barreled down on the man with the cross bow. The man fumbled with the arrow, panicking, which hindered him from reloading the weapon. My eyes were locked on the man and I watched Rebel pop the front of the bike into the air, and then the front tire came back down and landed on the man, easily crushing him under the heavy wheel.

        I couldn’t draw my gaze away from the horror I just witnessed. All I could see was the man’s blood splattered across the front of his chest. The other man scooped up the cross bow and began running. As he quickly hurried away, he tried to reload the weapon while looking back over his shoulder at us.

        Wez guided the big Kawasaki after him. He threw back his head and gave a hissy laugh, clearly enjoying himself. The man finally loaded the cross bow and as he ran, he tried to glance down the scope but he couldn’t quite get a lock on us since his quick movement made such a feat impossible. He refused to fire the weapon, knowing if he missed, he’d have to reload with his one last arrow that was safely tucked in a quiver he wore across his back.

        Easily, Wez could have run the man down. But he relished toying with the frightened male. He gave the bike more gas and we roared passed the man. Then Wez released his one leg, running his boot along the ground as he quickly spun the motorcycle one hundred and eighty degrees. I clutched him tightly around the waist since the movement was so quick I risked falling off.

        Wez cut the powerful engine. With his boot, he unlatched the bike-stand and then rose off the seat. The man stopped running and aimed his weapon on Wez. Before he could release the arrow, Wez swiftly fired his metal cross bow. The man screamed when the arrowhead pierced the front of his thigh. The impact was so fierce, he fell over backwards.

        I remained on the bike, trying to watch Wez, while at the same time I could see the Landau on top of a hill, chasing down the woman and child. In horror, I watched the black car pick up speed and run down the boy. My heart must have dropped to my feet, witnessing the brutal slaying of a child.

        At that point, I had enough. I just wanted out of here. I refused to contribute to this horror and just stand helplessly to the side, watching these maniacs kill helpless people. I got off the bike, still clutching the bat and began running.

        “Golden Youth,” Wez roared at the top of his lungs.

        I ignored his shouts and continued to run. My eyes were locked on the child. The Gayboy Berserkers were busy raping the woman and I gazed where the boy lay deathly still. Oh God, how could they have killed a harmless child?

        I could hear the heavy breathing drawing closer. Now I shuddered since I knew Wez was no longer toying with the man. Instead, he was chasing me. Finally, I reached the hill and I hurried up the steep embankment.

        “You disobey me!” Wez shouted.

        Oh Lord, I couldn’t believe this insane animal. He expected me to just sit on the damn bike while he tortured a man and let his sick comrades rape a woman and murder a child?

        My breathing was heavy and I now used my hands for leverage as I continued to climb the hill. I had a clear view of the child. My heart sank since I knew he was dead. There was nothing I could do for this boy, so why did I continue to run to him?

        I hurried around the Landau, ignoring the cross bow that lay on the ground since the Gayboy Berserkers had disarmed themselves to have their sick way with the woman. Her cries and screams pierced my ears. Then I fell on my knees when I came upon the boy. The child was motionless, his eyes vacant and staring. I drew the boy against me, cradling his slim body in my arms.

        “Golden Youth,” Wez snarled.

        I didn’t bother to look up. Kill me. Go right ahead. See if I care. I’d rather die than witness another horrific pillage on harmless people.

        Then my eyes widened in shock when I realized the man had followed us. Oh God, the boy was probably his child. And no doubt the woman was his wife. He’d give up his own life to defend his family against us, just like my mother and uncle died defending me.

The man was trying to hobble up the hill, using the cross bow as a cane since blood gushed from his open wound. I watched the man then lift the weapon as he attempted to site Wez with the cross bow.

        “No,” I screamed.

        Quickly, I reached for the cross bow on the ground. I looked down the scope at the man’s chest and fired. Then my jaw slackened when I watched the man stumble and he fell over backwards. My aim was off and I pierced the side of his gut. The man tried to sit up. He had dropped the cross bow when he fell and he frantically tried to reach for his weapon.

        Wez turned and fired. The arrow landed in the man’s forearm, pinning him to the ground. Then Wez looked to me. He gave his evil, hissy laugh and headed back down the hill. Rebel met Wez halfway and I knew they’d finish off the man.

        Yet, I remained on the ground, numb and slowly the child’s head slipped from my lap. I pressed my fingers against my lips. What did I just do? What possessed me to pick up the cross bow and fire on the man? Why didn’t I just let him kill Wez? Why did I defend a monster - an animal who purposely came to my home to kill my mother and uncle so he could have me?

        The woman’s screams ceased. And the man no longer hollered. In a matter of moments, we brought death to this peaceful place. The crows began to fly around me, already smelling the scent of death emanating from the child.

