HE DOCK
A Twisted Genes Story

By DannyR  (MM/b, oral, anal, incest)
Copyright 2010.  All rights reserved.


Author’s Reminder:  Don’t forget that inquiring authors want to know -- what did you think?  So when you’re done, put your fingers to a  dried-off, cleaned-up keyboard and start by typing:  dr_harris_81@hotmail.com.

DISCLAIMER:  Some folks apparently have trouble distinguishing between fantasy and reality.  This story is a fantasy.  It didn’t happen.  Never will.  And anyone who attempts to do in real life all or any of the things depicted in the story needs to be hanged, then drawn and quartered, and then turned over to the cops for the harshest penalties the law allows. After that, well, hopefully everything Law and Order and the news say is true about child molesters in prison, is really true.  Now that we’re clear on what’s what, and what’s not, read on.

ON THE DOCK

He was nervous.  He took a last drag on the cheap cigarette that was all he could afford, and that only barely, dropped it on the dock, crushed it.  He looked around, twisting his head all the way to the right and then to the left.  What with the patch over the empty socket where his left eye had been, that was the only way he could get a good look at anything. He’d lost the eye, ah, fuck, he hadn’t lost anything, now had he, that was what folks said, “Howja lose yer eye, me boy?” when they weren’t starin’ at the scars on his face, like he’d gotten bollixed with his mates, hadn’t noticed when it just popped out somewhere, and then he couldn’t find it.  Hadn’t fucking lost it at all, had it taken from him, hadn’t he, by the fucking Frogs. A fucking mortar shell by his own fucking side, and they’d left him in the trench to die.

But he hadn’t. Not all the way. Just part of him. He knew that much, knew something was gone, but no idea what.  The rest of him, the part that had survived was because one of the Jerrys had been a doctor. Couldn’t save the eye; couldn’t make the left side of his face as smooth and handsome as the right; couldn’t quite get the leg back right.  Could save his life.

He pulled his thoughts back from the summer of ‘17.  He turned his head again, peering at the towering black shadows dropping down in the moonlight from ships, cranes, buildings.  Nothing.

He transferred the cane to his left hand, dug in his pocket, and pulled out the cheap pocket watch. Flipped it open. They stood in a small circle projected down from the light high above them on the pole.  Not a lot of light, but between it and the moon it was enough. Big Tony was late. He snapped it shut, put it back in his pocket. Glared, with obvious futility, at the darkness.  Kept his mouth shut.  You didn’t complain about Big Tony except, perhaps, inside your head.  You never knew when someone might hear and snitch.  Even half way out a cargo pier, at past midnight, on a hot summer night.  Just where he was told to be. Him and his nephew.

The boy shifted side to side, foot to foot, not that he could be seen since he was on his blind side, but the motion could be felt.  The “let’s have an adventure with uncle”  that had gotten him out of bed and sneaking out was wearing thin.  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Uncle Shaun....”

For an eight year old, Mikey didn’t whine all that much, but when he did he did it well.  Like now. Those two words were the same as “I’m bored, I’m hot, I’m tired, this isn’t fun, what the fuck are we doing here anyway?”

Shaun twisted his upper body so he could see what he was doing.  Didn’t want to knock Mikey out, or something, as he dropped his hand on the cane a few inches below the smooth wood knob, lifted his arm to gently tap the side of the boy’s head and said, “You wantin’ a clout o’ me shillelagh, boyo?  Now hush.”

Mikey giggled as his uncle calling his cane a shillelagh.  Shaun sighed.  He’d managed to sound just like a nineteen year old uncle should sound. Not like a one-eyed, gimpy Mick, paying a debt.

He paid his debts. Always. He hadn’t any money to bribe the limey who found where he’d stowed away on the cargo ship bound for Liverpool, running away to fight in the Great War, but the man had liked his fifteen year old mouth.  Liked Shaun’s thick eight inches greased up and plowing his ass, too. Although he’d worked his passage in the regular way, too, his duties were a bit lighter since his cock and his mouth were popular with the greasers below decks.

The Hun doctor used his mouth as a convenient cum dump. Half his head was covered in thick bandages, but his mouth was available for the doctor to fuck his long, thin, uncut cock down Shaun’s throat, his nose pressed against the graying blond pubes.

A limey officer had taken care of him in the POW camp.  He wasn’t interested in Shaun’s cock, like most of the other men had been. The officer’s dick was bigger than Shaun’s and what he was interested in was Shaun’s holes.  Both of them. At almost eighteen he got fucked for the first time, and came for the first time without anything, hand, mouth, cunt, touching his meat.

Shaun paid his debts. Only this was one where his prick and his holes weren’t going to help. Fuck, he’d have agreed to that if Big Tony had demanded it, but a scarred six-one Mick, with wiry black hair over pale white muscled flesh, trailing down to thick black pubes, wasn’t all that prime any more, large cock or no. But even if Big Tony had been interested, he’d lost too much money gambling, money he somehow didn’t realize, while he was losing it, that he’d owe to Big Tony.  Even turning over most of his pay from working the dock, loading and unloading cargo, he’d still be in debt for years. And Big Tony didn’t like to wait.

But he didn’t mind making other people wait.  Probably enjoyed it.  Enjoyed knowing how nervous it made the ones who were waiting.  Just like Shaun.  But he covered it up for Mikey’s sake.

Mikey was at the take-a-breath stage of another, probably more major, whine, when they heard the car, watched it drive slowly to them.  Shaun grimaced, but only inside.  Fucking bastard.  A sleek, shiny black 1919 Cadillac limo, while Shaun had to walk, or maybe take a trolley. But then Big Tony could afford it. 

The driver got out.  Shite.  Little Tony.  He walked around the front of the car, opened the rear passenger door.  Big Tony stepped out.

