Date: Tue, 26 Dec 2023 01:30:29 +0000
From: Lizard69 <69lizard69@pm.me>
Subject: Grab and Smash  short  complete

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Grab and Smash (Mm reluctant)
Lizard69

	It was so sudden.  One instant I was walking down the same alley
I'd used countless times before, ok it was later than usual, mom had called
Billy's and let me know she was doing an overnight at her boyfriend's
place.  Then I was being half carried, half dragged, around the corner of a
garage and through the gate of a tall privacy fence.  Yeah, privacy, I
might have laughed if his hand wasn't clamped over my mouth.  My arms were
pinned but I still could have put up a fight if it wasn't all happening so
fast.

	Maybe I'm a little weird.  Ok, forget maybe, I'm "that kid", one or
two friends and I'd lose those in a heartbeat if I told them half the stuff
that goes on inside my head.  Jerking off wasn't exactly my best thing just
yet but I'd started earlier than most of the guys and was practicing every
chance I got.  The warnings they gave girls about this sort of thing had
been the starting point for some of my weirdest fantasies.  It was too late
to save my ass but maybe I could improve my odds of getting home in one
piece.  I could still move my arms a little and felt him freeze in place as
my hand cupped his crotch and started gently massaging his package.  I
tapped the back of his hand with a finger and he eased up enough to find
out if I was going to say anything he wanted to hear.  I didn't whisper but
tried to keep it that quiet.

	"It's not head in a bucket dark but right here, right now, I
haven't seen your face, I couldn't pick you out of a line up.  If I can't
do anything to stop it the next best thing is making sure nobody ever finds
out.  That will be easier if you help."

	"How?"

	"If you tear up my clothes mom will ask questions I don't want to
answer.  If you hurt me bad enough I need a doctor, the cops will keep
asking questions until they start getting answers.  Even if you go off the
deep end and kill me you still have problems, just different ones.  For you
to be safe, you can't depend on me not wanting to talk.  We have to fix it
so nobody will want to listen, or that things will be worse for me if they
do."

	"This is getting weird, like it's some kind of trap."

	"Maybe.  If it is, the trap has already closed and we're in it
together.  Uh, the people who are always warning us about child
molesters... they don't go into much detail.  Is this the part where I take
my clothes off?"

	He didn't answer, at least not in words, he did lighten his hold
enough here and there that it was no problem slipping out of my clothes.
There was a grill near the garage, close enough I could hang my stuff on
the hooks intended for utensils.  The night air was starting to cool.  That
probably didn't have much to do with my slight shiver when I was down to
nothing but my sneakers.  There was enough light for him to see I was
undressed.  It was his hands though, that had me feeling naked.  I had to
remind myself it was just us.  It honestly felt like more than one set of
hands, all over me.  He turned me to face him and leaned in until his
breath tickle my ear.

	"Wrap your arms around my neck and close your eyes.  It's time for
you to learn how to make out."

	It didn't take long to teach me the basics of deep kissing and more
than I wanted to know about being man handled.  I don't think he noticed
how bad I blushed at already being hard when I took off my pants or the
first couple of times it brushed against the denim covering his thigh.
Soon there was so much going on I was only dimly aware of humping his leg
like a horny stray, until he lightly wrapped his fingers around my cock.

	"You little sicko!  You're more perverted than I am!  Fuck my hand
slut!  You can fool everyone else but any second now you're gonna cum while
some creepy old guy is perving on you. You want that don't you?  Want me to
let you cum?"

	"Oh God!  Yes, please, right now."

	"No!  If I let you cum you'll lose interest.  I need to know you'll
get me off too."

	"Yes!, just don't make me wait."

	"You'll be my bitch?  Suck my cock?  Let me finish in your ass?"

	"Yes! Anything..."

