PEDOPHILIA EXCERPTS FROM MAINSTREAM NOVELS
(ped nc sad rape)
Collected by Akabax
PREFACE
I have collected this fine collection of pedophilia excerpts. Some of
them are digitized from libratry books, others are taken from book
collections on the internet, such as Google Books and Gutenberg.org
Other naughty extracts from mainstream novels would also be pretty
nice. Sex scenes, rape scenes, etc. However, I don't have the time
for that.
I would like to point out that the following excerpts are, of course,
all fictive. I strongly condemn any kind of sexual relations between
children and adults. It is the worst kind of child abuse.
- Akabax
CONTACT
If you have found any extracts of your own that you want to share, or
just want to drop me a comment, mail me at akabax@gmail.com
TABLE OF CONTENT
Thanatos Syndrome - Walker Percy
Perjury - Stan Latreille
Journey into Light: The Story of Linda - Lydia A Whipple
Bongwater - Michael Hornburg
In the Care of Evil: A Foster Child's Brutal Tale of Sex, Violence,
Greed, and Betrayal - Dewey Reynolds
The Druid - Sam Stewart
Dancing Bear - Chaim Bermant
The Sojourner - Kenneth B. Frank
The Ice Storm - The Ice Storm
Labor - Christopher Albanese, Brett
Serpent in the Stars - Hemant Balvantrao Kulkarni
Angel Lust: An Erotic Novel of Time Travel - Perry Brassg
Of Preachers and Pagans - David Davis
Adam's Theories - Dana Hodgdon
Princess Daisy - Judith Krantz
The Ninja: A Novel - Eric Van Lustbader
Vengeance - Ian St. James
Red Chrysanthemum - Laura Joh Rowland
La Donna Detroit: A Detective Sergeant Mulheisen Mystery - Jon A.
Jackson
Thanatos Syndrome
Walker Percy
Page 315
"I understand. And there's not time now."
"Don't worry. I have these cassettes. We can look at them later." He
does not know how to tell me.
"I understand, but I need to know now what you saw. I'm afraid you're
going to have to tell me directly. I know you have a great sense of
propriety, but I have to know what you mean when you say that Mr.
Brunette was with Mrs. Brunette but not in the regular way and about
the two little girls. Ricky cannot hear us."
"Right," says Vergil, appearing to take thought, but falls silent.
"Goddamn it, tell me, Vergil. This is important."
"All right. Mrs. Brunette was sucking off Mr. Brunette with the two
little girls placed in such a way that they could watch, don't you
know."
"I see. And Dr. Van Dorn?"
"Oh. Well, he had this child and he was holding her like - Oh. I also
picked up these stills." He is leaning over, fishing in his jacket
pocket. "I had to grab what I could."
"Stills?"
In the space on the sofa where Ricky was sitting and out of sight of
Ricky, Vergil carefully lines up half a dozen glossy 5x7 photographs,
taking care to place them at an angle so I can see them easily and he
has to slant his head. Vergil is finding it useful to be overly
considerate. There is only time to catch a glimpse of the Coach and
Mrs. Cheney, Mrs. on all fours, naked, the coach behind her, also
naked and kneeling, torso erect above her, and Mr. Brunette keeling
at a young man, not Claude, and Van Dorn lying on his back holding a
child aloft as a father might dandle his daughter except that-when
there are two knocks at the door, too sharp for knuckles, either boot
heel or gun butt.
I sweep up the photos, slip them under the plastic cushion.
Page 322-4
"Okay, gang!" says Van Dorn briskly, and would have clapped his
hands, I think, if he wasn't holding his pipe. "I don't know about
y'all but I got a school to run. If there's nothing else.
Doctor?"-with a slight formal bow to me, eyes fond but distant.
The others are on their feet instantly, following Van Dorn to the
door.
"Only these." I spread the photos on the plywood table between the
sofas.
Van Dorn and the others are looking down at the glossies on their way
out, heads politely aslant to see them better, as one might look at
the photos of a guest fresh from a trip to Disney World. I too have
the first good look at them.
There are six Photographs.
There are details which I missed in my earlier, cursory glance.
In the photograph of Mrs. Cheney on all fours, Coach at her from the
rear, Mrs. Cheney's head is partially hidden between the bare legs of
a young person who is supine and whose head and chest are not in the
picture. It is not clear whether the young person is a boy or a
girl.
In the photograph of Mr. Brunette kneeling at a youth, the youth has
both hands on Mr. Brunette's carefully barbered head, as if he were
steering it, and is gazing down at him with an expression which is
both agreeable and incurious. Mr. Brunette's bare shoulder are
surprisingly frail, the skin untanned.
In the photograph of Van Dorn dandling the child, the child is shown
to have been penetrated but only by Van Dorn's glans and certainly
not painfully, because the child, legs kicked up, is looking toward
the camera with a demure, even prissy, expression. Her legs are
kicking up in pleasure.
The fourth photograph depicts a complex scene: Coach penetrating,
anally and evidently completely, a muscular youth, not Claude, upon
whom Mrs. Brunette, supine, is also performing fellatio.
The fifth photograph depicts Van Dorn entering an older girl, perhaps
eleven or twelve, again by holding her above him, again by no means
completely. Again the girl is gazing at the camera, almost dutifully,
like a cheerleader in a yearbook photo, as if to signify that all is
well.
The sixth photograph, perhaps the oddest, depicts Van Dorn
performing, it appears, cunnilingus upon Mrs. Brunette, he seated in
a chair, she astraddle and borne high upon his folded arms, but not
entirely unclothed, while on the floor behind them, sitting in a
small semicircle, clothed, ankles crossed, arms around knees, faces
blank-in the archaic pose of old group photographs-are half a dozen
junior-high students. Two or three, instead of paying attention to
the tableau, are mugging a bit for the camera, as if they were bored,
yet withal polite.
Perjury
Stan Latreille
Page 215-6
She appeared less rigid, but she stared past me out the window.
"Share this with me," she said in that voice from the netherworld. "A
little girl fucking her father when she is just seven years old-or
even younger-"
"Davey, you don't have to-"
"You want to know why I don't trust anyone-not even you? Why I rely
on no one but myself? You said you wanted to share this with me,
remember?"
"Yes, but why-"
"You must hear it. You asked to share. Maybe you can really share it,
take some of it on you, but I doubt it. Did you know-no, I suppose
Andrea didn't tell you-that when I was eight my father brought home a
vibrator that he taught me to use so that he could watch me pleasure
myself? And when I was only ten he got a dildo so that my vagina
could be stretched to the right size for his comfort and convenience.
How about that, Jack? Are you sharing all this?" She did not wait for
an answer. I sat and listened, telling myself that I could take it,
that I was no stranger to such horrors.
"Where was my mother? She was right there. Oh, not standing over the
bed watching us, but she knew. She knew all right. My mother, from
whose flesh I am made, she let it happen. When I was five I went to
her and told her about Daddy and me, not ashamed or injured, but
bragging as one rival to another. I was stealing Daddy away from her,
I thought. And she told me that I was dreaming, that it had never
happened.
"Later, when I was six or seven, and he hurt me, I complained to my
mother and she got angry and told me that I was a silly girl who was
making up bad stories and that if I was not careful she would wash my
mouth out with soap."
"Don't, Davey, please don't," I whispered.
"They say that some girls grow up and can't remember. Well, I
remember everything. No blocking out for me. I remember details, lots
of details."
Journey into Light:
The Story of Linda
Lydia A Whipple
Page 177-8
Virginia took a drink of her coke. "One night he came in and I knew
he was really going to give it to me. He was really mad at Ma. She
had gone to town, to the bar in Bingen. He grabbed me and tore my
nightgown off. Then he turned me over and really gave me a beating.
God, it hurt so bad. Then he grabbed me and hugged me, telling me
that he loved me and would show me how much. He laid me on my back; I
think I was about six or seven at this time. He unzipped his trouser
and shook them off along with his shoes, socks and shirt. Then he got
in bed with me. He rubbed my vagina for a long time. He kept telling
me it wouldn't hurt. He stuck his finger into my hole and pushed it
deep inside then he'd pull it out. He did this for a while and then
had me take his thing in my hand." Virginia stopped long enough to
take a deep, shaky drink of her coke.
Linda watched her face. She wanted to make sure she was getting it
all and was getting it right.
"What do you mean, his thing?" she asked.
