Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 PAPI'S PRICK DOES THE TRICK
   By DannyR (MM/bb, MM, oral, anal, incest, pedo) Copyright 2013.  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.
   PAPI'S PRICK DOES THE TRICK
   A few words of parenting advice.  First, don't have a kid when you're
forty-four and your wife is thirty-six unless you're really prepared for
the consequences.  Of course, if the fucking condom hadn't fucking broke
when I was fucking her there wouldn't have been a kid.  And as my lawyer
told me, you can't sue the fucking condom manufacturer for products
liability when the judge would toss the case out while oohing and ahing
over the baby pics.  It seems the law doesn't believe that having a kid you
didn't want and didn't plan on having, and will now have to spend hundreds
of thousands of dollars on over the kid's life is damage from a defective
product.  Second, don't take one look at your naked, screaming, ugly as
sin, few minutes old son and get all mushy about him.  Third, don't spoil
him fucking rotten as the saying goes, from one minute after the first
look.
   Okay, so maybe number three might not be particularly good advice,
considering the outcome for me.  You'll have to figure out whether you can
duplicate that for yourself, or whether you even want to.  Though if you're
reading this, you probably do.
   Fast forward four.
   Juan Carlos Morena is a willful, rude, loud, obnoxious, I want what I
fucking want when I fucking want it which is fucking now, gorgeous,
slightly plump little Mexican boy, with dark reddish-brown skin, black
hair, black eyes.  Whom my wife had taken care of for most of his life,
given my work schedule until recently.  Angelita had had it not only "up to
here" with the little shit today, and with "here" being more like the top
of a fucking redwood than the top of her five four head, she gave me my
marching orders in no uncertain terms.  And it was only eleven a.m.  and
Juan Carlos was in his room for a third (ninety-seventh?) Saturday timeout.
   First, I was on fucking babysitting duty whether I fucking liked it or
not (her words).  Second, I was giving her our "special" credit card, the
one we used only for special (well, duh) occasions or circumstances, and I
wasn't going to say a fucking word when the bills came in.  Third, I was to
keep my fucking mouth fucking shut while she made a few phone calls.
   When you're six five and two oh five to your wife's five four and one
thirty, and you're still well muscled at forty eight, okay, okay, so
there's a bit of a belly and some small, practically not noticeable at all
love handles, you're generally not a pussy whipped husband.  On the other
hand, smart husbands learn to know when she's just a wrong word,
expression, tiny sigh away from grabbing the cleaver (we were in the
kitchen when this happened) and using it on your skull or your dick, or
whatever body part was closest.  I was a smart husband.  Very smart.  A
pussy whipped "Yes, dear" would have had her reaching for the cleaver, so I
just kept my mouth shut.
   A number of calls later, she had arranged for Maria (my younger sister,
married to Angelita's cousin Reynaldo), Constancia (her closest friend
since grade school), and Susan (the oh so white, oh so blond and uptight
wife of my business partner, Mark Sheridan) to spend the rest of the day at
Holywell Spa.  At that bit of news, when she ended that particular call and
told me which spa she'd been talking to, I could hear the credit card off
in the den desk whimpering.
   She nodded, satisfied with my careful lack of demonstrable stupidity. 
In other words, absolute, as approving as I could make my face appear,
silence.
   Then she laid out the rest of the agenda.  After the spa there would be
some whirlwind shopping at the small but extremely upscale mall that just
happened (yeah, right) to be adjacent to the spa.  Then dinner and drinks,
lots and lots and lots of drinks she made sure I understood, at Barron's
(the most fucking expensive restaurant in the metro area) and at the
Inferno (the most exclusive night club in the state, where the fucking
motto over the door might as well be "Abandon all cash, ye who enter
here"). She would be home when she got home, in the limo she'd rented to
drive them all around.
   Off in the distance I could hear my checking account (the funds for this
were going to be all mine, of course) howling in anticipated pain.
   My "Of course, dear," was not pussy whipped at all.
   Really.
   The limo, all shiny black with a well-stocked bar in the back, arrived a
half hour later.
   I love my son.  But this was my first dose of unadulterated son time for
so many endless hours in a row.  Between Angelita's "Mommy's going to be
gone for a while, baby, be good for daddy" and finally getting him into his
tee and boxers and into bed, there were eight plus hours of "Mommy doesn't
do it that way," "Oh, daddy," accompanied by rolled eyes, "I won't, I
won't, I won't" alternating with "I want, I want, I want." I was ready for
an extremely large (gas station 32 ounce size) scotch on the rocks, forget
the rocks.  Maybe three of them.
   I changed into my light grey sweats and an old tee; headed back
downstairs for that drink.  However, smart man that I am I knew the
inevitable result if Angelita got home to find me smelling anything other
than faintly alcoholic, so I settled for just three gulps of the Glen
Fiddich, direct from the bottle, before I plopped down in the recliner,
clicked the remote and started surfing for something to watch.
   I had one fucking hour of respite.
   At 9:01 (I checked my watch when I heard his steps on the stairs), he
came down to advise me in his best "what the fuck are you going to do about
it, daddy?" tone that he couldn't sleep.
   "Would you like me to read you a bedtime story, son?"
   Swallow a fucking horse-size sleeping pill?  I asked inside my head.
   "A story won't make me sleep, daddy." Of course, what was I thinking?
   "How about milk and a cookie?" Always worked with me, as I recalled.
   No four year old should have that kind of contemptuous expression on his
face.  Christ, this was going to be a long night.  With unsuccessful
bribery behind me, I should probably have been a stern daddy and ordered
him to bed and to just stay fucking there until he fell asleep (though
without the f-word of course).  But I was a soft touch; had always been.
   "Okay, kiddo, how about sitting on my lap for a bit, and maybe that'll
work?"
   Juan's smile was wonderful.  He climbed up eagerly, and sank into my
arms, once more my sweet baby boy.  But as he wriggled to get into a
comfortable position, the pressure of his plump little ass on my dick got
it stirring.  The last thing I wanted was a hardon under my boy's ass, but
a man's dick doesn't have any conscience.  And then Juan moaned, just a
little, still moving against me.  A tiny moan, like he was enjoying the
feel of my stiffening meat.  His body was so damned warm through his tee
and undies, and his bare legs.
   My cock got harder.  My right hand moved downward from his left
shoulder, my large hairy left hand supporting his shoulders and the back of
his head as he leaned slightly back.  I'd never before thought about
touching my boy in an improper manner.  Okay, I admit I'd read and jacked
to some incest stories about a dad or a grandpa or uncle and a little boy
at the gay story site, but never a boy as young as my little one.  Okay,
there was one, years ago, before my boy was born.  Wonderful something.  A
dad and his four year old son and not quite two year old son, having hot
pedo sex in a hardware store toilet with this big dicked stranger.  I read
it and blew a fucking big load, but a few days later when I for some reason
wanted a repeat, which I just didn't do, it had been removed.  But I'd
never fantasized about Juan at any age in one of those stories.  Or as part
of any of my occasional jack off fantasies.
