AUTHOR	Friar Dave
DATE ADDED	6th February 2003
AUTHOR EMAIL
STORY CODES	M/g, pedo, rape, n/c, drug, violence

So we took her down to the basement - the rec room - of Vinny's house, and she was like, well, it was just an adventure. See, she knew Mitch from seeing him around the neighborhood, so I guess she thought it was OK, since Mitch had a kid about her age, 11 or so, though Angie didn't have anything like the boobies on her that Luaren did. I don't think she knew about Angie and Mitch and the rest of us.

We got downstairs, and Vinny closed the door, and Mitch asked Lauren did she want anything to drink or something. So Mitch got her a Coke and slipped the pills into it, and like 15 minutes later, she's getting a little spacey, and we knew it was time. As far as I was concerned, it was well past time; I mean, in those knee-highs and that gray and white plaid jumper, with her round little ass and smooth thighs, she was basically asking for it, right?

It took maybe five minutes to get her out of her school clothes, and she didn't put up any resistance. She raised her arms when we pulled off her jumper and blouse, lifted her legs so we could get rid of the patent-leather shoes and the knee-highs and like that. The only time she said anything was when Vinny was holding her arms over her head to help her keep her balance - really - while Mitch pulled down her panties (white cotton, of course), and then all she said was, "But you're not my Daddy." Which was why we knew we could do anything; she was already damaged goods, and they were damn nice goods, let me tell you.

By then, of course, I was already greased-up with the KY, so with those little Ping-Pong ball tits dangling off her flat chest, Vinny leaned her across the arm of the old sofa, I kind of crouched up behind and nuzzled it into her. She was tight, Oh, man, she was tight tight tight. And she just kind of made this moaning noise as I forced it into that tight 11-year-old snatch, and Mitch told her not to worry, her Daddy wouldn't mind. I guess it took me two minutes of watching my dick go into that bald little pussy and my hairy gut smacking her tight, pale ass before I came. It was good, so unbelievably good. Better than Mitch's little girl, even. Angie was terrific, but Lauren was a real cutie. And so tight.

So Vinny went next, her still laying across the arm of the sofa, and I got the camcorder - fell off a truck - and started running it. Vinny's got a bigger dick than me, but she just kind of lay there and absorbed it, just sort of grunting from time to time, and I kept moving around and getting it all on the record.

Then Mitch was up - was he ever! Guy's hung, at least seven inches - and he turns her over so she's facing him and picks her up by those narrow hips. He's a big guy, so he just lifts her, then lowers her so that bald pussy is being split by his big meat, and he raises her up and down like she's some kind of fuck toy he's using to jerk himself off. Which she is.

At which point Vinny is inspired, so to speak, so he steps up behind her and slides his still wet schlong up her butt. Now, picture this: Here's this 11-year-old fox, this brunette vixen, this pale Lolita, basically suspended between these two hairy fuckin' middle-aged guys. Her legs are dangling limp, her lips are slack, and drool is running down her chin, and her eyes aren't focused - the pills and the fucking, I guess - and these little Ping-Pong ball titties are so firm, they barely wobble or squish, and all the time she's just quietly moaning, "Owww, owww."

Mitch says, "Wait a minute, back off," and Vinny pulls out of her - you could fuckin' hear his cock come out of that little asshole - and Mitch kind of stumbles back and drops onto the couch, heavy-like. She grunts, because coming down like that drives her deeper onto him. "Let's make her airtight," Mitch says. "Set the camcorder down someplace good." Which I do, aimed and focused, as Vinny steps up and slips it back up her butt, which is so small and round and keeps flexing, twitch... twitch... twitch. So the camcorder is set up to catch it all, and I step up behind the back of the sofa, and Mitch leans this little bitch up and over to one side so I can take her gorgeous face in my hands and feed my dick into her open mouth. She's too far gone to do much with her mouth, but that's OK; the idea of it is getting me off. I just kind of work it back and forth in those sweet, drooling lips as Vinny pounds her little ass and Mitch enjoys the ride, and pretty soon we're all pumping her full of the good stuff, y'know? She kind of choked a bit and kept gasping and moaning, but she's a very healthy kid and got over it real fast.