Like most nicknames, these two didn’t have much relationship to reality.  “Big” Tony was only about five six.  A thick-bodied, square-jawed dago, who was as sleek as his car in a shiny black tuxedo. The brilliant white shirt was almost a flare, even in the dim light, and diamond studs glittered down the front. He wore a heavy gold ring, with a large diamond, a very large diamond, on his left hand.

“Little” Tony was six five, two fifty, maybe more, dressed in a grey chauffeur’s uniform and cap, and black boots that came to his knees.  The gun bulge at his waist wasn’t all that noticeable against the mountainous backdrop.  Shaun noticed.

People could tell where the nicknames came from.  “Big” because the older, fifty-plus Tony was powerful.  “Little” because his body was so huge.  Clear.  Obvious, even.

But Shaun had another theory about the nicknames.  Pier 12, at night, was a good place for a quick suck, or fuck, or hand job.  In the blackness of a warehouse that was surprisingly always empty, surprisingly always unlocked, with the smells coming off the river, the smells of the men, the stench of the unwashed, the colognes of the ones slumming, the smells of booze and cum and piss, the men did an intricate suck and fuck dance, never knowing whose mouth was on your dick, whose cock was in your cunt, whose hands were working you over until you screamed your cum.

Sometimes, though, sometimes a roving spotlight from one of the ships moving up or down the harbor would hit a window at just the right angle, and bounce the beam off another window and another and then streak down into the fetid dark of the fuckhouse, shining on a face, a cock, a shoulder, a tit, whatever, before the blackness crushed it.  Shaun had just finished sucking off a really big man, the kind of size you couldn’t hide, even in that dark; had just stood up, backed up a step into the press of sweaty bodies around him and as he swallowed the last of an unusually thick, strong-tasting load of cum, the light flickered over the man’s face and was gone.

Christ.  He’d just sucked off Little Tony. He began squirming his way through the crowd. No way was he taking a chance at being recognized, whether as the cocksucker or not. Not when he knew the alternate reason for the bodyguard’s nickname.  Shaun’s mouth was good at measuring length.  And Little Tony was just that...little.  Five inches, if that.  Juicy, leaking a steady stream of sweet precum, fat, but only five.  Not a blowjob you wanted to brag about.

So maybe, the “big” was just that? Not that he would ever know.  Big Tony was married, five kids, even a couple of grandsons he’d heard.  Lived in a mansion near Central Park. Not the type to be hunting for meat on the pier. Or anywhere else.  Probably shoot his bodyguard himself if he found out Little Tony was queer.

The two men moved closer, Little Tony a mountain behind and slightly to the left of his boss. Shaun’s nervous shiver didn’t have to be suppressed.  Big Tony saw it; enjoyed it.

Shaun’s second, third, fifteenth thoughts about being there were gone, but he still wondered what the fuck.  Two days ago three of Big Tony’s men had showed up on Shaun’s shift, and told him Big Tony wanted to see him. His mind was stupid enough to panic and for a second to consider whether he could somehow get away, run, hide; being “asked” to go see Big Tony was not a good thing.  The men were either mind-readers, or familiar with the reactions of those “invited” to a meeting, since two spread out as the invitation was being extended, creating a tight triangle from which he had no way of escape.

His co-workers, his friends, his drinking buddies, his fuck-them-in-the-dark buddies had vanished.  Not exactly running, not exactly hiding, but nowhere close enough that anyone could claim they’d been eavesdropping.  As he left, he knew he wouldn’t lose his job, assuming he came back, but he’d still have his pay docked for the time he missed.

He limped inside that triangle to the car, sat in the back between two, both of whom seemed immune to the acrid smell of a dockworker in the middle of his shift on one of the hottest days of the year, a smell amplified by a fear Shaun refused to acknowledge. He hadn’t given in to fear during the war, he wouldn’t now.

They took him to an alley behind an office building; up a freight elevator, down a hall, through a door, and into the type of office he’d only heard about, but had never seen, never expected to see.  He belonged in this space as much as a pile of dog shit belonged on the fancy carpet. A short hall, another door.  A large office, with large glass windows; the office of someone rich and powerful.  Big Tony’s office. He was seated behind a large desk, empty except for a few neat stacks of papers, a blotter, an inkwell, and something under a cloth.  

Two of the men flanked him a couple of feet in front of the desk.  The third was clearly behind them, in front of the door.  “Mr. O’Hara.”

Shaun nodded.

Big Tony’s expression did not change.  “Hit him.”

The blow came from his blind side, a left fist swinging around as the man spun into his sight, and the fist connected with Shaun’s stomach, doubling him over as the air left his lungs.  He might have toppled, but the man on the right grabbed his thick hair and painfully hauled him upright, gasping.

Big Tony hadn’t moved, perhaps not even blinked.  “Mr. O’Hara.”

“Y...yes, sir,” Shaun managed to gasp.

A flicker of something passed across his face.  “Mr. O’Hara, for a war hero you are remarkably stupid.”  Big Tony held up a hand to stop whatever Shaun might have said.  

“Between the drugs and the gambling, you still owe me four thousand three hundred twelve dollars and forty-three cents.  At the rate you are repaying me, it would take you nearly five years.  I am not known for my patience, Mr. O’Hara.  Men who do not pay me promptly have been known to experience...great difficulties.”

He paused and Shaun rushed in with another, “Yes, sir.”

“I have a proposal that might get you out of some of your, ah, difficulties. Perhaps even all of them.  Will you listen carefully, and consider my offer?”

Shaun practically babbled another “Yes, sir,” and threw in an “Of course, sir,” as well.

“But I also want you to carefully consider the alternatives to my offer.  Mr. Culver?”

The man to Shaun’s right said, “Sir?”

