MY WEEKEND, BY BOBBY RAY

By DannyR  (MM/b, oral, anal, incest, ws, pedo)
Copyright 2009.  All rights reserved.


Authors Reminder:  Dont forget that inquiring authors want to know -- what did you think?  So when youre 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 didnt 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 were clear on whats what, and whats not, read on.


MY WEEKEND, BY BOBBY RAY

You know the old saying:  All dressed up and no one to fuck.

Well, thats my old saying.  You go with yours.  And it was true.  I dont get horny like this very often, I mean, fuck, its not like I dont have plenty of cunt to choose from, but every so fuckin often, my dick lets me know its been too long, that I need this.  So I get all dressed up and go out cruising.  Looking for a nice, tight hole to shove my cock into.

Yeah, yeah, cruising is risky.  Dangerous.  You never know who or what youre going to end up with; the cops could come along, blah, blah, blah.  Still, Im careful.  I dont cruise near home or work.  You dont shit where you eat, right?

I could probably plan these things out, and be successful every time, but I like the not knowing, the wondering as I put the key in, and start the engine whether Im going to find me the right hot little hole, or go home hard and horny and kind of pissed.  Fortunately for my regular cunts that doesnt happen often, since when it does happen, my regular cunts suffer.  Not that they dont enjoy it, but then its not really important whether they do or not.  In that kind of mood, as I move toward the weekend when I can cruise again...and I will cruise again and again until I get what I need...the fucks are progressively rougher, the spankings are harder, and their tits get twisted that extra special squeal-real-loud-for-daddy-you-little-cunt turn.  They dont know why I get into that mood, but they sure the fuck know better than to ask questions.

So when I pulled into this crappy, off the beaten track as in somewhere in the upper fucking Amazon gas station/convenience store/post office I was frustrated and angry and really fucking horny, with an aching, leaking cock.  Two goddamn chances to get what I wanted, what I fucking needed, and neither one worked.  The fucking GPS was fucked and Id made a wrong turn somewhere and wound up...wherever the fuck I was.  And I was stuck in one of those cell dead zones from the commercials, only I didnt belong to the right company.

If the gas pumps had been the kind from the thirties, they would have looked right at home with this kind of Depression era wooden building.  The pumps from the 50s didnt modernize it any. Big windows, all dusty, with stuff behind them that had probably been there since shortly after the world was created.  Or big-banged into existence.  Take your pick.  A screen door hanging half open, a big open sign (large bright red letters against a black background) dangling in the door.

I stepped down from the cab as the door opened.  An old guy came out.  Sixty or so, thick white hair, deeply lined face, tall, gold-rimmed glasses, clean shaven, wide mouth, thin lips to go with the thin body.  Bib overalls with a tee-shirt underneath, sun-reddened arms.  Lace-up boots.  Gas? he asked, holding the screen door half open.

Fill er up, I said, gesturing toward the beat-up truck I was driving.  It looked old enough to belong in the Depression-type picture some hot shot photographer should take here, and win some frigging Americana award.  I went inside to get out of the bright glare of the sun and the damned heat, but it wasnt that much better.  No air conditioning, just a big ceiling fan doing its damnedest to circulate the heat.

And there he was.

Sitting on the dusty wooden floor, on planks kind of wavy from who the fuck knows how many years of being walked on, and warped from probable extremes of heat and cold, was what I wanted.  Needed.  Knew I was going to have as I sure the fuck wasnt going to go home without getting my balls drained.  Not now.

I watched him play with the cars for a moment, as he drove them back and forth across the bumpy floor, making soft little vroom-vroom noises.  One leg was bent, his bare foot resting against his knee; the other was stretched out and I could see the dust and dirt on the soles.  He was wearing loose tan shorts...that all the better to hide the dirt my dear color...and a smudged white tee shirt.  He was blond, with curly hair that fell over his forehead, hiding his eyes as he looked down at his game.  He was a little on the plump side, but I didnt mind.  Fat or skinny, he was perfect.  Just what the doctor ordered if my doctor gave pedo prescriptions.

He was three.

Not two, not four...three.  I know these things.

In my head I was singing my favorite hymn, Praise God from whom all boy cunts flow.

I hunkered down beside the little boy, listening carefully for the squeal of the hinges on the opening door.  Making sure I wasnt too close.  Making sure I didnt appear dangerous.

Hi, there, I said, giving him my best smile.  And my best smile is very damned good, even with the thick dark mustache across my lip and the, I admit it, kind of scraggly beard running straight down the sides of my mouth to my jaw.  He couldnt see my eyes behind old-fashioned Air Force mirrored shades, but he didnt really need to.  The smile, my relaxed body language, my tone, all told him I was a friend, not a stranger he wasnt supposed to talk to.  And besides, the old man was there to protect him.  Not at that precise, moment, but still....  Im Bobby Ray.

Not my real name of course.  My mama didnt raise her no dummy, as the saying goes, though I expect shed be appalled by what she did raise, but then, shes been dead five years, so what the fuck.  And I doubt the boy or the old man would guess I grabbed the name from a Nifty Archives story I jacked off to a few weeks back.

He looked up at me, smiled back.  Green eyes.  Bright, bright, bright green.  Thick lashes but so blond you almost couldnt see them.  Fat little cheeks.  Fat, cherry red lips that he licked with the tip of a tiny tongue.  Jesus.  My cock spurted juice.  Im Little Jack.

I had a momentary image of him years from now, a confident teen in high school, muscled, tanned, a deep voice, introducing his butch stud self to some cheerleader...if they had cheerleaders in this godforsaken area...or some other girl he wanted to poke.  Too bad that wasnt likely to happen any more.  Not after today.  If I were a betting man, and one willing to come back to check thirteen or fourteen years from now, Id bet on him being a muscled, tanned, deep voiced blond stud...fucked up bottom boy, a pussy for his teammates, the coach, the mayor, whoever else wanted to use his face cunt or his ass cunt.

So, whos Big Jack? I asked.

Id heard the door squeal, so I didnt scream like a surprised little girl or something when the old man said, His daddy.

I stood up easily, confidently, harmlessly, swiveled toward him.  You have a handsome son, sir.

It never hurts to praise a mans virility, and there was just the tiniest straightening of his posture at the brief idea that he was still potent enough at his age to father a handsome young son.  But his type generally tends toward the truth.  My grandson, actually.

So that makes you...Biggest Jack?

The boy gave a little gurgle of laughter, and the old man smiled.  Nope.  Im James.  

I extended my hand to him.  Bobby Ray, sir.

The hesitation was almost imperceptible, but he did take my hand.  I mean, what the fuck else was he supposed to see but trailer trash...what with the long, as in past shoulder length kind of stringy hair, the scraggly mustache, the overly long sideburns, the old dark brown ball cap worn backwards, the blue-tan-white plaid shirt open and hanging out, my white tee kind of stained and a little ripped.  Worn and frayed, many times washed jeans held on my bony hips (right below that bulging little belly on my skinny frame) by an old, cracked black leather belt.  Old moccasins, no socks.  But still, I was polite, and had a fucking great smile, and surprise, surprise in this day and age, I even called him sir.  He shook my hand.

How much was it, sir?

Forty-three sixty.

I patted my ass, and not surprisingly, found no wallet.  I looked chagrined.  Well, uh...darn....

The old man interrupted me with a laugh.  What kind of a throwback was I, he had to be asking himself.  Polite trailer trash censoring his language because of a little boy?  Little Jack has heard a hell or damn before, son.

I smiled back and thats when the kid sort of chirped, My daddys in church!

What the fuck?  Not aloud, of course, or Id spoil the image.  Another laugh, and the old man said, Hellfire and damnation is what he means.  Reverend Jones.  Which explained the weird boy segue.

I smiled and nodded.  I knew all about hell and damnation.  Been there, done that, gonna do it again.  Soon.  This very afternoon.  Yes, it is a beautiful day for praising the Lord.  And in my head I hummed my little hymn.

Yep.  Big Jacks over tAtwater.  Revival.  Sos most of the town.  Good folks, here.

They certainly are, sir.  It must be wonderful to live in a place like this.  So trusting.  They troop off to do it with God and leave a gorgeous little boy all alone, with just his old grandfather to protect him.  Thank you blessed Jesus!

Well, as I started to say...damn, but I left my wallet in the truck.  You want me to leave my watch here while I go get it?  We both looked at my hairy wrist, with the large flashy will you look the fuck at that goddamn watch? Rolex clamped around it.

Of course, if you make an offer of good faith like that, good ol boys like grampa here feel theyd offend you if they took you up on it.  He waved me off.  Not that I was planning on jumping in the truck and heading anywhere, well, at least not for a little while yet.  I headed out to the truck, grabbed my duffel bag, brought it back in, set it on the counter a little way away from the two.  Little Jack was still on the floor, playing with his truck.  So cute.  So oblivious to what was going on over his head.

As I rummaged around in the bag, I asked casually, If I drove over to Atwater, you think I might be able to attend part of the revival?

Sure could, son.  Started about an hour ago, and itll be goin on for a couple of hours yet.  

Good, good.  I nodded my head, grampa nodding almost in time with me.  Thatll give us plenty of time.  And I pulled the old-fashioned gun out of the bag and pointed it at the old man.  He gasped and turned even whiter than he was before, almost as white as his hair.  Its very impressive, that gun.  Large.  Even larger when its pointed at you by a suddenly no longer polite but clearly deranged redneck piece of trailer trash.  The kind of gun the old time movie cowboys had, where theyd spin the chamber after all the bullets were loaded.  I didnt bother with that bit of bravado.  He got the point.

Wheres the toilet?

Grampa blinked.  Clearly hed been expecting something more on the lines of Wheres the goddamned money, old man!

O...out back.

Good.  Lets go there.  He looked down at Little Jack, half hoping I didnt mean to take the boy along, half afraid of what might happen if I locked grampa in the toilet somehow...and he had to be wondering WTF about the toilet since it undoubtedly opened from the inside...and then I would be all alone in the station with a young boy whose beauty he suddenly recalled.

I wiggled the gun and the old man sighed. Dropped my arm to my side so the boy wouldnt see what I was holding.  

Cmon, Jack, we need to show this nice man where the restroom is.   He held out his hand and Little Jack stood up, that little belly pooching out.  Oh, yeah, plump little boy titties, too.

I stood to the side so they could get in front of me, but L.J., as Id decided to think of him, and call him, balked and tugged the old mans hand like he wanted to head in the opposite direction.  But, grampa....