	He gave it a couple more rough strokes and I came harder than I
ever did solo.  It wasn't until he lifted his hand, ordering me to lick his
fingers clean that I began to understand fully what I got myself into.  The
strangest part is that it wasn't that bad.  That first time, I didn't have
anything to compare it to.  It should have been, it was, degrading and
perverted being ordered to do queer stuff.  Like, if anyone else on earth
knew I was doing that I would absolutely curl up and die but the creep I
was with was some kind of exception.  I wasn't even scared anymore.  You
know how it is when somebody who can order you around, like a parent or
teacher, asks you to do something?  You both know that it's really an
order, they're just being polite?  This guy was giving me orders that felt
like requests.  Like, we both knew I was going to do whatever he wanted, I
just needed to find out what that was first.

	"Get down on your knees bitch.  Most kids push their boundaries an
inch here and another inch there, taking months to give it up.  We don't
have that kind of time.  Suck it, take it deep."

	I barely had time to get my mouth open before I was down on my
hands and knees choking and gagging, trying not to lose my lunch.

	"I can't!  It's too big!"

	"Bullshit!  Kids younger than you do it all the time."

	"Yeah?  You might not be a liar but it sure as hell isn't very many
kids and it's not something they learned overnight."

	"If I had you for a month by the time it was over I'd be balls deep
in your face any time I felt like it.  Instead I'm taking you as far as
you'll go, as fast as I can get you there.  You can't swallow?  Go slow and
wet right up the underside, balls to tip, then swirl your tongue around the
head before you do it again."

	I could manage that ok.  I didn't need light to figure out that by
the third or fourth trip I was milking a drop of pre-cum out of him with
every slurp.

	"That's a nice start.  Now wet slobbery kisses all over it.  Rub
your face against it, like you're trying to jerk me off with your face and
mouth.  I let you hump my leg like a horny mutt.  Show me how you'd eat
yourself if you could reach."

	I could make excuses, say I was pretending to get into it so he
wouldn't make me do something worse.  Except for... the smell.  He wasn't
rank like some homeless guy or even like he just finished a work out.
Later I'd find out that it's just how a horny perverts crotch smells when
he's fucking.  It was gross but my own dick was coming back to life until
it was about as hard as it ever gets.

	"Ok, stand up, while we're sucking face I want you to hold our
cocks together, underside to underside.  You're going to dry hump the
pervert playing with you.  If you keep going until we both get a load off I
won't make you lick me clean.  That doesn't mean I'll try to stop you if
that's your thing."

	I can't say I expected worse, being too inexperienced to have any
idea what to expect.  He couldn't actually see me blush but the heat from
my face was enough to make him chuckle after he told me how much he loved
the smell of his cock on a horny boy.  When I reached a point where I kind
of got stalled and wasn't making much progress towards getting him off, he
started spitting on a fingertip and dipping it between my butt cheeks, just
teasing my hole at first.  Before long he was fingering me and it didn't
take three guesses to figure out where his cock was going if he didn't cum
before things got that far.  Maybe I came first, it was pretty close but
his load didn't start flowing down over my hands until after my little
"second time around" squirt.  I stood there kind of lost while he zipped up
and got ready to leave.  Finally, I had to ask.

	"What now?"

	"That's up to you and the next guy."

	"Next guy?"

	"I can't double dip but we both know there's going to be a next
guy.  I don't know who it is but it's a pretty safe bet you already know
him.  Maybe not by name but if somebody pointed him out at a block party
you'd be like, `Oh, him?  What about him?'  Maybe it's somebody you know
better than you want to.  Every family has one.  The guy who, if you know
he's at the party and you haven't seen him for a while, you start counting
the kids.  You probably don't want to mess with him.  It's too much like
taping a sign to your back."

	"Uh, yeah, so who do I want to, uh, mess with?"

	"You'll know.  Probably not for sure, all at once.  He's already
checking you out.  Now that you did it, sooner or later you're going to
notice.  When that happens you could just walk up and say something like,
`hi, I'm a pervert, let's talk', but that could be kind of embarrassing if
he's not the guy."

	"Uh huh, embarrassing, right."

