SEX CRIMES UNIT 01
(THE GRAHAM CASE)
Copyright 2006. All rights reserved.
Story codes: MM/b, M/t, t/b, oral, anal, pedo, ws
DISCLAIMER: Some folks apparently have trouble distinguishing between fantasy and reality. This story is a fantasy. It didn't happen. Never will. And anyone who attempts to do in real life all or any of the things depicted in the story needs to be hanged, then drawn and quartered, and then turned over to the law for the harshest penalties the law allows. Now that we're clear on what's what, and what's not, read on.
IMPORTANT NOTE: This story (or possibly series of stories) is set in the same "universe" as "Max's Boys." Some of what you read might make more sense if you've read those stories. `sup to you, of course. Questions? Praise? Worship on bended knee(s)? All of the above (and more) will be cheerfully accepted at: firstname.lastname@example.org.
THE GRAHAM CASE
I should have been at work. Christ knows, they needed me. Everyone was overworked, exhausted, stressed; adding even a small part of what I was supposed to be doing to someone else's load could tip somebody over the edge into going postal. But I had to get away. Just for a while. I was in no mood to hassle with my boss about permission and crap, so I just told the doc where I was going.
I drove to the park, dropped my car in the most convenient spot without giving a fuck whether I was likely to get a ticket or not. I could always get that fixed. Then I just walked. Blue skies, bright sun, glorious, cheerful. Which did fuck-all for what was inside my head. I finally wound up near a soccer practice field, dropped my sorry ass on a bench, and then just stared off into space like I was zoned on crack or something.
Part of me wanted to shout "Fucking bitch!" so the whole world could hear me. But I couldn't. She wasn't. Despite the fact that she took the girls, and left the house, leaving me a note saying she wanted a divorce. Despite the fact she also took most of our checking account and all of our savings accounts. Oh, yeah, she left me some furniture, too. The marital fucking bed included. Guess what I thought were all the good memories of the times spent there weren't so good after all. Not if she didn't want to remember them by sleeping on that mattress any more. Not that I really wanted to sleep there myself, but it was either that or a sleeping bag on the floor. No couch.
Okay, so I have a tough job. I work long goddamn hours and sometimes when I come home I'm not exactly the fuckin' lovey-dovey husband type. And sometimes my work comes home with me and that doesn't make for pleasant evenings. Or being on call and having to go out in the middle of the night. But I've loved her and the girls. Worried about them, cared for them the best I knew how. Busted my ass to provide a good home. Been a faithful Catholic husband; raised the girls in the Church just like she wanted.
And she just ups and walks out. Of course everybody at work knows. It's almost like we're all married, even though there are real wives and husbands for, well, some of us. Can't keep many fucking secrets there, especially not this kind.
Now what the fuck am I gonna do?
Well, one thing I'm not gonna do is cry.
I wiped the non-existent tears away with my knuckles, making it look like I was just rubbing tired eyes. In case any of however-many-the-fuck-there-were strangers were watching closely and might think me some kind of weak faggot or something. When I stopped rubbing my eyes I forced myself to look around, to pay attention to my surroundings. Dumb fuck. In a city like this, even in broad fucking daylight in a park, not paying attention can get you maimed or killed.
I looked around, but slowly so nobody knew I was looking at anything in particular. The soccer game was just winding down. Kids. Boys. As my glance passed over them, they seemed like they were maybe nine or ten. Maybe if we'd had a boy, too, instead of all girls? Naw, just one more kid for her to take away from me.
The boys were clearly divided into the "we won, we rule, you suck you losers" group (red shirts, white shorts) and the "we don't suck, you cheated and we'll get you back next time" group (green shirts, grey shorts). Parents or whoever were cutting selected boys out from the herd, gathering them up, and then moving them off toward the exit, an excited babbling little mob. All except for one boy, kind of off by himself, obviously talking on a cell phone. He flipped it off, tucked it into a butt bag, and looked at the rapidly disappearing groups of parents and kids. I did, too. Of course, at this end of the park, those adults could actually be nannies, or chauffeurs, or tutors or kiddy-minders, whatever. Not that I'd ever know what that was like. Not on my salary.