Grampa just gave his hand a little jerk and he said, Behave, Jack!  Now come on.

Our short little parade reached the front door and following instructions, the old man flipped the sign to Closed and shut the door behind us.  Fortunately he wasnt stupid enough to try anything.  Then we trooped down the side of the station, our feet kicking up dust since it was far too dry for anything to grow.  Then around the corner and out of sight of the road.  Out of sight of pretty much everything except more dirt and some dried up fields and in the distance a few trees.

The toilet door had the outhouse quarter moon shape painted on.  Clever.  It was a building backed up against the station.  Grampa opened the door, hesitated, looked over his shoulder, got a clear look at my expression and went inside, L.J. with him.  I followed.  At my nod, the old man put the hook on the door.  Not a great lock, but then most folks needing to piss or shit at a gas station wouldnt be trying to break the door down, and would understand that if it didnt budge theyd have to wait a bit.

The place was perfect.  Ancient.  On my right in the narrow space was a large mirror above a sturdy looking counter with a sink at one end.  Then a rusty old piss trough.  Then a rusting stall with no door on it.  The floor was worn linoleum, cracked and broken, brown and black and tan.  On the left were sagging wooden shelves that had probably been around since the Depression.  Mostly empty, but some supplies...cans of oil, things like that...toilet paper, paper towels.  At the far end another door.

Ah, that was what the boy meant.  Smart little L.J. had been wondering why we were going around the outside of the building when we could have gone through that door from inside the station.

I inhaled through my nose.  Let it out.  Did it again.  Damn but that smell always gets me hard, or stiffer if Ive already got a hardon.  Like now. Dirt and dust and piss and shit and sweat and disinfectant and the raunch of all the men and boys who used this place over the decades, until the smells were ground in, soaked into the wood, the steel, the walls, the floor.

Why dont you set L.J. up on the counter, James?  The old mans face turned briefly mulish but a movement of my shoulder reminded him why that wasnt a good idea.  He lifted the boy up, settled him on the counter with his plump little legs dangling and looked at me in the mirror.  His eyes widened when he saw the gun was up and visible.  I waggled it and he moved aside.

L.J. gasped when he saw the gun and turned a frightened head toward his grandfather.

Now, L.J., your grampa and you and I are going to play a fun game.  Arent we, grampa?

Y...yes.

Good, good.  So, L.J., we want you to stay right where you are while grampa and I get started.  Okay?

He nodded.  A little hesitantly, but that was okay.  The smile, the soothing tones, the confident body language that worked so well on other occasions, was relaxing him, smoothing away his concerns.  Damn, I was good.  But fuck, with all those years of experience, I should be.

The old man backed up toward the stall.  When he was far enough away that he couldnt jump me, I dropped the duffel bag, went to my left knee, used my left hand to rummage around and find what I wanted.  I pulled out two pairs of high-grade steel handcuffs.  I tossed one set to him and he reluctantly caught it.  Left wrist.

He did it.  Hands over your head, cuffs around the pipe, right wrist.  He glared but did it.

So fucking hot.  The metal stall was supported in part by a pipe that went up about six inches above the top of the side of the stall, then had a curved joint and a long pipe stretching to the restroom wall where it was bolted in.  Grampa was standing there facing out, and nowhere to go.  I circled around him in case he was stupid enough to lash out with his feet, and with the barrel of the gun pressed against his right knee...making a very vivid point...I cuffed his right leg to the bottom upright of the stall.

I tucked the gun in the back of my jeans and stood next to the old man.  Hey, L.J., you ever seen your daddys pee-pee?  He nodded.  You have?  He nodded again.  Where?

Swimmin.

So youve seen your grampas pee-pee, too?  Another nod.  Has he got a big one?  A little boy shrug.

Have you ever seen your daddy or your grampa with a big stiffie?  A head shake.

Would you like to?  Another shrug.

Well, I think every little boy should see his daddy and his grampa with a big stiffie.  

I turned my back on the boy, alert for any attempt to lash out with the still free left leg, and murmured so just the old man could hear me.  Dont do anything stupid, old man.  There are so fucking many ways this could go south for you and the kid.

Please, he whispered back.  Please dont hurt him.  Ill... he gulped, but made the offer that was the only option he had, Ill do anything.

Yeah, you will, I replied just as softly.

James stood very still as I unsnapped the overalls, and then tugged them down to his ankles.  He was fucking commando!  Nice cock, too.  About three inches even soft, uncut with a long foreskin, average sized balls hanging pretty low.  His pubes were mostly silver and grey.

I stood and fondled the old mans balls and his limp dick.  Wow, L.J.!  Your grampa has a really nice pee-pee, doesnt he?

The kid nodded, kind of distracted but still staring.  Guess hed never seen anyone play with his grampas dickie before.  I let it go, walked across to the counter, and carried the boy back, set him on the floor.  His face was right about the height of his grampas crotch.

You know, L.J., sometimes when a guy wants to get a really good stiffie, he has another guy help him out.  Right, James?

He turned his eyes away but nodded.  And grampa wants me to help him get hard, doesnt he?

The old man still didnt look at me.  He still said, Y...yes.

I was to the old mans left.  I dropped to one knee.  The gun barrel caressed the back of his left calf, as I played with his balls and took his dick into my mouth.  I heard the tiniest of sighs from above me.  I was a pervert, yeah, but I wasnt going to hurt his grandson.  All I wanted was to suck an old mans dick.  L.J. was safe.  Sure, hed see his grampa getting a blowjob but that could be...explained.  So the quicker he got hard and came, the quicker Id be gone.

False hope, thy name is grampa.

He thrust his hips, cooperating.  I wondered what images he was conjuring up in his mind to help him get hard.  Didnt care much, just wondered.  Whether it was my cocksucking skills or those mental pics or both, he got nice and hard.  Even panted a little as I worked his meat, licking his piss hole, and his knob, deep throating him.  I pulled away.  Grampa whimpered, just slightly.  Nice, thick, eight inches.  Longer and fatter than mine.  Shiny purple torpedo head, with the skin pulled back and bunched.

Why dont you be a good grandson, L.J.?  Help your grampa?

The little one was...torn.  Maybe somebody had just been up front and told him, Dont lick your grampas dick.  Maybe he just knew it was naughty.  Filthy.  Perverted.  A crime.  A sin against God and nature.  But the nice stranger had been doing it, swallowing all of grampas big fat dickie.  And grampa had been smiling...sort of.  Poor baby boy.  What was a confused not-yet-slut whore to do?

My right hand moved behind my back.  Out of grampas sight, but he knew I was caressing the gun, almost as if I was jacking it off.  He got the message when I said, Tell him, James.

Grampa looked down at his open-mouthed, plump baby grandson.  The boy with nature-made, God-bestowed, perfect cocksuckers lips.  Lips that needed practice.  Now.

It...its okay, Li...

L.J.!

With both of us calling the kid L.J., a brand new nickname, then sure as fuck whenever he heard that he was gonna remember today.

Its okay, L.J.  G...grampa needs your help.  Real bad.  Cmon, move closer.  Good boy.  Now...stick out your tongue.  Oh, Christ.  Uh, no, no, its okay, L.J.  Grampas not mad.  Its just, please lick your grampas pee-pee head.

But grampa, you pee there.  The boys tone was a little surly.  That kind of shit wasnt going to last too long.

Grampa mustve got the mind-signal.  No, L.J., its all clean now.  Bobby Ray, our...our new friend, just cleaned grampas pee-pee all up.  And...and grampa would really like it if youd help him out.

Which is what good little L.J. did...leaned in and licked the drop of precum that had leaked out.  Grampa shivered.

Suck him, L.J., I whispered.

No...please.... James whispered back, and looked up at me.

I caught it all.  The jaw dropping.  The skin going pale.  The eyes widening.  The look of total horror flaring in his eyes as he saw I was taking pictures.

Video, actually.  With sound.  But he probably hoped it was just stills.  The other was too awful to contemplate, so he obviously didnt. What he did do was catch my expression, even though I was still filming.  Catch it and understand.  I was careful to catch, in my turn, the delicious despair in his eyes as he looked down again, at his precious baby grandson, the three year old almost cocksucker.

Suck on grampas dick, L.J.  Just like Bobby Ray did.

The kid did what he was told.  Not with my expertise, of course, but it was so fucking hot seeing those tiny hands grab hold of grampas dick and those fat moist lips curled around the knob end, and that small head moving back and forth.  Up and down, up and down on grampas meat, slowly taking more into his mouth.

The guys I sent this vid to would go fucking nuts.

I moved in closer, maneuvering the camera with my right hand, while with my left I took hold of the boys little head, holding it in place.  Or, actually, pushing his head a little farther toward his grampas pubes.  I moved the camera up to catch all the nuances as I said, Fuck your grandsons face, James.  Shove your big fat grampa dick down your three year old grandsons hot, tight throat.  Cum in his tiny belly.

Fear, anger, despair, anguish, guilt.  Recognition that nothing he could do would prevent me from just dropping the camera and getting the gun.  Submission.  And...surprisingly...a faint, faint, faint twinge of...lust?

I panned the camera down the length of his skinny body, already glistening with sweat generated both by fear and the heat, down and down to his pubes, wet with both sweat and spit from his tiny grandsons precious mouth.  A precious mouth attached to a head that was writhing and struggling, trying to get free of my grip, trying to get away from that giant cock snake working its way down into his no longer virgin three year old throat, struggling, whimpering, crying as grampas hips moved faster and faster, and the boy grew more desperate for air as his raping grampas face fuck went on and on and on, almost in time to the words I was whispering.  Cmon, James, fuck your baby grandsons face, shove your grampa meat down that three year old throat, rape the little whore, show him his real place in your life, get him started on being a cum loving slut before you turn him over to other men to rape and molest.  Fill his belly with thick hot grampa cum you boyfucker!

And with that, James spewed.  And spewed.  And spewed.  While tiny little L.J. gulped...and gulped...and gulped.  Christ!  Grampa had fucked that entire piece of monster old man meat down that three year old throat.

I relaxed my left hand, held the boys neck, pulled back to slowly withdraw his grampas cock from his kid cunt throat and mouth.

Poor mouth-raped three year old.  A belly full of incestuous grampa cum, a sore throat, lips and tongue and teeth still covered with this grampa seed, a glazed look in his eyes, tears streaming down his face, snot drooling from his nose.  One hole down, one to go.  He just stood there, swaying.  I stood up so I could get some good shots of grampas face, his still mostly-hard dong, gleaming with three year old spit and grampa cum, L.J.s dazed little face with the blobs of manseed oozing out of his mouth.