"I mean his penis. He made me take his penis in my hands and rub and
rub it. Once in a while this white stuff would come out and he would
breathe really hard. The he'd make me dress and go back to bed. He'd
leave and go to his and Ma's room. This might he turned over and made
me open my legs wide. Then he got between them and put his penis
against my vagina and pushed it in. He grabbed my legs and put them
on his chest so that he had better entry. Just before he really went
in, he put his hand over my mouth so I couldn't scream. God it hurt.
I screamed, but no one could hear me. After that it happened at least
once a week, sometimes more. It all depended on if he got mad at
Ma."
Virginia laid her head on her arms that had been folded over her
drawn up knees. She was sobbing, deep tormented sobs. "One night,
while he was doing it, I looked over at the door and Ma was standing
there watching. I must have been ten at the time. She undressed right
there and came to lie on my bed beside me. Pa stopped and looked at
her smiling. Then he began to pump again. This time he bent toward Ma
and took her breasts in his mouth and sucked and sucked. Having both
of us really excited him. It must have excited Ma, too, because she
would join us every time after that. At supper they would plan what
we were going to do that night. Sometimes they'd pretend to argue and
Ma would leave angry and fast. Later she'd return after Pa had beaten
me and had me in bed and ready for her. She'd crawl in and pretend to
be angry with him for what he was doing. I couldn't go anywhere or do
anything with anyone but them. They were afraid I would tell someone
about what they did."
"The night I went home with you they'd planned a surprise for me. I
just wanted to be normal once, just once. I wanted to have friends. I
didn't want to have sex with my ma and pa. When ma got me home there
was this old man there with them. He had theses beady black eyes.
When I walked in he came right over to me and began to undress me.
Then he beat me for not coming home when I was supposed to. Ma and Pa
laid a quilt on the floor in the front room and built a fire. The old
man made me lay down on top of his and he fingered me until Pa came.
Pa got on his knees in front of us. He guided the old man's penis
into my butt. Thank God it was a tiny thing. It still hurt very
badly. Pa put his in my vagina and Ma sat on the old man's face,
while Pa grabbed her tits and massaged them, bit them and sucked on
them. It XXX all night. I finally went while Ma was screwing me with
her fingers and sucking on the old man and Pa doing his thing in her.
They decided they would do this more often and I decided I had to get
outta there."
Bongwater
Michael Hornburg
Page 48
I went up to my room and opened the door. Tony was kneeling on my
mattress, panty hose pulled down to his knees, his baby blue dress
lifted and a naked boy devouring his cock. White light from the
hallway spread over them.
"Out!" I yelled.
The naked boy jumped up, blushing nervously, picked up his clothes,
and hurried past me. Tony acted put out, pulled up his nylons, and
left the room. "Party pooper," he said in passing.
In the Care of Evil:
A Foster Child's Brutal Tale of Sex, Violence, Greed, and Betrayal
Dewey Reynolds
Page 101-5
Since Valerie knew that she had to go to bed, she moved over to
Vincent, who was on the verge of being totally asleep, and shook him
across. "Vincent, get up and go to the basement."
Carmen jumped in as though Valerie and offended her. "Don't worry
about Vincent. I'll make sure he gets to bed. You just carry yourself
upstairs and get in bed."
She pointed to the top of the stairs. Valerie was frightened by the
sudden uproar in Carmen's voice. She rushed upstairs and everyone had
cleared the front room. Vincent remained on the floor. Still, he
fought to stay awake. Several minutes had passed and Carmen decided
to shake him a few times. "Come upstairs," Carmen instructed Vincent,
tightly wrapping her hand around the back of his shirt.
"Why do I have to go upstairs?" Vincent asked. "I thought I was
supposed to go to the basement."
"Not tonight."
"That's where me and Vernon go when it's bedtime."
Carmen didn't need a reminder of where he slept. Tonight, there would
be a change of plans. "Come on upstairs." She jerked him by the arm
and pointed to the top of the stairs.
"Why?"
"Bring your high yellow ass upstairs, boy!" Carmen got her point
across by squeezing him tighter.
Vincent stood up and they walked up to the second floor. Carmen told
him to stand near the linen closet. She cautiously closed the door to
Valerie's room, who was stretched out in her bed, with her head
planted in the pillow. Braun and Junior were in the room next door
snoring like two grizzly bears during hibernation season.
Carmen saw that everyone was sleeping rather heavily. A perfect time
to make her move. She grabbed Vincent by the waist and they journed
into the bathroom. The lock was turned quickly to minimize the
clicking noise of the metal slot. She guided him over by the toilet.
The lid was placed down and Vincent took a seat on top. Carmen moved
him against the head of the bathtub. She gently lifted his shirt up
and pulled his pants and underwear down. He may have fallen asleep
earlier, but was presently in for the rudest awakening.
"What we are about to do," Carmen said, pointing her wavering finger
to the middle of his yes, "You better not tell anybody. Do you
understand me?"
"Yes," Vincent answered frightfully.
"I'm serious, boy!" she snarled, sounding as though she was making a
death threat.
She told Vincent to lift up his feet while she removed his socks and
shoes. The question that entered Vincent's mind was, Why is she
undressing me?"
He was almost certain that Carmen wasn't about to give him a bath,
especially during that time of night. Once she fully undressed him,
he glanced around the uniquely decorated bathroom. It was painted sky
blue with an assortment of scented soaps and monogrammed terry
towels. Bessie Mae and J.D. were always given first priority to this
bathroom.
Carmen began undressing herself. It was the very beginning of the
nineteen seventies and many Negro teens around America were wearing
large afros, bellybutton pants, thick heeled platform shoes,
polyester shirts with large butterfly collars, and bead necklaces.
Many emulated their style form the dancer on the popular musical
television show Soul Train. Carmen simply wore straight permed hair,
straight leg jeans or polyester pants, and button up or pullover
shirts. She simply dressed Chi-town style.
Six and a half year old Vincent was absolutely astonished. He sat
there watching his older foster sister undress herself.
She unbuttoned her shirt, removed her bra, pulled down her tight
rayon pants, along with a pair of white silk panties with pink flower
designs, and threw of her shoes and socks. It was phenomenally
mind-blowing that a six year old and underdeveloped by, and an
sixteen year old and fully developed teenage girl, were in the
bathroom of a foster home on Milwaukee Parkway standing before one
another in the total nude.
Vincent was not only underdeveloped in the body, but was also
underdeveloped in the mind. As he stood between a toilet and a
bathtub, he couldn't figure out why he was in the nude. Carmen stood
directly to his right. A set of full breasts, widened hips, a bush of
pubic hair around the vagina, and shapely buttocks, gave Carmen the
secondary sexual characteristics of most fully developed teenage
girls.
She sat in front of Vincent on the stool. Her fingers ran along her
pussy until they became moist. This was her own form of arousing
foreplay. Carmen Taylor was definitely in heat! Vincent watched her
run both hands from her pussy to the split that began at the opening
of her ass. A mild, but musty genital scent filled the entire
bathroom. Carmen was happy to have come off her menstrual circle. She
became extremely aroused and grabbed Vincent closer. She slammed her
tongue down his little mouth.
For Vincent, it was an early lesson in tongue kissing. Maybe French
kissing. He was pressed against her full-figured body. Her tongue
vigorously twirled around his tongue, teeth, and gums. Loud slurping
sounds echoed off the bathroom walls. With the palm of Vincent's
small hands, Carmen massaged her large breast nipples. Her nipples
had arisen and appeared as two ripe olives. She opened her legs and
pressed him between them. She worked up a soaking sweat and
eventually achieved a strong orgasm. As sweat dripped from her
drenched body, she seductively cried, "I came! I came!"
She was breathing like the weight of the universe had come off her
shoulders. The heartpounding orgasm was her first ever and the
feeling was more than exhilarating. For her, it was a fantasy come
true. The friction between their saturated bodies cause slapping
sounds. Carmen wanted Vincent to become aroused. Both of her hands
massaged his tiny penis in vertical motions. Her efforts to bring on
an erection was senseless. She didn't know that she was trying to
have sex with a six year old boy who hadn't reached the early stages
of puberty. She gently caressed and massaged the head of his small
penis. Vincent never even developed a slight erection.
"Oh yeah!" Carmen cried pleasurably, about to enter another orgasmic
stage. "It feels so good to me! It feels so good to me!"