After we caught our breath and uncorked her, Vinny and me carried her into the shower. We tucked her long auburn hair up under the shower cap and sprayed her with warm water, then we toweled her dry and dressed her. Mitch was moving around by then and took her back out onto the street - she was having a little trouble walking; wonder why? - and to the school-house door. And with all of the teachers and moms - and a few dads - nobody noticed anything, except maybe this one guy - we call him The Gimp; I don't think any of us knew his name - who uses a cane and has a beard and fuckin' hippy ponytail and has this way of looking at you like he knows. You don't know what he knows, but he knows. Anyhow, the kids are crazy about him, like he's the ultimate Santa Claus or something, even though he never gives them anything that we know of. But they always sort of gravitate to him, and sometimes one or the other goes over to sit with him and talk with him, real private-like, when he's sitting on the park bench across from St. Elmo's School. Sometimes he kind of calms things down if some of the kids start fighting, and once Vinny saw him go over and stare down a dad slapping the shit out of his kid. I dunno; maybe the kids thought he was like their protector or guardian.

So, anyhow, Mitch came back, and we tossed a couple of brews, then we looked at the stuff we had on the camcorder. "Shit, this is good stuff," said Vinny. "We oughta be able to make a couple of bucks off this." He grabbed the remote and turned on the big TV just in time for a CNN report that the FBI had managed to nab some asshole who'd crossed the country to a mall to meet a "15-year-old" who turned out to be one of their 200 agents pretending to be a girl in what the idiots call an "Internet chat room." Like someone looking for the young stuff had to look farther than the nearest mall. Or school. Or rec room.

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At around seven the next morning, I'm heading out the door to fire up the Stanza and head to work, and who's sitting on my front steps but The Gimp.

"You OK?" I ask, real neighborly like. "You need something?"

He just sits there for a minute, with a cigarette cupped in his hand like he's trying to keep it dry in a rainy place, takes a deep pull on it and sort of cranks his head around to look at me. Or through me. And that's when I notice he hasn't got his regular cane; this one is a little bit fancier, with silver filigrees and a gasket thing around the bottom of the hand grip.

And he says, "You hurt one of my kids."

"Excuse me, but what the fuck are you talking about?"

He stubs out the butt, pulls it apart to scatter the leftover tobacco and puts the remains in the pocket of his parka and says, "You know what I mean." Then he stands up, grunting with the effort and using the cane. I know I've got a couple of inches and a lot of pounds - too many pounds - on him, but something in the way he looks at me...

"You and Vinny and Mitch. Don't do it again. Ever. With anyone. The cops, the Feds - they have to play by rules. I'm not a Fed." And he hobbles off down the street.

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So a couple of days later, Mitch brings Angie by Vinny's. Now, Angie hasn't got the built on her that Lauren does - no titties yet and so small and skinny that you might think she was only eight or nine years old - but Angie's experienced. Mitch has been pumping her since she was seven, and she knows how to suck Does she ever!

But today we had a new toy, a Sybian machine, and we planted her on it and watched the fun. Who says a girl that age can't cum? The way her belly was rippling, I half-expected to see intestines come out of her mouth. And she kept screaming and moaning all the time. She got off so much, so hard and so non-stop that she peed herself. At least, I think it was pee; it was really wet. And me and Vinny and Mitch just took turns stepping up to her while she was kneeling on it and let her suck us off. She was like in another world, between the pills and the Sybian.

But when Mitch came back from taking her home, he said The Gimp was out there, eyeballing him. And The Gimp had Lauren with him, who didn't say a word.

That made me nervous. I don't know why.

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Two days later, they found Mitch. The media was vague, but I managed to put two and two together and asked around: He'd been basically filleted. A buddy of mine said something had been written in his fucking blood on the floor of the garage: "4 angie."

I was sitting with Vinny in his basement. His hands were shaking as he chugged can after can of Bud.

"I don't fuckin' understand it."

"Hey, buddy, there's some sick people out there."

"But Mitch. It doesn't seem right. What's this '4 angie' shit? I mean, Angie is his daughter. I mean, he's got a right, doesn't he?"

I shook my head. "I dunno. Listen, pal, we have to move on. We got any orders for those recordings with Lauren?"

He popped another lid. "I don't know. You check."

I logged on.