	"Your best shot at getting something going is to get into a hobby
that gives you an excuse to be away from the crowd.  If you think he's
interested tell him when you're going to be somewhere and let him take it
from there.  Role play is good too.  You're cute, young and horny.  If you
can't find some guy to perv on you, you're just not trying.  Good luck, I'm
gone."

	And he was... long gone by the time I got my clothes on and found
my way back out to the street.  Somehow I got home without any new
problems.  I guess I sort of sleepwalked through the weekend.  School was
still on summer break so when mom was back at work Monday I was kind of on
my own.  I forgot why I'd gone out to the back yard when I saw our neighbor
was out doing yard work as well.  Mr Owens was the most annoying teacher
I've had so far, especially since I made straight A's in his science class.
His usual thing was wandering around the room while the class worked on the
assigned problems.  Maybe I had more acute hearing than most middle school
kids, maybe he just thought he was being stealthy.  Either way I could
track his progress around the room, though I resented having to give it so
much of my attention.

	Any time he thought a kid was daydreaming, he would sneak up on
your lab bench and smack his yard long pointer down flat, making a crack
like a pistol shot.  His other nasty habit was crowding in way too close so
he could look over your shoulder while you worked out a problem.  It didn't
help that he was overweight, old and odd in a way that raised the hairs on
the back of your neck but was really hard to describe.  If asked, I would
have called him a fat, forty, freak, though to be fair he probably wasn't
much over thirty with just a little more of the belly roll office workers
start building around then.

	I felt a hollow chill as I realized he was a perfect fit for the
guy that creep described as my "next one".  He'd moved in last semester and
I made sure not to sign up for any of his classes next year.  Before I
could think about it too much he saw me standing there.

	"Lenny, right?  The school is pretty strict about student/teacher
conduct outside of a professional setting but I guess it's ok to say hi to
a neighbor."

	"I'm not a student of yours anymore.  I really don't like the way
you teach but I have to give you some credit.  I never caught you trying to
hand us a line of BS.  If somebody asked you a question and you didn't
know, you didn't have a problem with admitting it.  There is something I'm
curious about."

	"Ok, what exactly is on your mind?"

	"Every school yard has a bully, even parochial or private schools.
Most of them are lazy.  They like the idea of everybody shaking in their
socks but they don't want to work very hard to make that happen and they
sure as hell don't want to get their ass handed to them by some tough kid
who isn't having any of that.  What usually happens is they get their
jollies terrorizing a handful of kids while most people ignore them and
they're careful not to mess with the ones who might loosen their teeth."

	"What does this have to do with me?"

	"Most bullies grow up, some just get older.  Some of them are smart
enough to get jobs that pay them for what they want to do anyway."

	"You think I became a teacher just to push kids around?"

	"Not really, and if you did, is that automatically a bad thing?  I
mean if you like to cut people you can go to prison or medical school.
Does liking to cut make somebody a bad surgeon?  You're a bully, but you
spread it around pretty even.  You don't pick on just one or two kids.  You
tie it into what you're trying to teach.  The highest grade on my report
card is in your class so whatever you're doing can't be all that bad.  My
problem is with the other side of it."

	"Being on the receiving end?"

	"Yeah.  Like, when a kid is getting bullied it's at least partly
his fault.  The first couple of times it happens you have to decide how to
deal with it.  If you don't push back hard enough it isn't exactly like
asking for more but you're telling him you don't care enough to do anything
about it.  Let it go long enough and the limit is wherever the bully
decides to set it."

	"Somebody is bullying you?"

	"Not right now.  The whole thing is so messed up I really need to
talk to somebody about it.  At the same time, I would totally die if
anybody I know found out about it."

	"The law says there are some things I have to report if I run into
them as part of my job.  That doesn't apply to chatting with a neighbor
over the back fence.  If you decide afterwards you said too much, or I
decide I didn't need to hear that we can go on without either of us feeling
like we lost a friend.  Whatever is bothering you, I'm not going to spread
it around.  It's still up to you how much you want to say."