Then I set the camera on the floor, lens up to record grampas drooping slimy dick and my hands coming from behind the little boy, and my voice telling L.J. to hold the fuck still, you little cunt while I peeled the tee-shirt off, and pushed his shorts down to the filthy floor.  The boy started to struggle when I put my hand on his shorts but a quick glare from me and James was reassuring the kid, telling him not to worry, to let the nice man take off his clothes.

My buyers think the fact the vid quality is erratic, like when the camera is on the floor and theres nothing artistic about the shots, is pretty hardon making, showing how authentic the events are.  The camera watched while I played with his puffy boy tits, and fondled his tiny three year old package, catching my whispered, soothing endearments.  The camera watched while I turned the boy around so my viewers could see my finger caressing his crack, sliding in; watched while my finger went in, touched his tight little hole, shoved past his fear clamped muscles.  The boy gave a half-gasp, half-scream.  Fucking music to my ears.  I looked up at grampa.  His horrified gaze said he knew what was coming next; knew there wasnt a fucking thing he could do to stop it.

Then I pulled my finger out, stood up, unzipped my jeans, hauled out my hardon.  The meat with the big steel ring through the knob.  When grampa got a good look he started babbling, a mixture of prayers to a God who so far today didnt appear to give a shit what was going on, and swearing, and pleading with me not to do it.  Fuck, he even offered to be my bitch if Id just leave L.J. alone.

I nodded, like Id think about it.  Or maybe take him up on the offer.

I probably would.  When I was out cruising my balls were working overtime and raping the old mans ass would be kind of hot.  Just...afterwards.  Not instead of.

I picked the camera up in my right hand, the kid in my left, recording the way my hand was between his little legs fondling his bare boy meat and balls as we walked over to the counter.  It was awkward but he got onto the counter, and then sat down like a good like boy, his plump calves and tiny boy feet dangling over the edge.  Still recording, I walked back to his clothes, picked up the tee shirt, scanned up from grampas definitely not scared shitless soft, but still stiff meat to his face.  Told him to open his mouth wide.  Shoved the tee in to shut him up.  Grunts and groans and prayers and screams were okay during what was about to happen, just muffled.

Loud sounds from the boy?  Definitely okay.

I got the magic duffel open again, pulled out the tripod, but first I got a good shot of myself, slowly passing the camera down from my lank hair down past my belly to my steel-ringed cockhead, thrusting out of my jeans.  I pulled my balls out.  Then turned the camera on little L.J.  Sad, afraid face, plump boy tits, boy belly, legs wide, his tiny boy dick soft.  Now that the actors in this little drama were established, I turned back for a brief long shot of grampa, his handcuffed hands up and over his head, his mouth gagged, his overalls at his ankles and his stiff cock thrusting out from his old man pubes.    Then I fixed the camera to the tripod, adjusted the focus.

Delicious little three year old body.  Smooth pale skin.  I put my thumbs and fingers on his puffy tits, using my thumbs to rub the tips.  He shivered.  Messing with my tits did nothing for me, but I sure the fuck loved the little ones with the hardwired tit-cock connection.  Even this young.  I looked down.  Such a tiny little cocklet, almost no ball sac.  I squeezed his titties and he whimpered.  His tiny boy meat stirred, just a little.  I squeezed harder and his baby pricklet jumped for sure, in time with his tiny scream.  

Little L.J. started crying, eyes wide open, barely blinking. I decided I need more skin on skin contact with the little slut than boy flesh on my jeans.  I set the tube of lube from my pocket next to a plump hip, along with the gun, then shoved my jeans down to my thighs.  Much better.  I looked over at grampa.  Naturally Id set everything up so that he had a clear view.  I quickly lubed my meat, left a little on my first two fingers and then ruthlessly shoved them into his dry virgin cunt.  

It was as tight as a three year old boy ass should be. I smiled at his louder scream, at the tears that began streaming down faster.  I scooted him around so one leg was dangling  off the counter, and I held one up so grampa could see how my fingertips went past that tight pussy muscle to that first knuckle, and then to the second and finally all the way in.  More pain as I decided he really needed three coned fingers.  Another howl, this time for his grampa.  I smiled wickedly at the old man as I finger fucked his baby grandsons asshole, pointedly looking down at the hardon and then up to the old mans embarrassed but still angry, still fearful face.

I spread my fingers wide, pushing them all the way in his pained pussy.  I needed him loose enough so that when he clamped down on my dick as I forced it in, it wasnt too painful for me.  Im not into pain.  Well, except for that its better to give shit.

I roughly pulled him into position, his little boy ass at the edge of the counter.  I think he may have banged the back of his head on the mirror when I did, since he yelled, but as long as it didnt knock him out that wasnt my problem.  I needed him awake for what I was about to do to him.

Its always a bit more difficult to get a dick like mine, with the steel ring through my knob, into a virgins hole.  Especially a little boys pussy.  Especially one this young.  Though Id had my own close encounter of the two-year-old kind a couple of years ago when I cruised on the coast.  But where theres a will, theres an open, well-fucked boy cunt.

L.J., my little fuck slut, grab onto the counter and dont fucking let go.  And keep your goddamned legs up.  The kid did.

I started pushing my ringed knob into his desperately clenched asshole.  Given the pressure on him, I used one hand on his shoulder to prevent him from sliding away.  I could have ordered him to relax his pussy muscles, but where would the fun be in that?

Fucking cunt didnt want to give in.  Didnt want to let me in.  But victory was inevitable.  That was what age and talent was all about.  I kept pushing, and sure as my name isnt Bobby Ray, the tight little muscle gave way, almost as if something tore.  And then my piss slit and part of the ring were inside his hot little body.  Then more and more until his cunt lips clamped down on my shaft, my knob and ring all the way inside him.  The kid was in agony just then.  Perfect.

I paused as if to give him time to adjust.  Lulling him into a false sense of security, as the pain in his pussy faded just a bit, and his gulping sobs slowed down.  I looked over at grampa James and winked.  Man, grampa, you gotta try some of this shit.  Three year old baby boy pussy with grampa dick spreading the little cunt even wider with sloppy seconds.   But first, Ive gotta get him ready for you, open him up.

And with that, I started fucking the kid.  Mercilessly.  Each fuck stroke in added more of my meat into his hole; each fuck stroke let me feel how his poor little innards were getting rearranged to suit the needs of my dick.  Each fuck stroke brought more tears and howls from my boy whore and gag-muffled obscenities from grampa over by the stall.  In short order I was buried balls deep in his strained, hurting pussy, raping his little cunt as hard as I fucking could.  And when I was cruising I could fuck awfully damned hard.
 
Best of all, okay, not the actual bestthat was the wailing and the screamingbut second best was his little boy stiffie.  Was it because my meat was rubbing his baby boy prostate? Or just because he knew now that he was fucking meant, hell, fucking designed by that intelligent design creator in the sky to be a baby slut pussy boy, and eventually a cum dump bottom boy who let anyone with a dick use him. 

I fucked his mind as I fucked his cunt.  Hey, L.J., so fucking hot to be dicking your pussy and find out youre nothing but a faggot slut boy.  Only queer little boys get a hardon when a man puts his dick inside a boy.  Shit, L.J., almost every time Ive been the first man to get my dick into a boys cunt, thats called busting his boy cherry, you little whore, he was screaming and wailing just like you, but his dickie was all limp and just flopping around.  Thats cuz those boys were straight; those boys liked little girls, and they grew up to be straight men, men who liked women.  But you, ya little fuck hole, youre just a little faggot, a fucking cocksucking queer with a stiff little dickie.

I kept on fucking.  Usually, when Im fucking a new boy cunt for the first time, I cum pretty quick. Which is good, since I liked to get in, get off, get out as quick as I can.  Today, though, I was taking more time.  Maybe it was grampa and how hed pretty much loved the blowjob from his three-year-old grandson.  Or how stiff grampa was watching his beloved baby boy get long-dicked by some white trash pervert.

I started fucking faster.  Christ shit fuck theres nothing like the feel of your knob, and the thick steel ring, sliding out of raw and puffy boy pussy lips, pulling them out and them thrusting balls deep right away.  And I said fuck it! to myself as I pounded his pussy one more time and then started cumming deep into his bowels.  Usually I didnt.  DNA and shit like that.  But today...today was different.  No way was grampa going to bring the cops in.  Not with what was going to wind up on a very expensive DVD, but could also very easily appear on the Net.

I looked down at the tear stained face of the worn out little boy.  Dont fucking move, slut boy, I told him as I yanked my cock from his cunt and stepped back.  His legs flopped down over the edge of the counter and I could see a bit of cum and ass juices leak out between his cheeks.  My buyers would like the view of the heaving chest of the well-fucked three year old, so I left the camera recording, pulled my jeans up and buckled them, but left my meat out, picked up the gun and walked over to grampa, my slimy dick only a little bit softer and leading the way.

Only a little bit softer definitely described grampas dick.  I got the handcuff key out of my pocket and with grampa understanding clearly what the gun meant, I ungagged him, and then carefully uncuffed his hands.  I shoved one end of the cuffs into my back pocket.   He coughed and tried to get some saliva going.  Only one more little game, James, and then Ill leave and never come back.

He coughed again, and managed to say in a whisper, You sick bastard.

I cocked the gun, put it to the side of his head, told him to grab his cock.  He gulped and did what he was told.  You got a hardon, old man?

He winced, and tears appeared in his eyes.  Nodded.  I whispered, too.  You just got a blowjob from your three year old grandson and fucking came big time; you just watched some stranger fuck that little boy cunt for the first time, you fucking watched while a man molested your precious baby boy, and you stayed hard all the time.  And Im a sick bastard?

A single tear trickled down.

Dont move, I told him.  And smiled.  As if he could with his leg still cuffed to the stall.  

Gun tucked behind my back again, I dropped the cuffs in the duffel bag on my way back to the counter.  I gave my viewers a nice look at me fondling the little boy dick and balls, reaching up to twist his boy titties again, careful not to obscure the way his little dickie got almost hard.  It got all the way hard when I shoved two fingers into his slimy cunt and fingered him roughly for a little bit.  I pulled my fingers out and told him to sit up.  With a struggle, he did.  I leaned over and whispered in his ear.  He shook his head, and I whispered again.  His body slumped.