Big Tony leaned forward, pulled the cloth off the object.  It was a thick shillelagh.  He looked at Culver, then back at Shaun as he said, “Hurt him.”

The man to Shaun’s left had stepped behind him, massive hands gripped his shoulders.  The earlier blow and the shock at the casual order left Shaun immobile just long enough for Culver to quickly step up to the desk, grab the shillelagh, get into position and then swing a hard, low blow that did not end, as Shaun briefly expected, in his balls, but instead hit his injured leg just above the knee.

Shaun screamed.  For an instant he was back in the trench after the mortar shell had exploded, feeling the agony of his ruined eye, the slashes on his face, the broken bones and torn nerves in his leg, wondering who the fuck was doing that godawful screaming, only to realize when his throat became too raw that it was his voice.  And he had screamed again.  They let him collapse to the floor, move into a fetal curl as he grasped the injured leg and didn’t at all manage not to cry.

Distantly, he heard Big Tony tell the men they could leave, after thanking them for their excellent work.  The door shut behind them.  How odd that no one had come running.  Perhaps those in the nearby offices were used to sounds like that.  They probably couldn’t hear the only sounds in the room at that moment, the sounds of a wounded animal.

“When you feel able, Mr. O’Hara, please crawl to a chair.  I prefer not to discuss business with a whimpering man on the floor.  And do, Mr. O’Hara, remember that I am not a patient man.”

Shaun would have preferred to show Big Tony that he was a man who could take anything dished out to him, but that opportunity had vanished seconds ago, and he was in too much pain to do anything other than what he was told.  He weakly lifted his head, turned it, found a chair, crawled to it, and managed to get into it without tipping it and himself back onto the floor.  He sat slumped, the pain in his leg almost obliterating his ability to think.

“I have a proposition for you, Mr. O’Hara.  A way to relieve yourself of some part of your debt, perhaps even, eventually, all of it.  Are you interested?”

Shaun gasped, tried to speak, nodded, tried again.  “Y...yes, sir.”

“Good.  I would like to meet your nephew.”

Shaun’s mouth dropped open.  “M...my nephew?  Mikey?  Uh, sir?”

“Yes, Mr. O’Hara.  If you bring him to meet me, I will remove five hundred dollars from your debt.  If the meeting is, ah, successful, I will remove another thousand.  After that, well, you may provide other services to work off the remainder.”

The sigh of relief was carefully restrained.  He wasn’t sure if God wanted to be thanked because he was clearly going to get a chance to use his cock, or maybe just his mouth and ass, to work off his debt after all.  And hell, fifteen hundred just to have Mikey and Big Tony meet, and, well, maybe Mikey would be working for Big Tony, like a runner or something.  He managed to lift his head, opened his mouth to agree, but Big Tony held up a hand to silence him.

“Before you agree, I want to be sure you understand your options.  If you decline my offer, I will give you one week to pay your debt in full in cash.  If that doesn’t happen, at some time after the deadline, Mr. Culver and several of his associates will meet with you. I doubt that any doctor will be able to save that leg,” he nodded at the one injured in the war, “perhaps not even be able to save you.  Do you understand?”

Christ fuck yes.  “Yes, sir.”

“Shall I bring Mr. Culver back in to give you another taste of what to expect?  Just to be sure you understand all the consequences?”

Jesus, fuck no!  “No, sir.”

“Very well.”  He pressed a button on an intercom; a faint buzzing could be heard beyond the door.  It opened.  “Ah, Mr. Culver.  Mr. O’Hara, here, is going to be leaving us. He’s going to crawl on his hands and knees to the door, after which you will escort him out of the building, and leave him in the alley with the rest of the trash.”

Humiliated, his face ravaged in tears, his leg sending spikes of pain throughout his body, Shaun crawled as he was told.  Stumbled and staggered as Culver and the others pushed and shoved him along the halls, back to the elevator, back to the door they’d come in.  After a single vicious blow to Shaun’s stomach, Culver opened the door and shoved him out.  Shaun collapsed.  It took him a long time to get to his tiny, airless room in the boarding house.

Shaun shook his head and brought his attention back to the present.  To Big Tony’s almost glare.

"Mikey, this is, uh, Big Tony.  He’s a, uh, friend of mine.  He wanted to meet you.”

Mikey looked up at Big Tony, his smile lighting his face, the teeth gleaming white in the dimness.  “Hi, B...uh, Mr. Tony.  Sir.”

"Hello, Michael." Big Tony’s voice was low; his shadowed face was stone-carved, solemn.  “You are a handsome young man, just like your uncle told me.”

“He did?” Mikey looked up at Shaun, who managed to keep a straight face.  What the fuck?  He’d said nothing about Mikey’s looks, hadn’t known, still didn’t know how Big Tony even knew he had a nephew.

“Oh, yes, your uncle has told me all about you.  Haven’t you, Mr. O’Hara?”

The tone that Mikey wouldn’t understand told Shaun he had little choice about his answer. “Yes, sir.”
 
"Does young Michael know why you have brought him here?”

Jesus fuck, like he’d tell his nephew that Big Tony had pretty much paid him fifteen hundred bucks to arrange this meeting.  Shaun’s face was pale.  “No, sir.”

Big Tony just nodded.  He turned away, said, “Come with me,” as he began walking toward a shed about fifty yards away.  Shaun took hold of Mikey’s hand and they followed.  Little Tony unlocked the door, held it open.  Big Tony stepped inside, paused, felt around for a switch, flipped it. A single low watt bulb hanging from the ceiling lit the nearly empty space.  A table, a couple of old wooden chairs.  A saw horse.  A padded saw horse.  An odd padded sawhorse.

