Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 A PEDO PRESENT FOR CHRIS(SIE) 02 (Sunday Morning)
   By DannyR (MM/b, oral, anal, incest, ws, pedo) Copyright 2011-2012.  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.
Special Note: Thanks to DJ, whose email said this: "Oh man!  how I love
the pedo fantasy stories of dads and their young sons!  God how I love the
thoughts of little boy cock and their sweet little boy pussy holes.  A
daddy who has a 10 year old son he likes to "dress" up...take him out for
all the men to drool over...making him a pretty little girl for all the
other pedo daddies...I so love to masturbate having these beautiful
fantasies." Which led to the first part, and now this:
   A PEDO PRESENT FOR CHRIS(SIE) Sunday Morning)
   After breakfast and cleaning up, Christopher and I laze around, me
reading the paper, my son watching cartoons.  Sometimes, though, Chris kind
of zones out, staring off...somewhere...while playing with his nice
stiffie. Since we're both naked, as we always will be at home from now on,
I can watch and admire.
   His face falls, though, when I explain that his cousin Chrissie needs
more clothes, so we're going shopping, right after we go to church.
   His mouth drops.  We never go to church.
   But this is a very special church.
   I keep my internal grin to myself, almost fantasizing about the
expression on the face of Pastor Eric Sinclair, when I show up at his
church, Chrissie in tow, for his morning service.  Pastor Rick, as the
media knows him, isn't as extreme as those folks in Topeka, but he's
definitely in the running for second place, what with his fire, brimstone,
kill the fags and Jews rhetoric.
   I'd helped get an ordinance passed that prohibited all demonstrations
within one hundred feet of the posted property line of any school, church,
or public building.  I quietly arranged for a TV reporter friend of mine to
deliver to Pastor Rick, on camera, a certified copy of the ordinance as
soon as it was in effect.  Earlier, when it was certain the ordinance would
pass, I set up the Boundary Trust, a tax-exempt charitable organization
dedicated to various good works, including ascertaining the precise
boundary lines of (surprise) schools, churches and public buildings within
the reach of the ordinance, and then assisting with the cost of posting
those property lines (the right number of signs in the right sizes with the
right size print at the right locations).
   I also arranged to have Pastor Rick prosecuted for violating the "DCO"
(Demonstration Control Ordinance), though I admit Aahna Mukherji...the City
Prosecutor who was, to Pastor Rick's horror, not only female but
Muslim...waited until she first prosecuted the organizers of a political
demonstration in front of the city jail.  She clearly wasn't being
prejudiced, or selectively enforcing the laws, but applying them
even-handedly.
   The first violator was found guilty, given a $250 fine (out of a
possible $750), plus court costs of $103, and put on probation for one year
with a warning that a repeat conviction would send him to jail for thirty
days (out of a possible six months), plus whatever penalties were imposed
for the second time around.  She offered Pastor Rick the same deal after he
was arrested, but he refused and went to trial.  And represented himself.
   One of his "defenses" was that if he was within the no-loudmouth zone,
it was only by a foot, and since that was a de minimis violation of the law
he should be let off with a warning, if the court was going to do anything
at all, which it shouldn't since the ordinance violated his constitutional
blah-blah-blah.  The video evidence showing where he was standing, oddly
enough, right next to one of the boundary signs, was incontrovertible in
terms of showing his location.  The City Engineer (a close friend whose
Marine daughter was killed in Afghanistan and whose funeral had been
picketed by Pastor Rick's group in pre-ordinance days) had properly and
publicly recused himself from the case.  His deputy did likewise, since he
was Jewish and he didn't want to be accused of impropriety.  The next in
line was a Tea Party right winger with just as much hate in him as good ol'
Pastor Rick, but he was also incorruptibly honest no matter what his
political opinions were, so the white Christian helped convict Pastor Rick
by proving that Pastor Rick was indeed standing within the banned range,
since the backs of his dirty black shoes were just inches inside the line.
   Then just to prove there were no shenanigans going on, based on the
"precedent" of the prior case, Pastor Rick was given the same sentence.  He
lost all the appeals, which were expedited to the dismayed howls of his
expensive pro-bonehead New York Jewish lawyers, including the
constitutional arguments.  A reasonable restriction on time and place for
the expression of opinion in public, whether the opinion was political,
religious or otherwise.  And I eventually let him know who had been working
so vigorously in the background to make all this happen, though he could
never prove any of it was aimed at him.
   And now I'm walking into his church with Chrissie at my side, dressed in
her beautiful, shimmery blue dress that just comes half way to her knees,
her hair back in a ponytail tied with a blue bow, pale blue gloves, pale
blue socks to go with her dark blue Mary Janes, and a little blue purse as
well.  I've always loved coordinated colors.  I'm equally elegant in dark
blue pinstripe Armani, one of my shark outfits.