I pushed my fingers into his mouth and he began to clean them, licking off the lube and cum and slime with his tongue.  I swiveled the camera so it was pointing toward grampa, picked up the naked little boy and the lube, walked over, told James to get on his knees and when he did, I let L.J. down so his bare boy feet were on the dirty sticky linoleum, his little hard dickie pointed directly toward his grampa.  I dropped the lube next to grampas left knee.  I whispered softly enough the sound wouldnt be picked up by the still recording camera.  Lube your meat, James, and then fucking persuade your little one to let you fuck his tight little ass.  Or take the consequences.

With shaking hands, grampa spread the lube on his dick, and wiped his palms on his overalls.  While I was walking back with the camera and tripod to get some good shots, he pulled his naked three year old grandson into a warm, welcoming pedo grampa hug.  He began stroking the boys naked back, long strokes from the back of his head, down his spine, cupping his fat little boy cheeks, and then over again.

Li...L.J., you...you remember how you made grampa feel so good a little while ago?  Hmm?

The boy nodded, rubbing his face against his grampas sweaty, hairy chest.

Well, grampa really needs you to help him again.  You were so good, baby boy, so good.  Youll help grampa again, wont you?  He set the boy back so the kid was standing between his grampas spread knees, his head down, looking at his grampas meat, shiny with lube.  The boy bent over and touched his grampas dick and his little hand came away all greasy.

L.J. straightened up, and shook his head.  Nuh-uh, grampa.  Your pee-pee is all...icky.

All the better to fuck you with, I murmured.  And grinned when grampa looked up and glared at me.

Now, L.J., why dont you just put that greasy little hand on your bottom, and wipe it, just like when youre done with a poo.

The mutinous little shit shook his head no.

I took a step forward, probably just to swat his fat little ass a couple of times to get him to pay the fuck attention and do what he was told, or maybe I was going to beat him within an inch of his life.  Grampa probably couldnt tell, but he brought my evil plan to a halt by yanking the boy forward, whirling him around, bending him over and using his open palm three times...whack! whack! whack! each one a little harder, though I dont think James was really aware of that...on the three year old well fucked bottom.  The sounds echoed in the silence, followed by an outraged wail from the boys face cunt.

A whole afternoon of firsts for little slut L.J.  Face fucked by his grampa.  Face fucked by a stranger.  Getting his virgin cunt reamed by that strangers dick.  And now spanked.  But someone, probably grampa, still needed a little encouragement, because the kid was just standing there howling and blubbering.  I dont know if the cum dump heard the sound of the hammer being cocked, but grampa sure the fuck did.

He pulled L.J. to him, so the kid was awkwardly splayed across his grampas chest and belly, the long fat grampa dick shining with the lube.  James shut his grandson up by the simple expedient of kissing him and then tongue fucking the tiny mouth.  The boy struggled, but finally gave in.  And gasped into his grampas mouth when James greased up a finger by wiping it on his own meat and then slid it right between those plump cheeks and into the kids cummy cunt.

And gasped again when his grampas finger was followed by three in a cone shape.  Fucking in and out of that hot little cunt. Then he stopped the tongue fucking, made the kid stand in front of him...and fucking forced his baby grandson to clean off those three cummy shithole ass juice slimy fingers.  Smeared the kids face, too, until it was shiny with lube and juices.

James looked down at the again-crying boy.  L.J., you gonna help out grampa or not?

Hot shit and damn.  The tone of voice said to me that either the little fuck slut cooperated, turned around and backed his boy pussy up and down onto grampas dick, or grampa was just gonna fucking take the cunt.

James voice turned soft and gentle.  Cmon, L.J.  You might as well.  Now that grampa knows what a slut pussy boy you are, grampa needs to get his big fat dick into your wet little slut boy cunt.

The kid looked up at him, tears running down his face.  He knew, somehow, that being a slut boy pussy was not normally a good thing.  Stubborn little shit said, N...not a slut boy, grampa!

Spread your legs, L.J.

Huh?  The kid was bewildered, but after a slight hesitation, he did.  Then a little wider when James told him.  Still using that soft voice, grampa told him to put his hands about behind his head and showed him how.

Oh, fuck shit fuck.  The kid was braced like all those Nifty slave stories...where the slave is naked, spread-legged, arms behind his head while his owner or potential buyers inspect his meat and the rest of the merchandise.  Only none of those slaves had been three years old, with cum still oozing from a freshly fucked boy cunt.  FUCK!

Now, L.J., were gonna find out if youre a real slut boy pussy or not.  If youre not, well, then you dont have to do anything.  But if you are, youre gonna let grampa put his big meat inside your slut pussy and fuck you, just like you let Bobby Ray do to you.

Well, now, that wasnt quite fair.  Getting raped by an adult (even if your little stiffie shows youre enjoying it) isnt exactly letting someone do anything.  But grampas version of events was fine by me.

Now, L.J., grampas gonna lean forward and slide his finger, or maybe a couple, up inside your butthole.  If you get a stiffie again, well, that just proves youre a cum slunt whore boy, okay?

L.J. understood all right.  I could see it on his face.  So would the guys watching and jacking to this video later.  No way was he a slut boy cunt.  No way was he gonna get stiff.

Of course he did.

Within seconds of grampa sliding two fingers into the wet boy cunt and curling to stroke his baby nut.  Perhaps someone should explain that any male is likely to get stiff with something inside his ass rubbing his prostate.  But that might have led the boy to believe he wasnt a pussy slut.  A consummation not fucking devoutly to be wished at all.  Christ the look of mingled dismay and baby boy lust on his face was something Id never forget, even without the video to watch.

James carefully pulled his fingers out, and then used them to slime his grandsons three year old stiffie and ball sack.  The boys head was hanging and James looked up at me and glared.  It was intended to convey his anger at being forced...by the threat of my gun...to do something vile, something he would never do bar a threat to his and his precious grandsons life.  The camera caught that thought.  James didnt quite realize that the camera and I both caught the rest, the stuff underneath.  The flicker that said that James wanted this now, independent of any threat, he wanted to fuck his precious grandson.  The flash that said that somehow, some fucking way, this wasnt over.  That he would molest the boy again.  And again.  And again.  The flurry of shame that wasnt enough to stop the determination for a repeat.

He told the boy to drop his hands, to straighten up, to turn around.  Quiet now, the little stiffie perhaps not quite as stiff, L.J. did as he was told.  James pulled him backwards, made him bend forward a little...perhaps to make sure I had a good shot of grampa cock into three year old slut pussy cunt, perhaps not...and grasping the boys plump waist firmly, sat him down on grampas fat meat.  All the fucking way in one firm, no nonsense fuck stroke that had the boy briefly howling and then gasping, and then shutting up when James pointed out that he had a stiffie again.

Youre grampas little slut pussy boy, arent you, L.J.?  The boy gasped as he was first raised and then lowered to grampas pubes.  He nodded.  Gasped again when grampa reached a greasy hand around and played with his dickie, tweaked his little tits.

Put him on all fours, James, I said.  Show him how a little puppy gets fucked by a big dog.

James and L.J. did as their director told them.  Fucking fantastic shot of baby boy with his head drooping, his body slick and shining with lube and sweat, that long hard grampa dick ready to plunge into his boy cunt.  I asked James if they had a dog.

His head snapped up, fear flaring.  An expression that said that yes, they had a dog, and please God dont let this maniac do that to him.

No time, no time, grampa.  But Jesus, wouldnt that be hot?  You could get your baby grandsons cunt all loose and cummy with a load of grampas seed, and then watch and jack while the dog mounts L.J.s hot little pussy!

I guess that image wasnt too much since his hardon stayed and he went ahead and plunged it into little L.J.  He was just getting a nice fuck stroke going, long deep ones that took him out except for the knob, before shoving in again, when we heard, Pop!  Hey, Pop!

James face alone let me know it was his son, L.J.s daddy.  And how terrified he was of what I might do.  Call him! I mouthed as I set the camera down so it was pointed toward grandfather and grandson, grampa with his dick still buried in grandson pussy.  The slightest waggle of the gun helped him to understand.

Where are...oh, in the john?  You okay?  The voice was coming nearer to the door that led into the station.  I stood up, quickly stepped over, unlatched it, and moved so Id be behind the door as it opened.

I...in here, son!  James voice was shaky and hed gone the color of brilliant white copy paper, but not shaky enough to alert his son that something was very, very wrong.

The door swung in, Big Jack stepped through and stopped.  His Pop! was horrified.  And the shock was enough to hold him there for the second I needed to step up and put the gun to the back of his neck.  Not surprisingly, he froze.  The sound when I cocked the gun was very loud in that silence.  Jeans and underwear to the floor.  Now, asshole!

He tensed as if he was going to try to fight, but his fathers anguished words stopped him.  Jack, please, I...I cant help.  Dont!  James moved his leg and the handcuff set attaching him to the stall rattled.

I held the gun pressed tight, angled so that if I shot...although shot what I didnt know since this was all bluff, and a little more bluff than Id ever encountered before in all my years of cruising like this...the top of his skull would be blown off.  But then he didnt know about empty.  I was also smart enough not to stand so close that a sudden backwards elbow jab, etc., might catch me off guard.

He unbuckled his jeans slowly.  I guess the revivals over tAtwater didnt call for you to dress in your Sunday finest.  Although maybe the faded jeans, white shirt and scuffed Western boots were his Sunday best.  He paused.  Unbuttoned.  Put his hands to his hips with a major sigh, and then began wriggling the tight jeans down over his bony hips.  Well fuck, daddys a commando, too.

I stepped back and ordered him to get them all the way down.  He looked over his shoulder, maybe to be sure it was in fact a gun and not a pipe or something, blanched when reality was confirmed, turned back, and got the jeans around his ankles.  His legs were strongly muscled, pale white, hairy.  The brown boots came up almost to his knees.  Yeah, he wouldnt be moving fast anywhere.

I moved to one side.  His eyes widened when he saw my still somewhat gleaming hardon sticking out of my jeans.  I tossed the handcuffs onto the floor in front of him.  Told him to kneel and put them on.  That only one more game was left and then Id be gone and theyd never hear from or see me again.  Jacks raging eyes said hed both see me in hell and at my trial, but he did what he was told once the gun swung toward his father and his son.