Shaun realized what the oddity was as he heard the door close, heard the lock click, felt Little Tony’s enormous presence behind him, blocking the doorway.  The sawhorse wasn’t the regular size.  It was smaller.  Almost, oh fucking hell, child sized.

“Take off your clothes, Michael.”

“Wh...what?”

“Your uncle will tell you I am not a patient man, little boy.  Do as you are told.”

“Mikey, Mikey, uh, just do like Big Tony says, okay?  It...it’ll be all right.  He, uh, he likes to look at naked little boys, uh, some men do, no big deal, it’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay, it wasn’t going to be okay, but Shaun paid his debts.  Even with favors and lies.

The slender eight year old pulled his shirt over his head, started to put it neatly on one of the chairs, stopped when Big Tony told him curtly to just drop it on the floor.

“S...sir?”

Big Tony shifted his hard stare away from the half naked boy who still clutched his shirt.

“Uh...wh...when he goes home....” and Shaun knew Big Tony could see the desperate “Please, God, Mikey is going to go home again, isn’t he?” in Shaun’s eyes, “his ma might, uh, notice the, uh, shirt, if it’s, uh,” and Shaun waved his hand at the filthy floor.

Big Tony didn’t react other than to say, “On the chair, little boy.  Quickly!”

Again, Mikey looked to his uncle for reassurance; again, it was given.

Moments later, the young boy was naked, shifting his bare feet uneasily against the grit and dirt and slickness on the wooden planks.  Little Tony moved the largest chair—scarred wood, battered arms, a back with two missing spindles—to the center, beneath the bulb.  Big Tony sat down, gestured the boy to stand between the man’s wide-spread legs.  For a moment, only a moment, Big Tony was content to look.

Mikey was small for his age. Not even four feet tall, not even fifty pounds.  Thin. Ribs easily seen and counted, no belly, a tiny uncut boy dick dangling over a tight small ball sack.  Big Tony’s hands, thick-fingered, hairy, looked enormous against the skinny kid’s frame.  He started caressing the boy, who stood very, very still, shivering despite the heat.  Smooth hands wandering over the smooth boy flesh, cupping his butt cheeks, fondling his cocklet and balls.  Thumbs and forefingers moving up to the tiny boy tits, grabbing, squeezing. The boy shrieked, twisted to get away, begged the man to stop as the legs clamped down on him, holding him in place.  But the boy’s upper body still struggled.

Jesus fuck.  Big Tony was going to fuck little Mikey.  And it wasn’t going to be a gentle fuck.  More like a rape.  Actually, very like a rape.  Rage and disgust, Christ but fucking a little boy was sick, whirled in Shaun’s mind, but finally he had to speak.  “Uh, Big Tony, uh, sir.”

Big Tony didn’t stop hurting little Mikey; didn’t even look away from the eight year old with the bruised nips.  Just nodded.

“Uh, maybe, well, if it’s okay, I’ll just, uh, wait outside.”

“No.”  The voice was hard, cold.  “You’ll stay.  Watch. Young Mikey needs to understand betrayal.”

“But I....”

“But you did.”  He stopped caressing, hurting, little Mikey.  Put his hand around the boy’s slender neck, tightened his grip so that the boy understood, stopped squirming.  Forced the boy’s tear-stained face to the left, to look at his uncle.

“Tell him, Mr. O’Hara.”

“Uh, well, uh, Mikey, you just, you just gotta let Big Tony here, uh, do, uh stuff.  And, and then we, uh, we can go home.”

“Hurt him.”

Shaun’s scream was loud and long as Little Tony’s massive fist punched him in the kidneys.  He collapsed to his knees, the cane clattering on the floor, dropped on all fours, his head almost touching Big Tony’s knees, gasping and grunting for air.  Little Tony grabbed Shaun by the hair, hauled him whimpering to his feet.

He looked down at his terrified nephew. Looked at the coldness in Big Tony’s eyes.  Knew what was wanted.  No, ordered.

He wanted to scream to his nephew that he hadn’t known what Big Tony intended; that it wasn’t his fault.  But it was.  He had known.  Way down deep, way fucking down deep, he’d added one plus one and never let the two get up to the top of his head.  One, Big Tony liked to hurt people.  Two, no one but fucking no one paid fifteen hundred bucks, which was really what had happened though no cash changed hands, just to meet a thin little boy at midnight on the almost deserted docks.

“I, I sold you, Mikey.  B...Big Tony paid me, uh, a lot of money,” just the slightest inhalation from Big Tony told him he’d better be accurate, “uh, well, fifteen hundred bucks, to, uh, use you, uh, tonight.”

“And what am I going to do to little Mikey here, Mr. O’Hara?  What are you going to watch me do to your young nephew?”

He wanted to scream “I don’t know!”  But he did.  He’d been too stupid to add another one (the bulge in Big Tony’s crotch when the offer was made, the bulge Shaun had thought was just for him) to get three. Those ugly hairy dago hands all over his precious nephew’s skinny naked body told him in no uncertain terms.  Shaun knew, and knew well, where men put their dicks with another male.  His own teenaged holes had been used, and used often, just as he’d used his own cock on their man holes.  But the holes tonight were...tiny, and tight...and virgin.

Voice shaking, Shaun said, “Big Tony’s gonna fuck you, Mikey. He’s gonna put his dick in your mouth and fuck your face; he’s gonna stick his cock in your pussy and fuck you hard.”  He saw the confusion in his nephew’s eyes, and it enraged him.  “Your asshole, you dumb shit.  He’s gonna ram his fucking cock up your fucking asshole and turn it into a little girl’s pussy hole when he creams inside.”

Big Tony turned the boy’s head again so he was staring into the cruel eyes of his rapist.  He squeezed the boy’s throat until the kid turned red, then let him go before any bruising could show.  “Open grampa Tony’s pants, Mikey.  Pull grampa’s dick out.”