	"A couple nights ago I was coming home late from a friends house
and I got grabbed."

	"Grabbed?"

	"Dragged into a dark back yard.  He didn't actually threaten me but
it was pretty clear that I could either get with the program or maybe get
kind of used up trying to fight.  It was more like getting bullied than
beat up.  So now it's like everything is the same, only it's not, there's
this extra layer over whatever was there before."

	"Ok, nobody talks about it much but a lot of people feel that way
when they're trying to deal with something too big for them to handle.
You're ok physically?  He didn't hurt you?"

	"No, as long as I was trying to do something he wanted he didn't
get rough.  The problem is... well... it's not over."

	"He's still doing it, or you think he's going to do it again?"

	"Not him, the stuff he made me do, I, uh, I kinda liked it."

	For the longest time I stood by the fence, staring at my sneakers
so I wouldn't have to see the way he was looking at me.  Eventually,
turning back towards the house, I felt his hand on my shoulder.

	"Are you telling me what he did was... pleasurable, or that you
liked being bullied in that way, pushed into doing things you weren't
supposed to?"

	"It's all mixed up.  When he grabbed me, I was so scared I would
have crapped myself if I didn't hit the bathroom before I started home.  It
dropped down to horror movie or haunted house scary when I caught on that
he wasn't going to just rip me up and throw me away... as long as there was
a way for him to have more fun.  By the time we finished I was more afraid
that somebody who knows me might find out.  Then, right before he let me
go, he told me it was only the first time."

	"You're afraid he might come back?"

	"Not him, he made it clear he was like `one and done'.  He was
talking about it being *my* first time.  He told me I was the kind of kid
that if I knew some creep was waiting for me someplace private I'd meet him
there."

	"Like you want it to happen?"

	"It's hard to explain.  It's not like I get horny thinking about
some creep perving on me.  It's like I get horny and then start thinking
about some pervert making me do stuff.  I don't *want* it, but if I knew
there was some guy waiting for me somewhere, that I could go to him and
choose when and where it was going to happen or have him catch me by
surprise, I'd meet him somewhere.  Like, just to make it harder for anybody
to find out."

	"Oh.  What if the deal wasn't straight across?  What if you had to
meet him twice a week to keep him from jumping you once a month?"

	"Oh shit!  I, uh, I think I could live with that."

	"What if it isn't a set schedule, you don't have to do anything for
three weeks straight then he makes you do it every day for a week?"

	"You mean he lets me alone so long that I start to think it's over?
That I don't have to do it anymore?  Then for a week or more I have to do
it again and again, be your queer slut?"

	"I was wondering how long you could go without letting it slip that
what we're really doing is negotiating.  If the wrong people found out we
were having this discussion I would already be in deep trouble.  So I
really don't have a way to *make* you do anything.  I teach a couple
morning classes for summer school but I'm usually home by noon.  If you
aren't waiting for me here tomorrow I'll assume you thought it over and
decided saying anything to me was a mistake."

	I thought about it, enough that I didn't get much sleep that night.
I don't know how much of what I was thinking I'll ever want anyone else to
know.  I was on a lawn chair soaking up some rays in a pair of cutoffs when
Mr. Owens got home from work the next day.

	"I've got a project going in the garage.  If you feel like checking
it out throw on some clothes and come on over."

	"What's wrong with this?"

	"Nothing if you're heading for the beach or hanging with friends
your own age.  If you're on the way to my place you might as well be waving
a pride flag and blasting a boat horn."

	I put on a tee shirt then thought about it and changed into long
pants as well.  I'm not sure if he approved of my choice of clothes or my
willingness to follow directions.  He did approve and it surprised me a
little how much it mattered.

	"Much better.  You're a cute kid, even when you're one popped
button and a short zipper away from bare naked.  You don't have to dress
like you're on your way to Sunday school but try to stay kind of low key.
Think of it like a disguise.  We want anybody who sees you to think
innocent kid, not bare naked slut."