And through all of this good ol grampa was still fucking.  Oh, Im sure he was telling himself it was out of fear of what I might do, but youd think a grampa who was afraid would have a soft dick, right?  Or even if he was hard, hed stop fucking while his son was getting hit and handcuffed, right?  So that his poor baby grandson wouldnt be hurt, right?  Except this tiny boy, his hot little shitter stuffed with eight fat inches of grampa dick was starting to whimper.  Not the pain whimper, any more.  The kind of whimper a little boy slut gets when his cunt is full and his baby prostate is being rubbed and any second hes gonna get himself a fine fucking dry cum.

Hot fucking damn.

Crawl over to your boy, Big Jack.  Right in front of him.  Then on your knees, up close and personal to L.J.s hot little mouth.

No fucking way, you prick!

Ah, ah, ah, B.J.  I waggled the gun at him.  Like I told James here a while back, this could all go fucking south real quick if I dont get some cooperation.  And L.J. and James were cooperatin just fine until you showed up.  See, I was gonna do just one thing more and then leave, but shit, man, you changed all that.  So now its gonna be a little different.  You like getting your cock sucked, dont you?

Damn if Big Jack didnt fucking blush all over.  I mean, Christ, here was his daddy fucking his three year old son right in front of him, and he got all embarrassed about admitting he liked a hot mouth on his meat.

Well?

He mumbled a yeah and nodded.

You gettin it fairly regular?

He was looking away from his daddy and his son, still blushing.  I picked up the camera and though it was awkward working it with my left hand, I managed to get a good sweeping shot of his long soft meat, pretty damn big balls, up to his face.  Another nod.

So, your wifes a good cocksucker?

That got a head turn and a glare, but not for the reason I thought.  L.J., for all the good fucking he was getting, and for all the way his body was starting to shiver and he was panting, was still following, or at least understanding what was said.  The kid chirped, Mamas dead.

So, whos givin you a b-j, B.J.? I asked and made a point of gesturing toward the fucking duo.

Big Jack gulped, and as his body got an even deeper red, he blurted out, Reverend Jones and.... and then came to the proverbial screeching halt.

I didnt give him even a second to hope I hadnt picked up on the fact there were at least two cocksuckers around this pissant little town.  So your preacher is sucking your dick, and who else?

He really was looking everywhere but at any of the rest of the males in the room.  H...his son.

I burst out laughing.  Couldnt fucking help myself.  Man, you got both the Methodist minister and his boy chowing down on your meat?  All fucking right!

Big Jacks voice was outraged at the idea his preacher could be a Methodist, as he said, Reverend Jones is a Southern Baptist!

Well, man, when it comes to Bible thumpin and behind the scenes dick lovin, the only folks got the Baptists beat is the Catholics.  So how olds this cocksuckin Baptist preacher?

Shit, I dont know.  Thirty-five or so?

He any good?

Huh?

Fuck, man, is your preacher good at suckin your dick?  Does he just suck it, or does he let you hold his head and skull fuck him?

Just...just sucks.

Where?

Uh...in the rectory, mostly.

And the boy?  Hows he?

Dumb shit wasnt even aware of how his meat had plumped up into a near hard.  And it jerked to full hard when he admitted the boy was fourteen.  That hed gone to use the church toilet and found young Mike jacking at one of the two urinals; how he was about to turn around and leave when the kid did the turning, showing him a slender, dripping five inches sticking out of his Sunday best slacks; how the kid asked him if he had a big dick like his name, how the kid stepped right up, grabbed Jacks meat through his Sunday jeans, which made it instantly hard, and got harder when the boy said hed always wanted to suck big man meat.

Grampa groaned, and the little boy slut he was dicking moaned with him.  He wasnt quite ready to beg his grampa to fuck his slut whore pussy hard, but he was getting there.  

Young Mike turned out to be a real skull fucking slut.  Able to take all of Jacks now dripping prick...all eight or nine plus fat inches of it.  Shit, the boyfucker daddy was even bigger than James!  Only hed never fucked a guys ass.  Not even the fourteen year old.  Dumb fucking ass.

When his confession was over he abjectly promised his daddy that he would never do it again, that he was sorry, that hed just jack off until he found him a good wife.

Yeah, right.  Not after today.

So youve had a preacher suck your dick, and a teen boy...fucking jail big time over that one, Jack, so I figure you might as well get a taste of what youve been missing the last year or so while youve been playing around with the older cocksuckers.  Hey, L.J., you wanna make your daddy feel real good?

The boy was dry cumming again right then, so he was out of it for a moment before he said, Uh huh.

Like I fucking said, Big Jack, get the fuck down on your knees in front of your baby boy, and now that that meat is hard, get it up close and personal with his little slut mouth.

Poor Jack.  What a fucking dilemma.  An admitted user of cocksucker services, including an underage cocksucker, hed gotten all hard and bothered by his confession, yet he was still Big fucking Jack, daddy of the boy being so well-molested by his own grampa, and so he should protest.  Fight back.  Defend his slut sons virtue.  But I saw his cock twitch when I mentioned up close and personal with a very young boy mouth.  No.  I wont.  Im no child molester.

I cocked the gun again.  Damn, but my thumb was getting tired of cocking and uncocking the unloaded gun.  But it did the trick.  Actually it did what he wanted it to, or what his prick wanted...gave him an excuse to follow orders.  The waddle-shuffle to the fucking pair was awkward, and so was getting to his knees, but he managed.

Suck your daddys dick, L.J.

Jack glared up at me again.  His name isnt....

Yeah, it is.  Its his boy slut name.  Whenever you or grampa or any of the other men you let molest him call him L.J. hell know its time for his little hot cunts to be used.  Now fuck your sons face, man.

Jack did.  It was awkward, trying to hold his sons head with the cuffs on, but he had big hands, and his baby boys head wasnt all that large, so in a moment or two, a couple of fat inches of daddy dick were choking into the three year old throat.  Fuck but this video was going to make me a goddamn mint.  I moved around them, gun back in the back of my jeans, getting good shots of two long thick pieces of meat sliding in and out of writhing boy pussy.

Kiss your son, James.  Lots of tongue.

They looked disgusted, both of them.  They were fucking a three year old boy at both ends, a goddamned three year old, and they were upset, embarrassed, what-the-fuck over kissing.  But they did it anyway.  And enjoyed the hell out of it.

Cum in your baby grandsons pussy, James.  Fuck him hard and deep and cum.  And then his daddy can have a turn.

James pulled away from the kiss, his face a mixture of anguish and lust.  Full-blown pedo lust.  The kind I recognized on my own face when I watched myself in a mirror as I fucked little boy cunt and slimed it well and deep.  He looked his son in the eyes as he started moving his hips faster, bracing himself on his sons shoulders.

Son, I...Im sorry...so sorry...but fuck goddamn L.J.s hole is so tight, so hot, never...ah fuck shit...never had a pussy so tight, sorry, sorry, but oh shit fuck Im cummmmmiinnnnnng!

As if the whole fucking world couldnt tell from the way grampa shouted it out and from how hard he slammed the full length of his grampa dick into his baby grandsons twice fucked hole.  When James...and the baby slut, too...finally stopped shuddering, grampa sort of pushed off against his sons shoulders and sat back on his haunches.  His slick shiny softening meat began to slide out of the well-fucked little hole.  He turned his head to avoid looking at his son.

Your turn, Jack.  You know you want it.  Turn your little whore boy around and let him clean his grampas meat while his daddy fucks his hot baby cunt.

Jack shook his head.  Not in rejection but in recognition.  He used his cuffed hands to pull his eager slut boys whore mouth off his steel hard daddy meat.  So fucking hot to let the camera catch the pedo lust in his face as he softly told the little cum dump to turn around and clean grampas dick.  I zoomed in for a nice closeup of the gaping puffy red pussy, with slime and cum oozing out.

Help your son bring out his inner pedo, James.  Grampas glare was a frail thing now, compared to the ones hed started out with.  But he did what he was told since both his hands were free.  He helped shove that nine inch, thick pipe down into a line-up with the sloppy boyhole, seating it on the raw little pussy lips, then held the tiny boys hips so his daddy could start pushing that fat dong into the little sluts hole.

Too fucking slow.  Make the boy scream, Jack.  He did it for me.  He did it for his grampa.  Pussy boys need to scream when daddy gets his first fuck in.  Shove that prick in hard and fast and balls deep, you pedo son fucker.

He did, and startled a wonderful shrill wail out of the little slut, which grampa quickly cut off by letting go of the kids hips and holding his head in place so he could slide dirty grampa meat into the boys pussy mouth.  And started fucking the kid cunt rough and hard.  Fuck me if I wasnt going to be able to double the price on this video. And shit if old James wasnt getting hard again.

They were getting into fucking the tiny boy at both ends, giving the now talented little slut a series of one-after-the-other dry cums.  And speaking of cums, my cock needed another one.  I knew just the hole for the last one.  I lubed my meat up, the grease making my knob ring slick and shiny.  I wiped my hand on my jeans, put the camera on the tripod, adjusted the focus, then stepped over and dropped to my knees behind Jack, straddling his bent legs.

Jack got very, very still.  Dont get all stupid and heroic now, Jack.  Not now that youve got that huge dick of yours inside tight little boy cunt.  You fight me and someones going to get hurt.  Sure, maybe me, but you want to gamble that it wont be you or your little whore cum dump?  I was going to let your fuck of your baby boy be the last thing, but damn, youve got such a hot hairy ass, and I havent had one of those in a while.    So heres whats going to happen.  Im going to reach down and put a couple of fingers up your ass, loosen you up a bit, and then Im gonna shove my meat all the way inside, just like you did with your three year old cunt here.  Then Im going to fuck you while you fuck your little whore.  Right?

He nodded.

Not good enough, Jack.  Tell me whats gonna happen.

Y...youre gonna push a couple of fingers up my ass to l...loosen me up, and then youre gonna shove your dick all the way inside, just like I did to my...my three year old cunt.  And...and then youre gonna fuck me while daddy and I fuck our...our little whore.

And thats just what happened.  Poor Jack would undoubtedly have preferred to butch it out, but even with lube, a nicely fat cock, though not as big or as long as Jack and James meat, combined with a thick knob ring isnt easy to get into a virgin cunt of any age.  Big daddy fucker howl out of Jack as my belly smacked into his butt. And then he was panting and gasping and whimpering.  The punch fuck had also thrown him forward, and when your hands are cuffed in front of you, your cock is in your baby boys pussy and you have another cock in your ass, you dont have much to work with when it comes to balance.