   His eyes bulge when he sees me walk in, narrow in anger, an almost-step
toward me quickly restrained as his oh-so-political mind realizes what
he'll look like if he makes a scene or tries to throw me out.  Then his
eyes widen when he takes in the beauty of little Chrissie, and narrow again
with a what-the-fuck fleeting expression.  I nod and smile politely, as if
darkening his religious doorstep is a regular practice of mine.  Or ours.
   The service goes quite well, considering: (a) what a load of bullshit
his message is, and (b) his nervous wondering why I am there at all. 
Though I'm sure none of his followers recognized that nervousness.  Just as
sharks scent blood in the water, lawyers scent nervousness in the air. 
Damn, but that scent practically fills the small church.
   When the ordeal is over, we hang back so that we're actually the last of
his congregation to leave.  I hold my hand out to him, and he has no choice
but to take it, while wondering if he is going to get a hand back or a
stump.  "An impressive sermon, Pastor Rick," I ooze.
   Impressive, the amount of crap he can dump out of his ass standing
behind the pulpit.  I'm amazed the stench didn't knock the congregation
out.
   "But I was wondering, could you spare my niece and me just a few
moments? In private?"
   More well-concealed what-the-fuck behind his eyes.  But considering who
I am, who he is, what harm could there possibly be?  He agrees and takes us
back to his office, closing the door behind us, as he offers us chairs and
then goes to sit behind his desk.  The whole supplicants before the altar
bit.  Been there, done that, did it better.
   I sit there with my legs slightly spread, relaxing back in my chair,
knowing my commando bulge is showing.  He can't help his eyes flickering
down toward it, then up and away.  Gotcha!  Before he can speak, I ask,
"You have a grandson, don't you?  Named after you?  About six, seven?"
   Not a question he was remotely expecting.  He's so shocked he blurts out
the answer.  "Ah, yes.  He's, ah, six.  But...."
   "Why?"
   He nods.  I smile and let a few shark teeth show.
   I have an excellent, quite unscrupulous private investigator, who did a
complete background on good old Pastor Rick before I worked on the
ordinance.  I hadn't thought I'd be using this particular information about
the preacher's proclivities in quite this way, but what the fuck, I'm
nothing if not adaptable.
   The shark smile broadens.  "I thought I'd like to fuck him.  Like you
do. But only in fair trade.  Chrissie here is an excellent slut, sucks like
the proverbial Hoover and an ass to die for." Not quite true since he's
only been sexing men for just a bit over twenty-four hours, but hey,
publicity is publicity.
   He is so shocked, so blindsided at being outed in his own church office,
that his denial, his fake indignation, his appalled fury at the outrageous
charge is much, much, much too late in coming.  And he knows it.
   I don't let him get started.  My upraised hand and my expression shut
his mouth but don't stop him from looking around, wondering if somehow he's
being filmed, if the cops, the feebs, the fucking CIA got in here and
bugged his office.  He is being filmed, by the camera in my lapel (courtesy
of my well-paid p.i.), and recorded, too.  I'm sure I'll have much better
video later.
   "This isn't a trap, Pastor.  And it sure the fuck won't change anything
between us in the, shall we say, `real world?'" He shuts his mouth and
looks at me.  He finally notices that I have my cock out, and it's thick
and hard and I'm jacking.  His mouth drops open again, then he clamps it
shut again, but not before a furtive licking of his lips.  So the good
preacher is not just a pedo, he's a cocksucker as well.
   I don't let him see my smile.  I'd bet a million bucks (which I
definitely have available) that it's the fact he likes to suck dick that is
more embarrassing to him than being a pedo.  I can work with that.  I stand
up, tell Chrissie to come with me, and we go behind the pastor's desk.  He
can't take his eyes off my leaking prick as it leads the way.
   Without realizing what he's doing, he's pushed the chair back and turned
it toward us, his legs almost submissively spread.  I step to the side,
move in close.  His head turns to watch my meat.  I put my hand in his
silver hair, gently pull him forward, whisper that this will all be just
our secret, no one will ever know he sucked my dick to get it wet for his
grandson's boy pussy.  My voice is soft, almost seductive, like luring a
witness into fucking himself royally.  He moans when I pull him closer and
slide my thick cock all the way into his throat.  He gags, but I don't let
him pull away; he recovers, starts sucking.  Oh yes, he's done this before.
   He whimpers again when Chrissie, down on her knees, unzips him and hauls
out six or so inches surrounded by thick steel-grey pubes.  My precious
whore swallows him down, without my even having to order her.  I'm not sure
if the lapel camera, even when I'm tilted forward, will get the full impact
of this self-righteous preacher prick avidly sucking my lawyer dick and a
ponytailed little girl sucking pastor prong at the same time, but if not
both, certainly him.
   I hold his head still with both hands, leave my dick in his mouth. 
"Little Eric is down in the Sunday School, isn't he?" He can't speak with a
mouth full of cock but his grunt sounds affirmative.
   "And grampa sometimes has him come to his office after church for some
private religious instruction, doesn't he?"
   Another affirmative grunt.
   "Do you share little Eric with anyone?" I slide my cock out so he can
answer.
