Mad Max Villains

Mad Max Villains

You see! There is no escape! The Humungus Rules the Wasteland!

Chapter Ten

Desert Plains

(Words & Music by: Tipton, Downing & Halford)

Full moon is rising
The sky is black
I heed your call, I'm coming back
The road is straight cast
Wind's in my eyes
The engine roars between my thighs

Wild mountain thunder
Echoes my quest
My body aches but I'll not rest
Quartz light to guide me
Till sunrise leads
My passion screams, my heart it bleeds

Then in the distance
I see you stand
On the horizon you raise your hand
In burning rubber
I end my quest
You fall into my arms at last

From desert plains I bring you love
~~~

This place used to be Stonehead Correctional Facility, once a self-contained community within a secure perimeter, spread throughout 100 acres of land, guarded by 5.2 meter high fencing clad to 2.4 meters of sheet metal, along with a 5.2 meter inner fence. Housed within the small community was the main entrance building, a medical facility, eight house-blocks, the administration centre and other various small buildings, all linked together by winding, paved roads and underground tunnels. But after the war, the concrete jungle was no longer.

The four watch towers remained, along with the limestone buildings. Whereas in the past, this foreboding facility was to be avoided, now people flocked to the main gate, begging and pleading to be let inside the New City's safe walls.

The meadow was to the back of the community where animals grazed, bred to be slaughtered. The six wells were also located to the back where fresh, clean water lay waiting to be drawn upwards from the deep ground. Surrounding this mighty New City were deep trenches, filled with a lethal combination of old sewage water, toxic waste and other various poisons that could eat at one's skin in a matter of seconds.

But the prize of this place was to the left where the gasoline was being drawn from the ground by a refining pump. Coiled, sharp fencing guarded this gold mine, along with a bevy of guards who used the precious firing arms, the only unit allowed to posses the sacred bullets since without the gasoline, the New City would be as desolate as the wasteland.

Iason stood on the fourth watch tower, the telescope trained on the desert plains. A cigarette dangled from his lips as he puffed on the filter, intently peering to where the ruins of the Great City lay. His bullwhip and frayed whip were secured to his belt loop. The quirt rested against his chest, hidden by his long, black cloak. He lowered the telescope and handed the magnifying object back to the guard.

"Scavengers to the left," he said in his sultry voice. "Why didn't you retrieve me sooner?"

"General Manning, I did not see any signs of marauders earlier," the lead guard replied. He stood six-five with heavy muscles, wrapped in tight, black leather.

"Then please tell me why I saw them?" Iason asked as he again puffed on the cigarette. He leaned his sinewy body against the circular half wall, placing his long fingers on the railing, staring intently.

"Forgive me, General Manning," the lead guard sputtered.

The other two guards looked away, pretending to busy themselves with their weapons.

Iason flicked the cigarette over the wall and then withdrew the .38 Special from his chest belt. He wrinkled his nose with displeasure, seeming to change his mind. "Then again, you're not worth a bullet," he mocked, setting the gun back in its holster.

The guard's eyes widened.

Instead, Iason withdrew the bullwhip, cracking the tip.

"No, General Manning," the lead guard begged, getting to his knees.

Iason cocked his brow, giving a mocking smile. With just a quick snap, the whip coiled around the man's thick neck and he drew tightly on the end, choking all air from the six-five body. The guard struggled, fighting for his life. So Iason withdrew his frayed whip with the small, sharp steel balls tied to each fray. He sent the coil along the man's back, easily cutting through the leather. Over and over he cracked the whip.

The third guard looked away since he couldn't stand to see that sardonic smile on the general's face. Never did he meet someone who savored and lusted for torture and death.

When the lead guard ceased to struggle any longer, slumped to the floor, Iason turned to the other guards. "I don't want to see fuck-ups like this," he hissed. "It's my goddamn ass on the line if we have to use more ammunition to fend off an attack.

"Get to the sand-runners and kill them all," he ordered. "Take Lieutenant Vashta with you. I at least know he'll get the job done without incident."

Then he held out the whips. The third guard rushed forward, cleaning the blood, muscle and tissue from the leather coils.

"Such a good boy," Iason teased.

With a flick of the wrist, he rolled the coils, easily setting his whips back into his jacket. He slowly pivoted, his three inch heels clicking against the metal floor as he headed for the stairs. Nonchalantly, he glanced over his shoulder. "Get rid of the body. Toss it in the trench. After all, such incompetence does not merit a burial."