   But suddenly I was.
   I knew I should be disgusted with myself, but fuck me.  I wasn't.
   Instead, I touched his right leg, caressing his smooth dark skin with my
fingertips.  I watched my thumb making soft circles on his inner thigh as
my hand moved closer and closer to his crotch.  I hesitated, I really did,
knowing I was about to cross a goddamned line that I shouldn't be fucking
crossing, desperately praying, but whether for the strength to resist or to
just go for it, I wasn't sure.  But I'd already lost any desire to resist,
replacing it with the desire to go with the desire.  Baby Juan was so
innocently squirming a little against my throbbing cock, and I ached for
the forbidden.  I was going to regret this later, I was fairly certain, but
fuck later.
   My darling four year old boy gave a little shudder and sighed
contentedly as I began gently caressing his child dicklet through the thin
cotton.  I only had to wonder for a second whether it was even possible for
a four year old boy to feel horny.  A boy's hardon is a pretty damned clear
signal.  My thumb slipped through the opening in his briefs and rubbed
against the underside of his not so damned little stiffie, pressing it up
against his little belly.  I could hardly expect my boy to express his
feelings in words, but the little whimper when my finger joined my thumb
through the fly and stroked his baby meat certainly suggested he was
enjoying what I was doing.  This was harmless, I told myself.  After all,
it wasn't as though I was molesting my son, just, just relaxing him so he
could go to sleep.
   Cumming made me go to sleep.  So wasn't it logical that if my precious
boy could cum, too, even if it was dry, he'd be able to sleep, too?  And I
might get some rest, too?
   But no matter how I mentally described what I was doing, I wasn't
turning back.  I told him to sit up and tugged the bottom of his tee.  He
meekly raised his little arms so I could remove it.  Now, he was sitting on
my lap, wearing nothing but his little pale blue boxers, with his dark
little dickie standing out of the hole.  And Christ!  I'd always been a tit
guy, loved working on nips and getting them all puffy and standing out. 
Angelita wasn't much for reciprocating, so I had to save the pleasure of my
stiff nips sending shocks to my cock and balls for when I was jacking.  And
there were Juan's nips, already puffy and standing up, tiny chocolate
candies.  I stroked my thumbs across them, and he whined and his cocklet
twitched.
   I nuzzled his black, soft hair, inhaling the scent of turned on little
boy.  My hands roamed across his sleek, tender flesh.  Working his nips,
caressing everywhere, fondling his crotch.  So very soft, so very innocent,
but not for long.
   I put my hands in his armpits, lifted him until he was sort of standing
on my thighs.  Told him to lean forward and put his hands on my shoulders.
So fucking hot knowing that with his head down he was looking right at
daddy's fat eight inch dark meat, even covered up by my sweats.  I pulled
down his boxers, had him step out of them, held him upright to admire his
naked boy beauty.
   Just as he was apparently admiring his daddy, because his head was still
down, staring.  "Is that your pee-pee, daddy?"
   I'd already started leaking precum and I leak a fucking lot anyway, but
my body was starting up the overtime shifts.  At those innocent words, I
spurted and a large, visible stain appeared on my sweats.  Juan giggled. 
"Daddy, did you just pee in your pants?"
   "Uh, no, son.  That's, uh, daddy juices.  A daddy's cock makes juices
like that when, uh, when it's happy."
   "Why is your, your, cock happy, daddy?"
   Well, fuck.  Get him started on a series of "why?" questions and we'd be
up all night.  Maybe a distraction.
   I rubbed both of his nips again, since my fingers were in his pits, and
he whimpered and tossed his head back.  But he's a stubborn little shit. 
No idea where he gets it.  He looked back at me and the same question was
in his eyes.
   "Uh, well, my cock is happy because I'm with you."
   "But you're never home." And he looked so sad.
   He was also fucking right.  For most of his life, okay, all of his
fucking life, I was working long hours, weekends included, and didn't see a
lot of either of them.  My dick spurted again, widening the wet spot,
understanding what I really meant when I told him that that was going to
change, that from now on I was going to be around a lot more.  That we'd be
spending a lot of time together, doing all sorts of fun things.
   I put my right hand between my boy's thighs and groped his dickie and
his tight sac.
   "Would you like that, son?"
   He moaned as my second finger worked its way between his bottom cheeks
and rubbed lightly on his hole, while my thumb worked his cocklet.
   "Oh, yes, daddy."
   "Do you like this, Juan?  Do you like what daddy is doing to his baby
boy?"
   I knew the answer from the way his body responded to my working on it,
but it was wonderful to hear him say "oh, yes, daddy" in a soft little
voice.
   "My sexy little boy," I whispered.  "You're so beautiful and daddy loves
you so much."
   "I love you too, daddy," Juan answered.
   I was shocked.  The way he'd been behaving, those words were the last
thing I would have expected.  He looked up at me and I couldn't help
myself. I bent my head and kissed on him on the lips.  On those rare
occasions I'd been home at his bedtime, sure, I'd given him a kiss.  On the
forehead; on the top of his head.  Never on his lips.
   This time was different.  My lips lingered on his.  When he did not
immediately draw back, I eased back, murmured with my lips still close to
his, "Open your mouth for daddy, baby," and when he did I slid my tongue
in. He froze for a moment as my tongue assaulted his own, his teeth, his
gums, and then he began to hesitantly respond.  More precum stained my
sweats as he ground his crotch into my groping hand.
   When I finally ended the kiss, Juan's lips were plump and moist, his
eyes were glazed, his breathing ragged.  "Would you like to see daddy's
dick, baby boy?"
   He just nodded.  I lifted him, set him on the floor and told him to hold
onto the arm of the recliner for a moment, and then I surged up out of it.
Set a fucking world record peeling out of my tee and sweats, leaving me
barefoot and naked, my fat meat sticking straight out.  Right at his head.
Christ, his head was just the right level that if he moved forward just a
little, if he leaned, fuck, if I pulled, his head forward he could be
tasting my prick.
   I cupped my hand below the leaking slit and squeezed out some clear
precum.  Little Juan's eyes widened as I lifted my hand to my lips, and
tongued it all up, making smacking sounds that indicated how really fucking
good it tasted.  "Would you like a taste, too, baby boy?"
   My son nodded.  Hot fuck.  "Well, why don't you just lick it right from
the source, kiddo?"
   His eyes widened and I waggled my prick at him.  More juice oozed.  He
took a step forward.  Hot shit.  None of this "But, daddy, that's where you
pee!" shit.  He probably thought daddy was just caressing the back of his
head when he leaned forward and eagerly swiped his tongue across daddy's
leaking slit, peeking out from my partially pulled back foreskin.
   With my right hand I skinned all of that long, thick foreskin back,
showing him the full shiny purple knob with the large slit; with my left, I
gently tugged him forward.  "So fine, baby boy, so fine.  Now just put your
lips on daddy and make him feel really good."