   "Just my son, ah, his Uncle John, and...." Light dawns.  It has to be
Coach Johnson who told me, since it's reasonable that if it had been a
family member who spilled the pedo seed, he would have reported it to
Pastor Rick.  Well, it is true that the coach confirmed what I knew, but I
let the preacher put the blame there anyway.
   He probably wants to be furious, but Chrissie is sucking his cock too
well.  And though the preacher doesn't want to admit it, he's enjoying
being a cocksucker, too.  I know when the mouth on my meat is getting off
on it.
   "Is John still around?"
   "He's our accountant."
   So he's handling the books and counting the collection.  I wonder what
he'll think of the Franklin I dropped in the plate.
   "Eric here, too?  Planning on having grampa meat in his cunt today?"
   Pastor Rick moans as Chrissie slurps and slobbers, and just nods.
   "Call John and have him bring his nephew here.  Anyone else around?"
   "Paul.  The janitor."
   I wonder how much the janitor knows; if he's regularly around the church
after services, when the kid is getting molested.  Kids are getting
molested?
   Pastor Rick does what he's told.  He also does as he's told when he
removes his coat, and the preacher's collar, and shirt and tee shirt,
raising his hips so Chrissie can pull his pants and really baggy old man
boxers down to his ankles.  There's a polite knock on the door soon, and
since the pastor's mouth is otherwise occupied I call out, "Come in."
   Little Eric and his pedo uncle stand in the doorway, utterly shocked. 
Sure, their respective stiffies are visible, since uncle and nephew had
obviously taken a moment or two for groping on the way up to the pastor's
office, but they clearly had no idea they'd walk in on...or rather stand
stupefied and stare at...mostly naked Pastor Rick sucking the large cock of
some unknown man, while an unknown little girl is sucking on the pastor's
dick.
   I slide my gleaming cock out of the pastor's throat, turn toward the
door, both so uncle and nephew can see my meat, and so the camera gets
them, too.  I smile at the boy with the hardon in his shorts.  "My, Eric,
your grandpa was certainly right.  You are a very pretty little boy.  Would
you like my dick inside your pussy?"
   The boy looks nervously up at his uncle who is still stupefied, and then
at his grampa, sprawled in his chair, his flabby body bare and flushed with
embarrassment, but, noticeably, he's not stopping the little girl in her
best Sunday (only Sunday at the moment) dress who's sucking his dick.  The
boy has obviously been trained by his molesters not to squeal on them.
   I nod at pedo John, whose hand is unconsciously rubbing his tented
crotch.  "Do you want an audience while I fuck your nephew and your dad
gets sucked off?  Fine by me."
   John blinks, shoves his nephew inside, quickly shuts and locks the door.
   "Naked."
   John and the little boy look at me, understand I mean it.  John starts
stripping.  The boy is still reluctant.
   "That's okay, Eric.  Grampa wouldn't share you with anyone who didn't
have holy seed, just like, ah, me, and, uh, Mr., uh...."
   "Stillwell.  Paul Stilwell."
   The penny drops.  Hell, a whole fucking trainload of pennies drops.  His
father is about to share his grandson's six year old tight little cunny
with the Anti-Christ?  Or at least one of the candidates for the
Anti-Christ?
   I smile back at him, partly because of the shock on his face, partly at
the idea they're using that tired old holy seed shit to get into the kid's
holes.  With my just-found pedophile instincts, I'm positive the better way
is to just fucking do it, making sure that the kid understands he's there
to pleasure the man, and he should be grateful if he gets some cums out of
whatever the man chooses to do to him.
   "John, the little slut sucking your father is my niece, Chrissie.  She's
so good she may give him a fucking heart attack, and wouldn't that be a
kick in the head for Pastor Rick to be found dead just after depositing his
holy seed in the mouth of an eight year old girl?"
   John and his father both flush.  But that doesn't stop the pastor's
mouth fucking Chrissie, nor a drop of precum spurting from John's meat.
   Still a little hesitant, Eric pauses.  I'm not having this shit. 
"Naked, you little slut!  Now!"
   My voice is harsh and his mouth drops open.  He's clearly never been
talked to like this before.  He'll have to get used to it.  If his pussy is
any good, I'll be using it again.
   Naked Uncle John drops to his knees and quickly helps little Eric out of
his clothes.  The boy is thin, like both his uncle and his grandfather. 
Stiff, too, with a hooded pricklet that's only about an inch long.  I
gesture and John turns the boy around, bends him over so I can see his
cunt. Jesus is that a well-used cunt.  No one, and I fucking mean no one,
no matter how big the blinders are, could see that asshole and not
understand it's been fucked repeatedly.
   "How long?"
