Bautista is ready to get his revenge on a vicious and evil man, and he has the power to do it. That means he’s in for a wild ride of twink on top Haitian vodou domination that’s just might satisfy his lustiest desires!
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The Haitian Soldier
Bautista waited until the stars and the moon were at their peak to maximize his power and his ability to beseech the loa. It shouldn’t have been necessary to do that, but he wanted the greatest chance of success. If it didn’t work tonight, he might be consumed by the attempt. Sparks erupted from his fire, amid the smell of chicken blood and the ash still raining over the clearing — Bautista had sacrificed a stack of US dollars and a few euros. They burned up, and the ash continued even after it all should have landed in a flurry. That was the magic of his will. The loa were smiling upon his offering.
He didn’t just want to control Jean — he wanted to utterly dominate him. That was why he sacrificed both a chicken and a boku of money.
Vin jwenn mwen…
He didn’t have any way of knowing it worked, but in his heart, he knew it did. He could feel it even before he sat down to pray to his loa, and then he saw what was happening with his mind’s eye. His spiritual vision was hazy, but it was enough to know that his magic was a success.
On the other side of Port-au-Prince, in a shanty-town of corrugated roofs and rain barrels, old campfire rings, makeshift curtains and unfortunate goats, a circle of men sat around a smoldering campfire. One of them banged a drum, and the others were playing cards. One of the card-players was a tall, broad-shouldered man in dreadlocks. He had dark skin marked with scars and a faded tattoo from his old military batayon.
He was the biggest man in the shanty-town, with muscles bulging from his sturdy frame, shoulders broad as a bèf. He was menacing too, with a gritty stare to his eyes. The others were frightened of him. They allowed him to win at cards — Bautista could tell that because the loa could read their minds.
That man stood up, dropping his cards, leaving behind the money that was resting in his lap. The other players bugged out, thinking at first he was going to attack them, because he was the kind of nèg who did attack people at random. He walked, propelled by the loa that Bautista commanded from afar.
He screamed, begging someone to stop him, but there was nothing anyone could do. That was because he was not in control of his body. He controlled his own voice, because Bautista allowed it, but the man had no control over his powerful muscles.
Ou yo ale nan mouri nan labou a, sa ki mal nonm…
Not that anyone tried to help. Nobody liked the man, whose name was Jean. Nobody there in the shantytown knew who he was, but Bautista knew. Jean had just been released from prison; no one behind bars knew who Jean really was either. But Bautista had known even before Jean had been released.
Bautista had been waiting for a long time. He was glad that Jean had not been killed in prison, though that would have been a fitting end. Bautista had been looking forward to getting his revenge ever since his sister was raped and murdered.
Jean had done it. He was a soldier then, in the Haitian army, and he had raped her in the street, just because he could. Because he knew that no one would stop him.
Bautista had not had the power to stop him then, and by the time he did, Jean was in prison. Now he was out, and he walked against his will through the streets of Port-au-Prince. Bautista was glad he had resisted his heart’s demand for revenge while Jean was still imprisoned — Bautista could have easily made sure he was tortured and killed in there. But Bautista didn’t want that to happen.
Because Bautista wanted to have that honor for himself. He wasn’t going to let someone else take his revenge.
“Yon moun ede m ‘, tanpri, yon majisyen pran kò mwen an!” Jean screamed.
Bautista allowed him to do that. Jean had control over his mouth for the moment, but nothing else.
People looked at him strangely as he walked through Port-au-Prince, but no one stopped to help him. Jean had no friends, and anyway, no one wanted to get involved. They all knew how much power houngans like Bautista had, and they weren’t going to risk their own safety by getting involved. Even the handful of good Samaritans who considered it changed their minds when they saw Jean’s military tattoos — they knew what that meant: Jean had been one of the villainous soldiers who raped and murdered with abandon during the military regime. No one was going to lift a finger to help someone who had been part of that hellish era.