   He was almost there when he stopped.  Was the licking of his lips
intended, or just accidental?  "Will you lick me, too, daddy?"
   What the fuck?  My kid is negotiating over a blowjob, or as he thinks of
it right now, a peepee lick?  Damn, fuck, but if he didn't inherit my
genes. "Sure, son, daddy will lick and suck your peepee.  Now just suck
daddy's dick for him, hmmm?"
   And my four year old virgin did just that.  No fucking questions about
sucking versus licking, he just opened his plump, moist lips wide, wide,
wide and devoured my knob.
   "Oh, fucking Christ, Juanito!"
   Two "big, bad's" in one sentence.  Swearing and taking the Lord's name
in vain, and my boy just looked up, didn't lift his head away to reprimand
me as he sometimes did when I broke one of mommy's many rules about
boy-raising.  Looked at me with wide, long-lashed, brown eyes, and giggled
around my meat.  His baby boy tongue flickered gently over my skin.
   I took his small head in both my large, hairy daddy hands.  He looked so
tiny down there, my thumbs caressing his delicate face, his floppy, soft
hair, his cheeks all puffed around papi prick.  "Juanito, you know how you
like to suck on a popsicle?  Moving it in and out of your mouth?"
   He nodded eagerly, the movement doing oh so fucking interesting things
to my meat, and I managed to restrain my whimper.
   "Well, daddy his going to move his, his fucking big `popsicle' in and
out of your mouth, while you hold real still.  Okay?"
   It wasn't like my little one had much choice with my hands holding his
head where I wanted, no, fucking needed it.  But always give the other side
of anything at least the illusion of control.
   As I began to move my papi meat, so dark and veined and slick with my
four year old's slobber and all my precum, I realized a few things.  I
never came quickly, which for the most part pissed off everyone I'd ever
fucked, well, at least all the women and girls.  There was that one fag in
the Macy's toilet while Angelita was in her last month of pregnancy and I
sure the fuck wasn't getting anything, anything at fucking all, from her.
Bent over in that stall, with one of his fag friends watching through the
big gloryhole, he took every fucking inch and came twice just from me
fucking him, and I left him in a daze when I finally filled the condom,
pulled out, gave it to him in case he wanted to sample, and left.  This
time, though, this was going to be different.  Fucking quick.
   The second thing was the realization this wasn't going to be a one-time,
holy Christ I pray he doesn't tell on me thing.  I wasn't quite sure at
that instant how I was going to manage that, although a good beginning was
going to be starting to work from home and taking care of the kid while my
dear wife went back to school to get her medical degree.  And all those
long, long, so fucking long shifts for residencies and internships and
whatever the fuck.  Christ, fuck, there'd be fucking days at a time for me
to work and molest my little boy.  Work enough to keep the big bucks coming
in, molest more.
   The third thing was that I'd run the mental pedo gamut from fondling to
fucking in half a nanosecond.  Or something.  From a self-serving, play
with his little dickie and maybe give him a cum and get him to sleep while
I go jack off and get some rest myself, just this once, to okay, so I'll
jack off into his mouth and suck him a little afterwards, to well, I really
need to fuck his little mouth with those fat lips, but that's all, to
finally deciding I'm really, really actually going to fuck my four year old
son, turn his virgin asshole into a boy pussy, because what daddy needs he
fucking deserves.  And then I'm going to do it again.  And again.
   "Juanito." I spoke softly and actually had to say it again to get his
attention, he was so focused on daddy's dick sliding in and out of his
mouth, though it was just the knob and a little shaft.
   "Daddy's going to push some more of his dick in your mouth, so you're
going to have to open up really, really, really wide, and, uh, breathe
through your nose, okay?"
   He just nodded and spread those mouth-fucked-all-plumped-up lips even
wider, just like daddy asked.
   Daddy whimpered.  And began fucking that wet heat a little faster, a
little deeper.  Making my precious son choke, but I couldn't help that. 
He'd learn.  He'd have to, since I knew as my balls tightened and my belly
tightened that he was going to, much, much sooner rather than later, take
all eight of daddy's inches down his throat.
   I was bent forward, holding my little one's head in place.  I could
smell my own crotch musk, my sweat.  "Juanito, daddy, oh fuck shit Jesus,
daddy is going to give you some daddy's milk, oh so fucking soon, hot milk,
baby boy, thick and hot and you need to swallow it, all of it, oh, baby,
I'm fucking the face of my four year old, pumping his slut little mouth, oh
fucking shit!" I nearly screamed the last words, and I never fucking lose
control like that during sex, and then I was holding his head in place
while my hips thrust back and forth, barely managing to retain enough
control to ensure it was only about two inches of shaft forced in behind
the knob, and then I was pumping shot after shot after shot of cum into my
struggling son.
   When I was done, I eased back, caressing his head, wiping the tears with
my thumbs, murmuring over and over again what a good little man he was. 
When I finally pulled my softening cock out of his oh, so well-fucked baby
boy mouth, there was a big, shiny white blob of cum in the slit.  I didn't
have to pressure him.  As soon as he saw it, he opened his mouth, leaned
forward, and his plump little tongue darted out to get it.
   He swallowed that last blob, then looked up at me.  "Lick my cock,
daddy."
   Juan's authoritative, demanding little voice startled me out of my
unexpectedly, but prayed for, fantastic mouth fuck haze.  I could have
insisted little boys had pee-pees and men had cocks, but he was too smart
for that shit.  And now that he'd made good on his part of the bargain, he
wanted what he was entitled to.
   Fine by me.  I picked him up, carried him to the leather couch, plopped
his naked plump body down, his little legs spread wide, his thighs
jiggling. I knelt in front of him and pulled his head a little forward into
a tongue-fucking kiss while my other hand played with his stiff little boy
dickie.  Yeah, yeah, I'd say the man words out loud, but in my head the
baby boy names, pee-pee, and dickie, and stiffie, and cocklet made me all
the hornier.
   My cum didn't taste bad!  I had no idea what to expect since I'd never
experimented with eating my own cum like I'd heard other men mention. 
Always seemed a bit faggy to me, eating cum, and since I'd also never
sucked a dick before I had no personal experience with the taste.
   But I always honored my side of a contract, and that's what my son pussy
and I had.  A contract.  Pleasure for pleasure.
   I pulled away from his mouth, leaving him looking slightly dazed.  Then
I leaned down and put my large mouth down to his crotch, and took in his
four year old stiffie, and his hairless tightly drawn up boy ball sack, my
big tongue lapping and my lips slurping.  Juan quivered, thrusting his boy
meat up into hot wet daddy mouth.
   "Oh, daddy," my son whimpered as his daddy gave him his first blowjob.
And it wasn't going to be the last.  Not because of any future bargains,
but what the fuck, daddy enjoyed sucking dick!  Or at least, four year old
Mexican son meat.
   While I sucked his dickie and balls, my hands roamed his soft, moist
skin, my nose inhaling the scent of his baby boy crotch and his boy sweat.