The sexual atmosphere in the bathroom was electrifying. Carmen held
Vincent tightly and asked, "Do it feel good to you, Vincent?"
"Yes," Vincent nodded shyly, not knowing anything about sexual
intercourse.
"Do you like it, Vincent?"
"Yes," he said, frightened senselessly.
"Do you love it, Vincent?"
"Yes."
"Shove your little dick into my tight wet pussy!" Carmen said,
traveling into a world of inhibited raw sex. "Say you like it,
baby!"
"I like it," Vincent repeated nervously, his little heart beating
fast.
"Say you love it, baby!"
"I love it," Vincent responded, hoping the madness would end soon.
"Say you want more!" Carmen said, allowing the sexual ecstasy to take
total control.
"I want more."
More than twenty minutes had passed and Carmen and Vincent were still
engaged in teenage girl to little boysexual intercourse. She had both
arms locked around his tiny neck. Her wide legs were wrapped around
his lower body. The moisture from her dark lips smeared onto his thin
red lips. Slapping and smacking noises traveled into the steamy air.
His small penis slipped from in between her well-defined legs. Carmen
knew that Vincent was too small and her pussy was too large. She
lifted his head and looked him directly in his fearful eyes. In a
voice that had a serious tone, she said, "I love high-yellow boys
like you. I love this pretty curly hair that you have. I love these
little juicy red lips that you have. I love everything about you,
Vincent!"
The Druid
Sam Stewart
Page 14
Mathew and Tommy had to share the same bed in the little room at the
back of the house, overlooking the park. It was Tommy who initiated
the activity. They were allowed to sleep in their underpants and
their pajama tops. After jumping into bed, they'd often have a pillow
fight, then turn off the lights and settle down. They'd discuss the
girls at school. Tommy said he was once in the girls' toilet and the
girls were sitting on the toilet with their knickers down.
Matthew squirmed, "You did not!"
After a while, he felt Tommy's small hand creep across the sheets and
touch him on the stomach. Matthew would move a bit, half asleep. The
hand pulled away. Soon it came back again. This time Matthew didn't
move, but he could feel his Adam's Apple moving, making his ears
click as he gulped to keep his mouth from drying. Tommy's hand moved
down, finger by finger, to Matthew's underpants. Now his little
'thing' was beginning to grow so that it pushed out his little black
underpants. Tommy's hand was now gripping Matthew's little growth and
gently pulling on it. Emboldened, Matthew now turned round to face
the back of Tommy's head and moved his hand over to Tommy's bum and
worked his way inside the underpants to the warmth and mystery. Tommy
moaned and turned round to face Matthew, his hand cupping the small
penis and testicles half recessed in the big bones down there. They
both pulled and rubbed wordlessly in the dark, eyes firmly shut, half
expecting something to happen. Bored after a while Tommy would turn
round to face the wall and feign sleep. Matthew, gripped by
anticipation, weaseled his hand between Tommy's thighs till he
reached his little testicles and penis, which was smaller than his.
Matthew pulled it down and then let it go so that it sprang up again.
He liked to let his hand stay there while they went to sleep.
It remained their unspoken, exciting game until Tommy's mother,
without any evidence of concern in her voice, suggested that Matthew,
now thirteen, should go home at night. Tommy, by this time, was
playing football with the other boys at school and told Matthew he
liked to see the girls who came to watch and cheer. That had no
appeal for Matthew so he found himself spending more time in solitary
pursuits.
Dancing Bear
Chaim Bermant
Page 139
She had been lying out in the grass at the back of the sanatorium
playing with a child. It was a hot summer's day, her skirt was pulled
up and she had provoked his first erection. The memory of the scene,
he added, gave him an erection even now.
The Sojourner
Kenneth B. Fran
Page 58
In the 1030's nobody talked about sex, not in polite society. Women
swallowed watermelon seeds or were visited by storks or were
mysteriously in a family way. Body parts and body functions were not
mentioned except by the use of cute euphemisms. Toy toy. Wee wee.
Dokey. Powder my nose. Tallywhacker. In spite of it all, Frank
somehow got the most important message of all: a female had nothing
between her neck and her knees, and if she did it was nasty. Forget
about it. Frank, therefore, wasted few of his fantasies on the
difference between boys and girls. With nothing under their dresses,
'they must look pretty funny without their clothes' was the extent of
his conjecture. High in his perch, lying supine, on a clear summer's
afternoon, surveying his kingdom and relishing the ethereal searches
of the infinite sky, he heard his brother's voice below.
"You can't come up. This is a private tree house."
"Why not?" A strange boyish voice inquired. "We wanna be friends.
Besides, I got something I betchu'd like to see."
The two brothers who helped build the mansion in the sky,
consequently claiming an ersatz proprietary interest, were present;
and would be accounted for.
Bobby, the younger, spoke in his toughest nine-year-old snarl.
"Whatcha got to show us."
"We have to come up first," the interloper insisted.
"Not till we know what it is." Billy, the elder, at eleven, was
laying down the law.
"Wait just a minute here," Jim Stewart interjected. "It's my tree
house, I decide who and when."
"We helped build it," the brothers chorused in unison.
"it's my tree house," the adamant twelve-year-old Jim Stewart, older,
wiser, and probably more powerful, insisted.
Lying on his back, Frank was apathetic concerning the territorial
power struggle below, Let 'em up; don't let 'em up. Who cares But his
curiosity was titillated by the next exchange.
"Give us a hint, or maybe we'll let you up," Jim offered.
"It's between my sister's legs," the spokesman said.
Undecipherable but obviously excited murmuring could be heard among
the three territorial defenders.
"You can come up," Jim Stewart announced, "but you better not be
kidding or we'll throw you our head first and your sister with you.
We generally don't let girls up here, but we're making an exception
because of what you said."
As the older brother climbed the ladder before his nine-year-old
sister, Frank rolled over to a prone position and peeked over the
edge.
Bart, the newcomer, introduced himself and his sister, Sandy, and
said, "Hey, this is a swell tree house."
"Yeah, now show us what you said," Billy demanded.
"Yeah," Bobby eagerly agreed.
"You think my sister is gonna show off just for climbing up in a tree
house? Hell, there's more to it than that." Bart was still doing all
the talking.
He said a bad word, Frank thought, and hoped God did not strike the
tree with lightning.
"What else you want?" From Jim Stewart, suspiciously.
"Well, I notice you got a peach tree back there. And I like peaches
an awful lot."
"I do too," the girl spoke for the first time, nodding her head
excitedly.
Jim was ready to deal. "How many peaches to show?"
"One for each of us," Bart responded without consulting his sister.
"Okay, one each," Jim agreed. "But she has to show first."
"Show 'em your cunt," Bart commanded.
Sandy, sitting Indian style, pulled her skirt high, calmly hooked a
finger in the crotch of her cotton panties, and pulled the fabric
aside. The three voyeurs gawked with wide-eyes at the tiny shadow
where a penis should have been, proving that Sandy was not a boy.
"Wow, neat," Bobby said.
"Yeah, man," Billy said.
"Pretty good," Jim agreed nervously, eyeballing the driveway and
hoping his mother did not come home unexpectedly.
From his vantage point Frank could see little, but there was little
to see. It proved that girls did have something between their neck
and their knees, even if it was nothing. This was a momentous step in
his education - but he didn't know why.
Bart asked proudly. "Think that's worth two peaches?"
"You're damn right," Billy said.
"Go get the peaches, Sandy," Her brother told her.
When the girl was gone, Bart asked the others, "How'd you like a
piece of that?"
"Yeah," Billy and Bobby said together.
"I guess so," Jim hedged.
"Well, she don't put out for free. Everyone that wants her can have
her for two peaches each," Bart negotiated.
"But we don't have a peach tree," Billy said.
"Borrow some. I betcha Jim'll loan you some."
"Sure," Jim said, "Let's go in the garage."
"What's a piece?" The voice came from the lookout.
"You'll find out," Bobby, a mere year older than frank, told him.
This might be worth watching, Frank decided, scampering from his
perch. He for sure would have to know what a piece was, though,
before committing to wanting one.
In the garage, without fanfare, Sandy lowered her panties to her
knees, leaned against the wall with her skinny pelvis thrust forward,
and bit into a peach. Billy and Bobby, not bothering to lower their
own pants, each in turn took his small penis in hand, approached the
girl, and briefly touched her for a second at or near the place where
"IT" is done.
"Wow," Billy gasped. "That's really something."
