index


Message-ID: <28335asstr$979121402@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Mother Kali <kali_mother@yahoo.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii
Subject: {ASSM} The Strict Disciplinarian (M+/M, rape, humiliation)
Date: Wed, 10 Jan 2001 05:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

The Strict Disciplinarian
by Mother Kali

Sheriff Williams put down the report he'd been
reviewing and rubbed his eyes tiredly. If the war on
drugs were being fought on an actual battlefield, they
would have sent up the white flag a long time ago. The
statistics were that disheartening. Things seemed to
grow worse every year. Hell, every month, maybe even
every week. It was wearing the sheriff out. He was
seriously beginning to consider retirement.

The situation was especially grave in the small
locality he served. The Mexican border was only a
couple of miles away, and there was a sizeable
university the next town over. His beloved hometown
ended up caught in the middle--attracting hardcore
drug dealers and the upscale college kids who came to
buy their merchandise. It had gotten to the point that
people were afraid to go out after dark. 

The thing that got to him the most were the kids. The
lowlife losers who smuggled the drugs-- well, there
was really nothing to do with them but lock them up
and throw away the key. But the students--he could
never understand what they were thinking. They had
everything going for them, everything to lose. But
kids never thought things through. They just did what
their friends were doing and never considered for a
moment where it all might lead.

There was a knock at the door, and Getty, one of his
deputies, stepped into his office.

"Sir, we have a situation."

"Yes?"

"Carson and Saunders caught a kid with drugs out
behind the mall. He was dealing right there in plain
sight."

"Another one from the university?"

Getty nodded. "We found his student ID on him."

The sheriff sighed heavily. "Okay. Go ahead and tell
Saunders to get started with the interrogation. I'll
be right there."

"Sure thing, Sheriff."

Getty left. The sheriff picked up the photograph of
his son that was proudly displayed on his desk.
Scott's sunny face smiled at him from the frame, the
winning grin the boy relied on to get him out of every
scrape. He shook his head and put the picture back
down. Kids just didn't realize the far-reaching
repercussions their actions could have. They didn't
look ahead. They just leaped right in with both feet,
and too often, they landed in more trouble than they
could handle.

That's why the sheriff took a personal interest in
cases like this one. In a sense, they were all his
sons. He couldn't be satisfied simply with following
procedures and processing them through the system. He
felt a duty to teach them something that might make a
difference in their lives. He owed that to the boys
and their parents. He had to show them that even a
seemingly small misstep could have disastrous
consequences.

He sighed again, got up from his desk and headed for
the observation room. They had informed the boy of his
rights at the scene. Saunders, his head deputy, was
conducting the interview. The kid slouched sullenly in
his chair as he answered the questions. He reminded
the sheriff of hippies from his own generation. He had
long curly dark hair, earrings, a black T-shirt with
the name of some band the sheriff didn't recognize
emblazoned on it, a long-sleeved flannel shirt over
that, ragged jeans with the knees out and a tear along
the rear that showed his briefs--the typical uniform
for a young man rebelling against authority.

Saunders took down the boy's basic information.

"Okay," he said when he'd finished. "We're going to
need to conduct a thorough search of your person.
We'll need you to get undressed."

The boy stared at him incredulously. "You've got to be
kidding."

"I'm afraid not, son. This is a very serious matter."

The kid shook his head. "No way, man. I know my
rights. I'm not letting you search me. I want to call
a lawyer."

"And you'll have plenty of time for that later on. Our
officers saw you in plain sight with the drugs. That
means we have probable cause for the search. Now, get
undressed. Or these deputies here will have to help
you."

The kid eyed the deputies. Carson and Getty were both
well over six feet tall. Their brown shirts had to
stretch to accommodate their biceps. The sheriff could
see the boy's throat muscles working as he swallowed
hard. 

"All right. I'll do it," he finally said. "If I have
to."

Saunders nodded. "I appreciate the cooperation."

The boy got up, his movements jerky and nervous. 

"Uh-- you mean right here?" he asked.

"This is where we typically conduct searches,"
Saunders said. "Go ahead and undress if you would."

The boy looked around the room at the other officers
present. "In front of everybody?"

"State law requires that we have more than one law
enforcement officer present during a search. That's
for your protection. So there's no question about
evidence being planted. I'm sure you understand the
need for such safeguards."

The boy reluctantly agreed, "I guess so."

"Good then. Now, please, disrobe. And we'll get this
search over with as quickly as we can."

The kid hesitantly unbuttoned his flannel shirt, took
it off and laid it on the table. He removed his shoes
and socks. He unbuckled his belt and looked around the
room nervously before stripping off his T-shirt. He
had a nipple ring in his right nipple. The sheriff
shook his head. The cons on the block would just love
that.

"Do you have to watch?" the boy asked, balking at
taking his pants off in front of an audience.

"'Fraid so," Saunders told him. "In case you have it
in mind to try to destroy evidence. Again, that's a
safeguard for your protection. Destroying evidence is
a serious crime. This way, you won't be tempted. Now,
if you'll remove your pants and underwear, we can get
on with this." 

The kid blushed as he unzipped his jeans and pushed
them down his legs, along with his underwear. He
stepped out of his clothes and kicked them to the
side.

"All right. Good," Saunders said. "Now, raise your
arms."

The kid lifted his arms above his head.

"Okay. Good. Open your mouth and lift your tongue."

Saunders shone a light in his mouth and used a tongue
depressor to make sure nothing was hidden in his
cheeks.

"Good," the deputy said. "Now, hop on one foot and
then the other. Bend the knee and really lift the foot
up off the floor. We need to make sure there's nothing
clenched between your toes. Go ahead then."

The boy awkwardly hopped, his genitals bouncing as he
did. 

"All right. Now lift your testicles."

The kid's face turned bright red as he held up his
scrotum, so  the officer could check beneath it.

"Okay. You can let your testicles go. Bend over.
Spread your cheeks."

The boy's face turned even redder as he exposed
himself to the officer. Saunders stepped behind him
and shone the light into his crack. 

"Uh-oh."

"What?" the boy asked, nervously.

"Looks like there's something in there. Carson, hand
me that box of gloves."

"What are you doing?"

"You just stay like that son. Keep those cheeks spread
as wide as you can."

The deputy snapped on a pair of latex gloves. The boy
reacted to the sound with visible alarm.