While the boy’s trembling hands worked on the buttons, and tears streamed down his face, Big Tony caressed the forty-five pound boy, fondled the perfect little boy dick, soft and smooth.

Both uncle and nephew’s eyes widened when Big Tony’s cock came awkwardly and with a great deal of difficulty, into view.  It was a pipe.  Fat, long, longer than Shaun’s meat, uncut, a smooth, straight flesh pipe with an almost flat cock head peeking out of the foreskin. There was no fucking question now where Big Tony had gotten his nickname.

“Get naked, Uncle Shaun.”

Afraid to object, Shaun did what he was told.  It didn’t matter that his shirt was dropped to the filthy floor; there was no one to notice, to object, in the boarding house. He shoved his pants and ragged underwear to his knees, then eased himself to the floor, cringing as his butt made contact with dirt and something wet and sticky.  Unlike the others he couldn’t just balance on alternate legs to get his pants off. He left the clothes where they fell, rolled over onto his hands and knees, his hairy ass pointing toward the door, toward Little Tony, as he managed to leverage himself upright again.

Shaun stood naked, leaning on the cane he’d managed to get back in his hand, staring at Big Tony’s big fucking hardon, at his fearful nephew. His dick twitched.

Big Tony grabbed the little boy’s head, forced him to bend, down and down until his small face was almost touching the huge leaking cock.  “Lick grampa Tony’s dick, boy.”

The frightened child tried to struggle again, to move his face, his mouth, away from that monster meat, away from the musky scent that rose from the open trousers.  Big Tony slapped him across the face, not hard, at least not for the moment.  An attention-getting slap. “Lick!” 

Young Mikey began crying in earnest; bawling, pleading to go home.  The fat pipe cock twitched at his sobs and pleas. Big Tony glanced to the side and a wicked smile flashed across his lips and was gone.  He grabbed the boy’s hair in a painful grip, turned his head to look at his naked uncle.  Mikey’s mouth dropped open in shock.

His uncle was stiff!

Shaun was in shock as much as his nephew.  Jesus, he was a sick fuck, too. His cock had surged to full hard the instant the sound of the slap vanished.  He licked his lips, resolutely keeping his hands away from his hardon, not looking at the mob boss, just looking at his scared little nephew.  He swallowed, and the words came out, rough, harsh even.  “You need to do what Big Tony says, Mikey.  Lick...lick your grampa.”

Sicker and sicker.  Big Tony was pretending to rape his grandson, and he didn’t fucking have one.  So what did that make Shaun in this sudden pretend queer world?  One of Big Tony’s sons?

Big Tony was tired of waiting.  Holding the boy’s head in both hands he forced it down again, so that the tiny lips were pressed against the leaking slit.  Tentatively, Mikey’s little tongue stretched out, swiped over the slit, pulled some of the juice back into his mouth.  The huge cock twitched and Big Tony sighed.  It was time.  “Open your fucking mouth, baby boy, and let grampa’s meat inside.”

Despite his renewed terror, Mikey resolutely clamped his mouth shut.  Big Tony had a solution for that.  One hand still on the boy’s neck, he used the thumb and forefinger of the other to pinch the boy’s nose shut.  And waited.  Until the boy had no chance but to gasp for air, and then with a smooth timing that said he’d done this before Big Tony forced the boy’s gaping lips down and over the dark red, leaking end.

A part of Shaun, the dark, sick, ugly part he was just finding out about, admired the technique.  Admired its efficiency. Admired how frightened the boy was, with his eyes wide, his mouth even wider, stretched by the thick cock knob and just a bit of shaft that had been shoved inside.  The child’s nostrils flared as he breathed.  Tried to breathe.  Still struggled just a little as Big Tony’s soft, deadly voice explained.  Explained how his grandson must always do what grampa said.  No matter what it was.  Because little boys who didn’t do what they were told, even if they were precious young grandsons, would be hurt.  Grampa wouldn’t want to do that, but he would if Mikey was a bad boy and made his grampa do it.

Poor Mikey.  His jaws were hurting from just the knob end and the small part of the shaft. They began to hurt even more as Big Tony pushed the boy’s head down and down and down, until he felt the dago dick head push into his throat.  He couldn’t breathe!  Mikey panicked, began flailing about with his arms and legs, but the man’s strong thighs stopped the legs and he was too small and weak for his hands to do any damage.  Big Tony smiled at the feel of the boy’s throat convulsing around his cock.  It was not a pleasant smile. The boy moaned, the smile got wider as the child struggled for air, a soft moan escaping between his stretched little boy lips.  The seconds passed as Big Tony held his mouth in place, more seconds, a minute, more, the boy’s throat swallowing and swallowing as if somehow oxygen could get around the massive prick clogging his throat.  The struggles lessened, his vision grew dark.

At the precise second he became motionless, Big Tony yanked the boy off, holding him partially upright, while the boy’s hands braced on Tony’s tuxedo-coated thighs, his mouth open, his loud, frantic pants filling the shed as snot and drool and tears mixed and fell down onto the man’s crotch while his little chest heaved.  When he was only partially recovered, Big Tony forced him to look at his uncle.

Shaun’s jacking hand stilled, a long strand of precum dripped from his large slit, dropped to the floor.  He hadn’t been able to stop himself.

The boy’s eyes showed his fear, his lack of understanding.  How could his uncle, his loving, brave, war hero uncle do this?  He was supposed to save his young nephew from bad things.  Not do bad things himself.

Big Tony shoved the frail boy’s mouth down on his cock again. The slick tightness of the kid’s throat started working to pull the cum out of his balls.  This time when Mikey’s struggles weakened, Big Tony held him in place longer, pushed even more of his meat inside.