"Yes, General Manning," the second guard quickly said.

Iason slipped his sunglasses on his slim nose and started down the stairs. Just as he was half-way down the watch tower, the body fell, landing in the trench, sinking rather quickly, easily being consumed by the flesh eating substance. He giggled. What an idiot. He should have had the guards throw that fool into the trench alive. Oh well, he wasn't a complete bitch. He could show a speck of mercy from time to time. Okay, he wanted to kill the putz. After all, it had been over a week since he last tortured and killed someone.

Just as he descended the stairs, Lieutenant Vashta met him.

"Breakfast, General Manning?" Vashta asked.

Iason lowered the sunglasses, peeking over the top as he eyed the man who stood six-five with short, brown hair, a smooth shaven face, except for a trimmed mustache and sideburns. The man's thick muscles strained against the black leather. His handsomeness could not be denied since he possessed a strong jaw line with bold facial features, from his cheekbones, nose and lips.

Brown eyes returned the stare.

"You'll have to eat later," Iason replied. "Marauders are in the Great City keeping watch. Take your unit out and kill them. Leave none alive. The two guards in the watch tower are conducting a surveillance of the area right now. They'll have the specs for you."

"As you wish, General Manning," Vashta replied.

Iason turned on his heel and strode away. As he rounded a building, he heard the footsteps.

"I won't be long," Vashta smugly stated. "Wait in our quarters. You got away so early, I haven't had time yet to pay homage to that beautiful body."

Iason gave a sensual giggle. "I'll ensure to have breakfast waiting in bed for you, Lieutenant." He turned on his heel.

Vashta watched the minx sashay away. Five years, even after five years of fucking the minx, he still could not get enough of the hellcat. Making his way to the New City and then securing a position for himself as a guard was the best thing he ever did. Because after proving his speed, strength, dexterity and skill, along with intelligence and patience, the lovely general thought to promote him to lieutenant three years ago since he never failed the sensual blond.

Actually, he was impressed by Iason's ability to govern the defense for this city. Men who were bigger, stronger and taller all took orders from a minx who stood a measly five-ten without those boots and weighed maybe no more than 135 pounds. So damn delicate. And that's where many a man failed since they always underestimated the cunning bitch. Iason ruled defense without mercy or hesitation. Many times he saw the hellcat kill or order those to their deaths without batting an eye.

He could see his lover rounding another building. He turned on his heel, it was best to head out. The sooner he took care of business, the faster he'd be between the sheets with his minx.

Iason blew Vashta a kiss and continued to the main building where he knew he'd find Admiral Ramses.

The guards all stood to attention, nodding their heads. Iason ignored them and entered the building, his heels clicking against the cement, echoing off the walls as he strolled to the Admiral's quarters where he knew the leader of the city would be breaking his fast.

He entered the outer room, not paying any mind to the Admiral's slave girls. His eyes were locked on the sitting room. When he parted the long beads, the leader was seated in a chair, being fed by two girls.

"I sent out unit three just now. Scavengers were spotted in the Great City," Iason informed the man as he took a seat, crossing one long leg over the other.

The admiral glanced up, nodding his head. The biggest of them all, the man stood six-nine with powerful muscles, a clean shaven head and goatee. Earrings dangled from his lobes and a sword was nestled in a scabbard that was hitched to his right hip.

"Very good, General Manning," Rames replied in his deep voice.

Iason cocked his brow. "Now if you have no other questions, perhaps we could again commence with negotiating my own . . ."

"It's not open for debate," Rames coolly noted. "You have your own quarters, your own sand runner, a gun with ammunition at your disposal. You have much more than many others."

Iason's eyes narrowed. "I have faithfully served even before you built this place," he hissed.

"Ah, you are not happy," Ramses noted. Then his own eyes narrowed. "Perhaps we can find a way to dispel these feelings? What do you propose I should do? Each day you grow bolder, more defiant. And I will not have my most trusted man showing me such disrespect. I have given you much. Would some time spent in the hole again quell these feelings of disgruntlement?"

Iason's jaw tightened. He rose. "No. It won't be necessary. I hear you loud and clear." He turned on his heel, storming away.

"General Manning."

Slowly, Iason pivoted.