"There's nothing in my ass. I swear to God."

Saunders squirted lube onto his fingers. "You just
hold still now," he instructed the boy. "Since the
visual inspection turned up something, I'm going to
need to follow up with a cavity search."

The boy let go of his butt and straightened up. "No
way, man. You are *not* touching me there. I'm
serious. I want to call a lawyer. I want to call one
*now*."

"Son, I already explained that we have every legal
right to perform this search. Now, we can do this with
your cooperation or without it. But let me tell you,
your behind is likely to smart something awful if you
fight me while I'm trying to search you. So, what's it
going to be? You going to make trouble for yourself?
Or are you going to put that brain of yours to work
and figure out the easiest way to get through this is
by cooperating?"

Faced with the possibility of a forced rectal search,
the boy's bravado quickly deflated. He suddenly looked
like he wanted to cry.

The deputy said in a gentle voice, "Now bend back over
and hold your cheeks apart. We'll get this taken care
of as fast as we can."

The boy reluctantly did as he was told, and the deputy
began the search, slowly, carefully probing his anus.

"Uh-oh," the deputy said. "I feel something."

"Ow! You're hurting me," the boy complained,
red-faced.

Saunders carefully worked his finger inside the boy
and removed a small vial. He held it up to get a
better look. It was filled with white powder.

"Looks like heroin," Carson said.

Saunders nodded. "Yeah, I'm afraid so. Go get the
sheriff. Tell him we recovered what appears to be
narcotics from the boy's rectum."

"I didn't have anything to do with this," the boy
protested hotly.

The deputy laughed. "Son, are you seriously trying to
tell me that someone else has access to your rectum
without you knowing about it?"

The boy blushed with humiliation. The sheriff sighed
heavily as looked on. It was always the same. These
kids never just admitted their crimes and took
responsibility for their mistakes. They had to tell
every outrageous lie they could think of and blame
everybody from their first grade teacher to their dead
grandfather, anything to try to weasel out of being
accountable for their own actions. It was the kind of
character flaw that would only get them into more and
more serious trouble if they weren't taught a proper
lesson.

Carson knocked on the door and poked his head inside.
"You heard?" 

The sheriff nodded.

"Should we follow the usual procedure?" Carson asked.

"Yeah. I'll take care of the next part."

Carson nodded and disappeared, heading back to the
interrogation room. The sheriff lingered a moment,
watching the boy. There was fear beneath his tough-boy
facade. How many times had he seen that in the eyes of
the young men who paraded through his station? And he
thought the same thing he always did: That the best
thing for them would be to give them something to
really worry about.

The sheriff went next door to join his deputies. 

"I don't see why I can't get dressed now. You've done
your stupid search already," the boy was complaining
as the sheriff entered the room.

"That was only a level one examination," the sheriff
said from the doorframe.

The boy whirled around.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Sheriff Williams. I'll be conducting the next
phase of the search. Once we ascertain that there is
reason to believe drugs are being smuggled in a body
cavity, we then move on to a more rigorous physical
inspection."

"You have no *right*," the boy said indignantly.

"The law gives me the right. Now, if you'll resume the
position, we'll go ahead and get this over with."

The sheriff pulled on a pair of gloves.

"I wasn't smuggling anything." The boy's belligerence
was disappearing. He was beginning to sound scared.
"Okay, so I admit I had drugs on me. But you already
found everything I had. I swear. That's it. There's no
more. No reason to do this."

The sheriff lubed his latex-covered fingers.

"That's an interesting way to carry your drugs. Most
recreational users I've run into during my thirty
years in law enforcement tend to use their pockets.
But dealers. Well, that's another story. They'll stash
their merchandise all over their bodies when they go
out to sell. In their mouths, snugged up in their arm
pits, in their shoes. And sometimes in their rectums,
usually as a safety supply. That way, they'll still
have something to sell if they run into cops and have
to ditch the rest of their stuff. No officer's going
to find a stash there in a routine pat down."

"That's not me, man. I *swear*."

"Well, son, you also swore there weren't any drugs on
your body. So you'll have to excuse me if I don't take
your word for it. Now, go ahead and resume the
position."

"What are you looking for?" the boy asked, as he bent
over and spread his cheeks again.

"Where there's one vial of heroin, there's usually a
few others to keep it company. Occasionally, we find
weapons tucked up in there, too. We have to take
proper precautions and rule that out as a
possibility."

"*He* didn't find anything else." The kid jerked his
head in Saunders' direction.

"Sheriff Williams has a lot more experience in drug
searches than I do," Saunders said.

"This is going to be a three-finger search," the
sheriff explained. 

"Shit!" the boy said, sounding scared.

"I'm preparing to insert the first finger."

The sheriff carefully worked his index finger past the
boy's sphincter and into his anal passage. He pushed
in until he felt the slight protrusion of the boy's
prostate. Then he began to massage the gland. 

"Oh." A little involuntary noise escaped the boy.

All the young men he performed this procedure on were
surprised to find out how pleasurable it could be. He
gently twisted his fingers, stretching the boy's
muscles. He was a strict father, but he was not a
cruel one. He always made sure to prepare his sons for
the difficult lesson they were about to face.

Predictably, the boy began to get hard.

"Aren't you finished yet?" he demanded, obviously
disconcerted by his body's reaction.

"That's only the first finger. I'm now introducing the
second one."

The boy groaned. "It's too full. You're hurting me."

"Relax your rectal muscles. Breathe out," the sheriff
instructed.

He worked the prostate with both fingers. The boy was
soon fully erect.

"Now for the third finger," he said.

The boy gasped. "Shit!"

Despite his protests, the sheriff could feel his
muscles relaxing a little more as they grew used to
the intrusion, stretching to accommodate the increased
girth. He spread the lubricant as deeply as he could
reach and then pulled his fingers out. The boy's hard
cock bobbed, drooling pre-cum. He flushed with
embarrassment.

"That seems to be it," he told his deputies. "I didn't
find anything else."

"Can I get dressed now?" the boy asked.

"Of course." He turned to one of his deputies. "Getty,
go get him a uniform."

"Yes, sir."

Getty left the room.

"What's going to happen to me now?" the boy asked,
alarmed by the mention of a prison uniform.

"You'll be held over for arraignment."

"You're going to lock me up?" he asked,
disbelievingly.

"'Fraid so, son. Dealing drugs is a serious offense."

