THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE LITTLEST ENTREPRENEUR
by DannyR (MMMM/bbb, incest, oral, anal, piss, extreme pedo)
Copyright 2009-2011. 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.
EXTREMELY SPECIAL IMPORTANT READ-ME-FIRST-TYPE NOTE: If you haven�t read any of Mr. GloryholeJunkie�s stories, especially his masterpiece <ahem> �Whoring with Dad�...and you like incredibly hot pedo jackoff fantasy stories with the additional attraction of pedo-slanted �philosophical� introductions that are nearly as hardon making at times as the story themselves...then you have missed a major treat for your meat! He is an incredibly talented writer, endlessly pedo inventive, but unfortunately, although he has a hot blog, he apparently isn�t writing any more <major sigh>. One of the stories he never finished was a seven-chapter story called �The Littlest Entrepreneur.� Be sure to read the note that goes with Chapter 1 of the Further Adventures.
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE LITTLEST ENTREPRENEUR
Chapter 3. Holy Shit, Another Virgin
Exactly the phrase running through Jeff�s mind as he looked at the extremely nervous young man standing in front of the receptionist desk. Standing wasn�t actually quite the right word. Quivering was more accurate. Almost like a little boy who has to go wee-wee, and is dancing around, trying to keep it in, and too embarrassed to raise his hand and ask for permission. Almost, too, like a first-timer who was about to decide he was too fucking scared to risk doing something he�d probably wanted to do for-fucking-ever but was still going to bolt any second now.
�Excellent choice, Mr. Brettonville.�
�Huh? Wha...? But my name isn�t....�
Jeff held up a cautionary hand, and the virgin shut up. �We like to refer to our guests by their city of origin, sir.�
�Oh. Uh. Yeah, I, uh, forgot.� He paused, and looked away, but said quietly, �You mean that?�
For a moment Jeff didn�t catch on. �Your choice, sir? Oh, yes. Excellent, excellent.� It certainly got Jeff�s juices going, his hardon undoubtedly visible through the glass top of the desk, if the young man had been looking. Though nothing was showing at the moment in the guest�s crotch.
Jeff looked at the guest�s card. �Mr. Brettonville, male, age 26, 5�8�, 140 lbs. Marital status: Single. Endowed: 6.5 inches, circumcised Caucasian, Blackjack Table 12, Room 6, M, 5 years, 30 minutes. Special instructions: Hood, nose hole, mouth hole, ball gag, cock gag, restraints. Additional: Divina Cucina Romana buffet pass for one, access to room channel 1493, both for duration of the guest�s stay.�
Jeff held onto the card a moment more. As usual, he had checked the well-protected files in the computer about the new guest�s background. It was...not usual. So much not usual it was fucking weird. The guest was a teacher. Not some highly paid teacher at some fancy academy, or a headmaster making mega bucks. He was a teacher in a combined kindergarten, first and second grade in some small Appalachian town, or village, or speck on a map. No sign of a trust fund or family wealth that would make the teaching some do-gooder shit. How and why (the original �why�) he got to Vegas was unimportant; anyone who wants to get there will find a way. But how he could possibly have gambled enough, winning or losing, his first time at the Palace to get to the Player�s Level wasn�t clear at all. Nor how he could have been tagged so quickly as even being interested in Player�s Level perversions, since nothing in the data indicated a referral from another guest�the surest and safest way to get a Player�s pass.
The reception coordinator mentally shrugged, and handed the card to the nervous guest, asked him to check it for accuracy, and whether any change in his selection needed to be made.
Mr. Brettonville took the card, read it, blushed, and looked even more like he was going to run for the door. He�d partially turned his head, shifted his body, toward the exit when Jeff said, �Uh, Mr. Brettonville, may I, ah, inquire....�
Part of Jeff�s duties as reception coordinator were to help ensure that the guests went through with their commitment. That was, of course, no problem with the experienced guests, the ones who had for years fucked and sucked and done other things to the Player�s Level menu...items. But the new ones, the virgins, sometimes needed help.
�Huh? Uh, what?�
�Well, sir, as I said, your choice is an excellent one. Would you care for a little more information about the boy you�ll be using?�
�What?� The young man�s voice rose and he looked around at the thankfully empty reception area, empty except for Smithy, the older bartender, who didn�t appear to be paying attention, though Jeff knew he undoubtedly was, and Mr. Brettonville relaxed just the slightest bit. He was safe. No one could hear. He looked nervously at his watch, still early for his appointment, still time to change his mind, swallowed, swiped his dry lips with his tongue. Stepped a little closer. Whispered, �M...more information?�
�Well, of course, I can�t divulge his identity, sir.� Not that Jeff actually knew. That was something definitely not in the computer system. �That would be a breach of confidentiality. But sometimes our guests like to know a bit more about the occupant of their room before going in and, uh, enjoying the, ah, amenities.� Jeff gave the young man a lewd smile which Mr. Brettonville hesitantly returned.
�Your selection is five years old, turning six near Halloween. Brown hair, brown eyes. Somewhat plump, with rather large little boy titties. He likes having them played with. Indeed, I have a notation here that he likes having them hurt. Of course, there must be no....�
Mr. Brettonville licked his lips, and his eyes glazed just the tiniest bit. Ah. Imagining the amenities, was he? �No permanent damage. Yes. I know. Nothing...uh...permanent.�
But apparently something temporary was just fine with this guest. Jeff�s cock twitched. �Now, then, the boy�s, ah, his....�
The young man was breathing more heavily now. Almost eagerly. �His pee-pee?�
Jeff kept his smile to himself. The Palace staff liked to let the guests name the anatomical parts of the �amenities.� Jeff had probably heard most of the possible names for a little boy�s penis and a little boy�s rectum. Jeff had a personal preference for prick and pussy, but that was just him. �His pee-pee, yes, is on the small side. Just a half inch when soft, an inch and a half when stiff. He has been with us, ah, let me see, ah, yes, for two years now.�
Mr. Brettonville gasped. �He...he�s been doing, uh, doing this for two fucking years? Since he was fucking three?� His voice had risen, and then he realized what he�d done and clamped his lips shut.