"Yeah," Bobby agreed. "Try it, Jim."
"I better not."
The eleven-year-old pimp encouraged the Stewart siblings. He wanted
four more peaches.
"Go ahead guys. It won't hurt your or her. I get at piece of her ten
or fifteen times a day myself."
The well indoctrinated Stewart brothers declined.
The Ice Storm
Rick Moody
Side 149
And they rubbed their chests together, the tips of her breasts, just
beginning to be breasts, and then they worked on the rest of their
clothes. Wendy carefully pulled off ski pants and panties all at once
- so that she could conceal the soiled garter belt, the one she had
taken from Mike's room. Sandy was too preoccupied with his own
nakedness to notice. - Get 'em off, she said to him, laughing at the
sound of haste. Laughing at her own forthrightness. And pretty soon
they were naked. His little soldier was at sharpest attention, like
G. 1. Joe with Lifelike Hair back when he was among the living. -
Under covers, Wendy said. Sandy threw back the comforter and they
slid under it. Sandy laughed again, and Wendy laughed, and the
laughter was good. She took his hairless penis in her hand, and she
cupped his hairless testicles, and she kissed his nipples, and they
rolled around like that for a while. - Have you had a nocturnal
emission? she asked. - Huh? - That's the name for when you wake up
and find this little pool of sticky stuff. Supposedly like after a
sexy dream. He shook his head. - They didn't tell you this stuff yet?
What planet do you live on? Sandy didn't want to answer questions,
though; he wanted to continue. When his knee pushed up between her
legs, when his hip mashed against her, she shivered, but it didn't
seem to be leading anywhere particularly. He didn't know what he was
doing. She could kiss his little pig-in- a-blanket. But she realized
pretty soon the futility of the
Labor
Christopher Albanese, Brett
Page 82
".TREE.," I added in the gas station parking lot, watching as, inside
the shadowy rear of the van, a short figure stood, hunched under the
roof. The figure clambered over the seat back, and I could see that
he was a young boy, maybe eight or nine years old. He was pantsless,
and his small, hard penis was bobbing out from his hairless crotch.
The five year old girl tied to the seat screamed beneath the gag, but
the husky Midwestern woman simply smacked her unconscious. A tearing
sound could be heard, and the two halves of a pair of little girl's
panties fluttered out of the van, arched through the air, and landed
on the parking lot pavement atop a slick oil that was glowing rainbow
in the sun. On the tattered cotton I could read the embroidered name,
Mindy.
Serpent in the Stars
Hemant Balvantrao Kulkarni
Page 120
As a young boy, Raghu was fascinated by the donkey, and he used to
get a free ride to the river and back.
One day, as they reached the river, the washerwoman picked him up and
before putting him down gave a loud smack on his cheeks and lips. He
didn't like the woman taking liberties with his body, and he tried to
wipe of her impressions upon his face, Then she said, "I am going to
remove your clothes, wash them and give you a good bath in the
river." And without waiting for his response, she quickly disrobed
him and stood staring at him, saying: You are my darling Krishna, and
I am your devoted Radha." She started playing with his hairless
genitals and laid him down on the heap of unwashed clothes and
pressed his erect penis between her legs. She jumped on him and then
held him tightly underneath her body. After a few minutes, Raghu
wriggled out of her clothes and panting heavily struck her across the
face. She, however, smiled at him and said, "Didn't you like it?"
That was the first time he had experienced seminal ejection and felt
so guilty that whenever (.)
Angel Lust: An Erotic Novel of Time Travel
Perry Brass
Page 12-14
We held our breath on tiptoe. He motioned for me to follow him down
the narrow hall into a side room. Its door had been closed, but left
slightly ajar. He opened it carefully. "paul," he whispered to me.
The little boy was sleeping in a kid's cot, with just a blue sheet
and a thin blanket over him. On a plastic side table a small lamp
glowed, its shade a brightly painted circus parade. The dark shadows
of a lion, two elephants, and a trio of cha-cha bears on hind legs
loomed across the room, cast by this single dreamy eye of light.
I felt suddenly guilty; a bit of an intruder. The boy's room was so
still and peaceful, after blowing full-scale out form Casa Julio. I
looked around at his toys and kid things, while the circus eye
guarded him watchfully. Little outfits, games, stuffed bears, and
fluffy beanie creatures. "He likes animals," Niko explained, a smile
flushing his face. It was a different smile: Possessive, settled, but
still in awe. The boy was beautiful, soft, carved out of innocence
and darkly handsome, a lick of mustache already blooming above his
tiny plum lips. He was fast asleep.
"Look," Niko whispered. "lemme show you how Greek papas sometimes
kiss their little boys." Caught up in the quiet, I looked on as Niko
carefully picked up the little boy and held him to him. "See," he
said. Then slowly he retracted Paul's tiny white undershorts and
briefly kissed the swelling tip of the boy's penis. It was small and
pale, like a frosted glass Christmas tree ornament, ending in a rosy
furled tip. I began to tremble: this was something so completely
medieval and real; I just did not expect it right there. He kissed it
again, then handed Paul, still in the distant land of tiny circuses,
to me. "You want t` kiss?"
All I could hear was the sleeping child's breath, the clean soft
hollowness of it, and then Niko, breathing, next to me. "It's okay,"
Niko said. "Just kiss. Don't suck, just kiss it. It's like a ritual;
it's secret."
I put my lips to the little dick. I could feel it getting harder, as
Paul's sleeping hand went down to it. I knew children did that;
they're always masturbating, till they hear that it's wrong. Then
their hands get slapped, and they're sent off to confession. "He can
do that," Niko whispered. "I let him play with himself all he wants.
Jesus, I do."
I smiled dumbly, then briefly licked the shining tip of the child's
penis, allowing its pink sweet saltiness to scurry up my tongue. It
tickled like little air bubbles. A rush of swishing nerve endings
(kind of like soft little brooms weeping down my gut) chased through
me. Then with Niko nodding knowingly at me, I took the whole, sleepy
thing lusciously into my mouth, to feel it getting very hard there.
All my guilt evaporated; I knew it. Surely, this could only be like
the furry, wise bumblebee sucking . . . gentle nectars out from the
waiting throats of flowers. A pale morning glory or miniature white
calla lily, all sugar-soft, came to mind. "Man," Niko said. "You
gonna suck my little boy's dick?" He smiled benignly. "Why not? It's
the same, right? Sex, kids; it begins there."
I took the boy's thing from my mouth, then kissed Niko on the cheek.
He laughed quietly, and I began to suck the child again, until I,
too, became of the same young flesh as this flower's heart; and soon
the boy's sweet little member and my own wet mouth became quietly
one, as Niko watched, a hard-on obviously growing in his jeans. All
of this I knew was in Pauls's deep sleep; or perhaps I could say . .
. in mine.
His flesh had become my own; and we were now both curled around one
thing. One marker on the vast flowing field of Time, although I could
not say this marker's given name.
Did I know it? Did it have one - what is it, this marker's name? Does
it (or he, is the marker a "he") have a name?
I could not say, but only knew that we were now curled around the
same flowering thing, gathered in a pulling of Time. An immense
pulling as mysterious and revealing as the furled tip of the boy's
silken foreskin, opening in the darkness of my mouth . . . within
that glowing, circus-watched room.
I gave the boy back to Niko, who drew his briefs back up and gently
put him back into his bed. "He's gonna have nice dreams," Niko Stamos
whispered, smiling. "No nightmares. No monsters. None of that Star
Wars shit. I can tell. I can see it." He closed his eyes, and I
wondered what he was thinking: always the unknowable question, even
for beings like us. Then he kissed the little boy and put him back
into his bed, and we tiptoed out.
His own room was further down at the end of the hall. It had always
been his, he said, after he closed the door and we quickly dropped
both our jacket on the bare floor. After his wife Angela had left him
with the kid and he moved back with his parents, he took back his
room. His mother was happy. She though Angela was only a whore, a
putana, as they say all over the Mediterranean; real skata, shit.
There was no light in the room, except for a streetlight outside
behind the drawn window shade. Niko lay down on the narrow bed, not
much bigger than Paul's and pulled me to him. His fat tongue went
into my ear and he said, "My father used to kiss me like I kissed
Paul. I ain't supposed to know. Some think the boys just forget. But
it's tradition. They been doing it in Greece since Socrates, and the
old dudes. It's why us Hellenes are so smart - we're helle of a smart
guys, you know? 'Cause the daddies kiss the little dicks of their
boys."