The boy was almost passed out but he still heard Big Tony’s soft, vicious voice as his vision blackened and his lips turned blue.  “Whore! My precious grandson is a filthy cock whore.”

“Yes.  Yes! Mikey is a filthy little cock whore. He needs to be punished.”

The harsh whisper floated into the stifling air of the shed. Shaun couldn’t believe he’d thought it, much less said it aloud.

Once again Big Tony pulled the boy off his prick, forcing him upright by his hair.  The quest for oxygen somehow wasn’t as loud and violent as it had been.  The boy was quieter now.  In shock.  His pale skin even whiter, making his green eyes shine more brightly, making his red puffy lips stand out.

Big Tony shoved the boy away. He stumbled, righted himself, looked frantically about, but there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.  And the men, his naked uncle with his thing all stiff and drippy, the man who was so mean to him, who’d made him suck his thing, who’d choked him and hurt him, who stood up with his big old thing pointed right at him, the big nigger man who had his hand between his legs, squeezing himself, they were all between him and the door.  And where would a naked eight year old run to?  At midnight.  On the dock.  Mikey stood very still.  Frozen.  As if his stillness hid him, would keep him safe until they left. And then he looked up. At their faces, at their eyes burning into him. And knew.

Big Tony turned his head to look at Shaun, then back at his prey.  “It’s time.”  A slight pause. “Where, Mr. O’Hara?”

Shaun didn’t want to answer; answering, deciding, would make him more of a part of this, a collaborator like some of the frogs in the war camp, even though he’d done nothing, would do nothing, but get hard and stroke.  Sick fuck. Nowhere to run. No way out.  “On...” his voice was rough. He coughed. Started again. “On the chair.”

Big Tony nodded. Stepped to the side.  “Get on the chair, boy.”

Mikey moved with all the speed of an aristo mounting the steps to the guillotine.  He put his knee on the seat, started to raise himself so he could twist and sit. Big Tony yanked him by his hair, twisted him, his large callused hand swinging hard.  The slap echoed in the shed. Mikey’s lip split. A bruise would undoubtedly darken there. They were beyond worrying about what the boy would look like later.  “Stupid slut.”

Big Tony backhanded the boy.  “How is grampa going to get into your pussy if you’re sitting on it?”

Big Tony chuckled as the terrified boy, who clearly hadn’t really understood his uncle’s explicit words earlier, finally made the connections between “fucking” and “pussy” and the only bottom hole little Mikey had.

“Ask your grampa to fuck you, Mikey.”

The boy dropped his head. Oddly, as a tear fell to the floor it caught the light, glittered and vanished.  The boy’s voice could barely be heard.  “F...fuck me, grampa.”

All three men spurted precum at those words.

“Yeah, Mikey,” Shaun blurted.  “Beg dad, uh, your grampa, to put his big fat dick in your boy cunt.”

No need to look up, his vision blurred through tears. Mikey knew. No way out. “Puh...puh...please, grampa, p-p-put your big fat dick in my boy cunt.”

“Get on the chair.  On your knees.”

Mikey clambered on the chair, facing the back, shivering despite the heat in the room, summer heat, crazed sex heat.  Big Tony moved closer, his massive meat jutting out from his body, making an impossibly huge shadow over the naked boy’s skinny buttocks and back.  He spat on his fingers, leaned forward to wipe them on the tiny lips of Mikey’s virgin boy cunt. He pealed the skin back, smeared his thick oozing precum around.

He looked over at Shaun.  Considered.  Decided.  “Suck me, son. Your brother should be here, giving me his son, but you’ll do.”

“Y-y-yes, sir.  Daddy.”

Since the war, getting on his knees was awkward, he much preferred doing it in the utter dark of the warehouse, where no one could see the ugly, twisted scars. He’d never had a piece of meat so long, or quite so thick. His tongue, unusually long and thick itself, lapped out and into the wide piss slit.  But Big Tony wasn’t interested in blowjob techniques and subtlety. He grabbed Shaun’s head, held it in place and rammed his cock in.  All the way in. Punching into the veteran’s throat before there was really time to fully relax the muscles. Holding Shaun’s tight, feeling the Mick’s throat muscles begin to convulse, enjoying the power over a man he knew was a talented cocksucker, but not talented enough, apparently, to avoid choking at least a little on Big Tony’s fucking big dago dick.  Big Tony eased his meat out just a little, then shoved it back in again, briefly, roughly fucking Shaun’s face, feeling Shaun’s mouth pour out spit like water from a faucet, thick and slimy, even more slimy as it mixed with Big Tony’s steady stream of precum.

Enough was enough.  Big Tony shoved Shaun off his meat, ignoring the grunt of pain as Shaun awkwardly hit the floor.  Mikey’s eyes were wide with terror, looking over his shoulder at the long thick steel pipe, gleaming wetly in the dim light, that was going up his ass. 

Shaun scrambled to his feet, using the chair arm as a brace, dragged himself to the back of the chair, facing Big Tony, his own leaking, aching prick shoving through the empty space where the two spindles had been. He was in the perfect position to look down the scrawny, sweat covered back of his virgin nephew, the perfect position to watch as Big Tony’s hairy-backed thumbs pulled the boy’s ass cheeks apart, his gripping fingers spreading the boy’s thin thighs wider apart, the perfect position to watch as Big Tony seated the blunt end of his cock against the tiny, tight, tight, tight virgin hole.

“Look up at your uncle, whore boy,” Big Tony whispered, watching the boy comply.  “Look how hard his cock is, seeing you helpless, knowing what I’m going to do to you. He’s been drinking and drugging and gambling, and he needed money to pay off some debts, so he came to his daddy. He knew I wouldn’t just give money away to a no-account drunk cripple, so he had to have something to trade for cash.  Your pussy, Mikey. He pimped your pussy out, little boy, made you into a whore for your grampa.  And what’s grampa going to do now?”