Bautista waited in his home. He had a large house with a manicured lawn around it and a security gate for protection. Not many people in Haiti could claim that, but Bautista was a business success. Since his sister’s rape and murder, Bautista had made himself into a tycoon — he knew he needed more power to punish Jean, and he had spent years building up a business empire to make it possible.
The wait was difficult. It took Jean hours to walk all the way over here. Bautista couldn’t make him walk faster, since Jean fought him every step of the way.
Finally, however, he arrived. Bautista warned the two security men at his gate, so they let Jean in, ignoring his plaintive cries for help. They did not understand why Jean said he wished to leave, even though nobody seemed to be forcing him to come here.
Jean was tall and broad-chested, and he could only speak through gritted teeth — Bautista didn’t allow him to open his mouth all the way. Perhaps the guards didn’t understand his words. Or perhaps they had sensed that Bautista had the power of a houngan and did not wish to interfere. That was wise of them.
Eventually he opened the front door, which was difficult because Bautista was in control of his body, but it was not easy to control fine-grained movements like gripping a doorknob and turning it. When he entered, Jean stood in the hallway of Bautista’s house. There was a picture there of Bautista’s sister, but it did not look like Jean recognized her. Why would he? He had probably raped and murdered a hundred women just like her.
“Let me go!” Jean said in guttural, scratchy Creole. He sounded like he had inhaled a lungful of smoke, which he had, numerous times. Smoke from fires he set. Burning down homes, lighting people on fire. Jean was like that.
His harsh, clutching fingers ripped at his own shirt, which he tore off his body. Then Jean pulled his pants down. Bautista was in the other room, controlling him through the loa. In his mind, he could feel Jean’s muscles writhing as he struggled against the vodou power compelling his movements. Bautista had always been a thin, weak man — that was why he became a hougan in the first place. He could never win based on physical prowess, and in the midst of civil strife and war, Bautista’s intellect was of little value. He could only work on his spiritual power.
Now Bautista commanded an army of loa. He had built a business empire with the spirits he made deals with, spirits of terrible power, angels, demons, both at once. Bautista commanded the spirit world. He could have done anything he wanted to Jean. But there was only one thing he wanted to do.
At least, one thing for now.
Jean’s muscles were shiny in the well-lit hallway, because he had sweated profusely as he fought against his body the entire way over here. His muscles remained tense, like he was cramping up from head to toe. He was stark naked now, his massive cock dangling between his legs. It must have hurt to be raped by that huge manhood, Bautista thought as he came into the hall and approached Jean.
That fat cock was nice. Bautista was glad it was big. It wouldn’t have changed anything if it was small, but it as gonna make this fun.
“Who are you?” Jean spat out his words like he had to fight against his own throat to speak, like he did not notice he had full control now.
“Your worst nightmare. I am the embodiment of your punishment,” Bautista said. He lightly tickled Jean’s muscles, which twitched beneath his touch.
Jean wept like he had been expecting this for some time. He didn’t even ask what he was being punished for. He must have known there was a litany of reasons to punish him. Perhaps he didn’t want to know which wrongdoing was at issue now.
Heaving for air, chest muscles rippling, Jean wanted to fall to his knees, to collapse to the ground, but Bautista didn’t let him. Jean’s whole body heaved, and his tight, taut pecs flexed again. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
Then Bautista allowed it. Jean fell to the ground, on all fours.
He wept then and begged for mercy in Creole, French and broken English, but Bautista just listened and caressed his long, coarse dreadlocks. They were ratty and unkempt.
Bautista grabbed one lock and pulled, hard, until Jean squealed and squirmed. He clenched his teeth.
“Lift up your head,” Bautista said. He allowed Jean just a bit of control over his body, enough that Jean could choose to follow Bautista’s command or not — when he chose not, the loa forced Jean to do it anyway, but more painfully.
Jean’s dark hair and bearded face looked up into Bautista’s eyes. He opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out.
Bautista cackled as thunder clapped outside. It began raining hard, the sound of water pounding on the roof now deafening. Bautista had to raise his voice to be heard. “Prepare to be no longer a man, Jean. You will be nothing but submission. You will be filth. You will never be clean again.” He pulled down his pants.