   Pastor Rick just moans as Chrissie deep throats him.  The little slut is
indeed a natural.  That leaves John to tell me he and his father started on
little Eric not long after he was brought home from the hospital, but they
didn't fuck him until he was two.  It appears his daddy does know what's
going on, since both he and Uncle John had been regularly molested by
Pastor Rick starting when they were each about five, but only lasting until
they started getting hairy.  Michael, Eric's daddy, has "got religion" and
believes it's a sin to molest little boys, but not quite a sin to molest
his daughters.  So he enjoys a well-paying position in the church, praying
with and preying on little girls, his own and in the congregation, leaving
the boys to his father and brother.  Although apparently both Pastor Rick
and Uncle John are equal opportunity child molesters.
   I drop to one knee, put my large hairy thumb in my mouth to wet it a
little and then shove it between Eric's pussy lips and up his ass.  He
squeals.  I smile.  John smiles.  Pastor Rick is too far into his blowjob
to do anything other than moan.  He's holding Chrissie tight now and
fucking her face.
   "If you think I need to be wet before fucking this kid cunt, John, you
probably ought to do something about it."
   My turn to moan as John, on all fours, ass in the air, swallows my fat
cock to my pubes, working my knob and the shaft with his tongue, getting it
slimy for his nephew's hole.  When he lifts his head he glances over at
Chrissie, at the way her skirt covers her taut ass.
   "You want her ass?"
   John strokes his leaking prick, sitting up on his haunches, nods.
   "A hundred."
   "What?" His mouth drops open.
   I smirk.  "She's a whore.  My whore.  She doesn't sex anyone unless it
benefits her or me.  Your pedo father is trading his grandson's cunt for
Chrissie's mouth.  What have you got to offer besides cash?"
   He opens his mouth, undoubtedly to offer himself, but I shake my head
before he starts.  "Nope.  I can have you any time.  You honestly going to
tell me you don't want me to fuck your mouth or your cunt with this meat?
Maybe if you're really good have me take a turn and suck your dick?"
   Everything I say is true.  "But I don't have...." he starts to say.
   I interrupt again.  "Sure you do.  Just take it out of the collection."
   An accounting light dawns.  Or rather a three way bulb.  First click. 
The hundred dollar bill in the collection plate.  Already accounted for in
the church records, safely held wherever he temporarily stores cash before
the bank deposit.  Second click.  He takes the bill and gives it back to
me, and he has to still figure out some way to explain the hundred dollar
"expenditure," to bury it somewhere.  But it buys him a kid fuck at no cash
outlay to himself.  And then the third click.  And I get a fucking tax
deduction for a charitable contribution.  His smile is admiring.  He
suggests he'll get the money out of the safe after we're done.
   I suggest he isn't going to be "done" with anything other than jacking
and watching unless I have cash in hand.
   All the while we've been making financial arrangements, I've been gently
thumb fucking the boy's twat.  Money always makes me horny.  I've never
figured out whether that's because I'm a lawyer or just something inherent.
My prick has pretty much dried out, but what the fuck.  I pull my thumb
out, suck it myself, shove it back in a couple of times, pull it out, and
then still kneeling on the soft luxurious carpet the good preacher has
scammed out of his congregation, I pull the six year old boy backwards,
easily holding his thin waist, line my cock up with his puffy, dark brown
cunt lips, and shove.
   Shit fuck I guess I do love it when a kid howls.  I guess the other men
using this kid's holes...and I am immorally certain he's being shared
beyond his grandfather, uncle and the coach, as I am finding I enjoy
letting other men use Chrissie...aren't quite as big as me.  Fuck.  I'm
balls deep in screaming six year old boy cunny.
   "Chrissie, honey, show Uncle John here your fuckhole."
   Chrissie struggles back to a standing, well, bent over position, as
Pastor Rick has almost a death grip on her head.  She reaches under her
skirt and pulls the back of the shiny blue silk panties down just below her
gleaming white cheeks.  Without even being told, she spreads her flesh so
Uncle John can see it's been freshly used, but also that this is not an
experienced kid cunt.  There's still a pink rosebud there, not
brownish-purplish thick pussy lips like the twat I'm fucking.
   Still naked, John unlocks, opens the door, rushes out, his leaking cock
leading the way.  I leave the door open as I'm not about to pull out of six
year old kid cunt, not when the child is squalling as I pump deep and hard.
I continue pumping the boy's twat ruthlessly, enjoying the tears and wails,
enjoying the lust on Pastor Rick's face as his old cock starts skull
fucking little Chrissie's mouth cunt, his wrinkled hands holding her head
tight as his meat makes Chrissie choke and gag and struggle, but the
preacher's having none of that get loose shit, any more than I am.
   He bellows out an "Oh holy fuck!" and begins pumping his seed into
Chrissie's mouth, just as John walks back in, holding the hundred dollar
bill.  He hands it to me.  I put my left hand on the back of the little
one's neck, squeezing just a little to make sure he understands not to try
to get away, lift my right hand, collect my money and tuck it into my shirt
pocket.
   John isn't paying any attention about where the money is going.  He
skirts around me and heads to Chrissie who is leaning over Pastor Rick's
crotch, still braced on his flabby thighs, panting, drooling spit and cum.