I tugged and pulled on his boy titties, feeling them stiffen as he arched
up into his daddy's mouth.  Yeah, my boy had inherited daddy's sensitive,
connected-direct-to-meat nips.
   I spread his legs even wider, lifted a little and tugged and he slumped
down even further, giving me access to his tight, pink little virgin ass.
But first there was something I suddenly wanted to taste as well.  His boy
feet.  My large lips nibbled on his toes, my tongue licked over them, I put
half his fucking foot in my mouth and my cock spurted precum like there was
no tomorrow.  I lifted my head and looked down at his soon-to-be boy pussy.
   "Suck me, daddy," little Juanito whispered.  Oh, yes, my baby boy was
getting into this whole molesting thing.  According to some of those
stories, little boys could dry cum, but that seemed like crap to me.  I
certainly never did, well, at least not as young as this.  But then I
didn't think he could get a stiffie either.
   "Okay, son, okay." I lowered my head and once again took his bald hard
dickie and his bald baby balls in my child molester's papi mouth.
   I suckled and slurped, and worked his little titties, and he started
imitating his papi, straining up to put his hands on the side of my head,
pumping his dicklet in and out, starting to whine and thrash and suddenly
he was yelling out, "Papi, papi, I, I, I gotta pee!"
   Well, fuck, so the stories were true.  He was starting his very first
dry cum.
   Yeah, and fucking pissing in his father's mouth.  Spraying my teeth and
gums and the roof of my mouth, starting to fill up the back of my throat.
For a split second I thought about pulling away, but I knew he'd remember
that he had swallowed down papi's hot juices, so it was only fair that I'd
do the same for him.
   I did.  And it wasn't that bad.  In fact, the more I swallowed the more
I liked it.  I also liked the idea, with all this turnabout fair play shit
going on, of using his little mouth as a toilet.  I did let some of it go,
just a bit, and it slid down between his legs, coating his crack, running
over his not quite yet pussy lips.  As he started to slow down, I put my
index finger in my mouth, coating it with spit and his piss, and then
reached up to Juanito's face.  The little fucker knew what I wanted and he
fucking did it, sucked my finger down, tasting his very own piss.
   And while I went on sucking him, I put my finger to his tight rosebud
and began pushing.  He didn't want to let me in, and kept his butt clamped
tight and kept squirming to get away, though not without keeping on
thrusting his hips so papi could go on sucking him.  But Juanito is a
fucking brilliant little boy.  He got the idea when I stopped sucking, just
held his hard little dickie and tight boy balls in my mouth, and continued
pressing against his hole.  No more of the nice feelings he was getting if
he kept fighting my finger.
   He stopped struggling, I started sucking and then he squealed, high and
loud, as I pushed my hairy finger inside, nearly half way, wiggled it a
little bit, and then pulled it out.  Juanito then had a not bright boy
moment.  He signed happily, thinking his asshole ordeal was done.  Putting
the slightly smelly, slightly messy finger back up to his lips let him know
otherwise.  He sucked it down and slimed it up with his little tongue.
   It went in easier the second time, though he was incredibly hot and
tight inside, and he still wailed.  I didn't know whether it was true or
not, when I lifted my head and told him what I suspect all pedos told
about-to-be-fucked virgin little boys, "It'll only hurt for a little bit,
and then it'll feel really, really good."
   I carefully avoided saying, "Papi promises." He already knew that if I
ever said that to him, I'd make good on whatever I promised.  But this. 
Well, obviously, really good for the pedo with his cock buried in kid cunt.
No idea about the boy.
   I finger fucked my toddler, feeling his pussy walls open up the
slightest bit, finding his prostate, his baby boy button, and working it
over, and then suddenly it was like one of those electric shocks in a
cartoon.  The cat, dog, kid, whatever kind of "blows up," expanding in
size, freezes, and then does all these wild twitches and jerks and howls.
Juanito didn't literally expand, but it felt like he was trying.  He did
the "freeze" and then he started flailing about as I kept right on sucking
and fucking and buzzing his button.
   And kept right on.
   And discovered that at that age, little boys are like women, they can
have cum after cum after cum.  He was still out of it from his first big
one when I shoved two of my fingers down his throat making him cough and
gag and wake back up.  He struggled against my hand, but then stilled, when
I asked, "More, baby boy?"
   With my fingers still in his mouth he just nodded his head and got them
slimed back up.
   Two fingers brought a louder howl, but as I worked them in and out of
his near cunt, his not quite yet but goddamn so close to being a pussy, he
had two more cums.
   Perhaps I should have given him more time.  More fingers to get used to.
More cums to wear him out and make him more pliable.  But I wanted, needed,
this too much.
   Still, he was limp and slightly sweaty, the boy smell adding to my
horniness.  I sat back on my haunches, fisting my leaking meat, awed by the
beauty of my plump brown little boy.  His puffy well fucked lips.  His
standing up titties.  His boy stiffie proudly waving.  His head lolling. 
His legs sprawled wide, calves and feet dangling over the edge.  His fat
moist thighs.  He looked like a fucking slut.
   Perhaps if he'd looked more innocent.  Perhaps if my depraved mind
hadn't converted whatever innocence was there into a toddler slut begging
for it, I might have stopped.  After all, this had started out trying to
get him to go to sleep, and after all this sexual activity, being male, he
should drop off to sleep.  End of story.
   Not fucking likely.
   One more thing.  I lifted his legs, spread them wide, bent forward and
gorged myself on his boy hole, using my thick, wide tongue to force itself
into his rectum, getting it as slimy as possible.  I had no intention of
going hunting for something to lube him with.  My spit, my thick oozing
precum, and whatever juices he had inside would fucking have to be enough.
   I lifted my head, looked at his ecstatic face.  "So you like having papi
eat out your pussy?"
   "P...pussy?  That's my poo hole!" His voice was stern, with a sort of
"you dumb daddy" at the end.
   "Oh, no, son, little boys, special little boys, who get to have their
papi's pricks up inside their poo holes have pussies.  The very best kind
of pussy there is.  Better than any girl's pussy."
   His eyes widened.  "Even better than mama's?" His tone was all
amazement.
   At that moment, of course, I had no way of knowing what the truth was.
I'd never fucked a little boy's pussy.  Nor a little girl's.  Just lots of
women.  I decided fuck the truth, whatever it was.  I later learned that
"fuck the truth" was a pedo's motto.  "Oh, yes, Juanito.  Much, much,
better.  Something only a boy and his papi can do."
   His chest kind of swelled with pride.  I still held his legs up with my
left hand, admiring his stiffie, his glistening asshole, as I stroked
precum out of my cock, smeared it around, dropped globs and globs of spit
down and smeared that too.
   But then I decided I might need some leverage, might have to really
force my cock into his kid cunt, and that would be easier if he was on his
belly.  I quickly flipped my startled son onto his tummy, his legs dangling
over the side of the couch, nudged them wider, placed my leaking sticky
knob at his pussy lips, and then using my weight and holding him in place
with my left hand, I just fucking shoved.