Slowly, forcing Jean to keep his eyes open, Bautista pushed the tip of his limp cock onto Jean’s tongue, and he allowed Jean to gag, just slightly at first because he only tasted the spongy limpness of Bautista’s clean cocktip. Then he gagged more intensely. Jean tried with all his might to bite down, but Bautista didn’t let that happen. He pushed his moist dick deeper into Jean’s mouth.
All he could do was retch and choke as Bautista slowly fed his rapidly firming dick down Jean’s throat. A rank guttural sound escaped from Jean’s mouth, and Bautista had to suppress a laugh at his frenzied reaction — Bautista didn’t want to ruin the atmosphere by actually laughing out loud. He did smile and chuckle quietly, since Jean couldn’t see from his position or hear over the sound of his frenzied retching.
Letting his fingers grip Jean’s scalp through his dreadlocks, Bautista began to slam his hips in. He rammed Jean’s face, making his balls slap against Jean’s chin with every thrust of his cock down his tight throat.
If it weren’t for the loa controlling his body, Jean could not have deep-throated Bautista’s dick, that much was obvious. His neck instinctively fought back, trying hard not to accept the taste of dick. In Haitian culture, the fact that Jean swallowed another man’s dick, even against his will, made him an accursed figure, less of a man. Now that one man had throated him down, others would too — he would be seen as unworthy of respect.
Ou pa janm yo pral yon nonm ankò!
The revenge was so satisfying that Bautista almost didn’t notice at first how good it felt. Jean’s mouth was warm and moist, and even as he gagged, his tongue slathered spit over Bautista’s cockshaft — not willingly, of course, Bautista was controlling his tongue. Every few seconds another burst of salty precum and mansweat hit Jean’s taste buds, and his muscled chest roiled as he gagged once again.
Bautista was relentless. He enjoyed the loud retching sound of Jean’s throat as he leaked precum down his gullet. Bautista savored the spiritual struggle as well — it was easy for Bautista, who was much stronger in the ways of the loa. It felt like Bautista was physically holding him down, even though Jean outweighed Bautista by a hundred pounds of solid muscle. Bautista very rarely outmuscled anyone, so it was a delightful, arousing feeling. He savored the utter submission Jean felt every time Bautista let go of his control, just in part and just for a second, long enough to give Jean a feeling like he could fight back.
Then Bautista made Jean’s asshole twinkle and clench, forced his jaw to open so wide it ached and nearly snapped — Bautista had utter control and could have shattered the man’s jaw as he rammed his throat, but he didn’t. He knew it was more humiliating to make it feel like Jean’s body was cooperating, allowing himself to be treated like a loose woman.
Reaching down with his dick throbbing in Jean’s gullet, Bautista fingered his ass, hugging the rim with one finger while it twitched and clenched. It was his middle finger, and he jammed it deep. That made Jean know what was happening next, and he wept. Tears ran in rivulets down his dusty cheeks.
“Now we move on to the real punishment,” Bautista said. “Do you know why I’m doing this?”
As he spoke, he pulled his cock out of Jean’s mouth. He was on the verge of ejaculating, so he resisted the near-insurmountable urge to finish himself off with his hands. But he didn’t. Instead, he used one hand to wipe up all the excess spit and precum that clung to his shaft, and he smeared it over Jean’s tense face. Jean spat and sputtered. He yelled curses as he heaved for air, but Bautista had protections in place — no loa heard Jean’s curses or pleas for help.
“Huh? Say it, girl-man. What are the loa punishing you for now?”
“For… my sins!”
“That is too vague,” Bautista said. “Accurate, but not sufficient.” He kneeled behind Jean, who was so tall that even bending over wasn’t enough — Bautista still couldn’t reach his cock into Jean’s ass. So he made Jean kneel on his knees, with Bautista kneeling behind him. That placed Bautista’s smooth face right in the narrow groove in the center of Jean’s muscled shoulders.
“I have… murdered.”
“Yes, but tell me more.”