The pedo accountant grabs Chrissie's waist with his left hand, uses his
right to line his cock up, right above the taut edge of her panties, and
fucks his cock into her cunt.
   Chrissie screams.  Apparently my earlier cum wasn't quite enough lube.
Fucking hot sound.  Screams from a child being molested are apparently
common in this church, as no one comes running.  John is eagerly pounding
my little girly-boy's pussy, wanting to get some good hard use out of what
he's bought.  He reaches around, his hand obviously going between her legs,
intending to play with her twat...and finds something else entirely.
   His startled "what the fuck!" doesn't stop his hips thrusting.
   "Unusually large clittie for such a small girl, hmmm?"
   John gets the message and nods, then turns his focus back on fucking the
still nearly virgin pussy.  And roughly working that boy clit until
Chrissie is moaning and whimpering and tossing her head so that her hair
whips back and forth and then she's screaming again and shuddering and dry
cumming all over the fucking place.
   The clamp-release of Chrissie's cunt walls obviously sends John over the
edge with a loud "Shit!  Fuck!  Christ!" bellow and a couple of final extra
hard thrusts into her hole while he holds her shoulders tight.
   To my surprise Pastor Rick is hard again.  Anticipatory Viagra before
the sermon?  Or just a normal pedo reaction to hot pedo sex in front of
him? I watch as John slides his softening meat out of my boy's cunt, then
turns him so he's leaning forward over the desk and steps back.  Pastor
Rick smiles at this courtesy, stands, shuffle-walks behind Chrissie, lines
his prick up and shoves home.  Only a grunt this time.  John's cum must
have lubed him well.
   Such a fucking turn on.  Hypocritical right wing pedo pastor fucking a
boy dressed like a girl.  The pastor's son watching avidly, playing with
his sticky dick, looking back and forth between his father's fuck and the
lawyer power fucking his nephew's six year old hole.
   "Preacher!" Pastor Rick's attention is jerked away from the bliss of
Chrissie's cunt.  "You paid for the blowjob with Eric's pussy.  How do you
intend to pay for the fuck?"
   "Uh, what?" He manages to look over at me.  My words sink in.
   The preacher is no fool.  He can tell from my expression that if he
doesn't find a way to immediately pay for the boy pussy he's in, I'll
prevent him from cumming in it.  He looks at his son.  "Is the nigglet
here?"
   Nigglet?  What the fuck?  I slip and let my surprise show.
   The pastor smirks at me.  Arrogant boy fucker.  "Paul's grandson.  A
three year old nigger whore.  His name's Asanti.  Means `rebellious' in
Swahili.  Paul's son got all religious and African and changed his own
name, gave the nigglet that name to piss off his father, and then got
himself killed buying drugs six months later.  I, ah, arranged for Paul to
get full custody."
   His smile is smug and he's thrusting easily in and out of Chrissie's
cunt again.  "Think you can get hard again for a nigglet boy hole?"
   More frequent and better cums than yours, old man.  I settle for a nod.
   John moves to the phone, picks it up, punches three numbers.  His voice
is cold as he says, "Bring your little whore to Pastor Rick's office."
   I decide that if I'm going to fuck my first nigger boy, I need to get
off in the cunt I'm in.  As John hangs up, I ask, "Your tongue got any
talent?"
   John's cock lurches back to a hardon as he smiles.  "Fuck, yeah."
   I pull out of the boy pussy, stand, hauling him up with me.  He's so
fucking skinny it's easy to lift him up so he's on the wide desk across
from his grandfather.  He immediately gets on all fours.  Ah, he's been
desk-fucked before.
   I punch fuck my prick back into the kid pussy.
   John comes behind me, slides my jacket off, works with me to get the
suspenders down and hanging, reaches around to unbutton, unzip, work my
slacks to my ankles.  Now he's on his knees, his hands spreading my
muscular hairy cheeks and then his mouth is on me, his tongue digging into
the slight raunch of the few hours I've been dressed.  Shit, but John knows
his way around a man's ass.  My turn to whimper as I ease up the fucking
just slightly to savor the feel of his mouth getting my hole sloppy wet,
his tongue working way the fuck up inside me.
   I don't get fucked.  Oh, I have been.  It's a rare faggot who can
truthfully say he's never had cock in his ass, and I'm not that rare.  But
bottoming at all, much less in front of these two, represents a loss of
power.  Not about to happen.  But I have to admit John's rim job is getting
me a little bit in the mood for something up there.  Like a dildo in
private, when Chris is away with his best friend Mike.  I'm not one for
letting anyone see me as being anything except in absolute control.
   A whimper from getting my ass eaten so well is as far as I'll go here
and now.  Okay, two.
   I brace my legs so that John has maximum access to my now sloppy wet
hole and I start fucking Eric back and forth, moving his body so mine stays
still and I have the double benefit of getting my cock deep in boy pussy
and tongue deep in my ass.  The kid is flopping around and wailing.  I'm
sure he's not used to being molested this roughly, but not my problem.  In
a few hard, deep strokes I'm pumping his pussy full of anti-Christ seed.