"Try to remember who's in charge. I commend you on your obedience and loyalty you have shown me, but there are many who wish for your position, easily wanting to take your place, men bigger and stronger than you who would never show dissatisfaction with what I would give them." The Admiral raised his hand in a shooing manner, calling for dismissal.

Iason stormed from the room.

*****

"Very good," the Humungus grunted. "Very good. Second compound down."

Wez nodded his head as he leaned against the big, six-wheeled vehicle. They returned from another successful raid. Two down and two more to go. Then it would be on to the man named Pappagello's refinery.

The camp was busy as the women prepared for the celebration. They were cooking the meat the Gayboy Berserkers were skinning and gutting. The Smegma Crazies were busy rolling out the big containers of water. Meanwhile, the Mohawkers were sorting through the other supplies they hauled back from the compound. And of course Wez stood with their leader, guarding the precious gasoline.

Six months had passed and he was glad they finally located and seized the second compound. In front of the bonfire, three captives were lashed to poles, awaiting their torture. The fourth captive was dead since he ordered his mate to give the nod for the kill. And the Golden Youth had obeyed. Now his lover must torture the three prisoners. It had to be done. Once complete, his mate would be a true Dog of War.

So careful he had to be about this. He refused to turn his gentle youth into a mirror image of Iason. He would never allow the beauty within that delicate soul to truly embrace evil. If he allowed it to happen, he would rob the Golden Youth of the sweet innocence that had first captivated him. Yes, he had to handle this with care. So complex was this feat he sought to accomplish.

The youth had to be assimilated into the Dogs of War without being robbed of . . . humanity. Now he frowned. Humanity.

He focused his attention to where the youth sat. If he was trying to lead the Golden Youth down the path he had taken in life . . . Now he thought about the marks he made in the sand six months ago. His eyes widened in disbelief. He realized his mate was unintentionally assimilating him as well.

His thoughts turned to when they were alone in the tent mating. Lovers play: Teasing, soft words spoken, cuddling, kissing, passion, quietly savoring a joining. He was doing something he never once did before with anyone he fucked. Now he shuddered, realizing why when he mated with Iason they could not reach that state of intimate bliss he found with the Golden Youth.

Neither of them had possessed an ounce of humanity. How could two devils unearth . . . Love.

Oh God, of course he found love with the Golden Youth, because his mate possessed the feelings that spoke of love. The youth had loved the guardians. That's why his mate screamed and mourned the loss of the man and woman. That's why those big, sapphire blue eyes had been filled with grief and sadness. That's why the youth had ran to the dead child, disobeying orders. The youth cared. His mate cared about people.

And yet, just two hours earlier, his mate had nodded that golden head, obeying and silently giving the order to kill the fourth man who begged and pleaded for life. Why did the youth obey? Did the Golden Youth love him?

Dammit, his lover was just sitting quietly, not moving from the log since earlier he had ordered the blond lad to stay put when the silly boy thought to help the Smegmas with the water. So what did the youth feel in that golden heart?

Now the hunger rose up within his soul. Is this why he liked having the youth gaze at him so admiringly? Is this why he moaned with pleasure when he mated with his lover, wanting to hear the Golden Youth beg to be spanked because the pretty lad savored and enjoyed his touch?

Yeah, all along this is what he sought to possess, his lover's heart. He wanted the Golden Youth to shower him with that love his beautiful mate gifted the guardians with. He hungered, ached and longed for the delicate heart. And he realized at that moment what lay in his own blackened heart.

He loved the Golden Youth.

*****

They were nestled in the bed. Vashta's arm was wrapped around the blond minx, his lips pressed against the silken forehead. His free arm was strewn over the slim chest.

Iason gazed up at the ceiling, puffing on the cigarette.

"He spoils you," Vashta whispered. "When you first met, he ransacked the Great City's most powerful tobacco operation just so you could keep smoking. Now he lets you grow the tobacco with our other agriculture."

"It's not enough," Iason hissed. "I helped him build this fucking empire. And after ten years of faithfully serving him, what do I have?" He sat up then, glaring at his lover. "He lives in the former administration building that he turned into a goddamn mansion for himself. He has his own legion of servants, his own body guards.

"I have nothing but a pitiful apartment!

"Every fucking year I make the runs to the south to harvest the plants so he can have fresh berries and vegetables to eat. I almost got myself killed when we encountered . . ."

Quickly, he looked to his lover. "Alex."