   His pussy lips didn't like the sensation, but papi's prick sure the fuck
did.
   His pussy liked the penetration even less, but papi's prick practically
spurted a bucket of cum from the sensation of his so fucking hot, literally
hot, cunt walls snapping around my knob.  He struggled and cried and tried
to get away, but his tiny body couldn't get any leverage and there
certainly wasn't anything on the smooth leather he could grab and use to
pull himself.  Even if I didn't outweigh him by so fucking much.
   I was nice enough to pause to let him get used to cock in his cunt.  Or
that was the story I would have told if he'd been coherent enough to ask.
Actually, it was because I didn't want to cum too quickly.  I swatted him
lightly on the back of his head and said his name sharply.  It was the kind
of swat and kind of tone that told even a spoiled rotten fucker like my son
that he had finally gone too fucking far and daddy was just a hair's
breadth away from spanking his bare bottom.  True, that hadn't happened all
that often since his mama and I had been such pushovers, but still, just
often enough that he knew.  And stopped moving.
   He was still crying and panting, and I stroked his sweaty back, loving
the smell that was wafting up to me.  Christ but son fucking was fun.
   I dropped a shitload of spit on my shaft, smeared it around, spoke
soothingly.  "Juanito, son, you're son a good little man.  You have papi's
dick head in your pussy, and now he's going to put some more of it in.  Can
you be a brave little man for papi?  And soon it'll get better and you'll
feel like you did a few minutes ago."
   Well, I sure as fuck hoped so.  It was going to be a lot easier to keep
on fucking both his holes if he learned to enjoy it, although given the
heat and tightness around my knob, I wasn't likely to stop repeats, lots of
repeats, anyway.
   I pushed two inches of wide fat papi prick in, spreading his cunt walls
even wider.  Some sort of lube probably would have made it easier, but
goddamn, a spit fuck for a first time was fantastic.  Jesus but I was more
of a pervert than I'd ever thought.  His squeal as papi shaft breached his
hole was such a fucking turnon, though I knew eventually his bowels would
get used to be spread that wide, and pounded, too, so I'd best enjoy it
while it was available.
   Another shove, another squeal, another inch.  Repeat.  I looked down at
half of my papi prick in my son's fresh pussy.  I eased back, pulling out
just to the knob and Juanito whimpered.  I soothed and stroked him and
slobbered spit and drool out of my mouth onto my meat, and pushed back in.
Then I did it again.  And again and again until I was smoothly hammering my
toddler's pussy, rotating my hips, changing the angle, working to get the
maximum pleasure for my meat, and suddenly he's screaming out, "Papi, papi!
That feels so good!" And then he was cumming.
   I tried not to join him, but his cunt walls clamped and released so
rapidly around my prick I had no choice.  I bellowed some weird growl shout
whatever the fuck and then filled his bowels with his daddy' seed.
   "Oh, Juanito, you are such a fine little man, and such a wonderful
pussy. Do you like being papi's pussy boy?"
   He was so out of it from his dry cum he could just barely murmur
something that sounded like agreement.  I eased my meat out of his raw red
hole, looked at how impressively wide it gaped, and knew I was going to
have his cunt at least one more time before Angelita got home.
   Only I lost track of time as I kept working his tiny body, until we were
both reeking of sweat and sex.
   And then the fucking phone rang.  Juanito had just gone through cum
number whatever the fuck, but I wasn't ready for my third one yet.  Fuck.
Angelita.  I looked at the time.  Just before midnight.  Double fuck.  I'd
been molesting my baby slut for nearly three hours.  I looked down at my
impaled son, held a finger to my lips.  He nodded that he understood from
my expression that he was to fucking keep his fucking goddamned little boy
mouth shut, prick in his pussy or not.
   I lifted it off the nightstand, tapped it and said, "Yes, dear" in a
normal tone of voice.
   Angelita whispered, "How is he?  Is he okay?  Did you get him to sleep?"
   Jesus.  She's calling, which makes the fucking phone ring and ringing
makes noise, the kind of sound that might wake up a selfish, spoiled
toddler who wasn't happy being abandoned all those hours ago to his
father's not so fucking tender mercies, and then she starts whispering as
if that will make it all right?  Then, too, there was just the slightest
slur.  The kind of slur I recognized from the occasions before Juanito was
born when my wife would get really drunk, but retain just enough control to
make her voice mostly sound like she wasn't drunk.
   "He was."
   Her voice was even softer.  A bit abashed.  "Oh."
   "We have a beautiful son when he's asleep." Naked in his papi's bed,
partially fucked out.
   "I was just sitting here, on the edge of his bed, stroking his back."
Kneeling on the bed, prick in his pussy, stroking in and out of his cunt.
   "Keeping him calm and quiet." Making him scream out his baby boy cums.
   "And then the phone rang."
   "Oh.  I...I'm sorry." Which was followed by a brief silence and what I
can only describe as a gulped down gasp.
   A peculiar sound.  One I had heard her make only twice before during our
marriage, and only once after we got engaged.  All three times we had been
somewhere public.  A crowded drive-in, summer, windows down.  Evening, not
quite fully dark, a beach, under the wharf in the shadows, with lots of
people strolling above, and out on the sand.  One of those very slow "love
boat" romantic rides on little boats chained together and going through a
mostly dark tunnel winding its way around one end of the carnival.
   All three times I'd been eating out her cunt, and that little gulped
gasp had been when she was cumming or about to cum, because I am fucking
good at making it happen fast, but she couldn't scream like she does in our
bed.
   So who was eating her cunt while she was taking the risk of calling me?
   I immediately decided it had to be Constancia.  Not my sister.  And
certainly not the icy bitch Mark had married.  I briefly wondered how
they'd managed the privacy, but then shoved the thought aside.
   "I found that stroking him makes him relax." I'd have to try that
sometime when I wasn't dicking him.
   "I'm going to have to keep on stroking his back to get him back to
sleep." Holding a hand over his mouth while I keep on fucking his cunt, so
mamacita won't hear if he squeals.
   And then he moaned.  It was a toddler slut's "oh, papi, your fucking
cock feels so fucking good in my boy pussy" moan.
   Angelita went into concerned mother mode, momentarily forgetting her
drunk and whoever was lapping at her cunt, a sound I could now hear.  My
dear wife hadn't realized how fucking sensitive the microphones are on her
new phone.
   "My baby!  Is he okay?  What's wrong?  What was that sound?"
   "Dear, you know how you moan sometimes when I massage your back? 
Because it feels so good?"
   "Oh." Even more abashed sounding than earlier.
   "Do you want to talk to him?"
   Stupid question.  After she said she did, I held the phone out to my
precious son.  "Tell mamacita that there's nothing wrong, will you, son? 
Then she won't worry."
   I could hear her inhale when I started to speak, the kind of inhaling
that usually preceded a lecture, but then she realized that I wasn't using
my all-too-often "Do what the fuck I tell you and do it now, son" tone.  It
was instead an actual caring, loving father tone.