	"Yeah, well, I'm not as innocent as I look."

	"Don't take this the wrong way Lenny.  Nobody is as innocent as you
look.  Most pervos lock onto that like their hardon is some sort of meat
seeking missile.  The first one to drag you off the street made a pretty
good start at popping your cherry.  You know what it's like having a
pervert on you? In you?  Watching you bust a nut while he's getting his
kicks?"

	"Sort of.  We were standing when I wasn't on my knees. He wanted
head but I was choking and gagging so bad he settled for me giving him
face.  Later we were grinding and sucking face while he fingered me."

	"So you had sex but you really haven't gone all the way."

	"I kind of got the idea that you were going to fix that."

	He kept working on the shelf unit he was unboxing but reached out
to hit the remote, closing the garage door.

	"Follow me."

	The garage was attached to the house through an entryway that also
had steps leading to the basement.  That end of the basement had a washer,
dryer, and a workbench piled with odds and ends.  The rest of the place was
filled with boxes and storage tubs, stacked higher as we got further away
from the steps.  Only a narrow path reached all the way to the back wall
where a space had been cleared.  It didn't even have one of the dusty
windows that let some light into the other areas.  Just a bare bulb glowing
dimly on a rafter and a sleeping bag opened out over a foam pad on the
floor.

	"Is this the part where I have to get undressed?"

	"Nope.  If this wasn't what you expected you can turn around and
leave.  I'm only safe if you don't want to tell.  We're going to do things
that make you want to leave until you cum instead.  You won't say anything
to anybody unless you can figure out a way to convince them you didn't have
any choice.  We both know *that* isn't gonna happen.  Let me see you
barefoot from the ankles up."

	There wasn't much light but compared to a dark yard that sleeping
bag a was lit up like a stage.  It was better in some ways.  I didn't have
to worry about tripping over stuff or some passing stranger investigating
odd noises.  I could see that he didn't really have six hands no matter
what it felt like.  But he could see too, everything he was touching and
how I was reacting to it.  Including a boner that was pointing at the
rafters, twitching in time with my heartbeat and starting to leak a thread
of pre-cum like it was actually crying for more attention.

	"What did you call it?  Giving face?  Get on your knees and show me
your stuff."

	He wasn't really fat or hairy.  He wasn't the boogeyman in the dark
who was my only other experience with a `child molester'.  But he was an
adult, more than that he was Mr. Owens, an authority figure even if I was
no longer under his direct control.  Make that legitimate control, he was
pretty direct about what he wanted.  I didn't want to be there, didn't want
to be doing this, was deeply embarrassed by how much he seemed to enjoy
what I was doing with my hands and mouth.  I couldn't decide whether I was
more grossed out by the idea of him cumming in my mouth... or the other
option.  At the same time there was this weird sort of pride in how fast I
was getting him there.

	I wasn't surprised when he pushed me face down on the bag and I
felt something wet in my butt crack.  Neither of us said a word as I spread
my legs and he started fingering me, first one and then two.  He was trying
three and I was trying not to fight it when he laid down on his back.

	"Climb on and lift up enough I can get the head against your hole.
Jerk me off with that tight slippery ring.  I'll roll onto you when I get
to the short strokes.  Until then I want to watch you jerk off while you
pleasure me.  That `I'm not really like this' expression on such a sweet
little slut is insanely hot."

	Watching my load splatter his hairy belly and chest was like
something out of an obscene horror movie for the moment it lasted before he
rolled us over and started to hammer me with the "short strokes".  It
couldn't have been as long as it felt like.  It wasn't long enough to tear
me up.  He got off of me, got dressed and went back up to the garage, while
I laid there getting used to the idea of being a perverts bitch.  Buzzing
around like an annoying fly just out of reach was the fact that my birthday
was next week.  His "sweet little slut" wasn't quite thirteen yet.

(not even close to)
The End