Jeff�s voice was immediately concerned. �Is there a problem, Mr. Brettonville? You didn�t specify a virgin.�
�Oh. No, no. No problem. It�s just. Holy shit. Since, since he was three? But how....�
Jeff�s smile was a little smug. �I assure you, Mr. Brettonville, we don�t just steal children off the streets or something. His grandfather brought him to us. Already broken in, of course. Quite skilled, actually. Personally, I think grandpa had been training him almost from day one, if you, ah, get what I mean.�
Mr. Brettonville gulped, and nodded, and groped the now visible hardon in his pants.
�After his first year with us�a most profitable year for all concerned�the family unfortunately had to move back East, so we only have the boy available during the summer, and occasional holidays. I think you�ll be quite pleased from what I understand.�
�Uh, you don�t....�
Jeff had learned his lesson from his outburst with the surgeon from Connecticut. Although there definitely weren�t any recording devices in the Player�s Level rooms or the hallway outside them, and although there weren�t supposed to be any in the reception area and the hall leading from the elevator to here, he wasn�t going to take any chances. His tone was bright and cheerful. �Oh, no, sir. The �amenities� are strictly reserved for our guests, which is naturally the right thing to do.�
After an incredibly brief �Oh, what the fuck!� thought, Jeff leaned forward and added in a confidential undertone, �Although I have heard that on occasion a guest will invite a staff member to, ah, join in the festivities, as a sort of, tip, you might say.� Then back to the cheery voice, �But that, of course, is not at all something required or expected. We at the Palace would certainly never solicit or expect tips of that nature or, indeed, any gratuities at all. We�re here to serve the needs of our guests.�
Jeff managed not to look upward to see if he was going to be struck by lightning for that egregious lie. A Vegas employee not soliciting a tip? Not expecting a tip? Not considering tipping as something mandatory and universally accepted like the earth rotating around the sun? It was to laugh. Although Jeff did not, of course.
Mr. Brettonville looked at the double doors through which he had to go. He wondered why there wasn�t some sign over it about abandoning hope, or identifying which circle of hell was assigned for men who were about to do what he was about to do. �Is, uh, is....�
Jeff was grateful that his experience with the surgeon, molesting that hot little fuck toy in Room Two on Tuesday, had made him proficient in finishing the sentences of pedo virgins. He looked at his computer console. �Not quite yet, sir. The staff is preparing the boy just as you requested. I�m sure not much more than a few minutes longer.�
�Ah. Okay. Good, good.� Mr. Brettonville licked his lips, and started, looking down and realizing he was making a public display of himself, groping his hardon.
Before the blush could quite overtake the young man, Jeff reassured him. �Don�t worry, Mr. Brettonville. Hardons happen. And when a man is on the Player�s Level, they�re meant to be taken care of. Not to worry.�
�Uh...taken care of?�
Oh, good. There might be a tip in this after all. But really, he ought to share with Smithy. Although Smithy had certainly seemed to enjoy sucking Jeff down in the men�s room on three, and jacking his own meat while Jeff told him all about his adventure with the surgeon, and damn but he�d cum buckets and messed the fuck out of Jeff�s jeans.
Another big smile. �Why, yes, sir. Some of our guests, well, to be honest, mostly the younger ones such as yourself, often find that it helps to have the, ah, edge taken off before they go to their room. But only, of course, those men who are confident they will be, ah, up to taking advantage of the little amenities afterwards, if you know what I mean.� Jeff smiled again, and waited.
�Hell, yeah, I�m gonna be up to it.�
�And would you....?�
The young man nodded, squeezing his hardon blatantly now. �Very well, sir.� Jeff looked at the clock. �Your room will be ready quite soon. What would you prefer?�
�Pre...prefer?�
God save the virgin queen! �A blow job, a fuck, being fucked?�
�Sucked.�
Jeff raised his voice. �Smithy! Mr. Brettonville needs some of your expert assistance.�
The young man looked slightly taken aback, when Smithy hurried over from the bar. This wasn�t quite against the rules, no one had really said anything one way or the other about staff sexing the guests before or after they had their room time, and it wasn�t something that happened with any degree of regularity despite what the reception coordinator had just said. But obviously no time was to be wasted.
�Uh, aren�t....� the young man said, which Jeff correctly translated as, �Uh, aren�t you going to suck me off?�
�Well, sir, that would be most enjoyable, but really, Smithy here is so very talented I�m going to defer to his expertise.�
By then, that expertise was in motion. Smithy�45, bald, gold ring in his left ear, muscles for not merely days, but undoubtedly several years as well, square face, wide mouth, large square teeth which were visible when he smiled, intricate tats down his arms, clearly visible because of the blindingly white wife-beater he was wearing�grasped the young man�s crotch with a large, hairy, callused hand, and squeezed gently. Releasing, he quickly began undoing the belt and the button and the buttons, shoving the slacks and boxers down his thighs below his hardon and balls.
�H...here?� the young man squeaked.
�Oh, yes, sir,� Jeff answered, as Smithy was dropping to his knees. �Surely a sophisticated man such as yourself has been sucked off�� more likely sucked, Jeff thought, �in a men�s room or a park where someone might walk in or up at any second? Where part of the thrill was the risk?�
The suddenly sophisticated young perv nodded his head and then whimpered as Smithy�s unusually talented mouth swallowed Mr. Brettonville�s cock right down to his pubes. No need to tell the guest that the man on his knees was happily married, with two adult daughters and four grandchildren who just also happened to be extraordinarily good at sucking dick. Jeff decided on the Vegas bit next. �Well, sir, here there�s no risk. Anyone who walks in will probably enjoy seeing you face fuck Smithy here, maybe even ask to join in. After all, this is Vegas, isn�t it? And nothing is going anywhere?�
The young man�s response was only more moans and a series of grunts as he grabbed hold of the shaved head and began thrusting hard and fast down Smithy�s gullet. Moments later the groans reached a peak, he shoved his meat deep and shuddered as he clearly came down Smithy�s throat. Smithy, as only a star quality cock slut can do, delicately cleaned the young man�s prick, let it slide out of his mouth and stood up.