   As I lean forward on the desk, my still hard meat still buried in the
six year old cunt, I hear Pastor Rick's faster breathing, turn my head to
look.  The old bastard is frantically pumping his meat into my Chrissie's
hole, taking the Lord's name in vain over and over until it's finally
obvious, red face, heavy, pre-heart attack breathing, that he's cumming as
well.  That's also when I realize I feel something wet on the back of my
calves, and soaking through my very expensive Armani socks.
   Fucking John jacked and came eating my ass.  Well, at least he's licking
his own cum off my hairy legs and sucking it up from the socks.
   That's when the door opens.
   We all turn to look.
   Damn right I'll get hard again.  I am hard again.
   Nigger Paul steps in, holding his naked grandson's hand, and shuts the
door behind them.  Paul immediately begins stripping out of his work
clothes, khaki pants and shirt, black belt, work boots, thick white socks.
He's commando.  Naked, he's a reminder of that older actor.  Dark brown,
tall, slender but with a definite belly and handles, short, curly silver
hair on his head, around his nips, a grey treasure trail down to his, well
I'll be damned, fucking bare cock and balls.  His caged cock and balls.  I
gesture and he moves up to me, bringing Asanti with him.  I fondle his
smooth, sleek skin, his large, low-hanging balls.  An impressive piece of
nigger meat even in lock-up so that he can't get hard.
   I reach my hand between his legs.  There's a fucking huge plug in his
butt.  He whimpers when I push and prod the base.  I raise an "I get the
picture but explain anyway" eyebrow at the religious pedos.  John responds.
"Paul likes to be used by white men.  Don't you?"
   Eyes down, head down, the nigger says, "Yessir." At least he doesn't try
for a plantation nigger "yassuh, massa."
   Paul whimpers as I move the plug around, slightly pulling on it and
feeling his pussy lips stretch, then pushing it back in.  But as much as I
suddenly like the thought of fucking the cunts of a submissive nigger
grandfather, I'm much more interested in little Asanti.
   I look down at him.  He's very short; no hint that he'll ever be as tall
as his grandfather.  The boy isn't merely plump; he's fat.  Round face,
fat, flat nose, large eyes, fat lips.  Fat baby boy titties, a belly with a
deep navel.  A short fat three year old nigglet prick.  I gesture and Paul
lifts his grandson up on the desk next to the skinny white boy who still
has my cock in his cunt.  Fuck, but the nigglet's got a fat bubble butt.
   Paul pulls the cheeks apart.  The three year old cunt is a darker brown
than the rest of him.  Does that mean it's just nature, or because his
pussy is as well-used as Eric's?  I reach out and finger him.  His cunt is
slimy around the lips.  I shove a finger in, pull it out, sniff.  Cum.
   I offer my finger to Paul, who looks at it greedily, licks his lips.  He
looks to Pastor Rick for permission.  Which pisses me off.  I yank my dick
out of Eric's boy hole, swivel and mildly backhand Paul, who staggers back.
Okay, not quite as mild as I may have intended.  I don't break the skin,
but his mouth is going to be swollen later.  And I recognize the grunt that
came just after the hit.
   I've made lots of men grunt that way, a sharp inhalation when I'm doing
something that fucking turns them on.  Grampa Paul fucking likes pain.
   "You don't ask the pedo pastor for permission, Paul.  If I want you to
clean my finger, suck my dick, eat my ass or whatever the fuck, you'll do
it."
   He nods, opens his mouth, leans forward so I won't be put to the trouble
of stretching too far.  He moans again as he lovingly licks and slurps my
fuck finger.
   "Whose cum?" I know it isn't his, since he's caged.
   The hesitation before he again starts to look toward Pastor Rick for
permission is almost imperceptible.  But I see it and understand it.  He's
been ordered not to tell anyone who gets to fuck his grandson; he can't
speak without permission from the man who gave the order; he knows I'll
hurt him if he turns to ask.  He does it anyway.  Fucker wants to be hurt
and has enough spunk to take the risk that he can provoke the type of pain
he will enjoy.
   He doubles over as I punch him hard in the belly.  Eric is shaking; the
nigglet is crying; Chrissie's mouth has dropped open in shock, as she's
never seen me violent before, never knew I had it in me.  I am slightly
shocked myself at my instinctive response to nigger insolence.  The pedo
preacher and his pedo son are shocked as well; a little appalled; a little
afraid.  It's clear the dumb fucks have no idea their house nigger likes
pain.  I'm not about to advise them.
   Paul is gasping for breath as he stutters out, "Al...Al...Alderman
Broaddus."
   Well, fuck me.
   Or definitely not.
   Pastor Rick and his son are looking furious about the one unforgiveable
sin for pedos...naming names.  They'll fucking get over it.  Or not.
   "You dumb shits actually think I wouldn't have found out anyway, now
that I know you're sharing kid cunt with more men that just the family and
the coach?"