        The Gayboy Berserkers got into the Landau and they started back down the hill in the car, heading straight for the house to begin ransacking the wooden structure. I looked over my shoulder, watching Wez and Rebel scavenge what lay on the dead man’s body. Rebel removed the man’s boots.

        I realized at that moment where my outfit came from. Someone met their death so Wez could clothe me.

        Once Wez and Rebel raided the man’s body, they focused their attention on the vehicle next to the house. I knew they’d siphon the gasoline from the tanks.

        Wez stood and he motioned for me to join him. I rose off the ground, grabbing my bat and started down the hill. Choosing to ignore the dead man who was robbed of his clothes, his naked body exposed, I drew up beside Wez.

        He glared at me. Before I saw him raise his hand, he struck me soundly across the face. His slap was so powerful, I would have tumbled over if he didn’t have a hold of my arm. My bat fell in the process and my hand covered my face since my cheek throbbed with enormous pain.

        “You will never disobey me again,” Wez spat out in a warning voice.

        My eyes narrowed. Oh God, I couldn’t believe I saved this idiot’s life and this is how he repaid me: with a smack across the face. I shook my head in disgust. No fear was present. The only feeling that filled my soul was hate. “I stopped him from killing you, so don’t you dare . . .”

        Wez folded his powerful arms, looking amused. “You saved my life? Do I look like I need your help?”

        The bile rose in my throat when I realized this savage had tested me. Of course Wez had been aware the man had been following us up the hill. This evil marauder was more brutal than an animal after all. The sadistic bastard no doubt had eyes in the back of his head. If I didn’t fire on the man, Wez would have. But he didn’t because he wanted to find out where my loyalty lay.

        Wez gave a malicious life, seeming to read my thoughts. He looked to the ground, indicating I should pick up the bat. At that moment, I wanted to spit in his face instead of obeying his stupid order.

        “Don’t even think it,” Wez hissed.

        I held my tongue and reached down, grabbing the bat. Wez undid the clasp to my chain and then he drew the garment up and over my vest. My eyes narrowed when I watched him clip the clasp around his belt loop.

        “You want to disobey me,” he snarled.

        He turned on his heel and began striding back to the big Kawasaki. I had no choice but to follow. I got on the back and Wez started the bike. He headed in the direction of the house but only slowed the motorcycle and chose not to stop.

        Wez nodded his head at his comrades and he guided the bike through the disheveled wooden gate, steering us onto the road. I realized he only led the raids. Scavenging was left to his cronies.

        I could tell his adrenaline still pumped at full throttle just by the way he shook his head and gave another laugh. Then he took me by surprise when he guided the bike off the road to a field. Why the hell were we stopping?

        Wez shut off the engine to the bike and turned in his seat, grinning. My jaw slackened when I saw the excitement in his eyes. Oh God, no. The killing, the torture, the raiding - the pillage seemed to be foreplay to him. And now he wanted release. He’d celebrate his victory by having his way with me.

        “Please,” I begged. “I can’t. Not after what I saw. They killed the child.”

        He ignored my request. He rose off the big Kawasaki and ran his finger lightly down my cheek. That familiar sneer was etched on his face. He grabbed my bat, running the edge down my chest and stomach. Then he undid the clasp of my chain from his belt loop.

        I didn’t protest when he unfastened my pants. Numbly, I just stared vacantly at the rolling hills.

        “No,” he growled softly. “Look at me!”

        “Why?” I whispered.

        “You celebrate with me,” he harshly stated. “We celebrate together.”

        “Celebrate?” My mouth hung open in shock. “I can’t celebrate.”

        “You are alive,” he snarled. “We celebrate another day above ground.”

        He began savagely biting at my lips and I locked my eyes on the glowing sun. Then I faced him when he gave my buttocks a quick slap, letting his disapproval be known. He wanted my full attention. This time he was not going to let me lay like a corpse while he used my body to feed his lust.

        His hands hungrily ran along my thighs and his teeth began nipping at my throat. He gave a grunt, nudging me with his leg, silently letting me know he wanted me to explore his body. So I hesitantly did.

        He worked his hand inside my pants and I gasped. I never had someone fondle me in such a personal place before, and the electrifying excitement shook my soul. A hunger was rising in my body. The scenes flashed through my mind as I returned his demanding kisses. Life and death walked hand in hand. Survival. Yes, we survived another day above ground. We possessed the gasoline, water and food we needed to live. This big, powerful man was my protector. He wanted life to remain in my body. He didn’t want to see me laying on the ground, fatally wounded while scavengers raided my person of the clothing I wore.

        He could have murdered me at any time, just like he did to the many others whom he hunted. But he wanted me. Purposely, he did intentionally come for me after spotting me outside of my home. Maybe he even needed me? Could such a sadistic, cunning, evil man possess feelings of vulnerability and loneliness? Did he need beauty to breathe life into his soul? Did he long for companionship? Was there a smidgen of humanity in him that needed to cherish and adore someone?