Fortunately, James caught him since his hands at least were free.  We froze for a moment, and then James ducked his head so Jacks arms could go over and around and use his forearms on James shoulders to brace himself.  James braced Jack under his armpits.  Which left three sets of man hips ready to get moving.  The tiny new cum whore smashed between his horny eight inch grampa and his horny nine inch daddy was forgotten as we started to fuck.  No, not forgotten since it was, after all, his baby boy cunts which were sheathing the steel rods of grampa and daddy that were fucking him so roughly at both ends.  Just...the kid was unimportant now...he was a pair of hot little holes to be used whenever his men wanted to get their rocks off.  And that was what was important.  The lesson little slut L.J. probably hadnt quite learned.  His function in life now was to be abused and molested whenever his grampa or his daddy wanted.

I started power fucking Jack, who started power fucking the kid.  James was already doing it to the sluts throat.  Jack looked into his daddys eyes and said, Daddy, oh Jesus fuck daddy, Li...L.J.s pussy is so fucking hot, so tight, slimy with your cum and...and this guys...and oh fuck Christ shit Im breeding my baby boys pussy!

And with that his cunt walls clamped down hard on mine as he came for the first time in his three year old boys slutty whore cunt, and James gave the kid another load of grampa slime down his throat, and I pumped Big Jacks fresh-made cunt full of his first cum load.  I think the boy slut passed out after a few more cums while all the man cums were going on.

When we were done I looked over Jacks shoulder, caught his eye.  He looked up at me, looked away.  Ah, post-fuck embarrassment.  Too the fuck bad.  Damn, man, your sons got a hot pussy, too.  Tight as his little boys.  If you want a break from molesting your grandson, try this hole.

Jack frantically shook his head, and James muttered soothing words and noises.  But I saw the glint in his eye.  Yeah, grampa was going to be breeding both son and grandson from now on.  My cock was starting to go soft, and Jack quietly begged me to take it out.  I said I would, but...well, fuck...there was all of a sudden another of those just one more things.

I pissed his cunt.

Emptied my fucking bladder while Jack whimpered, then slid out, telling him to clamp his pussy hole tight.  He did and only a few drops escaped.  I stood up.  As much fun as it would have been to get my cock cleaned by one of them, I still didnt trust daddy or grampa with my dick in either mouth.  And little L.J. was all fucked out.  Though I was fairly sure if I worked either pussy or played with his little pricklet hed get a stiffie right away.  So I tucked my sloppy meat back in my jeans.  Got my act together.

Picked up the camera and got some really good shots as grampa, and the now plump-bellied Jack sat back on their haunches and thick, slimy meat slid out of both ends of the three year old pussy boy.

Relax, Jack, I said as I walked around behind him.  Straighten up...and relax.

Aw, man, no, please, dont make me do this, he begged, looking over his shoulder.

I had the gun in my left hand again.  His eyes darted toward it.  His shoulders sagged, but he lifted his bare, hairy butt off his legs.  And emptied his cunt of piss and cum and slime.  Fortunately, nothing else.  The ripe acrid smell filled the room.

Piss your little whore, gentlemen.  Teach him to be a toilet, too.

That was the final straw.  They were completely broken.  It took a few moments, but in short order Jack was covering his baby boys back and bottom with hot stinking piss.  James, on his own, pissed the boys hair and face and then raised the boys head, getting his own hand pissy, and forced his pissing meat into the kids mouth, making him swallow.

Thered be no fucking question on the video that it was Jack and James, and tiny whore L.J.  When the pissing was done I got close enough to nudge the boy with my boot to get his attention.  The adults were too wiped to do anything.

Fuck, what a shot.  Panning up from daddys limp meat, up the kids back and then a nice shot of his face, his eyes still somewhat glazed, his plump cheeks and fat lips all shiny and wet, blinking the piss out of his eyes.  You like being a whore for daddy and grampa, L.J.?

He started to nod, but I sharply told him he had to answer.  Uh huh.

Did you like having three big man dicks in your bottom pussy?

A nice little smile.  An eagerly bobbing head.  An eager yes.

Did grampa fuck your mouth good...both times?

Another eager yes.

You want to be their cum dump and have them fuck your holes again?

A nod.

Right now?

Yes, please!

I panned back to their faces...a mix of despair, and anger, and guilt...and oh yeah, a shit load of pedo lust.

I turned off the camera.  Went back to the bag, put it away.  Ditto the tripod.  Got out a spray bottle and rag and went everywhere I might conceivably have left a fingerprint, and got rid of it.

Of course there was my DNA in the kids pussy, though it might be diluted with grampa cum and daddy cum.  You can call the cops, guys, but do you really want to have everybody around here know how they had to scrape out Big Jacks hot wet cunt to get sperm samples from where hed been bred?  Or inspecting L.J.s cute holes and then getting DNA samples from grampa and daddy, and...oh, wow, they fucked a three year old!  And of course, if you find me this video is going up on the Net.  Itll get a lot of downloads before someone catches on and kills it, but then itll just go up elsewhere.  The whole world will see how much you two like fucking your baby pussy boy.  And do you really think L.J. is gonna keep his mouth shut?

I reached the door.  Stopped to look at the exhausted, wet, smelly trio.

You know, Jack, if your preacher and his kid like sucking your dick so much, theyd probably like to try out your pussy, too.  And maybe even your little whores holes.

Jack was smart enough to keep his mouth shut and only glared his dismay and fury at me.  Grampa, however, had a speculative gleam in his eye.  Watching the pastor and his son, fuck Big Jack?  Letting them molest the baby boy?  Maybe getting some teen boy cunt while this was going on?

I unlocked the door, opened it.  Turned back.  Tossed the handcuff key toward them.  By the way, guys, the gun was never loaded.

I shut the door on their shock, quickly walked around the building, fired up the truck and hauled ass...but not fast enough to alert any cop who happened by, or be noticed as something out of the ordinary by anyone who came from the revival early.

I got back to town late, well after dark.  Johnnys place was dark, too, but his truck was out back.  I used my key to open the huge doors, drove my truck inside, locked everything back up.  Walked through the mechanics bays to the back stairs, old and rusted, and went up to the second floor office/bedroom/fuck room that overlooked the chop shop, uh, car and truck repair shop.  As usual I was dropping off the keys to the vehicle Id borrowed for my cruising weekend, and even if daddy or grampa remembered anything about the truck, or decided to take the risk of those videos of grampa fucking his three year old grandson, or daddy doing the same and then daddy getting fucked, spread all over the Net, well, by noon tomorrow, that truck would be in pieces.  Or so changed no one could match the two.

As I unlocked the office door, I heard grunts...grunts I recognized.  Johnny was fucking.  I headed into the back room.  Big dicked, big bellied white trash Johnny, an inspiration to me on my weekend cruising, was down on the floor, plowing his dick in and out of the ass of a scrawny nigger kid.  Teen, actually, from the size of him.  Not someone I recognized, but then Johnny had so many sluts it was difficult to keep track.  It wasnt that Johnny was some incredible hunk, he wasnt.  Big dicked, yeah, but that wasnt usually enough to offset the skanky hair, the big belly and big man-tits, the grease under his fingernails, in the cracks and crevices of his body, and the pervasive sweaty, raunchy pits and crotch smell.  On the other hand, Johnny also had access to fine drugs, which made up for a fucking lot in the sex appeal department.

The nigger boy had his head down, so it was only Johnny who was watching the tied up stud nigger on the big screen getting gangbanged by some less than studly white guys.  Subtle, Johnny, subtle.  He heard the key turn in the lock and twisted his head.  I could see the big smile even through the dimness, as there wasnt much light in the room other than the monitor.  Hey, motherfucker, welcome back.  Good weekend?

Hot.

He knew I didnt mean the weather when I held up the camera.  I always made a point of letting Johnny have a direct camera-to-computer copy of my weekend cruising.  He didnt make copies and sell them or anything, and I was never quite sure why he wanted them.  He liked boys, which was pretty fucking obvious considering the hole he was dicking, but Id never seen him with anyone as young as I preferred.  Or heard him mention it, although he sure the fuck knew what I was into.  Ah well, to each his own perversion.

I started toward the computer for the download, but stopped when he said, Man, youve got great timing, you know?

What?

You want some virgin nigger pussy?

Yeah, right, I said, looking down at how easily he was plowing the nigger teen.  No fucking way that hole had been virgin before Johnny got into it.

Naw, naw, not him.  Over there.  He tilted his head and I looked.

Holy shit.  A small, nappy-haired nigger boy was sprawled on the couch.  I quickly hooked the camera up, did my magic, and had my latest masterpiece ready for Johnny to view.  I stepped over to the couch.  The kid was dead to the world, sprawling loose limbed on his back.  Skinny.  Naked except for grimy white undies.  The size feet that probably meant a big nigger dick when he was older, but for now it was just a delicious dark chocolate mound.  Surprisingly thick pointy nips.  Fat lips, wide mouth, a gleaming strand of drool running down from one corner.

Nigger pussy.  Fuck, I hadnt had nigger pussy in close to a year.

And I really love little nigger ho boys.  My dick was hard.  I leaned over, pinched a tit.  Nothing happened.  I turned my head to the fucking a few feet away.  In the dimness he couldnt see my face, but Johnny knew what my question was.

Jamal here needed...ah...help from me; his moms out, probably workin her fucking corner, and he was stuck with his kid brother.  Sposed to stay home, but he really needed my help, so he brought him along.  Kid wouldnt shut the fuck up so I gave him a little something to drink.  Got him real quiet real the fuck fast.

Translation in my head:  Jamal was strung out on something and needed a fix bad.  The kind of need that results in broken rules, orders, whatever.  The kind that results in a young virgin boy becoming accessible to a couple of perverts like Johnny and me.  I looked down at the still boy.  One of Johnnys famous keep-em-quiet drinks always contained booze and GHB.

Hey, Jamal, how much for your brother? Johnny asked.

When he didnt get an immediate response, he stopped fucking, still balls deep, dug his fingers in Jamals hair and yanked up and back.  Hard.  The teen jungle bunny yelped, and came out of his haze.  Sort of.  I could see the pain that had worked its way through the drugs.  Johnny wasnt exactly gentle at the best of times.  Jamal named a number.

No surprise there.  At the lack of objection, the lack of furious outrage over the despicable proposal.  If he was selling his own boi pussy for drugs, hed have no trouble selling an even more valuable commodity.  His little brothers virginity.  I left them to their spirited negotiating, well, as spirited as negotiations can be when one side of the table is a cold-at-the-core drug dealer, chop shop owner, and all around bastard and my good friend, and the other side is a thoroughly drugged, thoroughly fucked thirteen year old nigger.