   Or the tone of a loving pedo papi with his cock being massaged by his
son's four year old pussy.
   As he took the phone, Juanito's papi was gently fucking him, while papi
hands played with his hard little nips and caressed his sweaty flesh.  Fuck
but boy sweat was something to make a pedo's cock hard and help it stay
that way.
   I could hear her still somewhat un-trusting voice ask him if her baby
was okay, and a little flicker of toddler anger passed across his face. 
His papi had said he was a man, not a baby.  And yes, he was okay.  And
yes, he liked what papi was doing.
   He handed the phone back to me, his eyes rolling, in part because of a
particularly deep stroke in his pussy, in part because of Angelita.
   "Satisfied, dear?" My tone was snide, but I knew Angelita would think
she deserved it.
   "Uh, well, yes."
   "So when will you be home?" So I can figure out if a third cum is all
I'm going to get or if I can work in another.
   It turned out that was going to be the next day.  The spa was so
wonderful, blah, blah, blah.
   Fucking fine by me though I did the somewhat annoyed good husband bit,
but agreed to keep on taking care of our precious son.
   We hung up and then I fucked my four year old into the mattress, though
I was still careful not to give him all of his papi's prick.
   We slept, then, and in the morning before breakfast I fucked him again.
   When Angelita finally got home around noon, totally unaware that not
only did she look recovered from the night out and the drinking, but rested
and thoroughly, thoroughly, thoroughly sexed, she was amazed to find out
what a well behaved child was in the house.  She was even more amazed when
I told her my idea of working from home nearly all of the time so she could
go back to school and get her medical degree.
   But the joy was tempered by guilt.  Guilt she couldn't contain, my dear,
sweet, Angelita.
   Now, me, yeah, I felt some guilt, too.  I'd felt a twinge of guilt when
I'd fucked that guy in the toilet and his friend watched.  There'd been
some guilt twitches, too, the other times I'd used a gloryhole to get my
rocks off, whether in a toilet or an arcade.  Or the mail boy in our
office, who frequented the toilet in the building basement every chance he
got, and sucked my cock from time to time.  He didn't know that I knew
whose mouth was gulping me down.  And there was some greater guilt over the
fact that I had so thoroughly molested my formerly virgin little boy, and
was planning on lots and lots more of it.  But not enough guilt to stupid
me out and confess.
   Angelita had the stupid kind of guilt.  She tearfully confessed,
blubbering in shame about how good I was, what a wonderful husband, and she
was so awful.
   A fucking lot more of a confession than I'd ever expected.  And she'd
obviously been a lot more drunk than I'd thought.
   The short version is that Maria and Constancia had had a thing going for
years.  And last night wasn't my wife's first time with Susan.  It was just
the first time that Susan had gotten really, really, really wasted and
confided that her marriage to Mark was just a convenience.  She really
preferred women, but this way she had money and everything that went with
it, just for the price of letting Mark breed her.
   So that Mark could have children to safely molest.  My fucking partner
was a fucking pedo, just like his fucking partner was, and he had been
sexing the five year old twins, Robert and Paul!
   Lucky fucking bastard!
   But when she'd sobered up, Susan had quickly denied all the pedo shit,
saying she'd made it up just because she was pissed with Mark over
something.  So Angelita was all concerned over whether she should call the
cops, but I put a stop to that, saying we couldn't make allegations without
proof, and Susan wouldn't back her up.  And besides, she'd seen the twins,
they'd been over here, Juanito had been over there, they were healthy and
fine.  And I gently suggested that even if it was true, it didn't seem to
be hurting the boys.
   That shocked her a bit, as did my telling her that we could, of course,
involve the police and children's services, but whether what Susan said
during a drunken rant was true or not, doing so would mean the end of the
business.  And if I had to start over, tainted by my association with a
pedo business partner, the whole medical school thing would have to be
delayed.  Maybe forever.  And our standard of living would have to change.
Drastically.  Drastically downward.
   She made the instant decision that Robert and Paul could fucking take
care of themselves, though she didn't phrase it quite that way.
   Then came the "but what" business...but what about Juanito?  but what if
Mark should try something?  but what?  but what?
   More soothing.  Of course I forgave her the Susan indiscretion.  And if
that was something she really needed, and, well, I obviously couldn't
provide it to her, well, that would be okay if she wanted to do it again.
Just be discreet.  And I'd deal with Mark.  Find out the truth.  Make sure
our precious son was safe.
   She cried some more.  I was a saint.  All the things she'd thought and
said about me, gone.  I was a true saint!
   Inside, I snorted.  Fucking right.  Saint Pedophilias, patron of child
molesters.
   And I did indeed take care of things with Mark.
   I called him Sunday night, not so late as to indicate an emergency, but
later than anything ordinary, told him we needed to meet before work in the
morning.  It was important.  We could meet in the lobby.  Go somewhere
private to talk.  And no, it wasn't something I wanted to talk about over
the phone.  And yes, it could wait until the morning.
   Mark is ten years younger than me.  White.  Five eleven.  One thirty or
so.  Thin, not scrawny.  Somewhat long-faced.  Wire framed small bifocals.
Blond, clean shaven.  Decent build since I'd seen him stripped in the
building's gym locker room.  A kind of thin cock, as I sort of recalled,
low balls, but back before this weekend I hadn't really been paying much
attention to other guys' dicks.  Well, except for the ordinary check `em
out to see if I was indeed the biggest.
   He looked just a little bit nervous, and he was there before me.  Mark
is habitually late.  His nerves didn't abate when I said, "Come on," and he
followed me through security, then around the corner and to the doors that
led to the basement.  Including the second level where the cruisy toilet
was located.
   Now Mark knew that I knew that he knew about the toilet.  It was common
knowledge among most, if not all, the men who worked in the skyscraper.  It
could only be accessed by someone who worked in the building and could
therefore get past security.  It had three stalls, three gloryholes, three
urinals.  So the fags who were working the toilet, mostly sucking cocks or
sometimes getting fucked through the gloryholes, had to be people the ones
who were using them knew, or might know.  Which meant we generally tried
not to find out whose mouth or cunt we were pumping.
   Though I suspected we all had exceptions to the "don't know, don't care"
rule.  Like me knowing it was Johnny, our seventeen year old mail boy, who
liked my cum.  Or that one of the best cocksuckers was the senior partner
of a very large, like eleven names on the letterhead, silk stocking law
firm that took up three floors.  And it was inevitable that you would know
some of the other men who were using the mouths.  The men who were on the
same sort of schedule as you, in terms of what time you had to take a piss
break from work and headed to the basement.  Or someone you randomly ran
into.
   Like the day six months earlier when I'd pumped a good load into
Johnny's mouth, and was walking out just when Mark was walking in.  He kind
of blinked when he saw me, since we weren't the type of friends who talked
about our sex lives, especially not cruising toilets to get blowjobs from
queers instead of our wives.  And now I knew he was going to get a blowjob,
since given the fact there were much more convenient men's toilets on every
floor of the building for an actual piss or dump, showing up here could
only be for one reason.  And unless the toilet was empty, I'd just gotten
one of those "reasons." I just winked at him, held the door, and whispered,
"Johnny's mouth is open and available."