"I wasn't hurting anyone," he blustered. "Don't you
people have any clue how stupid this whole war on
drugs is? How useless?"

The sheriff regarded him calmly. "That may be, son.
Maybe those people up in the state capital really
ought to change the entire drug statute. I don't
rightly know. What I do know is that right now this
law is still on the books. And you've broken it."

"That really *sucks*, man," the boy said vehemently.

Getty opened the door and stepped back into the room.

"Sheriff, the laundry truck hasn't shown up yet. We're
completely out of shirts. All we have on hand is this
pair of pants."

"That's fine," the Sheriff told him. And then he
explained to the boy, "It's against policy to allow
detainees to wear non-issue clothing. I'm afraid
you'll have to go shirtless until the laundry truck
arrives and we can get you a shirt. But it's warm back
there in the holding cell. I don't think you'll be
uncomfortable."

Getty handed the pants to the boy.

"Can I at least have my underwear?" he asked.

The Sheriff shook his head. "We need it for evidence."
He motioned to Carson. "Do me a favor and bag that for
me."

The deputy carefully picked up the boy's briefs,
placed them in a plastic bag and sealed it.

"How could that possibly be evidence?" the boy asked,
as he quickly pulled on the pants he'd been given.

"Because you hid your drugs in your rectum. Sometimes
there are traces of chemicals left behind in the
underwear."

"Oh," the boy said, clearly mortified.

The sheriff could never believe how easily they
accepted the bullshit he told them, but they always
did. The pants the boy was wearing were standard
prison issue, made of a light cotton, now paper thin
from years of washing. Without his underwear, the
boy's erection was clearly outlined by the soft, worn
fabric. He was quite hard and appeared in no danger of
going soft any time soon.

The sheriff couldn't help feeling a stab of envy. A
nineteen year old dick was truly a thing of a wonder.
It got hard at the drop of a hat and could stay that
way forever if the boy didn't get off. The sheriff
could still vaguely remember what they had been like,
way back in his prime. Now, it took him a good hour of
foreplay with his girlfriend before he was totally up
and ready to go. Not that Wanda seemed to mind. In
fact, it meant more of the good stuff as far as she
was concerned. But he couldn't help feeling the loss,
as if his virility was slowly seeping out of him.

On the other hand, there were some pluses to not being
nineteen anymore. There was certainly a whole lot less
embarrassment. The boy was trying to hold his hands in
front of himself to hide the tent his hard dick was
making in his pants and the wet spot that was forming
on the fabric. The sheriff had to bite the inside of
his lip to keep from smiling.

"Take him on back to the cell now, Saunders," the
sheriff instructed his deputy.

"I want a lawyer," the boy demanded. "I'm supposed to
get one call."

"That's true. But there's only one public defender
around these parts, and I know for a certainty that
he's out of town on a fishing trip until tomorrow
morning. Of course, I'm assuming you'd need free legal
counsel. But maybe you want to call your parents and
have them arrange a lawyer for you?"

The boy quickly shook his head. "No. No. You were
right. A public defender. That's how I want to handle
it."

It always pained the sheriff how eager these kids were
to conceal what they'd done from their parents. It
never seemed to occur to them that their mothers and
fathers could be very helpful in such serious
circumstances.

"I thought you might feel that way," he told the boy.
"Anyway, like I was saying, George Hicks is our only
public defender. You can call him tomorrow morning
when he's back in his office."

"All right, kid," Saunders said. "Let's go."

The deputy hustled him away. The boy's face clearly
showed how much he dreaded a night in lockup.

*If only you knew,* the sheriff thought.

When the door closed, the sheriff said to his men,
"Let's make sure we monitor the situation. Any signs
of real violence, we intervene. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," they said in unison.

The sheriff nodded. They'd all been through the drill
before. He just never liked to take any chances. 

"All right then. I'll be finishing up my paperwork if
anybody needs me."

He headed back to his office. Once there, he opened
the large cabinet on the wall opposite his desk and
flipped on the TV. It was a closed circuit feed from
the cellblock. He'd be able to keep an eye on
everything that happened to the kid from here. He put
on a pot of coffee. There was no telling how long this
would take. He was prepared to stay up all night if
that's what it took. This child was embarking on his
dark night of the soul, and the sheriff would keep
vigil with him.

After a few moments, Saunders and the kid appeared in
the picture. The boy's pace grew slower and slower
with each step. Saunders ended up practically dragging
him by the arm. The sheriff could certainly understand
the boy's hesitation. There were more than a half
dozen other prisoners already in the cell. Some of
these thugs were so rough around the edges they
unnerved the younger deputies. A college boy like this
would have every reason to be terrified.

Saunders opened the cell door, pushed the kid inside
and turned the lock. This was the part the deputy
always enjoyed the most.

He leaned in and told the boy  confidentially, in a
voice loud enough for everyone to hear, "Hey, don't
worry too much about throwing a boner during the
rectal search. That just happens sometimes."

The kid froze, and his face went pale. The other cons
began whistling and making catcalls, and the tips of
the boy's ears turned red. The deputy laughed and
headed for the door.

"Hey!" the kid yelled after him. "You can't leave me
in here."

"Have fun," the deputy told him. 

He laughed again and closed the heavy outer door
behind him with a harsh clang.

The kid stared at the closed door for several seconds,
as if he expected it to open at any moment and someone
to come through it to tell him that this whole
nightmare was really just a terrible joke. He wasn't
actually going to have to spend the night locked in a
cage with these animals. 

When that didn't happen, the boy reluctantly turned
around to face reality and his cellmates.

There was Hank, with the burn scar disfiguring half
his face; JoJo, big and black, sporting a shaved head
and biceps so huge they looked downright freakish, not
to mention scary; Donny, who kept ending up in lockup
for getting high and then proceeding to beat the shit
out of whoever was unlucky enough to cross his path;
and several more professional hoodlums, gang members
and one upstanding citizen they thought had probably
committed the most recent drug- related homicide.

The kid shrank back against the bars. 

*As if that's going to help him,* the sheriff thought.

The cons began to close in, slowly, stealthily, the
way predators attacked their unfortunate victims in
the wild.

"Help!" the boy screamed at the top of his lungs.
"Somebody help me!"

Of course, no one responded.