“I have raped,” Jean said. He hung his head in shame, then bit his lip as Bautista shoved the tip of his cock in. Jean writhed and struggled against the loa who kept him in place. Bautista didn’t need to use his powers to sense the agony in Jean’s body — he could feel it in the tension in his back muscles and in the way he jerked in his breath.
His ass was tight, and he clenched. Bautista let Jean have control of his asshole, so he clenched, as a man must if he is to be a real man. But Jean’s cock was already ramming into him. Jean should have known clenching would only make it feel worse for him and better for Bautista. Jean had, after all, raped countless women. He must have discovered the same thing.
“Who did you rape?!”
“I do not know their names,” Jean said through his tears. His dreadlocks shook as he cried. Bautista rammed hard, but he didn’t force Jean to open his asshole up. It felt better to let him try to push it out. He squeezed and massaged the shaft with his powerful ass muscles. “Please! I want forgiveness.”
“It’s too late for that…” Bautista laughed — and he used his energy to deepen his voice, both because the sudden change surprised Jean and made him twitch and because Bautista had always thought his small-man’s pitchy voice was less than intimidating. He smacked one of Jean’s asscheeks.
Bautista grabbed one of his dreadlocks with each hand, using them like a yoke around a mule. He ground his hips, pushing a bit more cockmeat into Jean’s ass. He pulled on those dreadlocks until Jean lifted his head up. Bautista aimed his eyes right at the photo of Bautista’s sister.
“Do you recognize her?”
“No!”
“You raped her. In 1959, you raped her in the street like a dog. You held her down and raped her mouth, her womanhood, her ass like a dirty prostitute, but worse because you did not pay her. You just slit her throat and let her die there in the dirt,” Bautista said. That reminded him why he was doing this, not for fun, but for justice. He thought he shouldn’t be enjoying this too much or the loa might punish him for it later.
But it did feel good, and he couldn’t help but enjoy the primal pleasure enveloping him.
As he spoke, Bautista worked more and more of his cock in. Finally every bit of it was inside Jean’s tight ass, which clenched and tore. Jean would have been screaming at the top of his lungs if Bautista allowed him to, but Bautista wanted to be sure Jean heard everything Bautista said. Besides that, if he was too loud, he might attract attention from the security guards outside — Bautista had protections in place to be sure he wouldn’t be surprised, but he preferred to keep Jean quiet enough not to get their attention in the first place.
“Say you’re sorry,” Bautista said.
“I’m sorry!”
“Are you? Are you really?” Bautista asked. “Say you’re sorry again. Beg me to forgive you.”
“Fuck you!” Jean shouted.
“I was hoping you would say that,” Bautista said. “Because it means I get to keep punishing you.” He slammed his hips down, shoving his cock all the way in and out. He groaned as his balls slapped against Jean’s muscled thighs with each thrust. Since he could and did force Jean to open his asshole up, Bautista pulled his dick all the way out each time. That made the sensation more exquisite when he forced it back in that tight hole againa nd again.
Jean writhed and squirmed. Bautista allowed him a little more control over his body. He made sure only that Jean couldn’t fight him off or push away from him. Instead Jean heaved and yelled into the floor, on which he contorted wildly.
It was difficult to remain mounted on his body because he moved so much, but Bautista enjoyed the struggle, and it only prolonged his burgeoning climax. He gripped Jean’s body tightly and pulled on his dreadlocks again. The more Jean moved and tried to expel Bautista’s cock from his ass, the tighter it was and the more pleasure flowed through Bautista’s body.
“What are you going to do from now on?”
“What?!” Jean screamed. His eyes were blurry with tears, his mind dizzy and confused.
Bautista pulled on his dreadlocks so hard a few drops of blood appeared on his scalp. Jean’s wild eyes bugged out. He slammed his massive fists onto the ground and bucked his broad-muscled back, which Bautista allowed because it sent a wave of pleasure up his body while causing a tortuous twinge from Jean’s ass.
“I asked you what you’re going to do from now on,” Bautista asked. “Huh? You’re not in the army anymore. So what?”
“I don’t know!”
“You’ve been robbing people, right? Tourists when you can, or whoever else is available. Right?”