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I went over to Sal's - Sal is Angie's uncle, and he not only knows the score, he knows Angie inside and out, if you know what I mean - and I picked up the tapes and DVDs he'd ripped. This shit used to be done through mail orders and drop boxes, but with the 'Net we do it faster; same difference. We'd gotten 19 orders for the Lauren stuff, which covered the cost of the Sybian (which was already paid for) and then some at $100 a copy. Not bad for 48 hours. The only time we did better was with Ivana, that hot 12-year-old Puerto Rican cunt. It's funny: Six months later, she'd already begun to sprout tits and ass and hips and could've passed for 16 or 17, so we got her just in time.

So I gave Sal his cut - $20 per dupe - and took the box out to the Stanza and drove over to Vinny's, planning to pick up the mailing boxes and shit. But at Vinny's there's like six NYPD cruisers and an ambulance and a Black Mariah - a truck from the City morgue. There's bright-yellow Crime Scene tape all over the place and Carmen, Vinny's wife - nice-looking piece - is out in front and crying.

"Something happened to Vinny," she sobs, seeing me, and kind of flings herself at me, which, under other circumstances, wouldn't have been so bad.

This lady cop - a fine, tight-looking "African-American" in a uniform - waits a few minutes, then comes over asks my relationship. I tell her I'm a friend of the family and ask, "What the - What's going on?"

"We're still investigating, sir."

But I find out, eventually, that Vinny apparently managed somehow to wedge the nozzle of a fire extinguisher up his butt, couldn't remove or close it and his intestines exploded. And in his shit was smeared, "4 lauren."

Just outside the Crime Scene tapes, where the neighbors were huddling around and whispering in their housecoats, there was The Gimp. Lauren and Angie were with him. Staring at me. Not saying a word. Staring.

I got the feeling maybe it was time to lay low.

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So two weeks pass, and I fill another dozen orders for the Lauren tape and a couple for Ivana and one for Angie, and I'm getting the itch again.

Don't get me wrong. The wife takes care of me, and she is always ready - I mean always. Which makes me feel a bit less bad about the beer gut and the hair thinning back, because Louise is still a babe at 35. Sure, she's got a little extra padding, but she knows how to throw that ass around, and I swear she could such the chrome off a trailer hitch.

But what I'm itching for is the young stuff, those tight, bald little pussies and hearing them moan and sometimes scream.

And, talk about timing, who should call me but Victor, the boyfriend of Ivana's mother. And now, it turns out, he's her husband. I was a little surprised I hadn't heard about that before, but -

Victor has a surprise for me. He's looking to make some more bucks, and Ivana, who split, has a sister who will, Victor tells me, do fucking anything.

Marissa is 10, almost 11.

I'm not sure, so I tell him I'll get back to him in an hour, and I call Sal. Who is still spooked.

"I dunno, Frank. It sounds like fun, but after Mitch and Vinny..."

"Probably coincidence." I had the itch bad. "If she's as hot as her sister - and willing - we could probably clear three or four large inside of a week. Not to mention the fun."

"I just dunno. Something Vinny's dad said to me, that day, when they found him makes me - I dunno."

"What?"

"Y'know the weird guy, The Gimp?"

"What about him?"

"Vinny's dad was in Nam. He said the way The Gimp holds his cigarette - that's something guys in Nam did. Rain and shit like that."

"What? You telling me we got fuckin' Rambo here?" I laughed.

Sal said, "All I'm telling you is Vinny's dad noticed it while they were carrying out the body of his son whose guts had exploded from a fucking fire extinguisher being shoved up his ass. When a guy notices a thing like that at a time like that - well, I pay attention to shit like that."

I was thinking about a 10-year-old version of Ivana and getting a massive boner. "So, what? He's going to gimp over to us on his cane and whack us?" I laughed again. "I'll worry about that when I have to. Let's have some fun and make some money, OK, bud?"

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Victor brought Marissa over two days later. She was an absolute doll, maybe a couple of inches over four feet tall, with tons of curly black hair and bright, somehow sad dark eyes and a quick smile - complete with braces - that would melt a snowman.

I had everything in place: the camcorder, the pills, the Coke and the ice. Sal got there about 10 minutes after they did, but Marissa was already camped out in front of the TV, the Playstation in her lap and her plaid jumper, forgotten, up near her hips. She had the loveliest smooth thighs...