Page 20
We were swimming there; sometimes floating; sometimes only pulling
each other by the legs, shoulders, or sexual parts. But mostly
skimming along the brink of orgasm, his, mine; then, in that vast
darkness of the coast . . . the door to his room cracked open.
The light was blinding. There was Paul.
The little boy was walking without a thing on, naked towards us. I
saw him in the dark, with his tiny, hairless cock hard, playing with
himself, even while I was sucking Niko's fat dick. He crawled into
the bed with us. Niko reached up for him, hugging him, and then took
the little boy's penis in his mouth. He began sucking him, and I knew
that something even wilder and stranger than I knew myself to be, had
happened.
Of Preachers and Pagans
David Davis
Page 100
There appeared to be no one inside, and the door opened silently and
easily, so he went directly to the crafts room in which he believed
he had left his cap. He was no less surprised when he opened the door
than were the two occupants of the room. The teenage youth counselor
was kneeling before a bench, and behind him the Reverend Luther
Swinburne was standing, apparently either opening or closing his belt
buckle. The kneeling boy's pants and undershorts were bunched around
his knees, his pale buttocks peeking from beneath his shirt. For a
very long five seconds, the three people were living statues. Jack
looked at the man and the boy. Surprised, chocked into immobility,
they returned his gaze without speaking.
Page 109
"Don't fight me, boy." Brother Swinburne moved his left hand to cover
Lee's mouth with his palm and to pinch the boy's nostrils between his
thumb and fingers, and still grasping the back of the boy's head with
his other hand, "I now baptize you into the brotherhood of the
masters of men," said the preacher, and submerged the boy again under
the dark waters but immediately brought him back up. At each move,
Jack shot another frame of the film. As they waded ashore, Brother
Swinburne had his arm around Lee's back, his hand extended through
the armpit. Lee sagged weakly as he walked, and seemed in need of
support. Out of the water they came, across the narrow strip of sand,
onto the moss-covered bank. There the preacher turned Lee to face
him, and placing his hands on each side of the boy's face, kissed him
full on the lips. Lee, eyes wide open, did not respond. Arms hanging
limply at his sides, he did not resist. Reverend Swinburne lowered
the naked boy to the ground to a sitting position and sat beside him.
He thrust his arm from the front through Lee's armpit, then across
his back, and pushed the wrist of the boy's other arm into that hand
so that he had imprisoned both the boy's arms, leaving one of his own
hands free. With his free hand, he began to rub, pinch, and tweak the
boy's nipples. After a moment, he pressed Lee into a reclining
position. Gripping both wrists in one hairy simian hand, he began to
fondle Lee's genitals with th4e other. Suckling the boy's small
nipples, Brother Swinburne began to gently tug at the boy's penis. As
that member began helplessly to swell, he crooned, "Feels good, don't
it, boy?" He released his hold on Lee's wrists and guided the boy's
hand to his own tumescence. Jack, now sickened by this revolting
display of abusive sexual aggression, thought of intervening, of
aborting this utterly depraved rape, bur resolved instead to protect
the photographic evidence by staying the course, and did remain to
covertly photograph the entire episode, firing off one fame as the
reverend forced Lee to kneel at his feet, and the last frame of the
film roll as the preacher grasped the boy's hair in one huge hand and
guided his own swollen phallus with the other. Jack turned away,
revolted by the scene of carnal coercion, and slipped away as
silently as he had arrived.
Adam's Theories
Dana Hodgdon
Page 47-8
"Should be done I just a few minutes." Jim said as he walked over to
where we were standing. "Ah, ma'am, Adam here is pretty serious about
football, huh?"
"Yes, he's captain of his team, and he calls all the plays." Mom
boasted. Mom was right. I was captain of my 3rd grade team, and I was
"tailback" of our team, which meant I got to call our plays-all 4 of
'em. We had a play called A-41, which meant I took the hike and ran
around the right end. We also had A-48 which was when I went around
left end. Then there was A-35 which was when Tommy Harrison, our
fullback, who had been held back a grade and was really in Carl
Barret's class, took the hike and went up the middle. And finally,
our secret weapon, A-28 reverse. In A-28 reverse, I started right and
then handed off to Chuck Deary who came around left end.
"He's getting to be a pretty big guy, it might be time to consider an
athletic supporter," Jim observed. I wasn't sure what an athletic
supporter" was. Neither was Mom. We both stared blackly at Jim. "You
know, protection for the boy." Jim led us over to a collection of
Bike athletic supporters.
"well, I don't know," Mom said, Mom was totally naïve about this
stuff.
"Well, it won't hurt to try one on and see if Adam needs one." Jim
said, smiling. "I'll just take him downstairs and see if its time."
Jim took a couple of the smallest Bike athletic supporters off the
shelf and signaled that I follow him. He glanced around the store. I
followed Jim down some dark stairs and into what appeared to be a
storage area. Jim knelt down In front of me. "Take your pants down,
Adam, and we'll see if this fits." He was breathing kind of hard. I
through maybe it was because of the walk down the stairs.
I cautiously lowered my pants, but not my Jockey undershorts. That
would be too embarrassing.
"And the undershorts too." Jim said, panting. "We've got to see if
you need some protection. In a swift motion, he pulled my undershorts
down.
I looked at Jim and knew that something was wrong. He was breathing
heavily, and staring at my exposed genitals. I wasn't sure what to
do. Jim was a really cool guy and he obviously liked kids.
"Make it hard, make it hard." Jim said heavily, as he began fondling
my penis and balls. He was breathing loudly now. "Can you make it
hard?" He kissed my penis.
"No, I., don't know what you mean." I said. I was in misery. I knew
that Jim was a good guy, but I also knew that what was happening was
not cool. "I think, I think I want to get my helmet and face mask."
Jim seemed to get more composed. He backed away from me, and gathered
up the two athletic supporters which were still in their boxes.
"Well, I guess you don't need one of these yet." He said cheerily.
"Maybe next year."
"I quickly pulled up my undershorts and my pants and headed for the
stairs. As I scrambled up the stairs, I was aware that he was right
behind me, and it made me uncomfortable.
Princess Daisy
Judith Krantz
Page 43-51
"Do tell me, my dear child, did you manage finally to do well in your
examinations? And are you still a member of that fascinating inner
circle you spoke of last summer - the little jumped-up American
millionaires and the little British lords with bad teeth and the
naughty baby cattle barons from the Argentine, and all the other
grandees of your school?"
Stash tightened his lips in rage. One day last summer, when he was
only thirteen, he had made the mistake of describing his best friends
to her. She seemed to be taking a genuine interest in his school
life. Most of his mother's intimates, occupied with the myriad
intrigues of their hermetically sealed world based on illness and
gossip, had learned not to pay attention to the difficult, unfriendly
boy, but the Marquise had drawn him out until he allowed her a rare
glimpse into his school life.
"And you, Madame la Marquise," he shot at her, ignoring her
questions, "are you still the notorious femme fatale of this vast and
cosmopolitan center? Or have you been replaced by someone whom I have
not yet met?"
"Alexander," flashed his mother. "That is quite enough! Claire, you
must forgive him - he's just fourteen you know, that impossible age
when you think it's amusing to be impudent. Alexander, apologize at
once!
"No, Titiana, darling, don't be silly . . . I was teasing him and the
little one got angry." Claire de Champery was in the best of humors.
She felt the congestion of blood rushing between her primly pressed
together thighs, proof positive that she had been right to provoke
the boy. From the moment she had seen him coming across the room, she
had noticed that the childish beauty she had savored in secret for
years had become that of a youth. She saw the faint beginnings of a
mustache on his upper lip, she measured with her eyes the new
physical development which had given a fourteen-year-old the muscle
structure of a youth. No longer a boy, yet not a man - a most
delectable, a most tantalizing, a most fleeting age. A moment in a
man's life, she reminded herself, that did not last long. A youth-a
pure and perfect youth-that most tasty morsel of all. He knew nothing
yet, she was sure of that. Off at a boy's school all year long, what
could he possibly have learned besides the little dirty games they
might play with each other?
But his fiery reaction to her mockery told her that he was ready to
be taught.
"Claire," Titiana insisted, "he simply must apologize. I can't permit
him to behave in such a manner."
