Deleted Member Posted November 14, 2020 Not kink related but a dark tale with seeds of truth, an encounter from another life. Harry The Bastard Not even his original regiment wanted him, kicked out of THE regiment after only 18 months. Returned to unit, but they were not keen on his return, so the top brass brainlessly shipped Harry the bastard off to Pirbright. Home of The Guards Depot and the main training camp for new Guardsman, junior and adult. His moniker "The Bastard" given to Harry within weeks of finishing continuation, upon joining his squadron. His comrades imidiately aware of what Harry was, stunned he had passed selection and continuation but Harry had hid who he was, all the way through, fooling the directing staff. Now he could be himself and it wasn't long before he was shunned, rumours abound about his mental stability and health. Tough men themselves, warriors of the top tier, for them to label another with such a name a sure sign of what Harry was, as he was indeed a Bastard. Many join for many reasons yet Harry joined for only one reason;to inflict *** upon others. As Harry was that most dangerous of individuals, Harry was a psychotic and a very clever one. He was a bully: had been all his life. A bear of a man, and an aggressive face to match. Enjoying the reaction of weakness he saw in others, the *** they showed as he bulldozed his way through life, taking pleasure in the *** he caused, needing it to satisfy his cravings and violent urges. No, Harry was not a pleasant man and as some are, he was born this way, his wiring different, dangerously off kilter compared to what society would judge to be normal. Yet Harry had saved a man's life, charging headlong into incoming small arms fire to save a fellow warrior, dragging him to safety and administering the first aid necessary to stem the flowing ***. Medals were awarded, cake was eaten and hands were shaken. For this, even with his obvious abnormalities the head shed felt he deserved a place still within the ranks so off to Pirbright he went, a mistake as was to prove, but loyalty for heroic action is respected within, even with completely crazy motherfuckers like Harry The Bastard. Two weeks he had been on base, Two weeks already he had been terrorising his platoon, a Sargent and his charges only six*** or seven***. The brass in their infinite wisdom not even ensuring he was placed with the older recruits, men who were more adapt at the skills needed to survive an encounter with this man. These were boys and already Harry terrified them, just his presence enough to cause deep anxiety as he prowled the barracks looking for victims. He was being watched, the other training staff fully aware already of his reputation yet even they, nervous of the man. Tuesday morning 12.40am. Ripped out of their beds again, be it by his drunken, spiteful voice or vice like grip around ankles and hair as he sought to terrorise. A familar pattern now as Monday's were two for one all night in the sergeants mess, this the third time he paid these terrified boys a visit after a skinful of cheap alcohol. His already shaky sanity now completely blown, a different beast altogether, all semblance of the mask he usually wore stripped away, and the boys knew to obey instantly, to form up in the middle of the room so he could play his games. The pattern they were now learning but tonight was not like the last two Tuesdays. Tonight, events were to take a much darker turn. The usual games he played again that night, those you may expect of recruits in training. Games of press ups and squats, eardrums exposed to the harshest of words at grievous levels of volume. Yet Harry's games always had a darker side, a kick, to a face while the victim was doing press ups, a punch to the gut, when face to face, and always the spite in his words, hate even,as he terrorised. The hardest of them, Yet the friendliest, the kindest, always ready to help the weaker of his friends, could not watch anymore as he saw another knocked to his knees, and uttered one word, only the one enough to unleash *** more extreme than anything Harry had produced so far. With the word "stop" the hardest of them was ambushed as he stood in his undies, only wanting to protect his friend. It was instantaneous and brutal, Harry's s***d and agility catching all by surprise. The other boys stood shaking with *** as they saw their friend beaten and beaten hard. Harry was many things but a fool was not one of them, he knew well how to hurt yet not break bones, how to damage inside with little outward clue of the damage within. Harry did what he had been craving from the moment the first brandy had touched his lips. The following Tuesday 12.23 am. It had not gone unnoticed, people talk and word goes around. No charges were brought as no offence was reported, the ***s much like prisoners in the stigma attached to grassing. Those who do themselves at risk of being shunned, turned away, not to be trusted, Yet the beating the hardest had taken, was not to be without retribution, would not be forgotten and as usual Harry was just leaving the Sergeants mess. ***ed as a fart and on his way to play games with the young souls inside the building the five of them now stood outside. The text was received "target mobile" and the five masked men who understood the need for justice readied themselves for the intervention they were about to make. These were no fools, and knew of Harry, and his love of undue ***, this is why they were five and a clear yet simple plan was in place. Each man a place and task, four to restrain and one to administer a lesson in the only real language Harry understood, that of ***. They positioned themselves in carefully planned areas and waited. When they took him it was easier than expected, the taser dropping him instantly, the handcuffs and gag placed expertly by men who themselves knew ***. On his belly instantly, arms pinned by cuffs and the hands of four of the men. No words spoken, the ball hammer raised and slammed into his elbow joints repeatedly, smashing the joint and bone. Pulverizing and destroying so completely reconstructive surgery an impossibility. Repeated heavy blows to damage beyond repair and as with Harry so many times in the past, no mercy was shown. Six months later. A medical discharge for Harry, his hands and grip hardly even 20% of what they were before, the damage to his elbows that great. A struggle just to wipe his own arse and the future diagnosis grim. Reduced function for life, disabled, crippled but of no matter really. Harry was committed to a mental institution not 3 months later, there to remain until he met another as crazy as he, drawing his last breath as his throat leaked the last of him onto the lino floor, laughing maniacally as the greyness dulled his vision, to slowly become black.
Deleted Member Posted November 15, 2020 Author 1 hour ago, Kittenlovescream said: Very dark (karma is a bitch) Yes it it, sometimes bad things need to happen, but for the right reasons. Harry never hurt an innocent again 😊.
Me**** Posted November 15, 2020 A proper rip-snorting story Donny. Enjoyed that on a bleak Sunday morning. Sounded like my old Colour Sargeant!
Deleted Member Posted November 15, 2020 Author (edited) 42 minutes ago, METALSIR said: A proper rip-snorting story Donny. Enjoyed that on a bleak Sunday morning. Sounded like my old Colour Sargeant! Harry was a Grenadier, yet those of Harry's ilk I'm sure stalked the RM aswell. Although Harry was a cut above, the scariest dude I ever had the misfortune to meet 😊. Edited November 15, 2020 by Deleted Member
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