Hank lunged unexpectedly and yanked the kid away from
the bars. He pulled the boy in front of him, hooked
his arms under the kid's armpits and hoisted him up.
The kid flailed and kicked his legs. But JoJo was too
fast for him. In a flash, he had untied the
drawstring, stripped the kid's pants off and tossed
them to the side. 

The boy's cock bobbed and curved up toward his belly. 

JoJo laughed. "Looks like he's enjoying himself, ey?"

Donny rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "A
good thing, too. Since he doesn't have much choice
about it."

"No!" The boy struggled to break Hank's hold on him.
"Guard! Somebody! Help me!"

"Now, don't go making this any harder than it needs to
be," Hank said in his ear.

"Please, don't hurt me," the boy begged.

JoJo put a finger beneath his chin. "Oh, Sweet Thing,
we don't want to hurt you."

Relief flashed naively through the boy's eyes. 

"We just want to fuck you," JoJo clarified and then
laughed evilly.

Before the kid could react, Hank threw him down onto
his hands and knees on the concrete floor. The boy
scrambled to get up, but Hank quickly got down on the
floor beside him and held him by the shoulders to keep
him where they wanted him. The boy fought back as best
he could, trying to kick and bite and squirm out of
Hank's grasp. But the con was far too strong for him,
and he'd done this too many times before. The kid
didn't have a chance. 

*They never do,* the sheriff thought.

JoJo undid his pants, pulled out his cock and sank to
his knees behind the boy. 

When the kid felt the man's hard dick against his
butt, he wailed, "Nooooo!" Then he erupted into a
hysterical frenzy of flailing and struggling, a last
desperate effort to prevent the inevitable. "Guard!
Guard! Help me!" His voice started to go hoarse from
screaming. "God, please, make this stop."

Kenny, one of the streetwise, smartass kids that
passed through the jail like it was a revolving door,
stepped up to where the boy struggled on the floor.

"Shut up, pussy! Ain't nobody coming," he said. "Ain't
you figured that out by now?"

The kid continued to beg, "Oh, God, please. Help me."

Kenny made a disgusted sound in the back of his
throat. "Ain't no God gonna get you out of this
assfucking. So why don't I give you something better
to do that with that nice, wet mouth of yours, huh?"
He rubbed his hard cock through his pants.

"Not until I say so," JoJo warned him, as he lined up
his cock with the boy's hole.

The sheriff shook his head. It was so typical. A big
part of the thrill of raping a privileged white
college boy for any of these street-hardened thugs was
to hear his shrill, outraged squeal of protest as they
busted his cherry wide open. JoJo didn't want anybody
fucking his mouth until after he'd heard the kid
scream.

"And you wait your turn," Donny reminded Kenny,
elbowing him away.

Kenny was the youngest, and so he was low man on the
totem pole. He had really gotten lucky tonight. If
this other kid hadn't come along, he most likely would
have been the one on the cold concrete with his pants
down around his ankles and his cellmates all lined up
behind him.

"It's gonna be my turn soon enough," Kenny told the
kid. "And I'm gonna make you really feel my dick,
pussy boy."

Kenny spat at him contemptuously, the glob landing on
his forehead. His behavior didn't especially surprise
the sheriff. He'd read his file. Kenny had first
landed in lockup when he was barely fourteen. No doubt
he had undergone an initiation into the penal system
much the same as this kid was now experiencing. Cons
who had been turned out themselves were always the
most eager to do it to someone else, and they tended
to be the most vicious about it, too.

Finally, JoJo was ready, and he surged forward,
forcing his dick into the boy's ass.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!"

The sound that came out of the kid was a wrenching
combination of shock, anguish, pain, irretrievable
loss, and it broke the sheriff's heart. He swallowed
hard and looked away for a moment, his eyes swimming. 

JoJo moaned in pleasure as he began to work his dick
further inside. The kid sobbed brokenly.

"Is that pussy tight?" Donny asked, his voice slurred
with lust.

"Oh, God," JoJo groaned throatily. "*Really* tight."

"Yeah. Give it to him. Fuck that tight little pussy,"
Donny encouraged, reaching inside his pants to work
his own dick.

JoJo held the boy's hips firmly while he thrust in and
out of his body. The boy seemed to be in a state of
shock. He shuddered convulsively and cried as JoJo
used him like a woman. Hank scooted around in front of
him, took out his dick and pushed it against his
mouth.

"Suck me," he ordered.

The boy set his mouth in a hard line and refused. 

"The little bitch doesn't want to suck my cock," Hank
said.

"No problem," JoJo said.

He reached around the boy's body, grabbed his sack and
twisted. The boy howled in agony.

"You play nice and suck his dick. Or I'll rip them off
with my bare hands."

Hank pressed his dick to the boy's lips again. "And
don't bite me, either," he said. "Or *I'll* tear them
off."

The boy whimpered in defeat as he was forced to open
up wide for the dick. Hank held his head firmly
between his hands and began to thrust. The boy choked
and wheezed, desperately trying to breathe as the big
man raped his mouth. The force of being taken at both
ends made his whole body shake. His erect cock bobbed
against his belly, and his balls swung back and forth
beneath him.

The sheriff opened the kid's file. He was Jason
Miller, a sophomore at the university. The sheriff
noted his home address. It was an affluent area, a
nice family neighborhood. The kid didn't have any
priors, not even a juvenile record. He was sure
Jason's parents thought they had nothing to worry
about. 

The sheriff had once thought the same thing about his
own son. Of course, looking back on it he could see
where he had made his mistakes. He hadn't been nearly
strict enough. He had let way too many things slide.
His role as disciplinarian really started to suffer
after the divorce. He and his wife Barbara were both
hellbent on competing for their boy's affection,
whether they admitted it to themselves or not. There
were so many times he could remember going easy on the
kid, instead of putting the fear of God into him the
way his old man had done for him, just because he
didn't want Scott to like Barbara better than he liked
him. It tortured him now to think how things might
have been different if he hadn't been so weak and
selfish.

But he was making up for it now, with this boy and all
the others. 

Hank finished up first. The boy nearly gagged as he
struggled to swallow the man's come. His expression
clearly showed his disgust at the taste. A moment
later, JoJo shouted out and came. The boy's face
crumpled as he felt the man's warm semen spurting in
his ass. JoJo pulled out, and come streamed down the
boy's legs. The sheriff was glad to see there was no
blood. He'd done a good job getting him ready.
Hopefully, he wouldn't get torn up inside.