   His jaw dropped.  I nodded to confirm that I indeed meant our mail boy,
then whispered again, "Just remember not to use him in the break room, or
something." I sort of snickered and sauntered off, noticing out of the
corner of my eye that the toilet door didn't hit him on the ass as he
quickly went through.  But after that, I made sure nothing I said or did at
work or anywhere else, hinted at our mutual knowledge that two straight
married men, fathers, liked queers to suck our dicks.  Mark followed along.
   And now he sure as hell was wondering why I was taking him downstairs to
the blowjob toilet.  However, it was just the place I needed, and it was
unlikely we'd be interrupted.  All the offices opened at eight.  Barring
something unusual, workers started arriving around seven or a little after.
Between seven and eight there was a flurry of morning quickies down in the
toilet, before tapering off for a while.  Today we'd met at six fifteen, so
there shouldn't be any traffic.
   There wasn't.  I held the door for him again.  Followed him in.  Set my
bag on the floor, tilted against the pole supporting the stall, announced I
needed a piss.  Suggested he'd better get one, too, if he needed to go.  He
moved to the third urinal, leaving one between us.  I unzipped, hauled out
my slightly plumped up papi prick, started pissing.  Although we'd pissed
side by side often enough over the years, inevitable when you'd been
friends and co-workers and business partners as long as we had, it never
ceased to amuse me how he still gave a slight start when he heard my piss
hit the bowl.
   I guess because I am a fucking loud pisser.  Whether it's because I've
got an unusually large pee slit in my knob, and checking that was an
instinctively normal part of my comparing dick sizes, or some other reason,
my piss comes out faster and I sound like a horse pissing.  If a horse had
been pissing into a toilet or a urinal with water in the bottom.  Or like a
hose pumping out water into a partially filled bucket.
   Eventually I finished.  He did, too.  In that moment when the usual
stroke it, shake it, flop it, milk it, get the last drops out ritual
normally started I quietly said, "So do you fuck Bobby and Paulie, or just
have them suck you off?"
   Christ, but I'm a fucking bastard.  Picture something white.  Only not
just "something." The whitest white (and forget the fucking commercials)
you've ever seen.  Then imagine it ten times that white.  For a moment I
would have sworn he'd been vampired and every drop of blood sucked out of
his body.  He gasped, sagged, lost his balance and slumped back against the
wall beside him, barely managing to stay upright.  I guess he wasn't quite
finished after all, since his long, slender dick was still out and the sag,
stagger, slump had whipped it around, leaving some piss spots visible on
his light grey slacks.
   His head bent, his "what" and "how" were nearly incoherent.  Probably
meant "What are you going to do?" and "How did you know?" Since his
reaction was as good as a videotape of him dicking one of his kids, okay,
okay, not nearly as fucking good as that, but still, confession enough.  I
didn't say anything.
   So his next "What" which was accompanied by a strong "the fuck?" was
definitely coherent.  And loud to go with his suddenly flushed face.  He'd
finally looked up to see that I was leaning back, too, against the toilet
stall, my ass covering the glory hole, my dick still out, as well, but all
the way hard.  I was also jacking, and shiny clear precum was dripping from
my pee lips.
   I smirked at him, still in arrogant bastard mode, fucking with his mind.
"I hope you've been fucking them, though.  A lot.  I'd really like to get
my prick in both their bottoms, and see what well-used kid cunt feels like.
All I know is the feel of a boy's ass when it's been fucked three times.  I
figured we could share, being such good friends and all."
   Dead fucking silence.  But not motionless.  Plenty of motion across the
way as Mark's cock immediately surged to full hard, at least an inch longer
than me I figured, but nowhere near as thick.  Pale white like the rest of
him except for the pulsing purple knob.  He stumbled over the word. 
"Sh...share?"
   I nodded.  Kept jacking.  "How long since you've had almost virgin four
year old boy cunt?"
   He licked his lips, watching my jacking hand.  "Never."
   My turn to "What the fuck?" him.
   He'd gotten his usual confidence back.  Crossed toward me.  "Started
fucking their tight little bottoms when they were two.  And you waited all
this time?  Dumb fucking shit, ain't ya?"
   I kind of moaned as he replaced my hand with his, and I naturally did
the same for him.  I'd never touched a man's dick before, but damn it felt
good.  Never even had a boy-on-boy experiment with someone else jacking me.
But damn it felt good.
   Still looking at our jacking hands, he asked, "How?"
   "Susan to Angelita when they were both drunk on their Saturday night
bankrupt the bastard husbands spree.  I'm not sure whether that particular
confession was before your wife started eating my wife's pussy, which she
was doing at one point while we were on the phone, or after, or maybe just
between times."
   I paused to smear some of his precum around his head and shaft, and he
did the same for me.
   "Of course, she denied it later.  But Angelita tearfully confessed all
of her sins, and that one of Susan's, or rather, yours, because I was such
a saint for telling her I was going to arrange to start working more from
home so she could go back to school and become a doctor."
   Mark snickered.  Looked up at me.  "Fucking smart.  More time to molest,
hmmm?" But then he looked a little worried.  "Is that enough?"
   I understood the rest of the question: "To keep her quiet?" My smile
back was smug.  "My dear wife, the former first love of my life,
understands that if she rats you out, even if you're innocent, our business
will be down the tubes, and there goes all the money, and her medical
degree, and blah, blah, blah."
   Damn but a mutual jackoff was hot.  But knowing now I was going to be
fucking two more little boys as soon as it could be arranged, that I was
going to watch my slender-cocked partner plowing his white dick in and out
of my baby boy's brown pussy, just made me hornier.  Where the fuck was
Johnny when you needed him?
   "Uh, Mark, uh, you ever...uh, you know, come in here and uh, well..."
   "Suck man dick, not just boy stiffies?" I could only nod as his hand got
more aggressive on my meat.  "Only if I'm guaranteed that I get a blowjob
back."
   Oh, fucking, kay.  Wasn't that the fucking ball back in my court.  I
could cum fine jacking off.  I could tell that having Mark jack me off, as
long as I did the same for him, would be an even better cum.  But since no
boy pussy was available, I really needed a mouth, so I could be relaxed
enough to at least concentrate a little bit on working today.  My hand
stilled on his dick for just a moment as I realized that he was probably
feeling the same way.
   "Scared, Carlito?"
   Well, fuck, again.  My name is Carlos Mario Morena.  I hadn't been
called "Carlito" since I demanded that my full name start being used when I
was six...four years before the grinning fool playing with my dick was
born. And the bastard knew it.
   "Not fucking likely, Markie." He grinned back and we squeezed each
other's dicks.  I hesitated, and he caught on.  Bastard shit was far too
happy.