Okay, time to go back and earn a living so she can rip most of that away from me, too. I stood up, stretched, took another quick glance around and saw the boy again. Red shirt, white shorts. He was trudging up the slope toward the toilets. Trudging was the right word. For a boy who'd just won a soccer game, and it must have been pretty important given the raucous behavior of the winners and the somber behavior of the losers, he seemed kind of down. I don't really know why I thought that. Not that I could see much at that distance. Just an impression. I was about to turn and leave myself when I realized something.
The kid was alone. Every other person who'd been at the game, playing, coaching, watching, whatever, was gone. The last straggler, a woman and two green-and-grey players was a football field away from the kid, with no one in between, no one waiting for him. Now what kind of goddamned father or mother sends a kid off alone and isn't waiting to pick him up when the game is over? Sure, sure, drop the kid off with his friends, let someone else's parents watch over him at the game, cheer for him, commiserate with him—trade off with them so you can do things that are far more important than being there for your son's soccer game, and then they can do the same to their kids later.
Okay. So that's the goddamned real world. But at least you make damned well sure he can get home, or wherever he goes next. And there was nobody there. Nobody in sight. And the park exit was pretty damned far off. His bastard parents, guardians, whatever-the-fuck just left him alone.
I sat my ass down again. At least I could stick around and watch, make sure he was safe. Just from a distance. No way was I going to approach him and offer any kind of help, like a ride home or something. Right, a big man, even a fairly obvious ex-Marine, approaches a very slender, short, nine-or-so-year-old boy and does some variation on the "hey, little boy, you want a candy bar?" routine, and the next thing you know some park patrol officer is miraculously on the spot, arresting your ass, my ass, for being a pedo pervert.
I tried not to be obvious about watching the boy, although the park was pretty damned deserted right now. At least around where I was. With my peripheral vision I could see him approaching the entrance to the toilets. Typical city johns. Cinder block construction. Probably stank of piss and sweat and cum. Now why the fuck would that cause my dick to twitch?
I turned my head just slightly, very casually, and looked at the boy as he stopped in the bright sun just outside the door, ready to walk into the dimness I could see behind him. And then he looked at me. Right at me. It was like...fuck...it was like one of those film things where somebody far away is suddenly close up, you can see them clear and sharp, but the background is all fuzzy. If I was right about his age, he was kind of small. May four-three, four-four, sixty, sixty-five pounds, thin, but showing some muscle, thick dark hair tumbling down almost to his eyebrows, down and around his ears. Small eyes, the kind that often look like the person is always squinting. Pale skin, like he didn't get out all that much despite his arms and face being slightly reddened from the hot afternoon sun. An odd half-smile, half-smirk on his thin lips.
Then it hit me.
Eddy. He fucking looked like Eddy. Younger, yeah, but still.... Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! I so did not need this. I shut my eyes and turned my head away.
Christ, now I'm boned up again. Just like I got when I was untying Eddy. Eddy the pedo teen who'd been molested by his dad, and thought it was okay to molest his eight-year-old brother on a pay Website, raking in thirty grand a month from the men who got off on watching and suggesting things to do next. Eddy who had planned on running away when his mother found out what he'd been doing, but got kidnapped by one of the men who paid him for the webcam sex shows. Eddy, who'd been laying on a filthy bed, wrists crossed and tied above his head to the rails; barefoot; raggedy jeans; naked from the waist up. So slender. Muscular. Tiny, tiny nipples you could, I could, tell were standing up hard. No hair on his chest, no start-up treasure trail down toward the low-slung jeans. No hair except for a lush bush in his pits, a startling contrast to the young boy look of the rest of his body. Eddy, who grabbed hold of me and cried and babbled all sorts of apologies for what he'd done. Eddy, who was in Federal custody after being granted immunity in exchange for providing the names of his subscribers.
Now I'm imagining resemblances that don't exist. To prove it, I opened my eyes, but the kid was already in the toilet. Fine. I'll wait until he comes out, confirm it was just my goddamned stressed-out imagination, and then, well, fuck, what the hell do I do then? Just walk away and leave him alone? Let some man come up and pretend to be his friend? The way the kidnapper had pretended to love Eddy, and then fucked his boy cunt hard not long before we arrived. Just ripped a hole in the jeans Eddy was wearing and punch-fucked right through into the boy's teen cunt.