"What are you talking about?" Vashta asked, propping himself up on his elbow.

"The Mohawkers we saw about a year-and-a-half ago," Iason replied. "Alex leads those men. I know he does."

"You mean those nomadic marauders?" Vashta inquired.

"Yes," Iason slowly noted more to himself.

His green eyes alit. If anyone could help them overthrow Admiral Ramses it would be Alex. Alex and Roger. Now he thought about how he double-crossed the two brute men. Well, surely they would understand to live it was every man for himself. And what if he made an offer? What if he sealed a deal so sweet neither would resist? Surely, they would let bygones be bygones.

Now he glanced sideways at his lover. Yes, with Alex at his side, they could overtake the New City for themselves. He would run this place with Alex. Roger would be their general. Easily, they had taken over the juvenile detention center, a great trio ruling with an iron fist. As for Vashta, well, the handsome hunk would have to die. Make that: die after the brunette babe served out his purpose.

Iason slyly grinned. The wheels began turning in his devious mind. Yes, the next trip they made south, he'd seek out Alex. Yeah, the wasteland was big and it might take him at least two or three trips before they crossed paths again but this was worth the wait. Only Alex was cruel, cunning, ferocious and brutal enough to take down Admiral Ramses. With those strong Mohawkers following the big guy, easily they'd crush every guard in the New City.

A new governing body would be born.

Oh heavens, such thoughts excited him. Just thinking about the battle, the take-over, all the killing, and yes, slowly torturing and disposing of Rames . . .

"Fuck me again," Iason purred.

Vashta grinned. "You never have to ask twice."

*****

The bonfires were lit and the marauders all feasted on the cooked meat, cheering and hollering at the top of their lungs. The dune buggies, road racers and other vehicles were parked in a wide circle. The Mohawkers drove their powerful motorcycles around the camp, carrying torches and giving their war cries.

The Humungus stepped forward then.

The Toadie stood up on the leader’s big vehicle. “Silence,” he called out. “The Lord Humungus speaks.”

The camp quickly quieted. All that could be heard was the crackling of the bonfires.

The Humungus seated himself in the chair of his vehicle. He switched on the microphone and his amplified voice carried through the night in a thick echo.

“My Dogs of War,” he began, “I commend you for your obedience, loyalty and courage. Because of your warrior fierceness, tonight we celebrate our most successful raid.”

Before he could finish, the camp erupted into loud cheers, whistles and shouts.

“I always said if you followed my command, the wasteland would be ours,” the Humungus stated in a rich voice. “And this raid proves nothing can stop us!”

Again, more cheers filled the night air. Now everyone stood, clapping and shaking their fists. The energy emanating from their bodies filled the atmosphere with electrifying excitement.

“We all celebrate!” the Humungus exclaimed as he now stood, gesturing at his loyal Dogs of War. Then he looked to his powerful War Chief. “Wez, you may begin.”

So Wez stepped forward and motioned to his Golden Youth. The pretty lad laid out the saddlebag and weaponry. Then the youth edged about a foot away, taking his place beside Rebel.

He threw back his head and gave a hissy, loud laugh. Then he picked up a knife and deftly walked to the frightened captives. But he had no desire to lead this torture. It would be his mate who would commence with the ceremony. He turned and gazed at his lover. “Golden Youth,” he hollered, “you may have the honor of leading the torture!”

Now he carefully studied those sapphire blue eyes that widened with fear. He knew the youth did not want to do this. But his mate took a deep breath, drawing on that gentle courage. Ah yes, so proud. He was so damn proud of the delicate rose's obedience and loyalty.

The Golden Youth stepped forward, chin raised proudly as he faced the three captives. Wez held out the knife and he watched those delicate, long fingers lace around the handle.

“What would you like me to do, Master?” the youth softly asked.

Wez could feel the warmth building in his soul. Yes, so obedient. His mate would perform this task so bravely and all just to please him. “Whatever you wish, Golden Youth,” he replied in a gruff voice.

He stood to the side, ignoring the shouts coming from the marauders as the Golden Youth raised that slim arm, delicate fingers still curled around the handle of the knife. Then he cocked his brow when he watched his mate slash the blade along the captive's face.

The victim screamed from the sudden attack, blood gushing from the open wound. The crowd erupted into another cheer.

Once again the Golden Youth raised the blade and the man choked back on his bile and released the spit that splattered over the rose's face.