Mr. Brettonville swayed slightly and then regained control. Not surprisingly, he no longer looked nervous. Indeed, his smile was somewhat seductive. He looked at Jeff. �Do I have time....?�
Jeff translated in his head: to suck off just Smithy or both of us, you little shit? However, all he did was nod.
Just as Jeff had expected, Mr. Brettonville was no slouch at getting Smithy�s jeans open, and his uncut stiffening meat hauled out into the air. The young man dropped to his knees, not worrying about the pants and underwear tangling his legs. He fucking inhaled Smithy�s veiny cock, pausing with his nose buried in the thick, curly, flecked-with-grey pubes, the loud inhalation obviously showing how much he like the smell. Both men knew the even higher degree of urgency now, since they�d already used time for Mr. Brettonville�s blowjob. The young man began bobbing his head rapidly up and down Smithy�s prick, twisting and turning his head, using his tongue on the knob end and piss slit. He reached one hand between Smithy�s legs and the bartender slightly bent his knees and spread his legs. Jeff almost groaned at Smithy�s controlled grunt when a finger...two?...three?...went up Smithy�s ass. He might not get fucked with cock, but he had no problem with getting fucked with fingers when someone was working his prick, especially someone as talented as this young man.
�Yeah, man,� Smithy muttered in his deep, harsh voice. �Knew you were a fuckin� fag slut for man meat, suck me, boy, suck your daddy�s fat fuck stick, make me cum, you fag whore.� And with that he held the young man�s head in place, skull fucked him with four, five, six rapid deep throating strokes and then buried his dick in the man�s throat, obviously pumping out his spooge. When he was done, Smithy pulled his dick back, tucked it inside his jeans, patted Mr. Brettonville like you�d pat a dog who�d done well, and then headed back to the bar.
The young man stayed on the floor for a moment, until Jeff coughed politely. He got to his feet, checked his watch. Oops. Actually, a little past his appointment time. He looked the question. �No, sir. Your time begins to run when you close the door behind you.�
Mr. Brettonville pulled his jeans and underwear up enough so that he could walk easily, but didn�t bother to get himself put back together. He was just going to be naked in a few moments more, getting ready to molest a hooded, tied up five year old. There was a slight swagger as he headed to the double doors. As he reached them, Jeff asked, �Uh, pardon me, Mr. Brettonville, you don�t have to answer, but, ah, are you going to rape the little boy, or...rescue him?�
�Rape.� The word floated over the young man�s shoulders as he went through the doors.
Mr. Brettonville sauntered through the double doors, pulling them closed behind him. The saunter slowed, and slowed, and then he was standing in front of the door. His door. It wasn�t like this chance was going to come around again. He inhaled, let it out slowly. Repeated. Reached out, opened the door, stepped inside. Closed it. Locked it. Looked.
The naked five year old knelt on a mat. A soft leather hood encased his head, covering his eyes, though the nose hole was more than ample to enable him to breathe, and his fat lips looked very moist through the mouth hole. Mr. Brettonville, who, now that he was alone with his little toy could think of himself as himself, so it was John Archer who was finally fucking alone with a little boy. Not that he wasn�t alone with five year olds fairly often. As the teacher of a combined class of kindergartners, first and second graders in the fairly small town of Brettonville, the fuck end of nowhere in the Appalachians of West Virginia, it wasn�t infrequent that he was alone with one of the children, taking a boy to the bathroom, comforting a little girl who�d fallen down and gotten a boo-boo at recess, a little extra schooling right after day�s end, waiting for a friend or family member to escort the child home. Nothing had happened, of course, because this was, after all, a town where most of the men were either armed or had access to weapons and he had no desire to wind up on the wrong end of one, long before any cops would ever be called.
But the temptation was there. Always there. Even more strong when he had to spank one of the children. Brettonville was old-fashioned in many ways, including allowing its teachers to use corporal punishment if the deed warranted, and the fathers and uncles and grandfathers who ran things didn�t often spend much time questioning whether the deed had indeed warranted the spanking. Not even the bare bottom ones. And if anyone noticed that it seemed the boys were more frequently spanked and were the only ones bare-bottomed, the reaction had generally been on the line of boys will be boys and what else could be expected. Most of the time he managed to control the instant hardon when a little boy was bent over his knee, his naked bottom waiting for the first blow, waiting to turn a delicious red, more deeply crimson with every spank.
And once the boy�s cheeks were hotly red and pulsing, and the tot was wailing, he�d lay the boy on his belly on the desk, legs dangling, still entangled in his undies and pants, and he�d drop to his knees and eat the little cunt out, tongue-fucking the tiny hole until the kid was writhing and moaning with pleasure. He�d stand, then, pull his aching prick out of his pants, drop some spit on it, just enough to slick it up, and then he�d shove every fucking inch right up the little prick teasing slut�s cunt, hard and fast like the bitch deserved, the sudden ear shattering scream soothing to his ears, stiffening to his boy pussy buried cock. And then....
Fuck! John shook his head as he came back to reality. Not a jackoff fantasy any more. He was in fucking Vegas, with a bunch of other pedophiles, and he was going to fuck a little boy, a tied and hooded tiny whore to abuse, even though all he had was a half hour and fuck, fuck, fuck! three minutes were gone while he remembered. He needed to be doing. Making memories for later jackoffs alone in his bed back in Brettonville.
He stripped, almost ripping his clothes off. Strode over to the little boy, who trembled slightly, obviously having heard the door open, knowing a man was in the room, knowing, of course, that he was going to be molested and used by that man. John looked down, and yes, yes, that tiny pricklet was stiff.
�You�re all alone, kid.� John�s voice was rough and ragged. Partially from a fear of discovery, even here, even with a kid who�d never see his face, never know whose dick had done those things to him, partially because he was so horned he couldn�t even talk straight. �You didn�t see me when I snatched you; you aren�t gonna see me now. Nobody knows where you are.�
�P...p...please, mister, don�t hurt me.� The voice was no more than a frightened little whisper. Christ, the kid was good! But no, no, put that thought away. Go with the fuck fantasy.