"My turn," said another of the cons, one whose name
the sheriff couldn't remember.

"For head," Donny said. "I've got dibs on his ass."

"Fine by me," the con said.

He took his pants off, sat down on one of the benches
and spread his legs wide. Donny pushed the kid over to
him. The other con made Jason kneel between his legs
and bury his face in his crotch. 

"I want my balls licked, too," he told the kid. "And
make it good." 

Donny dropped to his knees behind the boy and quickly
forced his dick up his ass. The kid moaned in pain
around the dick he was sucking.

The con buried his hands in the kid's hair. "Oh, yeah,
baby. Moan for me. That feels so good." 

Donny laughed as he started to fuck the boy briskly.

The sheriff suspected the other cops watching from the
control room were laughing right along with him. They
were all enthusiastic about participating in these
special projects, but they completely missed the
point. They didn't understand how it was really for
the boy's own good, that it was a lesson, a harsh one
to be sure, but something that might ultimately save
the kid's life. It wasn't supposed to be cruelty for
its own sake. It wasn't supposed to be something to
get off on.

But they did get off on it, the Sheriff realized. Oh,
they thought he didn't know what they did in the
control room while they were supposed to be monitoring
the events for safety reasons. But how could he not
know when the place stank of spunk the next morning?
He imagined them sitting around in there, exchanging
obscene jokes about these poor kids and what they were
going through, while they wanked themselves off
beneath the desk.

He supposed he should have expected it. As far as they
were concerned, any snot-nosed college brat who sold
drugs in their town got exactly what was coming to
him. None of them had ever managed to make it any
further away from home than the community college up
the road, and there was a certain bitterness in them
because of it. Without a four-year degree, they would
never advance beyond local law enforcement, with its
complete lack of glamor and its nothing pay. It didn't
escape them that most of these college kids would make
more just starting out in their first jobs than they'd
manage to pull down in their best year. So they
enjoyed nothing more than seeing one of these college
boys bawling for his mamma as he was forced to take it
up the ass by every con in the place.

The sheriff himself could never understand finding
gratification in someone else's suffering . He felt
nothing but the most wrenching grief whenever he
watched a boy, helpless and terrified, being
repeatedly raped. But spare the rod, quite literally
sometimes, and you spoiled the child. He'd already
discovered that the hard way. He wasn't going to fail
any more of his sons the way he had failed Scott. 

Donny threw his head back and howled as he finished in
Jason's ass. He pulled out, and semen drooled out of
the boy's butt. A moment later, the con fucking his
mouth came, pulling hard on his ears, mashing his face
into his sticky groin. When he finally finished
pumping his spunk down Jason's throat, he let him go.
Jason scooted away, white fluid trickling from the
corner of his mouth and dripping down his chin. His
eyes were red and swollen from crying. He huddled on
the floor, his arms wrapped around himself, his back
heaving. 

But he wasn't left there in peace for very long. A
moment or two later, he was hauled up and passed onto
the next two men, who quickly put him to use. 

The sheriff felt a primal ache, deep down in his gut,
the way a father always did when he saw a child in
pain. Of course, the first impulse was to make that
pain go away, but sometimes, you just couldn't give in
to your instincts. You had to let them experience the
consequences of their own actions, take their hard
knocks. If you didn't, they wouldn't grow up to be a
man you could respect. Hell, they might not get the
chance to grow up at all. 

At least, he could be here with this boy during his
time of suffering. At least, this child wasn't all
alone. There was some comfort in knowing that.

It had been different with Scott. When he'd gotten the
call at three o'clock in the morning, he had thrown on
his clothes, rushed to his truck and driven all night,
keeping the accelerator on the floor the whole time.
The sun was just coming up as he screeched into the
hospital parking lot. 

But he was too late. 

The hospital staff did let him see his boy. He was
still lying on the trauma room table where he'd died,
a white sheet covering his body. Somebody had been
humane enough to close his eyes, so he wouldn't have
to look into that terrible emptiness. A nurse brought
him a chair, so he could sit with Scott. He'd stayed
there-- he didn't even know how long, just clutching
his boy's hand. Even though there really was no point
to it. He couldn't offer his son any comfort. He
couldn't teach him anything now. He sure as hell
couldn't bring him back.

When the initial shock and grief lifted enough for his
cop's brain to start functioning again, he started
asking questions. How? Why? Scott's friends were
hesitant at first, but eventually, they came clean
with him. They'd all gone to a fraternity party. They
weren't even brothers in the house. It was an open
party, and they didn't have anything better to do.
When they got there, everyone was doing acid, passing
around these stickers, little colored dots, that had
the drug on it. Scott and his friends didn't normally
do drugs, but they couldn't see how it could hurt
anything, not if everyone else was doing it. 

That part of the story made the sheriff cringe
whenever he thought about it. If he had been a better,
stricter father, Scott would have known quite well the
damage drugs could do. He would have been too afraid
of the repercussions to have foolishly followed along
with his friends.

But he hadn't been the right kind of father, and his
boy had taken the hit of acid. By the time his friends
realized that Scott wasn't just having a bad trip,
that he was actually in trouble, it was already too
late. They called 911, and the ambulance came and
rushed him to the hospital. But Scott never had a
chance.

 From that day on, the sheriff had vowed never to let
that happen to another boy, to show them the
consequences of their actions before it was too late,
in a way that would really change them, really help
them make better decisions. It was a brutal lesson he
taught them, but it was a hell of a lot better than
ending up like Scott.

"Hey, boy, you don't think you're done, do you?" one
of the cons who hadn't yet taken his turn asked Jason.

The boy lay in a heap on the floor where his last
rapists had discarded him. He whimpered pitifully. The
inmates all laughed.

"Lord, no," the con said. " 'Cause I haven't had my go
at your pussy yet, and I'm feeling *really* horny
after watching you fuck all these other guys. So shake
that cute little ass of yours and get on over here."

The boy didn't move. He just kept making forlorn
little noises of distress.

The con barked, "Now!"

Jason jolted with alarm.

"Or do I have to come over there and start getting
rough?" the con asked, menacingly.

The boy cried. There were tremors in his arms and
legs, from shock and pain. He was too tired to stand.
But there was a look in his eyes that the sheriff
recognized: total defeat. The boy didn't bother
calling out for help anymore. He knew by now that no
one was coming. He realized that he was going to be
raped until they got tired of him, that if he didn't
do exactly what they wanted they might very well do
even more unspeakable things to him. So, he pulled
himself up to his hands and knees and started to crawl
over to the man.