“Fucking kid!” the man roared.

Wez's eyes widened in disbelief. Never did he feel such rage pounding through his soul as he watched the man's saliva run down the satiny skin of his lover's face. He was almost shaking since the anger was so great. He could feel the hate spiraling up his body like a volcano ready to explode. Before he could react, the Golden Youth wiped the spittle from the silken skin and then severed the man's ear.

The man screamed again, gazing at his ear that lay in the dirt.

Wez felt the anger disappear when he watched his delicate rose of the wasteland morph into a Amanita Virosa, the deadly angel of doom, pure as snow white, a tantalizing mushroom most pleasing to the eye, beckoning one to bite down and consume the soft, satiny skin where the deadly poison lurked that could kill a man instantly.

The youth motioned at Rebel to strip the man of his clothes. Rebel stepped forward and yanked down the man’s pants and then tore open his shirt.

“You think to spit on me?” the Golden Youth whispered, the sweet voice laced with hate. “Fucker!”

The man screamed and shuddered when the youth reached forward and cut off the victim's dick. And the Amanita Virosa didn't stop there. He also severed the victim's balls. The sack fell to the ground. Then the youth picked up the sexual organs and shoved the members into the man's mouth.

The crowd roared with laughter.

Wez's eyes narrowed. He had to stop this. His golden beauty had snapped and he did not like seeing his innocent rose lusting for blood. Actually, so many feelings consumed him at once. Jealousy since his lover touched another man's sex organs. Hate since the victim dared to spit on his mate. And disgust with himself for forcing his pretty lover into torturing a man

He didn't like any of this.

Just as the Golden Youth was about to raise the knife, Wez tightened his fingers around the delicate wrist.

Vanished. The deadly, angelic Amanita Virosa vanished. Instead, the rose of the wasteland's big, sapphire blue eyes gazed at him, filled with obedience while lightly loosening the grip on the knife handle. The tension that filled the pretty body uncoiled. So meek. Ready to do whatever he wished.

So he motioned for his mate to step back and the Golden Youth did.

Then Wez faced the victim. The man had spit out the sex organs. Without hesitating, and with pleasure, he cut the man's tongue out.

“You dare spit on my Golden Youth,” he snarled.

Then he cut off the man’s fingers.

The victim no longer screamed. He seemed to be in shock. Yet the two other prisoners did enough shouting for him. Both were fearful, watching their comrade being slowly cut to pieces, knowing they’d be next.

Wez again lifted the knife, ready to sever the man's nose. Just then he felt a tug and he was drawn against the Golden Youth's delicate chest. Those sapphire blue eyes were filled with hunger, needing and aching for his strong manhood.

So he handed the knife to Rebel. Then he scooped up the Golden Youth in his arms as he stalked away from the bonfire, heading for the tent. Yeah, the hunger was deep in his loins, such a great ache. Yet, he didn't like seeing his delicate rose so excited from the torture.

He grasped the golden mane with his fingers, gazing into the big, sapphire blue eyes. "Who is your master?" he asked.

"You are," the Golden Youth replied.

"Why you torture?"

"Because you asked me to, Master," came the sweet voice.

"Did you enjoy it?"

Now the Golden Youth hesitated, shamefully gazing at his boots. Reality was setting in.

Wez gazed at the blood that splattered both their clothes, hands and arms. "No more," he grunted. "Will never ask you again to harm another person. I know you truly belong to me now."

"Oh, Master."

Yes, the delicate voice was filled with excitement, so happy, so pleased. He shuddered since those big blue eyes were filled with such unspeakable worship, such admiration and maybe even . . .

"We play," Wez grunted. "Your look makes me so horny. Need you so bad. Fuck you till sun rises."

"Yes, please have me, Master," the youth swooned as he laced his slim arms around the broad shoulders.

Wez gave a grunt of pleasure. Yes, he didn't fail tonight. He sealed the youth's soul to his without having to bring this gentle creature to the other side. Hungrily, he began savagely attacking the rose's soft lips and he gave a sassy growl when he felt that silken mouth gladly matching his lust-filled need.

*****

Lovers time. Yeah, times like this were scarce. Such moments alone were usually spent cooped up in the tent, feeding one another with their lust. And gentle times like these he cherished. Both naked, grooming one another from head to toe. They were up on the rocky hill and the camp was far below. Nobody would disturb them since everyone had woke late after a night of celebrating.