�Sure, kid, sure. Just do like I tell ya, and I�ll let ya go.� There was a pause, and then John said, �Maybe.�
John knelt on the floor, his leaking prick standing up, spewing precum in a steady stream. He put his forefinger in the boy�s mouth, told the kid to suck and slurp on it. His dick lurched as the small mouth, framed by the black leather, did what it was told. When his finger was fairly wet, after making the kid gag a couple of times, he leaned forward, moved his hand between the boy�s fat little legs, and shoved his finger up the kid�s hole at the same time he twisted a cone-shaped titty...hard.
The boy shouted. But John had been assured the room was soundproof. A part of his mind, the part that he�d shoved down and back and away, knew his finger went in easily because they...whoever the fuck they were...had already lubed the kid. Rape was okay, but not at the risk of damaging the merchandise. So he cut that thought off and went with the thought that it was his kid-slimed finger lubing the pussy.
�Suck my cock, cunt!� he said, as he yanked the finger out, and grabbed the boy�s shoulders, yanking him forward while the boy fought, even with his hands cuffed behind him, until John grabbed the wrists, yanked them upwards, causing another scream, and then maneuvered the kid over his legs, the boy�s left arm pressed up against John�s fine, upstanding man meat. With his left hand holding the kid�s hooded head down, John began a steady rain of slaps on the naked boy bottom. Turning it pink, then dark pink, then a bright, hot red, just like he�d dreamed.
He shoved the kid away and fuck! the tiny whore still had a stiffie. He clambered to his feet, bent, picked the boy up, disregarding the faint struggle, hauled him over to the leather-topped table, and dropped him on his belly, his legs dangling. Christ, the table was at fucking exactly the right height for him. �Shoulda sucked my cock, kid. Might have cum, and mebbe this wouldn�t be happenin�. Dumb little fuck whore. Gonna ram my dick in your tight little pussy now.�
�M...my pussy? B...boys don�t have....� The little one�s voice was shaking, almost hysterical.
�Yeah, pussy boy, ya do.� John stuck two fingers in his mouth, momentarily delighting in the taste of boy cunt on one finger, then shoved both fingers into the boy�s bottom. Over the boy�s scream, he said, �Right here, kid, right here. This is your fuckin� pussy.�
�B...but...that�s my poo-poo hole!� The kid was crying, John could tell.
�Not any more, slut, not any more. It�s a kid whore cunt, right fucking now!� And with just a bit of spit he seated his meat and shoved his cock balls deep. And thanked whatever pedo-god there might be that he�d gone along with the blowjob out there. If not he�d have cum the second his prick had hit bottom in the boy�s bowels. Jesus, fucking, pedo Christ but it was as hot, as tight, as he�d fantasized.
He held very, very still for a minute or so, knowing his time was clicking away, not because he wanted to give the little boy�s hole time to adjust to man cock up inside, but so that he wouldn�t blow his wad on the first few strokes. When he was sure that wasn�t going to happen he started to fuck. Hell, he started to fucking rape his captive, abusing him verbally with every bit of obscene dialogue he�d ever conceived in his bare bones apartment back home.
The fuck went on and on and on, the boy at first just laying there, once the shock to his body from dick shoved roughly up inside was over, and then he began whimpering, and moaning, and panting, and finally the boy actually began to dry cum around John�s frantically fucking meat! He couldn�t believe he�d raped the boy into a cum, but the writhing and moaning and the clamping of the surprisingly strong kid cunt muscles down on his dick, made it clear he had. And then there was another cum. And another. Shit, piss, fuck, he�d always heard a woman could fake her cums, Harry and Sally and shit like that, but this was fucking real, this was no whore boy fake.
John yanked his prick out of its hot hole, causing the slut to gasp, looked around almost frantically, found the key, unlocked and removed the cuffs, and then he flipped the kid over and raised his fat little legs, and shoved balls deep again. He looked down at the tiny stiffie. Leaned forward to rest his elbows on the leather, adjusting his forearms so the thumb and forefinger of each hand could start twisting and pulling and turning and yanking on the titties. Another dry cum. Loud moans as he worked the little tittie cones.
Fuck, fuck. He was getting close, so fucking close. And suddenly he wanted to see the face of the boy he was fucking, the boy he was raping. Screw it. He was in Vegas, in a hotel that catered to pedos, it would be years before he could afford to come back here again, since it was unlikely Mr. Malone would help him out again, so he wasn�t going to see the kid ever again, so once, just once, he wanted to see the face of a little boy, a five year old boy, see the kid�s face, his expression, as John pumped the tiny cunt full of his daddy seed.
He paused the fucking, roughly raised the boy�s head, fumbled around back with the leather ties, criss-crossed like shoelaces, suddenly frantic to get the boy�s head clear, almost there, almost there, he started pounding his meat into the kid cunt again, struggled to pull the back flaps wide, got his fingers curled under them, worked it over the kid�s chin, yanked once more and the hood went flying.
Christ, fuck. Wavy brown hair soaked with boy sweat, the smell of it mixed with the scent of damp leather rising up into his nostrils, sweat and tears on his face, a little stub nose, plump lips he could fantasize about face fucking, face raping some other time when he was in his lonely bed, hips thrusting, pounding harder and harder into the tight, slick, juicy kiddy cunt. He shut his eyes briefly, savoring the nearness of his cum, managed somehow to fuck faster, opened his eyes, looked down at the little whore he was raping, saw the kid looking back up at him, at the man with the obviously wild eyes, his own sweat pouring down and dripping onto the boy, saw the boy�s eyes widen, realized his were doing the same. The kid opened his mouth.
�M...Mister Archer?�
Oh sweet fucking Jesus Christ he was fucking little Sammy. One of his students! He was raping one of his own goddamn students in a Vegas pedo hotel! And it didn�t stop his hips. Didn�t stop the hand that went back to hurting one tit. Didn�t stop the hand that began mauling the baby stiffie. He couldn�t have stopped, though his jaw dropped and he felt the blood leave his face. Heading south, apparently, as his dick got fatter and swelled and suddenly he was pumping shot after shot after shot of seed into the boy�s bowels. Just as the kid had another and even greater dry cum, as they both panted and screamed.