   Damn, but that's good news.  Don is a pedo.  If memory serves, he has
two very young sons.  I'm certain he'll trade at least one of their young
cunts for being able to use Chrissie.  Or what the fuck, Chris as well.
   "Get me wet, nigger."
   Paul drops to his knees, moves his head close to my raging meat, opens
his mouth.  Ah.  He's trained to wait.  I wonder if he's trained to deep
throat immediately.  I find out when I grab his nappy silvery hair, pull
his head forward as I fuck my nine inches of white prick all the way into
his throat.
   Yes, an experienced nigger slut.  I wonder how many white men have used
his holes over the years.  I'll find out, but just not now.  His thick
tongue gets me slimy.  I yank my dick out of his mouth, turn to the desk.
So fucking hot.  The contrast between my white meat, with the red knob, the
strands of precum leaking steadily, and the dark brown fat three year old
boy bottom.  I nudge his pussy lips with the head, grab his hips and shove
my dick into his cunt, balls deep in one stroke.  I can feel his bowels
move aside to accommodate my meat.  I start a rough fuck, ignoring his
wails and his tears.
   "Go ahead, Pastor Rick.  Okay to cum in little Chrissie's cunny now."
   The pedo Baptist starts fucking my girly boy again.  John moves next to
me and easily slides his prick into Eric.  I pick up the speed of my
fucking, hotter than fuck that nigger spit and a city politician's cum are
lubing the tight kiddy pussy I'm molesting.
   "How much, Pastor?"
   "Huh?  Wha?"
   "I want to buy your nigger."
   "He's not for sale!  Uh, that is, he's, uh, uh, not a slave.  You can't
just buy him."
   I reach down and under Asanti so I can fondle and slightly hurt his fat
boy titties.  He moans but then suddenly shivers into a writhing, quivering
boy cum.
   "Too bad, pastor.  You could've made some money.  Watch." I twist my
head.  "Nigger.  You get paid for working here?"
   He comes around to where I can see him.  "Yessir."
   "How much?"
   "$400 a week."
   "Who do you service?  Besides the pedo fucking my niece, and the pedo
fucking his own nephew, and the coach?"
   "Whoever they tell me to."
   "And the little nigglet here?"
   "Whoever they tell me to."
   "Okay.  Here's how it's going to work.  You two come live with my son
and me, so no living expenses.  You do whatever I tell you around the
house; I use either one of you whenever and however I want.  If my boy
wants to fuck either of you, you let him.  Ever fucked a white boy?"
   "Nossir."
   "Well, if you're really good, I may just let you use him.  Once in a
while." I can feel the tension in the room.  The pastor and his son are not
happy pedos, despite cocks in kid cunt, but that doesn't stop their
fucking. I speed up again.  Asanti cums again.
   "Besides servicing me and Chris, I'll whore both of you out.  You get
$600 a week and 5% of whatever I get for your holes."
   He still has his eyes down, but not so far he can't see my thick white
meat molesting his nigglet grandson's three year old pussy.  "Eight
hundred. Ten percent."
   Damn.  I smile, but only on the inside.  Movie time.  "Seven hundred. 
Seven point five percent."
   "Done." There is a slight pause, then a sardonic "Massa."
   I let him get away with it.
   Then more movie time.  I wonder if he'll pick up on it.  "I would have
paid eight and ten."
   Paul's eyes glitter as he quietly says, "I'd have taken six and five."
   I start power fucking the fat nigger baby boy, working over his big
nips. I tell the other two pedo fuckers to finish the fuck up.
   Pastor Rick cums first, repeatedly taking the Lord's name in pedo vain
as he pumps another load of religious jizz in my girly boy's hole.  John
seeds his nephew, and then I finish off with enough hard spurts of cum into
the three year old nigger boy cunt that it oozes out and around my meat and
slides down to my balls.  I yank my prick out and the nigglet cries out.
   "Nigger."
   "Yessir."
   "You like eating cum out of a freshly fucked boy cunt.  Or man cunt." It
wasn't a question.  My tone made clear that if he hadn't liked doing so
before, he loved it now.
   "Eat out Chrissie's cunt," I told him as I started getting my clothes
back on and together.  "She's got a pretty large clittie, and loves to have
it worked on.  Use your hand while you're eating.  Oh...and she likes it
rough."
   Actually, little Chrissie hasn't had enough experience yet to know how
she likes it.  But she will.  It's simple.  She likes it the way I say she
likes it.
   My naked pedo nigger grandfather kneels behind Chrissie, who is slumped
over the desk.  I can see that his tongue is unusually long.  My kid's cunt
is gaping from all the fucks, probably a bit raw, but that's okay.  He
works his way surprisingly deep in her pussy, burying his face in her
muscular cheeks.  He reaches between her legs and there's only the briefest
moment of stillness as he realizes he has a slender boy stiffie in his
hand, still covered by the front of the panties.
   Chrissie gasps as he starts working her over, then moans, "Daddy, no,
please, please, he's hurting...." But her moan turns to a sudden "Oh, fuck,
yes!" as the nigger replaces his tongue with three fingers, fucking her
cunt hard, and his hand is still squeezing and hurting her pricklet, and
then she's over the edge with a shuddering, shaking dry cum.