Boy cunt? Goddamn it, boys don't have cunts. Men don't have cunts. They have assholes. Well, yeah, assholes can be fucked, but that still doesn't make the boys into girls. But that's what Eddy had called his hole, whispering to me that the man had fucked his cunt hard, right through that hole in his jeans, and he could still feel the jizz oozing out of his pussy. Damn. I turned my head to check the soccer field, the path toward the exit. Still no one showing up for the boy.
Whoa. Someone just walked into the john. My head whipped around but not fast enough to catch details. But someone had gone in there. And that quick, corner-of-the-eye glimpse said it was a man, not another boy. Where did he.... Yeah, he must have come from the woods beyond the toilets. Now what.
I wasn't used to being so indecisive. Charge the fuck in and do what had to be done, even if it involved bashing the hell out of someone who needed bashing. And I'm still damned good at bashing. And knowing who needs it and just how much. The marines taught me well. And the gym time, well, it hasn't prevented me from starting just a little belly, a slight bulge above my hips...very small love handles thank you very much...I can see when I'm naked in front of the mirror, but the strength is still there. And I'm in the fucking mood to use it.
Of course there might be no reason to use that strength. No one to bash. Just a guy walking into a park toilet for a quick piss or shit, ignoring the boy and hurrying to get his ass outa there before he gets accused of something just by the two of them being alone there. Maybe.
And then again, maybe not. And the longer I waited, the more he could hurt the kid.
Subtlety. That's what I needed. Just another man in need of a piss, casually walking into the john, unaware of anyone else being there first.
Except I'm as subtle as a kick in the balls. Oh, fuck it all.
It didn't take long to haul my ass up off the bench and stride quickly to the toilet entrance. It was one of those right-angle entrances so I paused to let my eyes adjust to the near darkness. No windows except some small slits at the top that didn't let in much light because of the overhang, and the single light bulb had probably been smashed or unscrewed so many times the Parks Department stopping bothering with replacements. And yeah, the place smelled of piss and sweat and cum. My dick twitched.
Jesus, my head was getting fucked up lately. Maybe I should get a new job.
I waited, breathing softly, listening. To nothing. Just silence. Until a minute or so later when a man's voice said, "See, kid, no one's there. Just you and me. Now get that sweet little mouth back on my meat."
I'd heard the expression about "seeing red." Who hasn't? Always thought it was a crock. Until that moment. Across my eyes there was a haze like the glow from a furnace full of red hot liquid steel, and my head felt like it was going to explode from that heat in a second. Two steps took me around the corner, my fist clenched and ready, and I said in my coldest, most granite voice—and I own several cold and granite voices—"I think you better let him get that sweet little mouth the fuck off your meat if you want to live much longer."
They both froze. Jesus. It wasn't some old pervert, the fucking bastard was my age. Late thirties. Shorter than me. Thinner than me but with some bulging muscles. Tee-shirt. Jeans with a long, Christ, a fucking long thin cock sticking out from the fly, with part of it still buried in the kid's mouth. And the kid. The kid was just kneeling there, staring up at me with wide, scared eyes.
I let the granite slide away, melt into warmth and gentleness. "It's okay, son. He won't hurt you. Now just get up and come over here."
The boy opened his mouth and let the starting-to-soften cock drop away, and stood up. Tears were starting to form. I checked him over with a glance, still keeping part of my attention on the sick bastard who'd been fucking this beautiful young boy's face, to make sure he wasn't hurt, well, at least not physically. No visible wounds or bruises. But he was trembling and damn, but it sure looked like the kid had a little hardon shoving against his shorts. Not that I could be sure, because they were on the loose and baggy side, but damn that's what it looked like.
I couldn't exactly be judgmental since I was half, hell, more than half hard myself. It wasn't because of any attraction to the boy. Or to Eddy. Definitely not. Just stress, and no sex for the weeks since she left me, other than a couple of very quick hand jobs in a toilet stall at work. And one at the urinal when I was really horny and restless. The doc almost caught me, but I shoved my still spurting cock out of sight between the sides of the old-fashioned tall urinals with the drain holes in the floor.