The crying boy managed to stutter out, “F-f-f-fuck my cunt?”

“Beg me, boy,” Big Tony said as he slapped the boy’s right ass cheek hard, knowing the skin was so tender it would be bruised, too.  “Beg me to fuck you, to make you grampa’s fucking slut whore cunt boy.”

The tears fell in a steady flow as little Mikey gasped and begged his grampa to fuck him, to fuck his boy cunt, to turn him into grampa’s little whore.

Big Tony obliged. He gripped little Mikey’s waist, his massive hands almost completely circling it, and then shoved his pipe cock.  There was resistance, of course.  Even the virgin pussy of a scared out of his mind eight year old boy wasn’t going to surrender easily, but the muscles of the little sphincter were no match for Big Tony’s age and weight and strength. He punched the pussy open and the boy’s pussy lips pealed back the foreskin as the knob end of Big Tony’s cock forced its way into the kid cunt.

Mikey screamed as a knife pain stabbed through his baby cunt.  The scream was long and loud, echoing in the shed, able to be heard down the dock if anyone was around, but even if anyone was, the sight of Big Tony’s shiny black limo would keep them away. No one wanted the next long and loud scream of agony to be their own.

Shaun jacked his own meat, staring intently at the joining of dago dick and new-made Mick boy pussy.  Out of the corner of his eye he could see Little Tony watching with equal fervor from over by the door, his big nigger hand squeezing and releasing his crotch and squeezing again. Shaun looked at Big Tony.

Big Tony stared back, letting his eyes reflect how turned on he was, how fucking glorious it was to have the head of his dong wrapped around with straining boy pussy, a taut band of flesh almost like a rubber band.

Shaun moaned, his strokes getting a little faster, as he watched Big Tony, the slimy cock shining against the blackness of the tuxedo pants from which it jutted, thrust his hips forward.  Hard.  Several inches sank into the little cunt and Mikey screamed again, longer, louder.

Big Tony felt something tear inside, some barrier breached, and a flood of warmth as the kid began to bleed around his meat.  The boy screamed so loud at the final thrust that buried the grampa cock in the kid’s shitter, all the way to grampa’s pubes, that he thought his eardrums would burst.

Big Tony put his hands around the kid’s neck, cutting off his air to silence him.  So easy.  So easy to squeeze with all his strength and silence him permanently.  A twist and a snap could do it too.

Shaun saw the thought, moaned and jacked as his nephew struggled, the struggles rapidly becoming weaker and weaker.

Big Tony released his hands and horrible noises escaped the boy’s mouth as he desperately tried not to be loud, not to get those awful hands around his neck again. Big Tony pulled his cock all the way out and shoved it back in again, the going easier now since his cock was slick with blood and spit and precum and ass juices.  The sounds of the little boy’s agony filled Big Tony’s ears as he began to use the kid cunt he’d created.  It was the man’s turn to grunt as the baby cunt clamped down like a vise on him. 

The scrawny boy felt like his body was being carved in two with a huge knife, the pain was so intense.  He cried and screamed and babbled and begged, his voice going hoarse as he pleaded for his daddy, his mommy, his uncle, someone, anyone to help him. But a tiny voice deep inside his head whispered in agony, too, “No way out, no way out.”

Big Tony thrust into the child over and over and over, feeling the almost unbearable heat on his cock, the slick wetness that was oozing out around his meat as it battered the hurting little pussy, sliming his pubes, staining the expensive trousers, but he didn’t give a fuck.  He’d never had a fuck, never had a rape like this before, his lips pulled back in an animal snarl, his eyes locked into the equally animal stare of Shaun, and with a final thrust and a near howl, he emptied his balls into the boy cunt, spurt after spurt after spurt, until it mixed with the blood and juices and began oozing out, too.  He paused, his body heaving, his cock buried in the kid cunt.

Sanity somewhat back he looked into Shaun’s eyes. The eyes of a man on the edge of cumming, but who’d pulled himself back from the brink. Just barely. And knew.  “Five hundred,” he said.  He was being generous.  He could have said fifteen hundred, put Shaun all the way back in debt again, and he knew Shaun would still have nodded just the way he nodded then. 

Big Tony yanked his cock out, making the boy gasp and cry out. He looked down at the raw, gaping hole, the pink fluid drizzling out. Stepped aside. Shaun limped around the chair, his hurting prick leading the way. Stopped before he got there, as an object on the floor caught his attention.  His cane. A walking stick he called it when he was being fancy. Awkwardly, his bad leg stretched out for a little extra balance, he leaned over and picked it up. Looked at it almost as if he’d never seen it before.

As Irish as he was, it was made of blackthorn, as shiny in its way as the Cadillac outside, the original sheen of Big Tony’s tuxedo.  A knotted wood, with a knob at the end about the size of a baby’s fist.  A large baby.  He looked at the slowly closing pussy; knew if he raped Mikey now he’d cum on the first stroke. At five hundred bucks he wanted to enjoy himself.  He would.

He stepped closer to his panting nephew, briefly thought the boy’s knees might be hurting on the rough wood seat, ignored the thought for the pleasure of what was about to happen. He looked up at Big Tony, who had changed places with him. As Shaun twisted the knob end of the cane around the fluids oozing from the boy’s body, dropped some spit on it to help make it slick, Big Tony was using the flat of his hand to wipe his sagging meat clean of those same fluids, and with his dry hand he lifted the boy by his hair again, shoved his hand through the opening in the back of the chair, and smeared the boy’s face, before finally shoving two thick hairy fingers into the kid’s mouth and down his throat, making him cough and gag again.

“Your uncle has something for you, slut boy.  Beg him for it.”