   The religious pricks are starting to plump up again, but I have other
things to do today.  As Paul pulls his fingers out, I say, "Chrissie, you
little slut, get yourself together."
   Still shaky, my precious girly boy slut reaches behind and pulls his
panties back up.  He straightens up, wobbles, regains control.  With all
the fucking and moving and sweating, she definitely looks like a
well-fucked hooker, smeared makeup and all.
   "Key, Pastor Rick."
   The pedo preacher clearly doesn't want me to have his niggers, but he
doesn't want them enough to spend the money to make a better offer.  He
waddles over, his pants still around his ankles, and gets into a side
drawer of his desk.  He gives me the small key for the lock on Paul's cock
cage.
   Ten minutes later, we leave the church pedos to another round of
grandson-nephew fucking.  As we're getting into the car, I ask Paul if he's
ever fucked little Asanti.  He nods.  I ask him if he'd like to fuck him on
the way to my house, making sure he understands that I may not ever again
let him molest his grandson.  He barely manages to avoid making his
response to my question a silent "What the fuck do you think my answer is,
you dumb shit, motherfucking honky?" He settles for a nod.
   I give him the key, allow him to reach inside his loose janitor's pants
to undo the cock cage.  It's difficult without being able to look at it,
but not my problem.  I refuse to allow my mouth to drop open when the
nigger's meat comes out of his fly and instantly hardens to what has to be
at least ten inches.  Thicker than me, too.
   Asanti has either never seen his pedo grampa's prick stiff, or he's just
plain afraid of it.  Fuck, if I were a bottom I'd be concerned about that
meat, too.  I guess all the deprivation has had its effect because he's
oozing precum in a steady stream.  He spits on his hand a couple of times
and slimes up his cock with the mixture.
   "Grampa's gonna fuck your pussy, nigglet.  Get up there and climb on."
   The nigglet stays outside of the car and shakes his head.  In the church
parking lot, which is all but empty, I grab him up, yank down his shorts,
fold him over my thigh, my foot resting on the door frame and wallop his
bottom until he's screaming and crying.  I think maybe his head bounced
against the car window.  I'm not sure.  I don't care.  Grampa doesn't say a
word.  Just watches and jacks.
   I pick the nigglet up by the waist, and toss him into the back seat.  He
sprawls over his grampa.  My nigger works the boy's shorts off, lifts his
fat body up so the kid is facing him, spreads his legs and nudges the
leaking huge knob between the big boy cheeks.  I tell Chrissie to get in
the back seat on the other side and hold Paul's cock in place.  He does
what he's told.
   Moments later a screaming nigglet ho has five thick grampa inches up
inside his cunny.  By the time Chrissie and I are in the front seat,
buckled in and the car started, air conditioning going, Paul has all ten
and a half nigger inches (I asked) up inside my nigglet.  I imagine that
meat shoving into Chris or Chrissie's tight pussy.
   I pull my hardon out and Chrissie understands daddy needs a blowjob.
   Thank fuck I'm a proficient multi-tasker.  Otherwise I'd crash the car
as I drive us to the store, well, a very private pedo perv store, that
Pastor Rick had recommended.  Paul has a filthy mouth and he's talking
dirty to his baby grandson as he fucks and hurts the little shit.  I cum
down Chrissie's throat as we pull into the driveway.  My cock still out,
but starting to go limp, I park the car and we turn to look into the back
seat.
   I allow Chrissie...by the simple expedient of saying nothing...to jack
his hard-again cocklet through his dress and panties as we watch the nigger
pedo fuck in the back seat.  The fat baby boy is flopping around as that
huge nigger meat pounds ruthlessly into his pussy.  And with a final few
obscenities, nigger Paul (clearly no relationship to his white owner Paul)
crams every fucking inch of his meat into his baby grandson's hole and
fills him with cum.  Chrissie cums just after, turns, slumps into her seat.
   I allow everyone a moment to recover.  I tuck my cock back in, zip up.
Tell everyone to get their fucking acts together.  My nigger looks at his
still mostly hard prick, dripping cum on his pants.  He gestures and I'm
not stupid enough to try to get that monster prick back inside the cage in
its present condition.  I tell him to put the cage on the seat, and give me
the key.  He does.
   The nigglet's shorts back on, nigger Paul's cock back inside his now
stained pants, Chrissie a slutty looking mess, we get out of the car and
head toward the door.  Chrissie is resigned to getting more pretty dresses
and panties and shoes.  I wonder how she'll react to the fuck me pumps and
the dresses and makeup that will make her look like an eight year old slut.
I wonder if the man has any clothes that will fit a fat nigger three year
old boy whore, though I'm not sure I want him as a girly boy.  Oh well, I
don't have to decide right now.  I'll have years of molesting him in which
to make that decision.
   I open the door.  
  
A Pedo Present for Chris_sie 02