I left them to it, and stripped the dirty undies off the kid.  Yes!  A very nice boi prick and boi balls.

I peeled my tee over my head.  Dropped it on the filthy floor.  Second floor that day.  I unbuckled, unbuttoned, unzipped, dropped the jeans to the floor.  Id already stepped out of the mocs.  Stepped out of the jeans.  Stroked my leaking hardon.

How old? I called over my shoulder, as I picked up his limp little body.

F...f...four, Jamal stuttered.

Another appropriate Sunday hymn hummed in my head.  Jesus loves me, this I know, cause two boy cunts tell me so.

I sat down on the couch, my legs sprawled, my pierced meat standing tall.  Glanced over at Jamal, who seemed to be coming just a bit out of his drug haze, suddenly seemed appalled by what was about to happen.  Just not enough to try to do anything about it.  Not with white trash cock in his nigger teen cunt, and drugs in his system, and the promise of more drugs and more use of his body by Johnny and whoever Johnny decided to pimp him out to, not that Jamal was probably aware of that at the moment.

Johnny kept lube everywhere, but the tube on the end table was practically empty.  Only a small blob came out.  I crumpled it and tossed it at Johnny.  Hey, dick breath, where the fucks the lube?  I got me some nigger boy cherry to fuck.

Johnny gave me a wicked grin and yanked his meat out of the jungle bunny pussy.  He sat back and slapped Jamals scrawny ass...hard.  Crawl over there, nigger boy, and suck on the prick thats gonna punch out the little brother pussy you just sold.

The drugged out fucked up teen did what he was told.  Like sucking and slobbering on his little brothers soft bare meat and balls.  Eating his brothers almost pussy and getting it dripping.  Slobbering and sucking on my meat, desperately trying to get all of it down his throat.  Getting it slimy.  Getting two fingers on my left hand slimy, too, so I could shove them into the kids quim quick and hard.  The unconscious boy gave a half shriek, half moan and flopped about as if he was having a bad dream...although this sure the fuck wasnt a dream...and he was trying to escape it.  Too bad, so sad, four year old nigger pussy boy.  Aint gonna happen.

What did happen was I lined up my hardon with those tight, tight pussy lips, told Jamal to hold my dick in place, watched the nigger teen cry for a second, wondering whether it was remorse or guilt or WTF, but didnt care, grabbed the four year olds waist, and shoved him down...hard!  Yeah, it was painful for me to punch my knob with the fat ring into such a tiny, hot, tight little hole, but the reward, not only the fucking heat of that fresh-made cunt but the boy wail as it happened, was fan-fucking-tastic.  I made Jamal lean forward again, slobbering and slurping where his little brothers no longer virgin ass was pierced by white meat, getting my shaft wet for the next thrust.

And then I started fucking the nigger pussy hard.  Shit, so motherfucking hot to have my dick in four year old unconscious nigger boy cunt, giving his fresh pussy a rough fuck, as he flopped around, drugged out of his little boy mind.  But I couldnt really fuck him like I wanted in that position.  I lifted him up and off my cock, got up, told Jamal to get the fuck out of my way, and when he moved, turned around and put the four year old face down on the sleazy couch, his legs dangling over the side.

Johnny told Jamal to get in position next to his brother, got behind him and mounted his cunt.  Hot!  A glassy-eyed, drugged thirteen year old nigger bent over a couch getting royally fucked by my scumbag buddy Johnny, and his baby four year old brother right next to him, getting royally fucked by scumbag me.  But as much as I wanted to enjoy a leisurely rape, I still had to get at least some sleep and there were things I needed to do to get ready for work in the morning.  So this final fuck of the day had to be fairly fast.

I started power fucking the four year old cunt.  Long strokes that took my knob all the way out of his slimy pussy, leaving it gaping, the pussy lips already swollen, then ramming back in.  Over and over again, not particularly caring how the unconscious toddler was feeling, how hed feel when he finally woke up and felt his raw pussy and wondered what happened, not particularly caring that drugged out or not he went through two writhing cums before I shoved deep, grunted and emptied my balls.

I pulled out, stood up, bent over to get the kid a little further onto the couch so he wouldnt fall off, and quickly got dressed.  Johnny was still ramming Jamal, and the boy was finally starting to feel it.  He was going to be feeling it for quite a while since it took Johnny an incredibly long time to cum.  No idea whether it was just something in him that made him really slow to build up to an orgasm, or whether he just enjoyed watching his cunts go from the pain of entry, to gradual pleasure, to a cum, or two, to despair wondering whether the greasy white man breeding him was ever the fuck going to cum, and then back to pain again as his pussy got raw, rawer, rawest.  

When I left, Jamal was greedily slurping and lapping his brothers freshly-fucked cunt, eating my spooge out of the tiny tots pussy.

I got to work early the next morning, as I usually did when Deputy Collins was working security.  Not always, though.  Couldnt let him get complacent.  As I walked down the long hall, my steps echoing on the tile, only a few fluorescents lit, I saw him standing by the metal detector.  Saw his smile, quickly suppressed, when he realized it was me.  Heard his gasp when the buzzer went off as I stepped through.  His eyes went to my crotch and then up to my face.  When I nodded he smiled like a boy whod just gotten everything on his Christmas list.

He hadnt smiled that first day.  I smiled at him again, remembering how he just looked puzzled when I stood there with my arms out and he swept me with the hand-held and it went off as he passed my crotch on the way from my left side to my right.  I really had forgotten that my cock ring was in place.  The one around my cock and balls wouldnt set anything off.  It was rubber for ordinary day wear.  But the pussy Id pounded so hard the night before had worn me out, I overslept, and I was so used to the feel of the ring being in that I threw on clothes and rushed out.  Not too bright on my part.

Its a cock ring, deputy, I murmured.  I wasnt exactly planning to announce to everyone I worked with that I had a thick steel ring, though removable, through the head of my dick.  I forgot to take it out.

The huh? was more in his expression than voice.  Then the slight fog cleared.  Duty called.  I cant let anyone in who sets the alarm off.

Its only a cock ring, deputy.... I looked at his name tag for the first time, Collins.  A Prince Albert.  No harm to anyone.  The latter wasnt quite accurate if you were plowing a really hot and tight young boy pussy, but I wasnt intending to get into that.

He shook his head, his expression clearly telling me had not the slightest fucking idea what I was talking about.  Sorry, sir, but those are my orders.

Well, Jesus fuck, deputy! His eyes got a little wide at the mild obscenity.  Did he live with his mother or something?  Then just let me through so I can go to the john, take it off, and then walk through the damned machine again.

He stubbornly shook his head.  No Trojan horse with a bomb in his undies was gonna pass the gates while he was in charge.  No sirree, bob.

Fine, damnit.  Then just come with me.  You can leave your post for a couple of minutes, cant you?  Like if you had to piss or shit or something?

That took a moment to sink into the quagmire, but he finally nodded.  He taped a sign to the double doors saying back in 10 and after we were through, he carefully locked them.  A short way down the hall, left, into the toilet.  This early, no one was going to walk in on us, so I set my briefcase down.  And suddenly I went from being pissed to being horny.  I liked other guys perving on my meat.  I could feel myself plump up as I unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my slacks, pulled the zipper down.  It wasnt really necessary of course, but what the fuck.  Hed basically asked, practically demanded, to see my prick, so he might as well get a good look.

His eyes widened a little when he realized what I was doing, but he didnt stop me.  I shoved the pants down, and they dropped to my ankles.  His eyes widened again when he realized I was commando.  My shirttails were long, so I kind of rolled them up and tucked my tie between two buttons.

Completely the fuck unnecessary if all that was going on was just the deputy making sure that the metal hed detected wasnt dangerous.  That could have been done with a quick unzip, haul the meat out, waggle the Prince Albert at him, hide the meat, zip and be done.  I was hard, now, and the steel ring glittered in the fluorescent lights overhead.  He was mesmerized.  He started to move his hand as if to touch me, realized what he was doing, stopped.

You ever seen one before, deputy?

He nodded.  Well, shit, maybe he wasnt as dumb as I thought, since he played like he didnt know what had set off the metal detector.  Maybe he just wanted a look.

Real life?

He shook his head, still staring.

You download pics from the Net, then?  Guys with rings through their dicks, maybe their tits, too?  Jack off to em?

He fucking blushed.  Looked up at me and nodded and then down to my slowly jacking hand.

Go on, touch it.  You know you want to.

His hand was rough, a workers hand, not someone behind a desk all day like me.  I loved it as he played with my dick, with my ring.  Without being told, he moved closer, used his other hand on my balls.  I paid attention to his looks for the first time.  Its only polite to do that when you have a deputy sheriff getting all faggoty with your prick and balls.

Somewhere in his twenties.  Close cut medium brown hair.  Brown eyes.  Small mustache.  Short, stocky.  Light tan uniform with the shirt open at the collar, a crisp white tee visible underneath, with thick tufts of lighter brown hair curling up and over the edge.  Gun, radio, cuffs, the whole bit.  Very security conscious here.

Did...it hurt?

Well, fuck yeah, it fucking hurt getting a hole in your dick so you can slide a ring or a horseshoe through.  Bled, too.  I just nodded.  You want one, dont you?

I...no.

Soft, soft.  Fucking liar.  Youre just afraid of the pain.

Another hesitant nod.

Show me your meat, deputy.  Youre playing with my dick, drop your pants, jack for me.  

He stopped the jacking and ball playing, obediently unbuckled, unzipped, and shoved his uniform slacks and tighty-whitey briefs down to his ankles.  With a loud clunk! of course, given the gun and gadgets attached to his belt.  He followed my lead without being told, and tucked his shirt up and his tie as well.  No treasure trail, just a furry chest, stocky abs with fur leading down to the thick, short hardon sticking out.  He started gently jacking.

And not looking at me.

Shit.  If anyone had taken a picture of the two of us, fully dressed, and asked someone to identify the fag top and the queer bottom, the hairy, butch buzz cut guy would definitely be the top.  The wrong conclusion, but fortunately, the one most often reached about me.  Christ, this was going to be so much fucking fun.

You have any plans for next Saturday?

He shook his head.

You do now.  Youre getting a Prince Albert in that meat.  Pull up your shirt, show me your tits.  He stopped jacking, lifted his shirt.  Bulging pecs and big fat tits.  And at least one tit ring.