His metal-wrist crossbow was by his side, along with the rifle crossbow and other weapons. Their clothing was strewn over the seat of the big Kawasaki to dry since the Golden Youth had scrubbed down their garments. He glanced to the collar resting on the front of the bike as the chain snaked to the ground. Yea, only time he allowed his mate to be freed from the bondage was when they fully bathed.

Before he roused his mate from a deep sleep, he had hauled the water up here, along with some food so they could spend an afternoon undisturbed. He'd even started a fire earlier so he could heat the wet liquid so his Golden Youth could be properly cleansed.

Wez lathered up the shampoo, gently massaging the delicate scalp as he worked his fingers into the thick, golden mane. He could hear his mate sigh with pleasure. So he continued to massage the youth, inhaling the lovely fragrance of the shampoo while savoring the feel of the satiny strands. So damn beautiful.

The sun was at its peak in the sky, reminding him of his lover's hair when dry. When wet, the gold disappeared and the flowing locks turned snow white. He raised the bucket and poured the water over the youth's satiny locks and washed away the last of the seed. Yeah, all night he had let his orgasm spray, deep into his lover's mouth, all over the golden mane and along the silken skin.

He picked up the rag and began lathering up the soap, running the cloth along the delicate back Gently, he kissed the nape of the slim neck while he continued to wash down his lover. Yea, such a beautiful tan the youth possessed, alighting the satiny skin with a bronze glow.

“I could sit out here forever,” his mate whispered.

Wez rose off the rock and seated himself in front of the Golden Youth. His hands ran along the slim legs with the wash cloth and then he began washing the delicate feet.

“You like it out here?” he asked.

"Yeah, I do.” The voice was but a whisper.

Wez could feel the sweet warmth building in his soul. He knew then his mate savored these moments as much as he did. Rarely did the youth speak. Still so quiet, always thinking and living in that pretty mind. But he was used to this by now. He found the silence part of his lover's beauty. And it made moments like these so much more special when they would both share words that lay in their hearts.

“Why?” Wez asked.

“I dunno. It’s just nice.” The youth shrugged his shoulders.

Well, he wanted more of an answer than that. So much thinking went on in his lover's mind and he longed to hear the delicate rose finally speak those thoughts that lurked somewhere within the innocent soul. “What makes it nice?”

His eyes lit up then and he held the youth's one foot in his hand. He was gazing at the rose colored lips that turned up at the corners into a gentle smile. The sapphire blue eyes sparked like gems and the tanned skin glowed from within. So beautiful. Never before did this angel grace him with an enchanting smile and his heart seemed to drop out from under him. So bewitched. Yea, he felt as if he was up on the hill again, looking at the youth drawing in the sand, hypnotized and following the rose's genteel movements.

“Is first time I see you smile,” Wez couldn't help but point out. “Why you smile?”

Yes, please tell me. Share with me. You will never know how much that elusive smile you just graced me with means to me.

“Cause you asked why it’s nice out here,” the youth softly replied. “It’s nice cause we’re out here together, alone. Nobody’s buggin’ us.”

Oh God, he wondered if he'd fall over and swoon. Yes, tell me more. Please share. Please share what lays in your heart with me. “You like being with me?” he asked.

“Yeah, I do.” The sapphire blue eyes spoke the truth, so sincere, truly claiming their time together was so special.

“What else you feel in here?” Wez asked as he pointed at the youth's chest as he continued to wash the slim legs. He could feel the anticipation bursting within. Oh God, he knew what would come next and he longed to hear that sweet, husky voice speak those three words.

Several moments passed and yet his lover didn't speak. The youth just gazed back, looking slightly peculiar. What? Didn't the youth love him? The youth didn't want to give him that innocent heart? The youth felt nothing for him? By gods, he'd find out!

“Answer me,” he barked as he stopped washing the slim legs and carefully studied his lover.

“What do you want me to feel, Master?” the youth asked.

What? The stupid bitch wanted him to determine how this silly lad felt? Goddammit! He wanted his lover to declare what lay in that pretty heart! “No,” he growled. He cast aside the rag and stood, glaring. “You tell me what you feel!”

Then he got on his haunches, hovering over the youth's lap as he gazed into the sapphire blue eyes. He held the smooth face with his fingers.