"Oh, yeah, baby," the con said. "You look so good like
that. So sexy."

The boy sobbed harder, but he kept going. 

When Jason reached him, the con said, "Now, as much as
I like having you down on your knees like that, I'm
going to need you to stand up for what I have in
mind."

The boy braced his arms on the bench and struggled to
pull himself up. But he was just too weak, and he
couldn't manage it. The con grew impatient and yanked
him up, onto his feet.

"Now turn around," he instructed the boy.

Jason did as he said.

"Spread your legs wide. And back up a little." 

He put his hands on the boy's waist and guided him
until he was straddling his lap. 

"Okay, boy. Now sit down on my dick."

Jason's lip trembled as he slowly began to lower his
body. He groaned pitifully as he impaled himself on
his rapist's ample erection.

"Oh, yeah, boy. Take that dick. Take it deep."

Jason continued to lower himself, whimpering in pain,
until he was all the way seated on the con's lap.

"God, that feels good," the con moaned. "Your pussy's
still tight after all the dicking it's taken. That's
nice, boy. Real, real nice. Now, start moving and make
me feel even better."

"What?" Jason asked, the first word he'd spoken since
he stopped calling for help.

"Start fucking yourself on my cock. You don't expect
me to do all the work, do you?"

"Please," the boy begged.

The con squeezed his balls. "Do I need to teach you a
lesson?"

"No!" Jason quickly gave in. "I'll do it. Please.
Don't hurt me."

"That's a good boy. Now go to it."

The boy shakily lifted himself up, his thighs
trembling, and gingerly lowered himself down again. 

"Don't piss me off with that halfway shit," the con
warned him. "I told you to fuck yourself on my cock.
And I meant it. Now *fuck*!"

The kid sobbed as he moved up and down again, more
forcefully this time.

"That's better. Keep going."

The kid settled into a regular rhythm, his cock still
erect, bobbing out in front of him as he moved.

"Oh, yeah, baby," the con whispered hotly in the boy's
ear. "That's so damned good. And you know what? I
think you like it, too. Or you wouldn't still have
this." He wrapped his hand around the kid's erection.

Jason sucked in his breath.

The con laughed. "That's just what I thought." He
started to move his hand on the kid's dick. "Why
shouldn't you get off, too?"

Jason moaned, and for the first time, it sounded like
pleasure.

The con kissed his neck. "I could make it even better
for you. Would you like that?"

The boy's face twisted with guilt, but his eyes were
shining and needy.

"You have to tell me," the con coaxed.

"Please," the boy begged.

"What, baby? You have to *say* it."

Finally, Jason whispered, "Make it good. Please."

"Oh, yeah, baby. Yeah." He took Jason's hips in his
hands and changed their angle slightly.

"Aaaaagh!" Jason hollered, as he sat down on the guy's
cock.

The con laughed. "Meet your prostate, kid. That's your
little fuck button tucked up deep inside your pussy.
Like a hidden boy clit. Feels good, don't it?"

Jason grunted as he began fucking himself more
vigorously on the man's cock, working his prostate
with every stroke, his face intent with surprised
pleasure.

The con kissed and sucked his neck, as he fisted his
cock. "God, yeah, baby. Go for it," he encouraged.
"Fuck that cock. Fuck it good, sweetheart." 

Jason closed his eyes in ecstasy, licking his lips.
The other cons watched him lustfully, working their
own dicks, even the ones who had already had their
turn with him.

The man fucking him said, "You're so pretty, baby. So
fucking pretty." He kissed him passionately on the
shoulder, leaving a mark. "Such sweet little titties."
He rubbed the boy's nipples and played with his
piercing. 

Jason gasped, despite himself. 

The con smiled. "Feels good, huh?" He tugged the ring
again, and Jason moaned out loud. "Oh, yeah. Sensitive
little titties. I like that."

The boy moved with increasing speed, fucking himself
more urgently, down onto the other man's cock and up
into his hand. The con panted heavily, getting close
to orgasm. He jerked the boy's dick harder and played
with his balls. The kid moaned, also on the verge of
coming. The con bit down hard on his neck.

"Aaaagh!" Jason yelled, in both pleasure and disgust,
as he came in his rapist's hand.

This sent the con tumbling over the edge. His face
twisted into a grimace as he climaxed, filling the
boy's rectum with his semen.

When he finished, he slumped back against the wall.
The boy slid off his lap and sank to the floor. Tears
streamed down his face, and his shoulders shook. The
sheriff's throat closed up as he watched. This almost
always happened. Bodies were programmed to respond to
stimulation, and there was typically at least one
inmate who got off on exploiting that particular
biological fact to humiliate the victim. The boys
always took this part of the experience the hardest.

"Hey! I ain't had my turn yet," Kenny said,
belligerently. "Ya'll don't wear that pussy out before
I get me some of it."

"All right. All right, Kenny," JoJo told him. "Don't
get worked up. He's all yours now."

"*Yes*!" Kenny said. And then he turned to Jason. "Get
ready, pussy. I'm really hard after waiting so long,
and I need a good, long fuck."

Jason let out a soft sound of misery.

Kenny poked at him with his foot. "Get your face down
on the floor. Stick that pussy up in the air."

Jason continued to sob as he assumed the degrading
position.

"Now spread your legs wide apart," Kenny said. 

The boy did as he was told.

"Yeah. That's it." Kenny sank down behind him. "Take
that, you little faggot." He shoved his dick viciously
inside.

Jason howled in pain.

"Mmm," Kenny moaned. "That pussy's *tight*."

Jason cried as Kenny brutally fucked him. For a
moment, the sheriff considered intervening. The point
wasn't to leave the kid permanently damaged, just
scared enough to keep out of trouble in the future.
Before he could make up his mind, though, the decision
was made for him. Kenny was a big talker, but he was
still really just a kid, with the lack of staying
power that went along with youth. It wasn't long
before he threw his head back, howled and came.

He pulled out, and Jason collapsed to the floor. Kenny
tucked his cock back into his pants and got to his
feet.

"Pussy," he said, disdainfully.

He pulled his foot back and was about to kick the boy
in the side when JoJo grabbed him by the arm and
jerked him away.