But still. My mind flashed back to a collage of images from the DVDs Eddy had made of his show, DVDs I'd watched to try to understand what he'd gone through. Eddy jacking off laying back on a bed, his sleeveless tee pulled up and around the back of his head, his jeans and boxers at his knees. A big cock for a boy so young. Probably close to six inches. Arrow shaped head with a shaft that got a hell of a lot thicker at the base. No hair around his cock, none on his balls. Smooth and shiny baby skin. But it wasn't a baby who blasted such huge amounts of semen from such small balls.
Eddy undressing his little brother. Tongue kissing him. Sucking his little boy cock. Standing naked and making filthy comments to the webcam while fucking his little brother's face, sometimes slow and gentle, sometimes hard and fast. Sometimes cumming down the kid's throat. Sometimes money shots with that teen load splashing his brother's face.
Eddy letting his little brother fuck him to a shaking dry orgasm while the watching men spewed their obscenities over the speakers, washing over the two boys. Eddy turning the little boy onto his back, his tiny penis hard again, positioning the camera just right so that everyone could see his teen meat spreading the boy's asshole wide, then shoving it in hard and fast while the boy squealed, and then whimpered, and then begged Eddy to fuck him.
All that behind my eyes in one-ten-thousandth of the time it takes to say it, think it.
The boy turned his head slightly to look at his molester, and then as if the sight of him finishing his frantic rush to shove his hard-but-wilting cock back into his jeans eased his mind, he scurried behind me. Leaving me with my full attention on the prick son of a bitch who'd been forcing a little boy to suck him off.
The granite voice was back. Fuck, at that moment I was granite. Including the clenched right fist, the jaw line, and the carved-in-stone words, "You are so fucking dead meat."
Usually the look and the fist are enough to quiet them down. The guy surprised me.
"Look, man, it's the first time I ever.... Fuck...it just happened. C'mon. Let me go. The kid isn't hurt. Man, gimme a break, I promise I'll never come near here again."
He ran his right hand through the longish hair that had fallen toward his face, fingers splayed wide to push it back. He looked in my eyes. I could see nerves, but no real fear. He glanced down at me, his eyes taking all the time in the world in that second or so to check me out. And then he smirked.
Fucking pervert bastard prick smirked at me!
"Jesus, man, you want the kid that bad you can have him. Although we could, maybe, well, you know, share him. Great fucking mouth on him."
I was so fucking stunned it must have encouraged him.
"Man, there's this thing he was just startin' to do with his tongue and the head of my meat. And I bet he's got a great little pussy. With a hardon like yours, guess you were planning on fucking him, right?"
If I'd bellowed the "What?" I'd probably have blown the walls out, leaving the roof to crash down on our heads. As it was, they just shook a little.
He didn't cringe. Or back off. "Get off it, man. Trying to look like some righteous fucking do-gooder kiddy savior, and you're packing a stiff cock that's leaking already. Fine, you want the kid? Take him. There's other kid cunt around...."
My expression must have finally gotten through to him. Hardon or no hardon this bastard was just what I needed. A reason to pound some fucker into the dirt. Or the concrete floor. Right here, right now. I started to take a step toward him, and that's when everything went to hell.
The kid screamed something about not leaving him and lunged for me, super-gluing himself to my right leg, his left hand scrabbling for a grip on my left butt cheek, his right hand around in front of me, scrambling for a grip...and finding one on my mostly hard and definitely leaking, but suddenly, instantly full hard, prick...while he buried his face in my right hip. I lurched, recovered, and in that moment the molesting prick gave me a smug grin, ducked around me and got the fuck outa Dodge.
Well, at least God didn't send a fucking thunderbolt to strike me dead. A thirty-eight year old man with a hardon standing in a remote park toilet with a little kid clinging to him for dear life, and one hand was clinging real hard to a real hard cock. At least no park patrol cops showing up at the wrong moment, like right fucking now, either, to arrest me for molesting the boy.
Except I wasn't going to do anything to the kid. Other than peel him away from me. Which I did. He didn't struggle, but kept his head down. Poor little guy. Some pervert molests him, and then the guy trying to save him comes off as almost as big a perv. I had to make him understand I wasn't like that bastard that ran off. I almost hunkered down so I'd be closer to his eye level; you don't loom over kids if you want them to talk to you, trust you. But there was still that remote toilet thing. Big man squatting in front of little boy. PERVERT ALERT!