"Let him do a penance instead, Titiana darling. An apology is too
easily given. Ah, I have it - he shall take me for a troika ride -
that is, if he is old enough to control the horses?"
"I have been driving the troika for over four years," Stash said with
scorn.
"Tant mieux. Then I have nothing to fear. Be at my Chalet at three
tomorrow afternoon and I'll be ready to leave. Now, baby, go and eat
your pastries . . . you look as if you're longing for them."
As the Marquise dismissed the sullen youth she turned back to Titiana
and resumed the conversation with the facile charm which had drawn
the Princess to her in the first place.
The day after Stash's scene with the Marquise de Champery, he arrived
on time to take the Frenchwoman for a troika ride, since his mother
had continued to insist on it. The maid who let him into the chalet
told him that her mistress was not quite ready to leave. She took his
coat and led the way to a little sitting room just off the Marquise's
bedroom. A fire had been lit and the room was very warm. The maid
pointed out a tray of bottles of different liquors and an assortment
of boxes of various kinds of cigarettes, and left him. Stash
tightened his lips in annoyance. He was not old enough to drink or
some and he knew that the Marquise was aware of it. This was just
more of her baiting, another reminder that he was still a child. He
was still standing resentfully in the center of the luxurious nest of
a room when the Marquise entered. She was dressed hi a loose flowing
tea gown of black chiffon trimmed with lace.
"Oh, so you're not coming driving then," Stash exclaimed in relief,
at the sight of her unsuitable clothes.
"No, I have merely changed your penance, my boy."
"Penance! You mean charade! This whole thing is absurd. I'm not a
child to be treated like this. I'm leaving . . . enough of this!"
"I think not," the Marquise said softly. "You spoke to me most rudely
and your darling maman is still very angry with you." The woman knew
well that the only influence to which Stash made himself subject was
that of his mother. "Come sit down on this couch with me and I shall
tell you what it is." The boy suppressed a sigh of anger and silently
did as he was told.
"I have been thinking," she mused. "We've known each other a long
time . . . it that not so? You were only seven when I first saw you .
. . a little boy. And now you are almost a man. Do you have any idea
how old I am?" Stash was startled and deeply gratified at being told
he was almost a man. His anger forgotten, he answered shyly. "You're
not as old as my mother . . . certainly, but I can't guess women's
ages."
"I am twenty-nine," she said, lying by only three years. "Does that
seem very old to you? Of course it must. No ... don't protest, don't
be polite, it doesn't become you. When I was your age, twenty-nine
was unimaginably old. So I have decided, as your penance, to teach
you a lesson . . . a lesson in relativity."
The marquise's small and swollen mouth was fresh as a fruit and she
licked her lips thoughtfully. She moved closer to where Stash sat
stiffly on the rose satin upholstery she knew was in bad taste but
nevertheless permitted herself in private apartments. One of her
plump white arms reached out, the black lace falling away from it,
and she placed her hand on his head. "I miss your curls," she said
softly, rumpling his thick hair. He sat straight and motionless, his
nostrils drinking in the unfamiliar scent of a woman in a low-cut
gown. By the light of the fire, out of the corner of his eye, he
could see the blue shadow where her breasts began. Her hand left his
hair and began to caress his neck with the most neutral of touches,
as if she were absent-mindedly stroking a pet. Stash felt, with
horrified embarrassment, that his penis had become rigid inside his
trousers. He did not notice Claire's glance at his crotch, her
eyebrows lifting only slightly as her practiced eye told her what had
happened. Idly, she played with his earlobe, not moving any closer to
him.
"So, what is relativity? Can you tell me? No ... I thought not. The
lesson in relativity begins with the realization that my hand and
your neck have no age at all. They are only flesh meeting flesh. But
to appreciate the true meaning of relativity, we must go further . .
. much further." She allowed her wandering fingers to touch the soft
hollow at the base of his throat, exposed in his open-necked shirt,
and then she slipped her entire hand into his shirt and found one of
his nipples and started to circle it with one finger. Stash groaned
aloud and she drank in the sound with gourmandize-that was his first
groan as a man, she thought, feeling his nipple harden, Now he would
never forget her. "Ah, little man, you are beginning to understand
relativity," she whispered to the boy who still looked ahead, his
mind spinning. What was she doing . . . his mother's friend . . .
impossible . . . another mockery. In confusion he thought - but he
couldn't be certain - that her hand, which she had withdraw from his
shirt, had, for an instant, fallen lower, to his crotch, and brushed
like a feather over the stiff lump of his penis. But then this same
hand, quickly raised, now gently unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his
strong youth's chest down the center of which fine blond hair made a
straight, faint shadow. She moved closer to him, threw back his
shirt, and ran the fingers of both her hands down his half-naked,
already well-muscled arms and murmured to herself, "How very grown-up
you are, after all, my Stash." The boy was stunned into immobility
even when she caressed him under his arms, fingering the scant, silky
tufts of hair that had so recently sprouted there. The painful
tumescence of his penis seemed shameful to him, a confession of
weakness before this dominant woman. He knew her, the sly one, she
wanted to make him try to touch her and then she would remind him of
what a child he was. He gripped the pillows he was sitting on in
order not to move, not to give her that satisfaction.
Then he felt her unbuckle his belt and unbutton his fly. For a moment
she seemed to hesitate, her head lowered in the firelight, riveted at
the sight of the outline that reared under his restraining
undershorts. The size of it seemed to make her decide. She slid to
the thick carpet and looked up at him as he sat on the edge of the
couch, his teeth biting into his lower lip in a grimace which
hardened his face into a look it would not naturally war for ten more
years.
"Now . . . now we come to the penance, Stach. You must stand up." She
remained still, waiting patiently, steadily watching him, not
repeating her command. Slowly he stood up, his trouser falling to his
feet. Controlling her breathing with difficulty the woman looked at
the slender youth who stood before her, not caring to meet her eyes.
Through the opening of his undershorts the thick, jutting shaft of
his penis was clearly visible.
"Pull down your shorts," she whispered. He obeyed. His body was
marvelously made, pale except where the winter sun had touched his
big hands and strong neck. All his joints and tendons were
tender-skinned, yet firm and defined. A little blond hair grew on the
legs and a deeper shadow of coarser hair curled at the base of his
testicles.
"Step out of your pants and lie down on the sofa," she ordered.
"Don't touch me, Stash, or I will stop what I'm going to do to you. I
am the teacher here and you are doing your penance, so be obedient.
If you move, even one little inch, I'll stop the lesson. I swear it"
The threat in her voice was real. She pulled at her gown so that it
dropped from her shoulders. Her breasts sprang out from the confining
lace. She cupped each of them in a hand, leaning over him so that he
could see how sumptuously heavy they were, tipped with the light
brown nipples of a true redhead. He lay still on the rose satin, not
daring to arch his back and thrust his agonizingly hard penis upward.
She brushed her nipples tantalizingly over his chapped lips. "Don't
move!" she warned again, adoring the sensation of the roughness of
his young open mouth on her flesh. When he moaned in fearful desire
and tried to touch them with his tongue, she moved away at once. "Ah!
Nol I've only begun . . ." Very delicately, with the lightest
possible touch, she moved her full, succulent mouth down his body
which had just emerged from boyhood, stopping to anoint each of his
nipples with her pointed tongue. Finally she hovered over his penis
for a long moment while he held his breath. Her sleek head hung,
almost in meditation, as she observed how it strained upward, jerking
toward her mouth. But without even touching ft, she passed on and
went lower, tonguing the insides of his strong thighs. As she knelt
on the sofa she had gradually slipped out of her gown so that her
full body, with its rich bounty of lush perfumed flesh, was entirely
exposed, but from his position on the sofa, he could not see her
nakedness clearly without raising his head. She had not yet touched
him with anything but her nipples and her mouth, nor had he touched
her at all. He ground his teeth and clenched his fists in frantic
frustration and heard her low, satisfied laugh, the laugh of the true
gourmet.
"Oh, yes, indeed, yes, you are making progress. You are beginning to
appreciate relativity. You are almost prepared for the end of the
lesson."
"The Marquise's tongue traveled leisurely from Slash's thighs back to
his testicles. She blew on his pubic hair very lightly, and again, he
couldn't prevent a groan from escaping his dry lips. Like a line of
fire, the tip of her experienced tongue ran up the base of his
straining penis and then rested for one whirling moment on its tip.