"You had your turn," JoJo told him. "That's enough."

"He's a pussy. He deserves it," Kenny protested.

JoJo pointed a finger at him. "That's not for you to
decide. I'm in charge here. And you never leave marks
where the hacks can see. You'll get us all busted. And
if that happens, we'll bust you. Got it?"

Kenny cut his eyes to the side, his expression sullen,
but he nodded in agreement.

"Good. Now go find a spot to settle down for the
night. It's time to get some sleep." JoJo turned to
Jason. "You, too."

The rest of the inmates staked out places on the
benches. Jason slowly crawled to the corner and
huddled there on the floor.

"Hey, kid," JoJo said to him.

The boy cringed, pressing himself back against the
wall, obviously terrified of being raped again.

JoJo threw him his pants. "Don't you even think about
telling nobody what happened tonight."

Jason scrambled into his pants, his hands shaking. He
pulled the drawstring so tightly it dug into his skin.

"'Cause I meant what I said before," JoJo told him.
"You cross me, and you can kiss your balls good-bye.
You got me?"

Jason nodded, his face a mask of misery, his knees
pulled up tightly against his chest, his arms wrapped
around his shoulders, his body clenched in a fetal
position, his back against the wall so they couldn't
sneak up on him.

"Good," JoJo said. "I'm glad we understand each
other."

The cons eventually all quieted down for the night.
Jason stayed plastered to the wall, wide awake, tears
streaking down his cheeks, muffling his sobs with the
back of his hand. There would be no sleep for him
tonight.

The sheriff yawned. His eyes burned. He was getting
way too old for these all-nighters. He started to doze
off in his chair. He managed to rouse himself several
times, before he finally decided to try to catch a
little sleep. He knew if anything happened in the
cellblock he would hear it and wake up in time to help
his son. 

***

The sheriff awoke to the sound of Saunders' voice. He
had gone to the cell to get Jason. It was just after
dawn.

"Come here, kid," Saunders said.

"Me?" Jason asked.

Saunders nodded. The boy scrambled to his feet and
went to the cell door. Saunders unlocked it and let
him out. 

He handed him his clothes. "Here. The sheriff's
decided to let you off with a warning since this is
your first offense."

The boy looked stunned. "Really?"

"Yeah. I guess the old man's going soft in his old
age."

Sheriff Williams shook his head. Saunders always said
this. He thought it was the funniest little inside
joke.

"I'll show you where you can get cleaned up," Saunders
told the kid. "Then the sheriff wants to speak with
you."

The kid clutched his clothes to his chest. "Oh, God.
Thank you. Thank you so much."

"Thank the sheriff when you see him. This was his
idea." He motioned the boy in front of him. "I'll show
you to the bathroom."

When Saunders passed beneath the camera, he looked up
and winked. The sheriff rolled his eyes. His chief
deputy could be such a goofball sometimes.

The sheriff fixed a fresh pot of coffee, tidied his
desk and waited for Jason to finish pulling himself
together. Finally, Saunders knocked on the door and
showed the boy inside.

Jason had dark circles under his eyes. He moved
carefully, stiffly, his body obviously sore, which
wasn't surprising. He sat down in the chair in front
of the sheriff's desk. His hands shook, so he balled
them into fists at his sides.

"Son, did Deputy Saunders inform you that I've decided
to let you go?"

He nodded. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

His voice was respectful, even timid. He had clearly
been chastened by the experience he'd undergone in the
holding cell.

"I hope you made it through last night all right?"

The boy's lip trembled. But he nodded and said very
softly, "Yes, sir."

"So you didn't have any problems?"

Jason shook his head, on the verge of tears.

"Well, that's good. I'm glad to hear it."

The boy clearly wasn't going to tell him what happened
to him. The sheriff was sure his silence was due, in
part, to the cons' threats. But he also suspected
there was a part of the boy that believed he had
brought it on himself. If he hadn't done something
wrong, this never would have happened to him. And that
was exactly what the sheriff wanted him to realize. 

"You know why I decided to let you off?" he asked.

The boy shook his head. 

"Because you remind me a little bit of my own son." He
picked up the picture and showed it to Jason. "His
name was Scott. He was the best thing that ever
happened to me. Losing him was the worst. He's dead.
Been dead for years."

"I'm sorry," the boy said softly.

"Me, too. He was a good boy. He just made one mistake.
But it-- Well, sometimes one mistake is all it takes.
You know what I mean?"

The boy looked stricken. "Yeah," he said, his voice
sticking in his throat.

"All my kid did was go to a party. Just wanted to have
some fun on a Saturday night. Nothing wrong with that,
right? Only these other kids were all doing drugs.
Passing the stuff out to everybody who came through
the door, like it was some kind of party favor or
something. And Scott-- well, he'd never even smoked
marijuana before that. I don't know what got into him,
what he thought he was doing. But he went right along
with it. Did a hit. Only it didn't mix too well with
his system. By the time he go to the ER, he had gone
into convulsions. He was foaming at the mouth. His
pulse was almost 200. Heart 'bout near exploded in his
chest. There wasn't anything they could do for him."

Jason shivered. "That's awful."

"Yeah. It sure as hell was. And you know the scariest
part? He never saw it coming. Sometimes, you just
can't foresee where a bad choice is going to take
you," the sheriff continued. "I mean, Scott just
wanted to have a good time. I'm sure he never imagined
what could happen to him when he decided to go out
that night. I'm sure he never thought anything could
go wrong when he took that drug. Never considered that
he could lose his life and break his father's heart."

A tear streaked down Jason's cheek.

"You know how that is, don't you, Jason?"

The boy's mouth trembled.

"I'm sure you never imagined you'd get caught when you
went out to sell drugs last night. Did you?"

He shook his head, a look of sheer misery on his face.

"I want you to answer me something honestly. What'd
you want the money for?"

Jason swallowed hard. "My father was going to buy me a
car. But I wanted an SUV. He wouldn't pay for it. He
said if I really wanted one then I'd have to make the
extra money myself. So I--" He broke off with a catch
in his voice.

"You decided to take the easy way out. Not get an
honest job. Just sell that crap to other kids and make
a quick buck instead. I bet that's not what your
father had in mind, was it?"

He shook his head. "No, sir."

"And look where it's led you. All the trouble it's
gotten you into. You never once thought about the
possibilities, did you?"

More tears fell. "No, sir."