   "Oh, wow, Carlito.  A fucking virgin?  I get your mouth cherry?  I'll be
gentle.  Honest, I will."
   He might be younger, thinner, not as strong, but I knew my friend, my
partner.  He believed in fair play.  He believed in justice.  He believed
in fucking payback.
   So whatever I did to his more experienced mouth when he was sucking me,
he'd definitely do to my, well, fucking virgin mouth.
   He smirked again, watching me think.  Expecting me to back down.  So he
pushed it.  "Deal or no deal?"
   "Deal," I said, letting go of his cock, putting both hands on his
shoulders and pressing to make my point.
   No need.  He dropped immediately to his knees and swallowed every
fucking inch of my aching papi prick and began a fast blowjob.  Very fast.
The images of him sucking me, of him face fucking and cunt fucking my son,
of my thick brown Mexican meat fucking into the skinny white asses of his
blond baby boys was getting me close unusually quickly.
   Naturally that's when the outer door creaked (customary for a toilet
where queers cruise) and Mark tensed, but with my hands holding his head
and my hips fucking his face, he relaxed and continued the suck job.  The
man who opened the door was black, grey-haired, a stranger.  A well-dressed
business man.  But definitely here for some queer sex since his eyes lit
and his hand groped the cock that had already started to bulge out his
slacks.
   I had a choice.  I could indicate he needed to go and wait, or invite
him to stay and watch.  I opted for the watching.  He moved in, set his
briefcase down, and stood by the middle urinal.  He dropped his pants
around his ankles and began fisting the impressive black cock.  Not the
monster of stereotype, but substantial.  And then I couldn't think any more
as Mark's talented mouth took me over the fucking edge and down the cum
precipice.  The talented bastard swallowed every goddamned drop.
   I was suddenly uncertain why I'd wanted a stranger to watch me suck my
first man cock, but a fucking deal was a fucking deal.  Mark stood up, his
long thin white meat sticking straight out, bent to brush his knees, licked
his lips with that talented long tongue, and then jacked a bit, watching
the older black man jack back.  He tilted his head toward me.  "My buddy
here is a virgin.  Never sucked dick.  Gonna suck mine.  Watch?"
   "Fuck, yeah." He tucked his shirt tails up under his vest, so most of
his belly and thick grey and black pubes and hot meat were on display.  He
rubbed his thumb across his slit and spread it around his knob.  "Or you
could suck me while he sucks you."
   Mark eyed the dark dick appreciatively.  Apparently he was a much more
experienced man cock sucker than he'd let on.  He nodded.
   So we did.  We shuffled around, and it was awkward as hell, especially
with the cocksucker on his knees not really knowing what he was doing. 
Especially when the man operating the cock in the virgin's mouth managed to
force its narrow length through and past the gag reflex and down into my
throat.  And then fucked my face while the black businessman fucked his.
   The black guy came first, pumping his load down Mark's throat, which set
him off.  Hell, I didn't even get to taste the cum, since his dick head was
in my throat and just pumping away.  When they both pulled away I dropped
back on my haunches, jacking frantically, knowing that I could manage, that
I needed, another cum.
   But the older black man stopped me, dropping on all fours with a
murmured, "I've always liked white meat," as he took my cock in his mouth.
   Things took a weird ass turn right then.  Despite just cumming, both the
stranger and Mark were still hard.  Mark walked behind the man, dropped his
own pants and boxers to his ankles, and knelt down beside him, pushing the
guy's legs apart.  He spit on the first two fingers and then just fucking
shoved them in the guy's ass!
   The older man just grunted around my meat, and then pulled off long
enough to shock the shit out of me, by saying, "Fuck my nigger cunts!" and
getting right back to sucking me deep.  Mark obliged.  I obliged.  Despite
our recent cums, despite my normal fuck forever dick, it was getting close
to the time when this place would become active with Monday morning sucks.
So we did what the nigger asked and fucked his nigger cunts.  Hard, fast,
deep, plowing his holes like we owned them, and I guess in his fucked up
fantasy we did.  What were we?  White massas breeding a slave boy?
   I held his head, Mark held his hips and we increased the pace of our
fucking.  Looking straight in his eyes I said, "Juanito's cunt."
   Mark moaned.  Said, "Bobby's pussy, Paulie sucking your cunt."
   And with that we both fucking came in the black, uh, nigger's holes. 
Only the nigger was still jacking, and even though this shit was getting to
the danger point, as in other men walking in on us, Mark stayed in his cunt
and I offered to help him.  He shook his head, looked up at me, braced on
his left hand, his right out of sight work his cock.
   "Juanito's your son, isn't he?" He jerked his head toward Mark.  "The
other two are his."
   Before either of us could think, could react to the fact we'd been so
caught up in our pedo fact-based fantasies that we'd blurted out something
that could get our asses fucked forever in prison, he went on.  "Soooo
fucking hot.  Daddies fucking their sons.  A fat papi pinga in his son's
hole.  Are they..." He paused, gulped, "Are they...young?"
   His tone clearly said he sure the fuck hoped so.  The younger the
better. But the silence from us kept him talking.  "Never had any kids. 
But my brother's got a grandson.  Half nigger half white.  Eight.  Loves
his great-uncle's meat.  So fucking hot to see his holes fucked by you
two." And with that he gasped and spewed his slime on the now dirty tile
floor.
   We spent no time gasping and getting over our cums, but got our fucking
acts together, though Mark and I were just a bit shell-shocked by what had
happened with this distinguished look man.  He quickly pulled two business
cards out of a case and gave them to us.  Asking us to call and perhaps we
could, uh, share any mutual interests we might have.  That's when the door
opened and Johnny came in, obviously eager to service as many cocks who
hadn't had blowjobs over the weekend at home as possible.  He was
disappointed, of course, that we didn't stay.
   It's ten months later, now.  We had a heart to heart, or more correctly,
wallet to heart discussion with our wives not long after Mark and I had sex
in the toilet, and then we'd traded toddlers and watched while the other
long-dicked our son, or sons, in my case.  They'd keep their mouths shut
about their husbands molesting their own sons and each other's sons. 
They'd let us breed them one more time, fucking them interchangeably until
they were both pregnant, and after that no more sex from us unless they
asked for it.
   They're both pregnant.  Technically, we don't know which of us fathered
which kid, but I suspect that since twins run in Mark's family, it was his
seed that bred the two boys Angelita is carrying.  Susan the bitch is also
carrying a boy.  They're both due any day now.  We have great plans for
starting to molest our new sons, including a gentle finger in their baby
cunts at the hospital if we can manage it.
   And yes, we did eventually come to an agreement with Roger about our
"mutual" interests.  Mark and I both enjoyed the sight of that black meat
plowing our boys' cunts, but not quite as much as taking turns deep dicking
the half nigger eight year old.
   A final word of parenting advice.  If you have a spoiled, obnoxious,
selfish little boy and want to change his ways, a papi's prick does the
trick.
   Every fucking time.
   
  
Papi's Prick Does the Trick