“I . . .” The youth's body trembled with fear. “I . . .” Then he searched for a deep breath. “Master, you know I belong to you.”

Oh God, he couldn't believe this. He loved the Golden Youth and this bitch was such an idiotic, docile, submissive, subservient coward who refused to speak about the feelings within. The stupid slut wanted him to give the order! Never did such rage fill his body. At that moment he couldn't stand this bitch. He wanted to reach for his crossbow and kill the meek whore.

Instead, he backhanded the youth across the face. Damn that felt good. How he loved smacking that silken cheek.

The Golden Youth tumbled over, the delicate jaw slack. Then those sapphire blue eyes narrowed and he sat up, glaring. “Why the fuck did you hit me?” he hollered.

You stupid bitch! You just don't get it! Yea, I'm your master but I refuse to sit here and tell your cowardice ass how you should feel! I want you to speak freely and tell me what lays in your heart! I lay in your meek heart! I know it to be true since I know why you obey!

Oh God, he couldn't stop the anger that coiled through every inch of his body when the silly bitch still sat in silence. “What do you feel?” Wez roared. He stood and in two strides closed the gap. He sat back on his haunches as he grabbed the youth by the delicate shoulders and began shaking the stupid bitch.

“Stop it,” the Golden Youth protested. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

Now that made the pot boil over. The fucking wimp could find courage to back talk but the cowardly louse couldn't declare those heart-felt feelings? “Don’t you ever talk back to me again,” he roared.

Their faces were only inches apart. Wez's chest rose and fell with his anger. “I protect you. I share what I have with you. And what do you give me!”

“What more do you want from me?” the youth hissed. “I give you my body. I obey you. I do everything you ask of me.”

“You refuse to answer,” he spat out. “Answer me!”

The youth held his stare. “Is this what you want?” he asked, pointing at the delicate heart.

Oh God, the stupid bitch! The bitch dared to toy with him. Such gall. His lover knew what he wanted all along and yet the slut thought to play games. Oh no, he would not be a game. “Golden Youth, don’t try my patience,” he snarled.

“Fine,” the youth snapped. “I love you! That’s what you want me to say, right?”

You fucking bitch! Don't you dare tell me your feelings in anger!

“Not like this,” Wez hollered, slamming fist on the ground.

His eyes were filled with hate as he gazed at his lover. If you deny me this and keep trying to make a fool out of me, I will kill you. I will let every warrior in this camp rape you and then I'll kill you.

The Golden Youth held the stare. Oh god, reality slapped him in the face when he realized his master needed him, just like he needed his big, strong protector. And all that swelled up in his heart surfaced.

“I love you,” the youth softly said as those big sapphire blue eyes filled with a deep ache. “I love you, Master.”

Wez gazed back, holding that enchanting stare. All anger vanished. All the hate disappeared. The rage was doused just as if someone threw water over a campfire. Oh God, he could feel his body trembling as he looked deeply into his lover's big eyes. Yes, all along he knew this delicate rose loved him and now the youth professed. He drew his mate against him, tightly clutching the lean body in his arms. Gently, he stroked the damp hair. Then he pressed his cheek deep against the youth's. He nuzzled the flesh since he now regretted his anger and violence.

Such courage. Never did the youth fail him. He wanted the lad's pretty heart and the delicate rose just gave him what he wanted, what he only wanted.

“Do you love me, Master?” the Golden Youth whispered.

Silly boy, you know what your master feels. Only you possess my heart. Only you can make me feel this way. Only you can find something in me even I didn't think me capable of.

“You know what I feel,” Wez quietly replied in his gruff voice as he continued to tightly clutch his Golden Youth.

Never before did he cry. Never before did he even think of crying. Never before did he have the slightest comprehension of what could make one cry. But as he stroked and caressed his lover's flesh, he realized he could cry, yet he didn't. But his soul filled with a sweet ache because he liked knowing the delicate rose of the wasteland found that secret spot where tears could be unleashed.

Next Page - Chapter Eleven

Note: "Mad Max" is a trademark and copyright of Kennedy-Miller Entertainment/Warner Bros. George Miller, Byron Kennedy and Terry Hayes (Kennedy Miller Entertainment/ Warner Bros.) hold copyright to the Mad Max Trilogy.
This story is created for fan fiction purposes only. Some dialogue was taken from the script to keep this tale true to the original movie.

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