He collapsed over the boy, careful to hold his weight up with forearms on the table.
Precisely twenty-nine minutes after Mr. Brettonville walked through the double doors, the double doors slammed open.
Jeff wasn�t aware that they could be slammed open, accompanied by the proverbial very loud gunshot sound when the doors hit the walls, until it just happened. All eyes in the waiting room turned toward the slam and to the naked man striding through. Mr. Brettonville. Fucking naked, his dick more than half hard, and shining with obvious lube, and streaks of cum and the juices of young boy�s pussy. No nervousness now. Just fury. So furious, in fact, that he apparently didn�t notice that there were three other guests in the reception area, or having noticed was too angry to care.
Before Jeff could speak, the guest was at his desk. As he inhaled as though to get enough control to speak, Jeff couldn�t help but notice a drop of thick teacher cum ooze out of the fairly large piss slit and drop onto the glass desk. He wondered whether he�d get a chance to lick it up or whether he�d have to clean it up otherwise.
The inhalation apparently didn�t do anything for Mr. Brettonville�s control, after all. He slapped the palms of his hands flat on the desk, leaned forward, his face close to Jeff�s...giving Smithy and the other guests a good view of his muscular, very slightly furry ass and a glimpse of his low dangling balls...and said, or rather, shouted, �What the fuck is going on here? I just fucked one of my students!�
The reception area went utterly silent. The immediate, soft, �Oh, my fucking God� off to Jeff�s left was obviously from one of the guests, and at first he thought it was just a response to the images Mr. Brettonville had rammed into all the men�s minds. But a quick shift of his eyes was enough to see that however much the outburst was because of the words, and the naked man, it was more because of what was in the open doorway at which the guest was staring. Staring and unabashedly groping his bulging groin.
There was a boy in the doorway. A naked boy. With puffy lips that everyone knew had just been used to suck his teacher off. With red, puffy, bruised, fat little boy titties that had just been twisted and hurt by his teacher. With a stiffie. With a shiny gleam just visible on the inside of his right thigh, obviously a trail of teacher slime leaking out of his well-fucked little cunt. And for some reason he was holding a leather hood. A small hood, boy-sized, that everyone in the reception area knew had recently been on his head while he was being used. And used not by just any man, but somehow, somehow, by his own fucking teacher. Very apropos, that phrase and image. Fucking teacher.
�P...p...please don�t be mad at me, M...M...Mister Archer,� the little one said into the silence.
The soft words shocked Mr. Archer...there was no point, really, in going on with the Brettonville fiction...out of his rage and back into reality. The reality of being stark naked in a secret section of Hadrian�s Palace devoted to things just as perverted as his own shouted admission that he had just molested a five year old boy, one of his...but how, but how!...students. The reality that there were other men, other perverts, they just had to be, not cops, please God, in the room. The reality of a little boy he knew quite well, or at least he thought he had, being raised by his stern, shoot the fucker first and forget the questions later, grandfather, now standing in that same area, also naked, also obviously freshly molested, and without a hint of shame or anger or fear in his voice. Just concern that his teacher, his fucking teacher was mad at him, that maybe he hadn�t been a good enough little fuck slut.
Although events had happened so damned quickly, Jeff knew he could have pressed the hidden button to call security. He still suspected that fucking security, fucking Roddick himself maybe, was watching what was going on, though where the fuck the cameras were he had no idea, but the problem was, they couldn�t just come storming in to handle the situation without blowing the fact there were cameras, despite the denials. And that would undoubtedly fuck the whole Player�s Level permanently. None of their guests would ever show up again if they thought they�d been watched and perhaps even recorded anywhere near the Player�s Level perversions.
Only seconds of more silence had passed since the little boy shut up. It was Jeff�s turn to lean forward, whispering so only Mr. Archer could hear, �Go along with me, you fucking asshole. And make sure the kid does, too!�
All he got was a blank look overlaying burgeoning panic.
Jeff sat back, forced a huge smile on his face, and began to clap. The other three guests snapped their heads toward the reception coordinator, so they could not see Smithy mouthing �what the fuck?� and missed Jeff�s second �go along with me� glare. Smithy shrugged and started clapping, too. Thank God the three waiting guests were all boy pedos, one into boys younger than the little naked one in the doorway, the second in close to the same age range, and the third in the 12-14 range. So they weren�t horrified by the idea of a naked young man obviously just having molested the naked young boy in front of them. And then they �caught on.� This was a �reality show��Vegas/Palace style. A moment of entertainment. Perhaps something to induce some hardons...as if their own thoughts about what they were going to do with their respective little boys wasn�t enough already. The three other guests began to clap, as Jeff quickly got up, flaunting his own hardon, moved around his desk, grabbed Mr. Archer�s arm with a grip that was a hell of a lot stronger than it appeared to be, and then began moving him back to the open doors, back to the little boy, grinning all the while.
�Move it, kid,� Jeff muttered, not unkindly enough to frighten the boy, even though a little whore like him, with all his experience, undoubtedly didn�t frighten easily, but no sense taking a chance, and then the three of them were in the hallway, Smithy was closing the doors and Jeff frog-marched the kindergarten teacher down the hall and back into the room he�d so abruptly left.
Once inside, with that door closed, Jeff squatted before the sad little boy, who had begun softly crying. �You okay, kid?�
�His name is Samuel. Samuel Malone.� The teacher�s voice was curt, but still with an undertone of fear. The men of Brettonville had no problem with him going to Vegas; hell, they�d encouraged him with all the nod-nod-wink-wink-elbow-to-side-what-happens-in-Vegas bullshit. Hell, it had been Sam�s grampa that had encouraged the trip, even gave him some money to help out with the expenses, or just for a little extra fun, seeing as how grampa Malone knew a teacher�s salary in Brettonville wasn�t that much. He was, after all, the mayor. The Brettonville men would have had no problem with him actually living out a life long fantasy to rape a little boy slut, since they wouldn�t the fuck have known about it. But they were definitely going to have a problem when they found out he�d molested a hooded and handcuffed Sammy, and bruised his fat little titties, and fucked his tight little cunt. He was fucking, fucking dead.