The exhausted, well-raped little boy had no choice.  The “no way out” inside his head was a steady chant.  “P-please, Uncle Shaun, fuck my slut cunt,” the boy said in a ragged whisper.

“Oh, aye, me boy, that I will, but first a little gift for ye.”  And he shoved the knob end of the cane into the boy’s pussy.

Mikey screamed again, though not so loud or long or shrill. His voice was going. The pussy lips clamped around the knob, though the stick was at most an inch in diameter. But the knob was thicker than Big Tony’s very thick dick. He pushed the cane up inside his nephew, imagining he could feel the wide knob end spreading the pussy walls wide, just as he felt his own cunt spreading wide when a massive cock was invading him.

He started a steady rhythm on the boy cunt, almost but not quite pulling the knob all the way out, twisting and turning the knob as he plunged, trying to find the boy’s button. He thrust his hand between the boy’s thighs, grabbed and stroked the shriveled boy meat. The boy groaned suddenly as the cane knob stroked over his immature little prostate; his tiny cocklet twitched. Shaun began ramming the cane head in and out of the tiny cunt faster and faster, as the boy gasped and moaned and his pricklet became momentarily stiff and he shuddered, all unknowing, in his first little boy dry cum.  But the pain came back, as the cane knob pushed his pussy walls aside, and he groaned again in agony as the cane pushed ever deeper.

Shaun cane-fucked his delicate nephew, glancing over at the nigger who still played with himself, his expression showing he clearly knew he wouldn’t be asked or ordered to fuck this abused and molested little white boy. He looked at Big Tony, who, to his own surprise, was getting hard again.  A rare event, indeed.

“Now,” said Big Tony.

Shaun didn’t respond except to yank the cane out of his nephew’s cunt with a final vicious twist of the knob and then thrust his own nine inches balls deep, pubes deep into the abused rectum. He bent his head, slightly twisting to one side to allow some light from the directly overhead bulb to illuminate their joining, to let him see the boy’s cunt lips pealing back and folding in on his ruthless, pounding rape strokes. He fucked the kid cunt harder and faster than even Big Tony had done, grunting his lust, until Big Tony grunted, too, and began spewing a second load of thick, ropy dago cum, this time onto the boy’s face, in his hair, in his eyes, and then he grabbed the little one’s head and shoved his meat deep in the boy’s mouth and throat for the final shots.

That was all it took and Shaun began cumming, too, filling the tiny boy’s warm, slick, abused and raped shitter with more cum than Shaun could ever remember pumping out.

The two satisfied rapists shared a look as they held their cocks inside their respective warm and unwilling holes.  And then the worn out little boy began gasping and struggling again, or at least his upper body.  Big Tony’s grin was ugly as he pulled his pissing cock out of the little boy mouth.  The acrid smell filled the shed as Big Tony aimed his almost fully hard cock at Mikey’s face, telling him harshly to open his mouth and swallow grampa’s juice, and then he aimed it up and coated Shaun’s face as well.  Knowing what he had to do, turned on by it anyway, Shaun opened his mouth and ignored the stench as the smelly hot liquid filled him up and he gulped it down.

Big Tony shook his meat onto his Mick urinals, and then tucked himself back inside, and buttoned his pants.  He ignored the smells of piss and cum and blood and ass juices that wafted up from the fabric, that filled the now even more raunchy room.  “A week from tonight. Same time.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Big Tony turned toward the door, Shaun had a glimpse of the nigger’s crotch, where a huge stain had spread. He didn’t think it was piss.  Shaun licked his piss-covered lips, held his still nearly hard meat buried deep in his tiny nephew’s cunt, said, “Uh, sir, uh, what about, well, working off....”

Big Tony looked at the naked nineteen year old, his face and eye patch and scars shining with sweat and piss, his one eye eager. “Start looking.  When your little slut nephew starts to enjoy this, and he will, I’ll need a new one. Maybe younger.  Maybe a little darkie’s pussy. Five hundred if it’s virgin, a hundred if it’s not.”

Big Tony turned and walked away. Little Tony held the door for him. Briefly turned to look at the still joined uncle and nephew. He licked his thick lips, mouthed “I know one” and left, closing the door.

Shaun wondered briefly what the nigger’s price would be for finding him a virgin nigger cunt for Big Tony to rape.  And if they were both lucky, maybe they’d get to rape the kid, too.  If Big Tony’s price wasn’t too high. But that was for later.

He had other things to concentrate on now.

He slid his cock out of his eight year old nephew’s cunt, leaned over, used his thumbs to hold open the raw, torn hole. The hole he’d just raped. The position was awkward, but he remained bent over, using one hand to stretch the cheeks and pussy as open as he could and then held his own stinking, slimy cock and began pissing.  The boy whimpered as the piss burnt the raw flesh of his cunt lips and a bit of the cunt walls. He shuddered and kept on shuddering as he got his second coating of man piss.

When the drops stopped, the boy struggled to raise his head, to twist his head, his body, to look at his uncle, whose scarred face and scarred twisted leg, whose thickly muscled arms and chest and with thick black curls across his pecs and down his lean belly to a treasure trail running down to the matted black pubes, was something wicked in the shadows, something that frightened him as much or more than Big Tony had.

“P-please, Uncle Shaun,” the boy whispered. “N-n-n-no more.”

The short nod made the boy believe there was a way out.  The short nod was actually Shaun’s unconscious gesture, as he recognized just what the war had done, what part of him had died in the trench, in the camp, on the long journey home. It was something he could do without, didn’t need.

He put his cock head, still hard and filthy and wet, against his nephew’s pussy lips and shoved home.  The boy’s scream could only fill the room, because his throat was too raw, but the sound was enough.

Shaun began to rape his nephew again.


    

On the Dock