Adult Content--Someone please crit---Thanks

RULES OF ENTRAPMENT

CHAPTER 1

Ville Platte, Louisiana/Friday night

The sun dropped its smiling face into the west. Dark clouds circled the heads of the middle classed families and devoted residents of "The Oaks". Young mothers called out the names of their children who were riding bikes and ATV's in the fields surrounding the neighborhood. Hard working fathers sped down the poorly paved roads racing home to the comfort of their wives and children after lengthy hassled days at the office.

The home at the corner of Vine and Union Streets was an exception. Brandon Conner had no father and his mother was away on business. Peggy Conner dreadfully tried to make ends meet for her family. The once close knit structure was disrupted by the abrupt absence of his father, Daniel Conner who walked out only two months ago.

There it sat made completely from wood and held up by cinder blocks. The light green paint on the outside was chipped and peeling. The yard, not nearly as manicured as the rest of the yards in the neighborhood, was overgrown with thick clusters of clover. The flower beds, which had once been beautiful, were appalling piles of chaos. It sat lonely and dark without any light. No vehicles in the driveway. No young apron clad mother holding hot apple pie and banging the triangle calling the troops in after a long day of work in the field to eat.

After several hours of faithful watch, the lights flickered on inside the formerly dark house. He used the rugged wall of pavement to slip his fingers into the small holes while pulling himself up climbing away from the deep trenches of the canal that protected him while he patiently awaited his return. Did I miss him driving in? He checked his watch. Hydrochloric acid painfully churned in the pit of his stomach. It was midnight. Through the darkness, he managed to spot the truck, sitting all alone in the driveway of the Conner's residence. A dilapidated green Isuzu handed down to him by Peggy. The old Isuzu made a great deal of noise when bouncing down the pot holes of the poorly paved road. How could I have missed it? There would be no ruining of tonight's events. He would not allow it. Small droplets of blood fell from his bottom lip. He cringed in pain. The notable taste of rust hit the back of his throat and made him gag a bit. He stood upright now, both feet planted in soggy mud along the side of the road. He noticed, from under his shoes, shrouds of peculiar fog. He set his gaze straight ahead in the direction of the Conner's residence.

Patience was a subtle virtue that he admired but did not own. Tonight though, he had to pull patience from somewhere deep inside his soul. It had to be perfect, and with perfection comes waiting. He looked again at his watch, thirty after. He raised his head to continue his stare then felt a tinge of excitement pump through his veins. The same excitement he felt when his mother gave him his first Christmas present at the age of nine. The kind that makes you feel all warm and cozy inside despite the harsh wind that blew across his face reddening his nose and chapping his lips. The last light that burned brightly inside the house dimmed off. The window of Brandon's room shed no light only blackness.

He started towards the house. Cautiously he checked the windows of the other homes in his sight. Making sure that no one for any reason was peeking out of their window. Nothing, no one moved. Cheap blinds and shabby shades covered the windows of the other homes. Jumping over the fence that enclosed the Conner's back yard, he landed hard in a pile of red ants. He struggled over to the slab of cement that gave way to the back door, and hit his shoes hard against the concrete, slapping and sweeping with his hands greatly trying to remove the ants that stung so hard against his skin with each bite. Another quick glance at the watch it was time to move. The rough callous that covered his hands ached while he dug through his bag and placed the black leather gloves over them. He deeply inhaled the cold humid air, and pulled the mask over his face zipping it into place in the back. Every breath under the mask was hot. The fear of claustrophobia made the fried pork chops that still sat unsettled inside his stomach rise.

Before opening his bag and utilizing his lock picking set, he pulled the handle of the door on a whim. The door opened. A curt smile danced across his face. The pungent smell of mildew filled his nostrils underneath the mask. Piles of dirty clothes sat on the floor next to the roar of the churning washing machine. He opened the door that gave way to the connecting living room and kitchen. He stopped and lifted pictures of Daniel, Peggy, Brandon, and Tonya that sat on the coffee table. When he located the hall that lead to Brandon's room he tip toed down after replacing the pictures of the smiling faces. Eerie eyes followed him as he passed the pictures that were hung in the hall. He paused, to read the sign that was plastered on the door to Brandon's room, and chuckled to himself. It read "Keep Out."

When he walked through the room, he was hit, with warmth and the sweet smell of sweat. The oscillating fan on the floor blew, ruffling papers across Brandon's desk. When the wind from the fan hit the blinds over the window, it created a soothing tapping sound. Brandon didn't flinch. He lay still on his side in the full sized bed. He snapped a few photographs of Brandon's peaceful face and beautiful body with the digital camera he always carried. Brandon still made no move. Hard sleeper how wonderful, he thought, while he moved closer to the bed.

He tapped his foot several times on the wooden floor, and cleared his throat intentionally, to wake Brandon up. Still no movement. He wondered if Brandon knew someone was in the room. He wondered if Brandon was faking his sleep. He tapped harder against the floor, and coughed even louder. Suddenly Brandon began to stir. He turned off of his side, and stretched out onto his back. He stood still waiting for a glimpse of Brandon's eyes. Before his eyes could open fully, he snapped a few more pictures. Brandon, blinded by the flash, moved his arm over his face.

"Who's here? What do you want?" He cried out after a large gulp.

"Oh don't worry young one. You won't remember a thing about tonight."

"What do you want from me?" Tears falling. Voice cracking.

He stood quietly smiling sharply over his bed. Before Brandon sat up in his bed as if to run, he stomped up to him with a prevailing force, and grabbed him by the neck.

"Don't move. You do everything I tell you to do or else you'll suffer even more." He shouted. Sweat now beaded his forehead from under the leather mask. His heart pounding as adrenalin rushed through his veins. His hands covered Brandon's mouth with his gloves. Brandon managed a muffled scream "Why?"

After a moment of struggle he decided it was time to begin the torture. With his left hand he pulled out the knife from its holster on his utility belt. He held his tight grip against Brandon's mouth and frame. With one quick maneuver the knife prod deep into Brandon's abdomen. He released the tight grip from his mouth, and pushed him back into his bed. Brandon did not scream or even make a sound. The raw smell of blood filled the air. Blood splattered across the wall, and gushed out from the gaping hole in his abdomen.

He stood back and captured several pictures of Brandon's pain. He stooped down besides Brandon's bed, and from his bag, pulled out another leather mask. He placed it over Brandon's now cold, pale, and clammy face. Brandon slipped in and out of consciousness. With the knife, he used to open Brandon's abdomen, he pressed it against Brandon's chest, and moved it slowly down leaving traces of blood and guts across his chest. Down to his groin area over his penis, he paused to admire the delicate contours of his manhood. He lifted it up with his hand, and using the knife, cut the underside straight down the shaft until the blade touched against his scrotum.

He pulled another item from his bag. The cock cage, a leather penis covering that wrapped around the shaft, and laced up from the top to the bottom. Attached to the ends of the cover were long leather stings. He placed it over Brandon's split penis and laced it up. Using the remaining four long leather strings, he tied them up to the ceiling fan above Brandon's bed. He bound Brandon's feet and hands with leather restraints. More pictures.

He packed up the remaining items into his backpack. He used the small paint brush, which he carried on his utility belt, to write his insignia down across Brandon's chest using the blood that pooled in the bed. For his final touch, he placed a cardboard gift box, with broad red and yellow stripes, and a purple bow on top of his chest. The room lit up with flashes from his camera. He obtained more pictures, proud of his job.

As he walked out of the room, he flipped the switch to the ceiling fan, to the on position. He listened to the leather strings twist, as he made way down the hall. Brandon made one last attempt at an agonizing screa