Anyhow, Victor, who was a pretty big guy for a spic, had a rum and coke and waited for her to finish her game before interrupting her.

"OK!" she chirped. "Are we going to play that naked game now? With these... men?"

He nodded.

"OK!" And she began peeling off her clothes. I couldn't believe how well-trained she was. What was kind of sweet was the way she carefully folded each item of clothing - the plaid jumper, the blouse, even the panties and knee-highs - as she stripped. What a great little ass! We're talking a brown peach, that tight and smooth.

"What should I do?"

"Start with me," Victor said, unzipping and fishing it out. Mitch was hung big, but Victor was a giant, at least eight inches and probably more. And Victor was thicker than Mitch.

He no sooner had it out than the kid was standing between his legs, sucking.

"Holy shit," said Sal, watching this gorgeous, naked little Latina tart slurping on her (step)father's oversized dong. "Holy shit." He was already unzipping.

"What'll she do?" I asked.

Victor sighed and rolled his eyes. "Anything. I got her started sooner than... you know."

"So, is it OK if I - ?" Sal nodded toward that tiny cunt.

"Yeah, the little bitch can take it."

And she did.

She whined when he finally squeezed it into her, and I think there may have been some tears on her cheeks about the time he finished, but she was a real trooper and never stopped sucking her (step)father. Not even when I stepped up and crammed it into her sweet little asshole.

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The next day, a neighbor - a USPS clerk heading for work - found Victor. A lot of houses in cities have these little wrought iron fences, about 42 inches tall, in front. Some of those fences have pickets. Victor had somehow managed to fall on one of the pickets with his legs on either side. His screams had caught the USPS clerk's attention, but even the EMTs in all of their haste couldn't get to him in time. He bled to death with a bar of metal shoved up into his guts between his ass and his nuts, a piece of black-painted wrought iron about the same size as the boner he'd put into Marissa, who'd taken it like a trooper and barely whimpered.

I was more than a little nervous, as you might guess, and less than amazed when Jessie called and said Sal, her husband, had been in an "accident"; he'd apparently slipped and hit his head about 37 times on the three front steps. And somehow "4 marissa" had gotten traced into the concrete steps with sweat and maybe a little blood. You really couldn't see it unless you were looking for it. By then, I was.

Definitely time to lay low.

But two days later - a nice mild Friday morning - Louise had the Stanza (she was visiting her sister in Bay Ridge, and parking there was a problem) so I was about to climb into the Navigator, which Louise favored usually because she's so short - gives her a good view of the road - and there's The Gimp, hobbling up the driveway on his fancy cane, not the regular one.

Lauren, Angie and Marissa in their school's plaid jumpers are standing on the sidewalk, at the base of the driveway. Just watching. Not a good sign.

"I told you," he said, his fingers twitching on the gasket at the base of the filigreed handle.

I had one foot up, ready to step in to the cockpit. I remembered Sal telling me about Vinny's father's observation, so I started to reach under the driver's seat, where I had put the.22 for Louise.

"It's not there," he said, twisting the cane's gasket. "Besides, I hate fuckin'.22s; they're like cap guns, all noise and no point unless you can hit me between the eyes, which you can't, you fat fuck." He hobbled couple of steps closer. "You hurt my kids."

So I twisted to face him, one foot still up in the cab of the Navigator, the other on the driveway.

"'Your' kids."

"Old proverb: Every man is the father of every child." He flicked his wrist, and the cane was gone, shucked, and he was holding a two-foot-long wicked-sharp sword - looked like a fucking razor - which had been inside of the cane.

I grabbed the edge of the cab to balance myself, thinking to step down and go at him. He was a gimp, I had some height and plenty of weight on him.

"So, what the fuck are you gonna do?" I challenged, and then he flicked his wrist again. The blade flashed in the morning sunlight.

I was a little surprised that the pain didn't start immediately, and very surprised at how black the bloodstain was between my legs. The dizziness hit me first.

"But not you," he said. "You will be the father of no child." And as I toppled, Lauren was retrieving the scabbard/cane, and Angie, the terrific cocksucker, was approaching with a piece of cloth to wipe the blade, and Marissa's black eyes flashed. Now, her eyes were happy.

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