“Yes, yes…” Jean said. He bucked his hips again and wept into his muscled forearm.
“Well, no longer. You work for me now. You’re my slave. You’ll make up for the loss of my sister. You’ll never be able to make up for it, but I’ll enjoy making you try,” Bautista said. He kept his cock still now, but he moved his hips in a circle, making sure every part of Jean’s insides felt the stabbing of his manhood.
“Yes, master,” Jean said. His formerly arrogant voice was now weak and trembling.
“You’re going to jack men off for money,” Bautista said. That made Jean buck and sob harder. He ground his face into the floor. Bautista ground his dick in deeper, moving it in little circles to be sure it caused plenty of pain. “Men will pay money to ram you in the ass and in the mouth. They will turn you into a human pussy.
“No!”
“Yes,” Bautista said. “You’re my slave now. I own you.”
“Yes, master,” Jean said with a resigned sigh.
Bautista wanted to drag this out longer, but he felt an orgasm coming over him, and he could resist it no longer. He decided that he could keep playing later, but he wanted to finish this off and humiliate Jean as much as possible. Bautista had a whole lifetime to experiment with punishments, and if his spells all worked, Bautista would have his entire afterlife to continue it.
He gasped as an orgasm finally overcame him. He bucked and bit down hard on Jean’s shoulder. Cum filled Jean’s ass, a great big load of creamy hot cum that sloshed and spilled out and down his cabled thighs. Jean gagged because Bautista made sure he could taste it — he used magic to transfer Jean’s tongue momentarily into his own ass, so Jean tasted every drop of cum mixing with his own filth and degradation. Jean gagged violently.
“Whuuuuhhhck!”
The heat of Bautista’s jizz seeped into Jean’s body, spreading to every corner of his insides. Bautista sighed, and Jean screamed when Bautista returned his tongue to his mouth. His hips flexed like he was trying to push Bautista off, but the loa didn’t allow him to do much more than squirm.
That only made the orgasm even more intense, and it kept on going. Bautista had let himself build up a big fat load, so it continued for a whole minute or two of a continuous flow. Bautista kept ramming, turning Jean’s asscrack into a frothy white mess. It splashed with each thrust of Bautista’s manhood. Bautista groaned, emitting a spine-tingling sound. Jean cried into the wooden floor of Bautista’s mansion.
Finally he was done. Bautista pulled his limp dick out and slapped Jean’s asscheeks. That sent another spasming wave of agony through his sensitive ass. Jean barked like a dying dog.
Ramming his thumb into Jean’s ass, Bautista pulled out wad after wad of cum. He made a big creamy mess in Jean’s asscrack, letting the cum coat his deep night-brown skin. He was a longskin, as the English speakers say, with midnight black skin, so the white of the jizz contrasted strongly with his complexion. It practically shone.
Then Bautista wiped all that cum off onto Jean’s face. His untrimmed beard turned goopy and white with semen, which he slurped off Bautista’s fingers. He gagged profusely as ass-slime hit his tongue again, and he swallowed all that anal filth off Bautista’s fingers.
“Now you lay here in your own mess and think about your sin,” Bautista said. He hocked up a huge loogey and spat it on Jean’s face. “I’m taking you to the UN base. The soldiers there are probably horny. I heard they’re mostly Greek, so they’re going to enjoy how cheap your pussy is.”
“Yes, master,” Jean said. His spirit was broken, which made Bautista smile — he hadn’t forced Jean to say yes. Jean had done that on his own because he had submitted. His soul was dead now, and Bautista knew he wouldn’t need to do much to keep Jean under control.
But he wasn’t going to let go. Bautista had been working up to this for years. He had no intention of stopping, at least not until Jean was used up and desiccated. This revenge was going to be even more fun than Bautista had thought.
Bautista smiled as he left Jean there on the floor, so Bautista could clean himself up and see what it looked like when all that cum dried. He was so excited he was already hard again. This, he thought, was going to make all of his study and struggle over the years worthwhile.
He’d finally have his revenge.