"No," she said, pensively, "No, you cannot control yourself well
enough." With a little movement she positioned herself until she was
straddling Stash's body, one knee on either side of his tensed
thighs. Slowly, with the leisurely care of a woman of thirty-two, she
parted her thick, red pubic hair and opened the lips of her vagina
with the fingers of one hand and, with the other, she gently pulled
Slash's penis back from his stomach until it was pointed straight up
into the air. He was so hard that she had to hold it back firmly
while, taking an infinite amount of time, she gradually lowered
herself onto the swollen tip. She gathered her ripe body into a soft
pillar of flesh and slid down on him. When he was completely enclosed
within her, she leaned forward and whispered into his contorted lips,
"Now, now . . ."
Stash, released from his bondage, grasped the kneeling woman around
her waist with both his arms and, without removing his penis from her
tight sheath, lifted her up and turned her so that she was under him.
With one gigantic thrust he poured himself out into her while he bit
her lips mercilessly and crushed her breasts in both hands. As soon
as he could breathe again, he said, "Don't you ever dare to ride me
again! I'll do the riding from now on!
"Oh, ho," she muttered in a harsh whisper, "so now it's you who gives
the orders? But, my friend, only one of us is satisfied . . . so
relatively speaking, the lesson has not been learned."
"No?"
She realized that his penis had never left her vagina. It was growing
again, growing bigger than before. He ground it into her waiting body
with unsteady strokes, until she reached a violent orgasm. And still
he rode her, swollen with blood, pausing only once to wipe his sperm
from her wet pubic hair with her black lace gown. This second time he
had already learned much he needed to know and he took his time in
pleasing himself, ignoring her protests that he was hurting her, that
he must stop a minute, that he was too big. His second orgasm was
much more intense than the first, coming, it seemed, not just from
his penis and his testicles, but from his whole spinal column.
The fourteen-year-old boy lay, momentarily exhausted, beside the
voluptuous, satiated form of the woman. Neither spoke as the fire
crackled in the fireplace. It was dark outside.
"Claire," Stash said. "I'm going to take a bath in your tub. Ring the
maid for hot chocolate and bring it to me there. And then . . ."
"Then. . . ?" she interrupted, astonished at the voice of command
which came from the youth to whom she had just given his first lesson
in love.
"And then we'll have another lesson in relativity. In the bedroom.
This couch of yours is too slippery for me." His voice was rough with
new authority.
"But . . . you're crazy!
He took her hand and put it on his penis. The hot sticky organ was
already beginning to rise and fill. It moved under her touch like an
animal.
"Don't you want me to bathe?" he asked. "Shall we just go to the
bedroom now?
"No, Stash-no-go take your bath. I'll ring for the chocolate."
She hastily covered herself with the bedraggled gown.
"Don't forget the pastries."
Every day of that Christmas vacation, Stash cut short his skiing and
spent all afternoon in the rose-red sitting room or the lavender
bedroom of the Marquise de Champery, leaving only when it was time to
go home for dinner. She wrote a note to Titiana to say that a head
cold prevented her from joining the usual gathering at the chalet and
gladly gave up her dinner engagements to preserve the fiction.
Stash became familiar with the long slow strokes, the quick jabs, the
excruciatingly disciplined pauses which only made them both more
eager, the quiver, the holding back, the pulses beating together -
all the ebb and flow of making love. The Frenchwoman taught him how
to please her, and all the other women he would possess, with a
sensuality that explored every detail. She taught him to be
shameless, as she was, so that all the prohibitions of conventional
sexuality never had a chance to make an impression on him.
The Ninja: A Novel
Eric Van Lustbader
Page 245-8
Willow bowed and led the man down a dimly lighted hallway. The walls,
save for the decorative molding at floor and ceiling, were papered in
a blue-green Shantung silk. The carpet was a deep beige, as were the
molding and the closed doors they passed.
They came to the last door on the left and Willow halted. Her hand
reached for the knob.
"Wait a minute." The man's fingers encircled her slender wrist. He
pulled her around to face him. "Are you going to-" He was speaking in
Cantonese, saw the blank look on her face, switched to Mandarin. It
was too much to expect that they'd know Japanese. "Has the old woman
fixed you up with me? I told her I didn't want anyone tall." Willow
stared at him mutely. "Listen, I don't want you. Understand? There
has been some mistake."
Willow dropped her gaze to his fingers holding her. "Tell the old
lady there's been a mistake. For the money I'm-" He stopped, puzzled.
She had made no move to break away from him. He had wanted her to
struggle, even to whimper. He increased the pressure of his fingers
but there was no response. He let go her wrist.
Willow turned and silently opened the door. She did not step over the
sill. The Japanese went inside and turned around to look at her but
the door was already closing behind him.
The room was large. Green carpet covered the floor. The walls were
gold; the ceiling, an eggshell white. The room contained a large
double bed, a wide sofa and a trio of matching chairs, all done in
gold cotton. An open door in the right wall led to a rather large
and, upon closer inspection, ornate bath. A highly polished oak
armoire stood along the left wall next to a large window.
He crossed to this, looked out on Pell Street. There was a
conventional black iron fire escape running up the side of the
building; there was no window in the bath. Normal security
precautions. He turned around.
He saw a young boy and, behind him, a young woman.
"What is your name?" he said to the boy. He did not ask for the
woman's name.
"Sparrow."
"Do you have it?"
The boy nodded, took a step toward the Japanese.
"Stop," he commanded. "Give it to the girl."
The boy turned and handed her something.
"Bring it to me."
He stared at her, his eyes boring into hers. His hand flipped out in
a blur, knocking the cup from her outstretched hand. She stifled a
cry at the blow. Her fingers stung terribly.
"Do nothing," he said coldly, "unless I command it. Then be quite
certain you do precisely as you are told. Is that clear?" The girl
nodded dumbly. These remarks seemed directed solely at her.
"Let me see what you have."
She opened her hand. In it he saw two brown tablets and, beside them,
a chunk of a black substance. He picked this up first, sniffed it. He
nodded. He placed it back in her hand, picked up the tablets. These
he tasted with the tip of his tongue. Satisfied, he told her to grind
them up. This combination of opium and synthetic DMT was not new to
him. He had acquired a taste for it from a fellow student years ago.
The pressure at the ryu had been enormous. Sake, of course, was often
use as a source of relaxation. But it was not for him; it was not
enough. He watched glassy-eyed as the girl, on her knees, ground the
mixture in a stone mortar she had produced from within the armoire.
When she had finished and had filled a pipe for him, he told her to
run the water for his bath.
"I can do that," Sparrow said.
"Stay where you are," the Japanese barked. His gaze shifted to the
girl. "Do as you are told."
She bowed her head, half ran across the room. By the time he had the
pipe lit, he heard the muted sound of running water.
The Japanese took three long drags at the pipe before he took it out
of his mouth. "Come here, Sparrow. Now inhale. No, deeply. That's
right."
He returned the pipe to his mouth, finished smoking. He could hear
nothing but the distant water, tumbling. It sounded like a falls.
Every time he breathed in now, the air felt chill; on the
exhalations, it seemed to bum the lining of his nostrils. He felt his
heart pumping, the blood squirting through his veins and arteries. He
felt hot.
Gravity pulled upon him as if he were underwater. He felt its drag on
his arms and legs, on his head and on his penis. His balls seemed to
have grown within their sac.
"Come," he commanded the boy and together they went into the bath.
The tub was three-quarters full. The girl was on her knees testing
the temperature.
"Undress the boy," he told her. Every time he spoke, he could feel
the rumbling vibrations in his chest. The words, gaining substance,
seemed to roll around within the cavity, like ripples set in motion,
eddying outward. Some words were as small as insects, as bright and
shining. Others were as large and ungainly as giraffes.
The Japanese watched avidly as the girl went to where Sparrow stood
on the doorsill. "Do it on your knees," he told her. He was gratified
to see how well she took instructions. He must remember to compliment
the old woman. The boy stood naked, his thin body just beginning to
form the musculature of adolescence. The Japanese stared, his pupils
dilated. In and out. His breathing like the bellows in a busy forge.
The girl sat with her legs folded beneath her. Her head was bowed.
Her long black hair hung, shining, down her back.
He bade her undress him next, his shirt first so that she could
perform the rest on her knees in front of him. He did not watch her;
he watched the boy.