Jeff didn�t have a lot of experience comforting naked little boy sluts. As in zero. He vaguely recalled movies where comforting a child meant putting your arms around him, and holding him gently, and patting something and saying something with a lot of �there, there� in it. He tried that...and got an immediate reward before even getting to the �there, there� part. The little boy...Sam...kissed him! Talented boy tongue and all.
Jeff could probably have helped himself, but told himself that he couldn�t, so he didn�t, and cupped his left hand at the back of the boy�s head to keep the kiss from going anywhere but where he wanted it, and ran his right hand down the boy�s still moist back, down between his slick, greasy cheeks, and two fingers curled their way into the little pussy. So hot, so tight, so fucking full of kindergarten teacher cum. He gently finger fucked the surprisingly tight cunt, but regretfully knew he couldn�t do more than that. He had to fucking notify the bosses.
He slid his fingers out of the boy shitter, stood, took a deep breath, almost absent-mindedly noted that the boy had grabbed his hand, and promptly sucked the fingers clean. He took a deep breath. Looked at the shaken young teacher, still standing, but slumped against the door, pale and afraid. �I, uh, well, I have to, uh, call....�
�Just do it, man. Just...fucking...do it.� The teacher looked like he was in a tumbrel, en route to the guillotine.
Jeff walked over to the phone, paused, finally decided that it was a security issue more than anything else and punched Roddick�s emergency-only number. The cold voice answered before the second ring could get started. �Yes?�
�Uh, sir, this, uh, this is Jeff....�
Roddick interrupted. �Yes, Mr. Hilton, I know who you are.� The voice shifted into masked-terrorist-AK-47-at-your-throat-justify-your-continued-existence mode. �What is the emergency?�
Jeff shivered in spite of the fact that he done nothing wrong. He wasn�t the one responsible for the 10.0 Richter scale fuckup of putting a little boy in a room to be molested by his very own kindergarten teacher. �Well, sir, ah, a, ah, Mister...Brettonville won a half hour at, uh, at Blackjack 12, and well, uh, it turned out....� oh fuck it there was no business-formal way to say it �it turned out that the boy he was fucking was one of his own kindergarten students, and he, well, he, uh, and the kid, well, made a scene in the reception area, but I think I handled that and now we�re, uh, back in Room 6, and....� Jeff�s voice trailed off.
�I�m aware of the problem, Mr. Hilton. I will send someone to Room 6 soon. In the meanwhile, why don�t you finish what you started?�
�Uh, what? What I, uh, started?�
Roddick could chuckle? That was an actual fucking Roddick chuckle coming out of the phone?
�Mr. Hilton, you have been with us long enough, surely, to have figured out that not every one of our guests want to do. Some enjoy watching.�
Jeff managed to convert the stuttered �W..watching?� into another stuttered �what� to avoid setting the teacher off into another downward spiral.
The chuckle was slightly malicious this time. Roddick was clearly enjoying himself. �Room 6 is a �viewing� room, Mr. Hilton. And the view is displayed from multiple angles in quite extraordinary fidelity and color on multiple large screen monitors in the watcher�s room. Where I am at the moment. Now, do you want to finish or not?�
�Wh...what?� Jeff knew he sounded like an idiot, perhaps he was, but this was a fucking lot to take in with all the stress, and threats, both implicit and explicit, relating to privacy and security and guest/client confidentiality.
Roddick�s voice shifted back to coldness, and clear exasperation with unmitigated stupidity. �I am offering to delay sending someone to Room 6 to give you an opportunity to have sloppy seconds molesting the slimy cunt of a well-trained five year old boy fuck slut if you can make it happen. Or I can send someone immediately. Choose.� The �you young fucking dumb shit� was all in the tone.
�The first, uh, the wait.�
�Excellent choice. Will it make you nervous if I watch?�
The phone clicked off before Jeff could answer. He picked his jaw up off the floor and looked over at the teacher, who hadn�t moved. Fuck, he probably could have had an explicit conversation with Roddick and the man wouldn�t have noticed. But the man definitely did notice, and stood up straight, when Jeff said, �Hey, slut, you want your cunt fucked again?�
The teacher bunched his fists, stepped forward, a good part of the anger back again, but with a different purpose this time. �No.�
�No, Mr., ah fuck, Mr. Archer.� Jeff�s voice was stern, now that he knew he had immediate backup if he needed it, now that he knew the fucking head of the hotel�s security, Roddick the ice cold bastard himself, was watching them. �Forget the Brettonville shit. I don�t know how this happened, but it�s going to take a little while to get someone here, since no one�s been hurt, and I want a piece of this whore�s ass. You up for that, Sammy my slut?�
Little Sammy looked at the bulge at Jeff�s crotch, where his visible hardon was straining behind the zipper. �Unh ha!� Then he looked over at Mr. Archer, somewhat nervously, considering what an experienced boy pussy he was, with more than two years of experience, at the fucking least, and he was only five.
The teacher was beginning to come out of his shock, just a little. His dick was also beginning to plump up. Just a little. �You...you want this man to fuck you, Sammy?�
The boy eagerly nodded his head.
�Y...you like getting fucked, having a man fill your boy pussy with cum?�
Jeff didn�t smirk at the tone change, the shift to dirty talk, the implicit admission that the kid was going to get fucked again. Instead, Jeff toed the loafers off his sockless feet, stripped from the waist down, kicked his clothes aside and told the little slut to get on all fours. The boy promptly complied. Not surprisingly, the kindergarten teacher�s cock was up and oozing again. Just like Jeff�s.
He would have liked to have known where the cameras were, to give Roddick and, he suddenly realized, whoever else was in the watcher�s room, the best possible show. But fuck �em. Two such fucking young boys in one week? His cum was more important than a show, though he doubted Roddick would wait more than one cum before sending someone down. Jeff looked around, saw the large brown bottle, grabbed it, knelt behind the little boy, used his left thumb and forefinger to spread the butt cheeks a little, seated his cock head in the slimy bruised looking opening and impaled the little fucker!