Deputy Collins moaned, dropped his shirt, squeezed his cock and looked scared as shit.  Too fucking bad.

Guy I know takes good care of pussies like you.  Hell strap you naked on the table so you cant move a fucking muscle, except for your dick.  That way you wont jerk around and fuck things up when he hurts you putting the rings in.  And he will hurt you.  

He moaned again, his hand moving a little faster, his eyes focused on my leaking meat, on the way some of my copious precum oozed out the hole in the underside of my dick and made the steel ring even more shiny.

Look at me.  He did.  Damn.  Christ, you want to be hurt, dont you?

He didnt say anything but when I told him to fucking answer me he said yes in a very shaky voice.

You think you deserve it.  Not a question; I knew.

Y...yes.

Why?

I...Im David Collins.

So?

The third.

Well, Christ on a dildo fuck machine set on high.  The grandson of David Collins, the preacher whose beliefs made the Phelps clan look like liberal atheists.  The son of televangelist David Collins, Jr., who made Jimmy Swaggart in his hey-day look like a piker.  I remembered reading or hearing somewhere that the grandsons all lived with daddy and granddaddy in a big old mansion out on the edge of town.  I just hadnt known the oldest had gone into law enforcement as a lowly deputy sheriff assigned to metal detector duty.  I wonder who hed pissed off in the department.  It had to be someone who wasnt afraid of daddy or granddaddy, or maybe someone just getting back at one or both through the deputy.

And deputy Davey the wannabe bottom boy needed to be hurt and punished for betraying daddy and granddaddy.  For betraying the Bible.  For being an abomination unto the Lord.

That worked for me.

You ever had anything in your ass besides shit?

A...a cucumber.

How big?

He made a circle with his thumb and middle finger.  Impressive.  How about dick? A head shake.

Sucked cock?  Another head shake.  

He also hadnt fucked another guy or had his dick sucked.  All he did was fantasize and jack off and live in fear of being found out.  All of which, especially the just fantasizing part, was about to change.

We dont have a lot of time, so you want to suck my dick or get fucked?

I...I....

Its not like you have a choice about getting used, pussy boy.  All I have to do is go to the principal and tell him you made a pass at me in the toilet here after following me in.  Hell, you even put the away for a shit sign up so youd have time to accost me.  And you have to know how ready everyone is to believe depraved things about a family values fucking family like yours.  Suck or fuck?

His face had gotten more dismayed as I talked, but his dick hadnt softened.  S...suck.

I punched him in the belly and he gasped and doubled over.  First lesson, cum dump, you never fucking choose anything.  Ill decide how youre going to be used.  Now get the fuck over to the sinks, bend over and hold on.

He shuffled over, still breathing hard, and did what he was told.  I followed...two men shuffling around with their pants at their ankles is not a macho sight, especially when one of those men is me, but when youre horny and about to shove your meat into virgin man cunt, or in Daveys case, about to get dicked, you dont fucking care.  I squirted some liquid soap from the dispenser on my left hand and stood partially to his right, so he could watch me jack in the mirror.  Watch me put my slick fingers down between his large, very, very hairy ass cheeks, down into his deep crack.  Watch his own eyes widen and his mouth fall open from the loud grunt when I shoved two fingers all the way into his hole.  Watch his expression as he whimpered and whined when I finger fucked him.  Watch as I stood behind him and used my right hand to position my thick knob at his pussy lips.  Watch as he saw himself gasp and scream like a little girl when I punched my prick deep.

Watch himself and me in that mirror, seeing my disgusted expression, hearing my voice abuse him for his filthy perversions, feeling my dick ramming in and out of his cunt, knowing hed finally become the kind of man his father and grandfather would hate, that it wasnt just a fantasy any more, that hed finally crossed over, become a faggot in truth not just in yearning.  Tears were streaming down his face as I made him hurt himself, twisting his tits until they were bruised enough to be sore for days, before I shot a huge load in his pussy, and he came without touching his meat.

He collapsed on the floor when I was through with him.  I got my act together, and left him there, but not before telling him where to meet me on Saturday morning for his first piercing.  He begged me not to, told me he couldnt take a chance on his family finding out, offered to let me do anything I wanted to him, just not that.  All very believable.  Except he didnt do the one thing that would have accomplished his goal...telling me to fuck off and not showing up.  

He showed up.

I blinked and came back to the here and now.  With a visible hardon from the memory and Davey practically drooling.  Christ he was such a submissive slut.  Suck me, cunt boy.

But...but someone....

Yeah, someone could.  So you probably ought to get me off pretty damned quick. 

He fumbled with my slacks, got them unzipped, hauled my meat out and leaned over...so if someone did come along, he could just straighten up and maybe not be seen sucking dick.  Much more difficult to play innocent if youre on your knees, especially considering the extra time it takes to get into an upright position.  Naturally I forced him to his knees.  Made him squeeze and jack his dick through his uniform while I held my briefcase in my right hand, and used my left hand to hold his head in place while I fucked his pussy mouth.  Ive heard that danger can be a hardon killer.  Not for me.  It heightened all my senses, like fucking L.J.s hot little boy twat in that stinking toilet, knowing another customer could appear, could rattle the door knob and hear grampa start screaming through the boxers in his mouth, or hear the boy...and bring everything crashing down on me.  That thought, combined with the genuine risk that one or more of my colleagues might enter the hall at any moment, got me off in a few balls-deep strokes into his now very talented mouth.  I spewed gism into his gullet and he gulped it down.

I stepped back from his gaping cum hole, tucked my dick back inside, zipped, and left him on his knees, hard and hurting.  Hed hurt the rest of the day as well, since I reminded him he couldnt cum until I let him.  By now, he knew better than to beg, as that just extended the days he went without release.  He just quietly said, Yes, sir.

As I walked away I thought for a moment about how I was going to use him next.  There were a few men I knew in the leather scene who would thoroughly enjoy abusing the deputy.  It would be a real shock to his system to get gang banged in a fag bar back room.  Id just have to set it up so my acquaintances wouldnt know it was me that owned his hairy ass.

But on the other cock, Id been toying with the idea of introducing him to boy fucking.  I mean, his daddy and granddaddy preached the word of the Lord on how all queers were pedos.  How humiliating for him if I made him prove them right.  Forced him to fuck a young boy.  Or maybe Id be fucking the toddler, while he buried his boy face between Daveys hairy cheeks, eating him out until his pussy was nice and wet, and then while my dick was pumping kid shit hole, the little one would fist the deputy, shoving not just his fist but his arm into the cop cunt.  My dick twitched and spurted that final bit of spooge.

A moment later, I paused at the door, checked my reflection in the glass that was acting as a large mirror.  The wig was gone, the mustache was gone, the tats were washed off, the bright blue contacts were gone.  The flashy in-your-fucking-face (fake) Piaget watch with all those (fake) diamonds and the (fake) gold was gone.  Everything that attracted attention to the surface and diverted attention away from underneath was gone.  I was just me.  A little over five ten, one forty, softening around the middle, a definite little belly.  Early thirties, balding, thin light brown hair cut short (no fucking comb-overs for me), light eyelashes that appeared almost to be non-existent, pale blue eyes, round face, clean shaven, small, almost prissy rimless glasses, thin lips, forgettable nose.  Long-sleeved white shirt, dark blue tie, tan, pleated, cuffed slacks with a black belt.  Black shoes precisely tied, long black socks held up by a garter.  Your ordinary, everyday, blend into the woodwork, somewhat prissy, fussy bachelor who might, perhaps, be queer, but he was so very good at what he did that that no one would ask so he wouldnt have to tell.  I was a minus six on the one-to-ten-scale of men you would remember.  That redneck baby boy fucker was a twelve.  I allowed myself to grin at myself, then smoothed my face back to its usual forgettable business as usual expression.

As I opened the door, the only thing the slightest bit out of the ordinary was the not-all-the-way-down bulge at my crotch, and the little stain of cum.  I wondered if anyone would notice.  I almost hoped someone would, as the energy level from the weekend was still with me, and deputy slut Davey wasnt quite enough to bring me back down to normal.

I went through, walked to my desk, turned.  They were all standing, not at attention, this wasnt the military, but heads up, arms down at their sides, looking straight ahead.  At me.

Good moooooorrrrrrninnnng, Mr. Wilson.

I smiled at the roomful of first grade St. Pius boys, in their tight grey shorts, and the short-sleeved polo shirts with the embroidered cross and the St. Pius logo, their bare boy feet encased in the sandals required for warm weather wear.  After all, what was good enough for Christ was good enough for the good Catholic boys who were here to learn everything they could.  About everything I wanted to teach them.

Good morning, young men.  They adored being called that, instead of being just little boys.  You may be seated.

I waited through the mild hub-hub as they got back into their chairs and settled.  I noticed, too, that young James...what a nice coincidence...had zeroed in on the stain on my crotch.  He blushed when he looked up and realized I was watching him watch his teachers meat, but that didnt stop his left hand from going between his legs to unconsciously squeeze the visible little stiffie under his shorts.

Now, class, lets begin with what you did this weekend.  Any volunteers?  James hand shot up and I nodded at him.  He marched up to the desk, his little hardon leading the way.  Clearly commando.  We carefully explained to the boys fathers that underwear was not mandatory; that very young boys like their adorable sons often thought there was something manly, almost grown-up like their daddies, about feeling the smooth cloth over their naked boy bodies, how hot it made them (in the kid sex sense), how many tiny hardons it gave them during the day.  Though not in quite those words, of course.  At least not for all fathers.

For a moment I considered asking James to stay after school.  His daddy wouldnt mind.  His daddy was, after all, an avid fan of my amateur videos and very much a caring, sharing father.  But that was too long to wait.  James would have to visit my office during recess for a hot protein drink.

James got in place to the left of my desk, looked over his shoulder for permission to start.  Gave a tiny little grin when he realized I was admiring the way the fabric of the grey shorts molded his pert little butt cheeks, clearly displaying the deep crack between them.  A very talented crack.  Especially with a dick buried in his six year old boy pussy.

I nodded, and as he started to speak, I started composing my own report to the class...not that theyd ever hear it.  Well, maybe one or two.  While they were getting bred.  I smiled inside.  My Weekend, by Bobby Ray.  I reached between my legs, my hand out of sight of my little students, squeezed my hardening meat.  How should it begin?  Ah.  Yes.

You know the old saying:  All dressed up and no one to fuck.