He was hard by the time she had finished and the boy's penis was no
longer soft. Without looking at her, he grabbed the girl by the back
of her head, pushed her face against his scrotal sac. Her mouth
opened. The boy was hard and quivering.
He pushed the girl away from him, stepped into the hot tub. "Now," he
said to her, "Wash me."
When this had been completed, he stepped out and instructed her to
scrub the bathtub. Only when it was washed and rinsed did he step
back in. She ran the water for him again. Lying back, soaking
contentedly, he stared up at the gleaming white ceiling just as if he
were alone. He thought about the call and what it meant. He smiled.
He smiled. He had meant to kill Tomkin within three days anyway. He
had not been about to reveal that to his employers. The less they
knew the better. Once you gave anyone information of any kind, you
risked giving them an advantage. That was something the Japanese had
never done. He was successful because it was he who held the
advantage always. This he had been taught well.
(...)
He went over every phase of the buy again, feeling a tingling in his
groin beginning. The only matter that now concerned him- because it
was out of his control at the moment- was whether he had been too
obvious. Perhaps he had miscalculated in killing Ito. Then he
thought: No, it's what I had planned to do from the start. It's what
he needs.
The tip of his erect penis breached the water. He stared at it,
fascinated.
"Time." He said and the girl opened the grain. He stood up. The hot
water rolled down his flesh. His torso and limbs were hairless. He
stepped out of the tub, brushed aside the thick towel the girl had
opened for him. "No," he said. "Lick the water off me." He watched
the boy, who had not moved all this time, as the girl bent to her
task.
Yes, he though. There is plenty of time. Enough for me to return here
tomorrow night. Release was instrumental to his functioning properly.
Between his spread legs , the girl continued to lick at him.
In the bedroom, he smoked another pipeful, repeating his offer to
Sparrow. The girl was the only one who was still dressed.
She came and stood before him when he commanded, her eyes at her
feet. With one blurred gesture he ripped the silk robe from her.
She had small firm breasts, the nipples long and hard. Narrow waist
and hips, thick pubic triangle. Her skin was raised in goosebumps.
Still she would not look at him; he liked that.
He reached his left hand up. It was so big that his fingers were able
to completely encircle her slender neck. Her skin was so soft there.
With his other hand he touched her briefly where her flesh was
raised, interested in the oddity.
Holding her thus, he drew his right hand away, slapped her breasts so
that they shook. She grimaced but made no sound. The Japanese turned
his head slightly so that he could see the boy's reaction; he had not
moved. The Japanese swung at the girl's breasts again, this time from
the opposite side. She gasped and immediately bit her lower lip.
Sweat started out along her hairline; her flesh was damp beneath his
fingers.
When he hit her a third time, it was with considerably more force.
She gave a short cry and her legs collapsed from under her.
There was a piece of silk tied to each of the bedposts. He took these
and, one by one, tied them around her wrists and ankles until she was
spreadeagled, unable to move. Her chest was heaving and it glistened
with sweat. She moaned, half-unconscious.
The Japanese crossed the room, took the ceramic bottle of sake back
to the bed and fed it to her. She coughed twice. Her eyes flew open
and she swallowed, convulsively. He kept the lip of the bottle to her
lips until all the liquor was gone. Then he got onto the bed,
straddling her. He faced her crotch and spread legs; her breasts were
beneath him.
"Come here," he said to Sparrow.
The boy moved to the side of the bed, climbed up into the position
the Japanese indicated. He crouched between the girl's legs. His eyes
went to her crotch. He fell over, dazed. The right side of his face
was numb. Moments later, it began to sting. It was very red.
"Don't do that" the Japanese said. "Look only in the direction of
this." He pointed to his rampant penis. Now the Japanese settled over
the girl's face. He felt the heat of her breath, the soft tickle as
her lips opened. Her tongue began to probe his anus.
"Now," he commanded the boy. Sparrow leaned forward, opened his
mouth. Soon the Japanese closed his eyes. He began to talk in
expletives.
Neither Sparrow nor the girl understood his words; they were in
Japanese. They could not, however, mistake his tone. As his
excitement mounted, so did the obscenities he uttered. He reached
down without knowing it, grabbed painful handfuls of the girl's inner
thighs, leaving marks and red welts, and, as he exploded into
Sparrow's mouth, he hit her once between her thighs so hard that she
fainted with the pain. Seeing the look in the Japanese's eyes,
Sparrow backed away off the bed. It was his turn now.
Vengeance
Ian St. James
Page 345
He caught up with them on the threshold to the bathroom. It was a
huge, mirrored room, with the door open wide. Inside he glimpsed
people crowding the walls, all shouting and roaring with the fervor
of a crowd in a racetrack. He sensed rather than saw them, his gaze
drawn directly ahead. With his trouser round his ankles, Roddy was
pressing a figure against a washbasin. The figure was a boy, naked
from the waist down. Roddy's fingers were splayed across the bare
buttocks. The boy's leg was cocked up into the wash basin.
Rhythmically, Roddy moved into him. The crowd screamed their
excitement. The boy rode up and down, gasping and panting. Their
breath-smeared reflections showed in the mirror. The boy looked no
older than twelve. On his shoulder, Roddy's face was contorted with
lust.
Red Chrysanthemum
Laura Joh Rowland
Page 36
Then her attention riveted on the tableau in the corner of the room.
Atop a quilt-covered futon hunched a man that she presumed was Lord
Mori, propped on his forearms and spread knees. He was nude and
thickset; black hairs (.) him like bristles on a bear. His body
heaved with fast, loud breathing. His mouth was open, his eyes
closed, his complexion sweaty and flushed. A wine jar and cup sat on
a nearby table. A small, bare leg and foot protruded from beneath
him. Lord Mori pushed himself upright. His penis was erect and
gleaming wet. Where he'd lain on the futon was a naked boy, perhaps
nine years old. His short black hair stuck up in a cowlick. Reiko
couldn't see his face; it was buried in the quilt. Her eyes widened
with alarm at the red bruises around his neck. He didn't move; he
didn't utter a sound. Lord Mori smiled to himself, an ugly grimace of
sensual satisfaction. He picked up a dressing gown and put it on.
"You can come in now," he called. For one disturbing moment Reiko
thought he was talking to her. Then a door inside the room opened.
Two samurai entered. "Get rid of him," Lord Mori ordered. He had a
voice so lacking in expression that it seemed inhuman.
La Donna Detroit: A Detective Sergeant Mulheisen Mystery
Jon A. Jackson
Page 7
Carmie crawled to the other boy. Porky rummaged in a box that seemed
to serve as a kind of altar, covered with an old flag and supporting
a candelabra and a dented urn of some sort. He pulled out a Boy Scout
camping hatchet. He brandished it in the light. Carmie’s eyes were
like Ping-Pong balls. “Take of your pants,” Porky said.
He had to say it again, twice, before Carmie understood. But then the
boy unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his corduroy knickers and let
them down. He stood hunched over in the light. He still wore his
white underpants. Porky was crouched before him. He reached out and
pulled down the boy’s cotton briefs, somewhat damp and stained with
urine from his fright. Carmie trembled in horror.
“What . . . what are you gonna do?” he asked.
“If you don’t shut up and do what I say,” Porky said, "I'm gonna chop
yer pecker off." The boy stood still while Porky took hold of his
penis and pulled on it, not roughly, but almost tenderly. Porky was
breathing heavily. He stroked the child's penis repeatedly, his lips
wet and nearly drooling.
"You ever suck a fella?" he asked, suddenly.
Carmie shook his head. “What do you mean?” he stammered.
Porky stood up. He was much taller, and like Carmie, he hunched. He
unbuttoned his own trousers and took out his own penis. It was much
larger than Carmie’s, and it was strangely stuff, sticking straight
out.
“Here,” he said, his voice rasping, “get down on yer knees and suck
it.”
Carmie’s eyes were locked on the well-sharpened hatcher, but he shook
his head. “No.”
“Okay then,” Porky said. “I’m gonna whack yer dick off.” He grabbed
the boy’s penis again and held it, stretching it, brandishing the
brutal hatchet threatingly.
“Fatty, help me!” Carmie squealed, inadvertently using a nickname he
often applied to his pudgy cousin.
His tormentor seemed to think that the name was applied to him. “I
ain’t Fatty,” he snarled. “Get down, before I chop this weenie off!”
Carmie sank to his knees, moaning. The older boy hunched over him,
breathing excitedly. “Open yer moth,” he demanded, hoarsely.