"Never thought you'd get caught."

He shook his head.

"Never thought you'd get arrested. Or wind up in
jail."

He looked down and shook his head. 

"I bet you certainly never imagined spending the night
in lockup getting your mouth and rectum violated by
every con in the place. Did you?"

Jason's head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock.
"How--" he stuttered.

"How do I know you're not a virgin to sex with men
anymore after last night?"

Jason flushed with humiliation.

"Because that's just what happens to boys who get in
over their heads and end up in jail where they don't
belong. The mean motherfuckers who *do* belong there
show them a thing or to about the real world of crime.
I don't know a boy who's gone into that holding cell
who's come out with his cherry still intact."

The kid's eyes flashed with a supreme sense of
betrayal. They always looked like that when they
figured out everybody had known what was happening to
them and no one had come to save them. But that was
the point. Up until now, the sheriff was certain
somebody had always bailed Jason out. It had made him
brazen enough to think he could go out and break the
law and not have to answer for it. Just the way his
letting Scott off the hook too easily had made him
feel invincible enough to do something so fatally
stupid as taking a drug he knew nothing about.

At least, now Jason knew better. He knew there were
some consequences you had to face all by yourself. He
knew you had to make careful choices or else you just
might end up with more than you bargained for.

"So I guess those boys on the cellblock taught you an
important lesson last night, huh, Jason?"

The kid cried harder, his nose starting to run.

"If you don't respect yourself, then nobody else is
going to respect you, either," the sheriff told him.
"You disrespected your body by hiding drugs in your
ass. And that landed you in jail where your cellmates
had the opportunity to show you the ultimate
disrespect. I think that's one lesson you're not going
to be forgetting any time soon, are you, Jason?"

"Oh, God," the boy sobbed.

"Because you have to know that you're different now,
son. Just one little mistake, and it's left you
changed forever. You realize you're not like other men
any more, right? Normal men never have a cock shoved
up their asses. They don't know what it feels like to
have some other guy come inside them. But you do,
don't you, Jason? You know all about that."

Jason's shoulders shook with his grief.

"You have a pussy between your legs now, boy. And it's
gonna stay a pussy for as long as you live. Even if
there's never another man who dicks you. All it takes
is one fucking, and there's no going back. It won't
matter how many women you make it with. You're always
gonna know the truth. It'll just flash back to you
sometimes. Like when you're having sex with your
girlfriend, moving in and out of her pussy, and
suddenly, bam! There it is, the cellblock, all those
other men, the way their dicks moved in and out of
*you*."

"No!" Jason shuddered.

"Oh, yes. You're never going to be free of it. And
you're never going to be a real man again. And all
because you were too greedy and too lazy to get a real
job and earn the money you needed honestly. That's an
awfully big price to pay, isn't it? To lose your
manhood forever over something like that. I hope
you'll remember that the next time you're tempted to
do something stupid. And make the right decision
instead."

"Please," the boy begged. "Stop." 

The look on Jason's face was one of total devastation.
The sheriff knew it well. There was a gnawing, painful
place in his stomach knowing that he had caused it, on
this boy's face and so man others. But sometimes, you
just couldn't think of yourself. You had to do what
was right, what was for their own good.

"You think this doesn't hurt me as much as it hurts
you, Jason?" he asked. "You think I enjoy this? 'Cause
I don't. Believe me. But I can't let you walk out of
this station without seeing the error of your ways. I
can't let you make the same mistake twice. Because
sometimes you don't get a chance to do things over.
God knows my kid didn't. So, I want you to tell me the
truth. Are you ever going to sell drugs again?"

He shook his head vehemently. "No, sir."

"Or do drugs?"

"No, sir."

"Or break the law in any way?"

"No, sir."

"Is that the God's honest truth, Jason?"

"Yes, sir. I swear. I swear to God."

"Because that was just a taste of what happens to
college boys who stupidly end up in prison. We have
mandatory minimums for drug offenses in this state.
You know what that means, son? It means you could get
as many as five, ten, even twenty years for a first
offense. That's *years* of being passed from con to
con, having your mouth and ass fucked against your
will, night after night after night. Is that something
you'd enjoy, Jason?"

The boy's entire body shook. "No!"

"Well, then, you'd best make good use of this second
chance I'm giving you. I don't want to see you around
this police station again. And I don't want to hear of
you getting into trouble over at the university. Or
anywhere. Ever. You understand me?"

Jason nodded, tears streaming down his face. "Yes. I
understand. I promise."

"Good. I'm real glad to hear that, Jason."

The boy sat sobbing, his arms wrapped around himself,
his chest heaving.

The sheriff made his voice more gentle. "Someday,
you'll see that this has all been for the best. I know
that's hard to imagine right now. But who knows what
would have happened to you if you hadn't learned this
lesson?"

The boy didn't answer. He just kept crying. 

"Well, I guess that's all, as long as we understand
one another. You'd best be getting back to school. We
don't want your grades to suffer."

"You mean I can go?" the boy asked, as if he couldn't
imagine there ever being an end to this nightmare.

The sheriff nodded. "Sure. Go on. Saunders is waiting
for you. He'll show you out."

The boy stood up, grimacing as he moved. The sheriff
watched him walk out of his office. He heard Saunders
out in the hall telling the kid to follow him. The
sheriff went to stand by the window. From there, he
had a perfect view of the exit.

A few moments later, Saunders and the kid materialized
at the door. Saunders held it open, and Jason slipped
past him. He walked down the sidewalk, looking over
his shoulder to make sure no one was going to come
after him. When he saw Saunders go back inside, he
started to run, a grimace on his face, his shoulders
hunched, the set of his body belying his pain. But
still he ran. The sheriff watched until he disappeared
around a corner, and then he nodded to himself. He'd
done a good job with this one. He felt certain that
Jason would never forget this lesson, no matter how
fast he ran or how far he went.

He sat back down at his desk and sighed. He still had
the mountain of reports to go through, the
disheartening evidence that the usual tactics weren't
working on this scourge of drugs. He sometimes wished
he could share his methods with his law enforcement
brethren in other areas, but that would never be
possible. They would never understand.

At least, he had the personal satisfaction of knowing
that this one kid's life had been changed forever
thanks to him.

THE END


__________________________________________________
Do You Yahoo!?
Yahoo! Photos - Share your holiday photos online!
http://photos.yahoo.com/

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+