        I moaned the more he fondled what lay in my pants. No longer did I meekly explore his muscles. Instead, I eagerly ran my hands along his powerful arms while grinding my groin against his fingers. He licked at my neck and I gasped with pleasure from the wet heat he left on my flesh. Urgently, he worked at my pants with his hands and he lowered the leather garment to the top of my boots. He lay me back on the bike and then drew my feet over his head and settled my boots against his buttocks. We were locked together as one. He hovered over me, his eyes running up and down my body.

        Gently, he entered me while still fondling and caressing my private parts. I moved my hips in sync with his thrusts, wrapping my arms around his strong neck.

        The excitement building from both of our souls seemed to create a strong electrical current between us that was so potent and hot, I wondered if I’d explode.

        As he thrust between my thighs, I relaxed, letting my full weight sink against the bike as I savored the intense feelings filling my insides. I couldn't get over the sultry, lust-filled emotions breathing life inside my body.  Never did I imagine such wondrous, sensual pleasure could exist.

        When he began thrusting faster, I couldn't stop the heavy moans from hissing between my lips. His mouth covered mine and I gladly returned the hunger-filled kisses, savoring the taste of his tongue melting against mine. He then licked at my face, wetting my cheeks, nose and chin with his desire for me.  The lust he drew from me was overpowering and I thrashed under him when the rush of pleasure began building. He gazed at me.

"You like when I touch this?" he asked. His eyes drew to my manhood, his fingers still laced around the shaft as he continued to jerk his hand up and down.

I groaned, nodding my head.

"Tell me," he barked.

"Yes, I like it," I gasped.

"You like feeling me fuck you?" he asked.

"Yes," I moaned.

He clasped his hand underneath my buttocks, drawing me as close to his own flesh as he possibly could.  The intensity was at a breaking point for me and he seemed to sense it.

        “Yes,” he whispered in his gruff voice. “Give it to me, Golden Youth. Give me your seed.”

        Then his own grunts filled the air as we let the celebration of the raid consume us. He fondled my private part harder and I let him have the one treasure he demanded from me, while he in turn buried his deep inside of me.

        Both of us panted for breath and I watched him draw his fingers to his mouth as he consumed what he wanted from me all along.

        For a few moments, I just lay on the bike, drawing air deep into my lungs as I savored the heady emotions that had consumed me just mere seconds ago. Wez lay over me, also trying to still his rapid breathing.

        “No more,” he said into my ear. He touched my chain and then let the strong links drop against my flesh. “No more running. From now on you stay on my bike until I tell you to get off.”

        “Yes,” I softly said, obediently nodding my head.

        He continued to stare at me, his gaze intense. I realized he was giving me a smidgen of freedom again since I had given him my lust, which he seemed to desire most from me. Maybe he loathed chaining me to him, as much as I loathed having him lead me about like a dog? I sensed he wanted me to stay with him upon my own accord, not through force.

        Then the roar of engines alerted us to the motorcycles and Landau’s approach.

        “Get dressed,” Wez grunted as he moved off of me and fastened his leather groin covering.

        I moved off the bike and yanked up my pants.
 

        Wez got on the big Kawasaki and I slid back on the bike behind him. He started the engine and guided us back to the road. Just as he steered the motorcycle onto the gravel, the other marauders came into view as they crested a hill. Wez gave the engine more gas and we sped down the road.
 

        The other bikes and the Landau quickly caught up to us. We began riding back to the camp in the manner we left.
 

        Instead of thinking about the massacre we left behind, the lust-filled act I let Wez perform on me pounded through my mind. Already, my loins were filling with excitement since I ached to again experience the rush of pleasure he gifted me with.
 

        The raid, the killings, even the torture . . . the acts we performed were so evil, and yet, in the same breath, why did I feel so heady? I should be wracked with guilt, filled with self-loathing.
 

        As we continued to drive, I hugged my body closer to his, letting my fingers caress his hips.
 

        Wez gave a grunt. “Enough,” he warned me. “We ride.”
 

        I sat back in the seat, realizing he expected me to conduct myself with dignity and pride around his comrades. He didn’t want his cronies to witness any affection between us.
 

        We drove out to the highway and began heading in the direction of the camp. For one moment, I thought about my mother and uncle. They would be ashamed of me right now if they witnessed what I accepted without a fight. They died for me and I had let this murderer of my family fuck me, willingly participating in the lust-filled joining.

Yet, I thought about Wez’s words. If not the Dogs of War, another group of marauders would have pillaged our home. And I might not have lived through such a massacre. Sooner or later I would have met my death. But under Wez's protection, at least I’d grow to see manhood.
 

        So were my thoughts right or wrong? Should I celebrate another day above ground, or hate myself for standing to the side, letting others die so I could live?

 

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