"Look, son, why don't we go outside? Maybe sit on a bench and talk?"
Yeah, sure, I shoulda used my cell and got the cops combing the park for the perv, but he was long gone, and the kid was obviously in shock.
His "O-okay" was soft and hesitant and he still wouldn't look at me.
"C'mon, then." I put my hand on his shoulder, very gently, to turn him toward the door. He didn't flinch. Good. He wasn't so traumatized that all men had become monsters. Such a slender shoulder. I could feel a very slight trembling beneath the red soccer shirt. As I stepped next to him, intending to go ahead and make sure the pedo freak wasn't lurking outside the door, though it's damned hard to lurk in late afternoon sun, I felt a soft touch on my right hand. I stopped, looked down.
The boy had lifted his left hand, and his first two fingers were resting on the inside of my little finger. All I had to do was move just a little and we'd be holding hands. Now what? If I don't, he'll feel rejected. If I do...well, what the fuck. It's a dad and his boy coming out of a toilet, so what? Dads hold the hands of their little boys, don't they? Not that I'd know, not with the girls.
I took hold of his hand.
And when I did I could feel a slight tension slide away from his body.
We turned the corner and then stood just inside the entrance for a moment, staring quietly out at the beautiful day. Although I was just slightly in front of him, listening, looking. Making sure the pedo perv wasn't out there, ready to jump me, and grab the kid and haul him off into the woods. The way he was talking, he wouldn't settle for a blowjob this time. He'd take the kid to a clearing, threatening him with...whatever...to keep him quiet. Force him down on his knees. Make him bend over a log. Pull down those loose soccer shorts to expose his pale, thin butt. Bury his face in the kid's ass, licking and slurping, loosening the hole, lying through his fucking teeth between licks about how it wasn't going to hurt. Frantically opening the buttons on his 501's, hauling out that long thin cock, a pedo perv like him would be drooling precum by this time, and then he'd shove his whole meat right into the kid's ass. Fast and hard. A hand around the boy's mouth to prevent the screams from being heard. And then a quick fuck until he filled the boy's cunt...the boy's rectum...with his pervert cum. And when he was done, he'd leave the poor kid there, in shock, bent over the leg, pedo spooge dripping out of his gaping ass. Available for some other perv.
No way. Not on my watch.
"Half a sec, kid." I let his hand go, loosened my tie, yanked off my sport coat, and casually draped it over my left forearm, before taking his hand again and walking into the sunlight. It wasn't perfect, but the dad-and-boy image would probably have been converted to pedo-victim if anyone noticed my still not-yet-soft cock. Boxers, the old-fashioned kind, don't exactly hide your meat if it gets hard, and even half-hard, my meat is noticeable. At the moment it was very noticeable, although slowly moving into the merely-noticeable range, and hopefully continuing through to just the "man's got a nice basket" look I usually sported. Shit, if losing my wife was gonna make me this fucking horny all the time so that any damned thing at all set me off, like had been happening the last little while, I'd better consider briefs, or a jock.
We walked down the slope to the big tree near the field, moved into the shade and sat on one of the benches. I let go of his hand, and he clasped it with the other, resting them in his crotch. He was still looking down, staring at the way his legs dangled over the edge of the bench, his toes not quite touching the ground. Asshole bench designers didn't figure on small kids, I guess.
I was trying to figure out just what to say, when the boy spoke.
"I'm sorry, sir."
"For...for touching your pee-pee."
That was no pee-pee you touched, kid, that's was a man's fucking dick. Not, of course, that I could say that. What I said was, "Well, it's true you're not supposed to go around touching a man's...er...private area. But you were scared and you didn't mean to."
He just nodded, almost but not quite looking up at me.
"You want to talk about what happened in there? Maybe we could catch the guy...."
"No!" the boy almost shouted, looking up at me. "Please don't leave me."
"Whoa, son, whoa. Slow down. No one's going anywhere. Not right now, at least."