The gasp was wonderful. Almost made him feel like he had a huge fucking dick. Holding onto the boy�s hips he began plowing the five year old shithole. �They�re not gonna wait forever to send some, shithead!� he said to the teacher. �Rape the little whore�s mouth!�
With that, Jeff unscrewed the bottle of poppers and went off into a haze as he fucked the boy�s hole. Good ol� teach manned up...or should that be pedoed up...at last and got down in front of the boy. He grabbed a handful of hair and yanked the boy�s head up, held it steady while he pushed his sticky, smelly cock into the boy�s mouth and into his throat. They could only kill him once so why not enjoy the kid again.
He watched Jeff take another hit off the poppers. He knew what they were but had never had any. He held his hand out and Jeff handed over the bottle. Hesitantly, cringing at the lockerroom and sweaty socks smell of what was actually genuine, privately made amyl nitrate, he took his first couple of whiffs. And knew as the blood pumped and his cock pumped that if he survived it wouldn�t be his last smell.
Soon they were sharing the poppers back and forth, occasionally forcing the little boy to inhale again and again, until Jeff knew he was close. �G...gonna cum the little cunt, man, gonna cum, gimme the poppers.� The teacher inhaled several times, turned the bottle over to Jeff, leaned in to tongue fuck the receptionist�s mouth while he hammer fucked young Sammy�s mouth and throat, Jeff pounding the kiddy cunt for all he was worth, one hand snaking down and around to twist the boy�s tittie, and then they were both cumming, pumping thick shots of man slime into both of the five year old�s slut holes, gasping and grunting like pigs while the boy shook and moaned in his own heaving dry cum.
Jeff was still plugged into the whore�s hole, although the teacher was back on his haunches so the kid could breathe, when the locked door snicked, and opened. Jeff looked up. Not Roddick. A stranger. Tall, tanned, deeply lined face, silver hair, silver stache, nicely but not expensively dressed in a suit. A suit with an obvious crotch bulge, well, more than a bulge, a nice ridge of meat running down his left thigh. Clearly commando. He opened his mouth to say something, but little Sammy beat him to it.
�Grampa!� he caroled out. �Look how they fucked me!�
The boy wiggled his little pussy off of Jeff�s reluctant-to-part mostly hard cock, and jumped up. The old man scooped him up, ignoring the risk to his clothes of boy sweat and man sweat, and cum and boy pussy juices and slime. �Did they fuck you good, ya little whore?�
The teacher�s face reflected total shock as he slumped sideways, his ass on the carpet, his head turned up to look at Tom Malone, mayor of Brettonville, Sammy�s stern, no-nonsense grampa, holding his well fucked five year old grandson, fingering his double-cummy boy cunt.
Tom Malone chuckled, a sound warm and inviting, unlike Roddick�s. His voice was deep and a little raspy as he said, �Close your mouth, Johnny boy, unless you want some man meat to fill it.� The last was half statement, half question.
John couldn�t help himself. He looked at Tom�s dick which Tom blatantly made twitch. The old man laughed, said, �Thought so.�
He set his grandson down, walked over to the comfortable chair, turned to sit, but before he did, as casually as if he was behind the closed door of a toilet stall getting ready to shit or piss, he unbuckled, unzipped, shoved his slacks down to his ankles, and then sat, spreading his knees wide. The old man�s cock was hard, thick, short, surrounded by wiry grey pubes. �C�mere and suck grampa�s dick like a good little slut, hmmm, Sammy? While I explain to your teacher.�
�Oh, yes, grampa.�
The naked pedo teacher from Brettonville, the half-naked pedo Vegas receptionist stayed on the floor, enjoying the sight of the five year old sucking his grandfather, equally enjoying the view of the boy�s slightly gaping, slightly oozing pussy as he bent over. Tom stroked his precious grandson�s head, leaned forward himself so he could push two thick, hairy fingers up into the boy�s cunt, draw them out, and stick them in his mouth to clean, smacking his lips like he�d just tasted the finest food. The old man�s smile at the two of them was definitely wicked.
�Johnny, you are such a dumb shit.�
�Huh?�
�Christ, son, we�ve been trying to get you into Sammy�s cunt for most of the goddamn school year.�
The shock on the teacher�s face was obvious, and he may have been a dumb shit, but he wasn�t dumb. He picked up on the same thing Jeff did. �We?�
Tom smirked. �Roy and Sam, Sr.� He�d just named the sheriff (Tom�s brother) and the town�s doctor (Sam�s father).
�See, we figured you for a pedo like us when we was interviewin� ya. Oh, don�t look so fuckin� shocked. It�s that whole �takes one� crap. When we brought ya t�town, to meet the School Committee (Tom, Roy, Sam, Mrs. Roy, Mrs. Sam) and the kids, we had �em, well, the boys from Brettonville, dressed in really tight clothes, and you fucking couldn�t take your eyes off �em. And after you started workin�, little Sammy told us how you�d get hard when you were bare butt spankin� the boys, and how you watched �em.
�But we couldn�t do nothin� obvious, y�know, like just walkin� up one day after school, strippin� Sammy down and offering his pussy to ya. I mean, what if we were wrong? We was still figurin� we was right when you let it slip you was plannin� to take a trip to Vegas right after school let out. So I figured this out.� He waved his hand at the room, the little grandson eagerly slurping down his grampa�s meat, the naked teacher, the naked casino employee.
�But...but why?� John asked, his confusion obvious. Especially since he now realized he�d been manipulated into picking Hadrian�s Palace to stay at. And that extra cash to spend...to gamble for Tom. At...well, fuck, Tom had told him that Blackjack 12 was his lucky table, and it might be for John, too. And the table had been lucky. He�d won an astonishing amount of money for a kindergarten teacher from a poor Appalachian town, and suddenly found himself being offered a pedo�s dream vacation and threatened with death if he talked about it.
�Look, John, you know what the town�s like. What ya don�t know is it�d be dead now if it wasn�t for little Sammy boy, and his whorin� money from last year here, tidin� us over. Ain�t a lot of perverts who want an old man like me, though...� Tom�s eyes took on a far away look �...there was that college kid who wanted grampa dick in his cunt.� Tom shook his head, brought himself back to the present.
�Anyways, Mr. L, uh, the owner or boss or whatever here, he said they was always on the lookout for good young sluts like Sammy, so the three of us, we figured we could maybe supply him some more until we figured out somethin� more, well, long-term.�
Whoring out little boys to pay for city government? Holy fucking shit.
Basically the same thoughts were running through John�s and Jeff�s minds, but they didn�t say anything aloud.
�Only there weren�t all that many the right age, and while we could do our damnedest, or well, the young�ns could, to breed us some more, that would take three, four, five years....�
In the slight pause, Jeff snickered inside his head. If Roddick was still watching/listening, he�d certainly disabuse grampa Tom here of the notion that if he bred some little ones to whore out that he�d have to wait a whole three, or four, or five fucking years. A year at most. Maybe only six months. Jeff�s cock definitely surged a little at that image.
�...and then the fuckin� State down in Charleston decided to consolidate the three county school systems, with us gettin� grade school, �n Scott County gettin� the middle school �n Harper gettin� the high school. So suddenly we had all these little kids, eleven hot little fuckers �tween five and seven, not countin� Sammy here, nine boys and two girls, and no way t�get to �em.
�But if we could find us a pedo teacher, and get him on board, we could all make a shit load of money.�
�Once I, uh, once I, er, seduced my students?�
�Hell, yeah. And, well, prob�ly some of the daddies, too. I mean, we figured a good pedo�d also be a good cocksucker, too, and well, what with the Ladies� Day Disaster....�
Jeff could hear the capital letters in the old man�s voice. �Bunch of women two years ago, chartered a bus for a �Ladies Day� trip to Charleston, only there was an accident and most of them died,� John explained hurriedly.
�Yeah, a lot of men were left raisin� real young ones, �n not gettin� their dicks took care of real regular like. So knowin� how much Roy �n Sam �n me like fags suckin� our dicks and lettin� us fuck �em...no offense, Johnny boy, no offense....�
Bemused, John could only smile and say, �None taken.�
�Anyways, �n even how we might like t�suck or get fucked once�t in a while, too, we figured our pedo teacher could help get the kids and their daddies involved, �n if there was a mommy or an aunt or a grandma that needed convincin� one of us could take care of that, �nless....�
Tom�s voice hinted the question of whether John would be willing to sex women to help them get with the program. John�s expression firmly established no fucking way in hell.
Tom shrugged, held Sammy�s head tight while he skull fucked the little boy for a minute or so, then went back to his story.
�Well, we got out pedo teacher, but he was, like I said, kind of a dumb shit, and didn�t take advantage of none of the little kids like we hoped. We was gonna fire him �n try again, when the Vegas thing came up. So I called Mr. L, �n steered you here, �n steered you to blackjack, and made sure me �n Sammy got here �fore you did. If you went for a little boy like we figured, after you was done, I was gonna introduce you to Sammy and offer to let you molest him. But you picked that whole rape fantasy thing...and damn, son, you�re one sick boyfuckin� pervert...so we let Sammy be the boy, since he likes that shit. So, boy, you up for it?�
John stood up, hardon sticking out, leaking again. �You seriously want me to seduce nine little boys, two little girls, and some or all of their daddies, so you can whore the kids out to Vegas perverts here at the Palace? For money to run the city?�
Tom smiled at his oh-so-very-bright pedo student. Nodded.
John nodded back. Smiled. Stepped over to the side of the chair. �Although, if I�m really going to do this, I think I need some, uh, persuasion.� He stood by the arm, as Tom started to lift the boy�s head off his dripping meat. �No, no, Tom, been there, done that, sure I�m gonna do it again, but I�m thinking I need some more adult persuasion.�
�Like?�
John leaned a little forward. �Like old man mouth on my meat, followed by old man cunt with my cock inside?�
Tom�s eyes twinkled, though he made his voice sound reluctant and uncertain, �Uh, you, uh, sure? Do I....�
�Yeah, mayor, you do.�
The old man leaned forward, not allowing the five year old to stop sucking grampa dick, and swallowed John�s cock with an eagerness and a skill belied by his words.
In short order, Tom was naked on all fours just like his grandson had been not so very long ago, his body pale white in contrast to his deeply tanned face and neck and forearms and hands, mostly smooth skin with a fine pelt of grey fur on his chest and his prominent little belly. His tits were big, giving a hint of what little Sammy�s were likely to be like, and it turned out that he liked having them hurt, too. John�s cock was roughly pounding Tom�s cunt after some initial difficulty in getting in, his balls banging against the low-hangers visible (if anyone had been behind to look) between the old man�s spread legs. Jeff had decided to sample this new viewing room amenity and was skillfully face fucking the old man with blatant disregard for whether he was having difficulty sucking dick or not. And on the floor, baby boy Sammy was nursing his grampa�s dick, eager for the grampa milk he loved.
In the watching room, Roddick was jacking furiously, timing the huge cum that spattered the 32� monitor to the kindergarten teacher�s loud �Oh, fuck! I�m breeding your fucking cunt, mayor� and Jeff�s no less loud series of grunts as he unleashed his cum directly down Tom�s throat and into his belly, while grampa grunted around the cock in his throat as he gave up his own cum into his five year old grandson�s hot, wet, sucking mouth.
When all the perverts were drained at last, and the four in Room 6 separated and sprawling, Jeff chuckled. Three sets of eyes turned toward him.
�Hoooo-leeeee shit! I hope I get another virgin pedo soon. But first, guys, I gotta get a little rest.�
The other pedos joined in his laughter. As did the eagerly molested little boy. Who figured that five minutes was enough rest before he clambered over the bodies and started molesting his teacher�s smelly, sticky, slimy, oh-so-delicious, no-longer-pedo-virgin cock.
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