And suddenly I had a little boy in my lap, his arms holding me tight, his butt resting on my suit coat...the part draped over my...er...private area. A shaking little boy. I put my arms around him, stroked his hair with one hand. Comfort was okay. Comfort was good. A scared child needs to be comforted, held, reassured.
Slowly, he relaxed, the tension draining out of him again. He seemed to sink into me. A stab of regret went through me, that I'd never have a son to hold like this. "Son," I said as I went on stroking his hair and down the back of his neck to his shoulders, over and over again, "we need to get you home. Your family will be worried. That soccer game has been over quite a while. Were you supposed to call someone to pick you up?"
He just nodded.
"Is that who you were calling before, well, before you went up to the john?"
He nodded again.
"Dad's car broke down. He told me to get a ride with one of the other guys, and I was just trying to tell him everyone was gone when his phone went dead. I, I couldn't get him back."
"Well, try him again now."
And then he proceeded to squirm around in my lap, his innocent little butt grinding into my crotch as he struggled to get the butt bag around in front, and opened up. He pulled the phone out and I knew right away he was definitely one of those kids with nannies, tutors, chauffeurs, butlers, maids, the whole eight and three quarters yards. Not all nine because where the fuck was his bodyguard? With the kind of money his folks had, they should have been worried enough about him to have him protected.
All this from a fucking phone?
Hell, yes. He was carrying a Verizon Elite, with a price tag that started, not ended but fucking started, at more than my five-year-old car cost new. I'd never seen one before, but I'd heard about them. I'd once said to my boss that we ought to have them, and he agreed to get me one for use on the job, as long as I made a quick decision on which arm, leg and testicle I wanted to trade for it. I gave him the joke wince he expected and agreed I'd stick with what I had. The minimum the phone could do was work with every single wireless carrier in the country. Actually, probably in most of this hemisphere. There were global positioning satellites dedicated to tracking Elite users, and could pinpoint the location of the phone, on or off, within one to two feet. The screen images looked the way HDTV is supposed to look but doesn't quite pull off. The sound is stereo with fidelity so high it was supposed to be stratospheric. And supposedly there were other things it did, but only Verizon (and only a few there) and the unknown manufacturer and the owners of the phones knew what those things were. President Gore has one. I'm not sure he let the Vice President have one, though.
So, yeah, you don't give a little boy a phone like that because you're trying to keep up with the Joneses and mortgaging yourself to the hilt to create the image that you can afford that kind of shit. Max Harris, who has more money than God and probably more power, too, probably has one. Only his is likely to be the top of the line and one of a kind. The "cheap" versions like this one were for those who were merely mega-wealthy. His dad's phone went dead? What, somebody nuked it?
Looked to me like daddy was a real shit. Probably off doing something really important, like maybe buying a country, or fucking his mistress, or shit, his goddamn boyfriend, instead of watching over his son. The bastard just turned the phone off.
And still hadn't turned it back on. Fucking creep bastard.
The boy flipped it shut, looked up at me. Christ, he might as well be one of those damned kittens with the big, dark, sad eyes. "Will you take me home?"
Shit. I said as gently as I could, "Isn't there someone else you can call?"
Christ, I'm a dumb bastard. I might as well have punched him in the mouth, the way he just sat real still and kind of crumbled inside. I gave in and hugged him to me again. "Look, son, I don't want to hurt your feelings. But you really shouldn't be asking strange men to take you home, or anywhere else. Not at your age. You saw just what happened. I could be just like that bastard. Worse. I'll stay with you until someone gets here, but it'd really be better for you, safer for sure, to have someone you know come pick you up."
Great speech. If there'd been an audience I would have been bombarded with ripe, deadly-smelling things about a third of the way through. Still hurt, the kid tried another number. And another. And two more. What was that? Five strikes? I smiled at him, rubbed his hair, asked him if he had one more number to try and if that didn't work, he could take his chances with me, and I'd get him home.
Someone answered. The boy explained that his dad couldn't get him and it was getting late and he needed a ride home, but there was a nice man who was willing to give him a ride if whoever couldn't come get him.
I could hear 9-1-1 being dialed on another line. I could almost hear the questions from the other end of the line. Was the man's dick out? Did he have his hands inside the kid's shorts? Maybe his finger up the little guy's ass. Playing with bald boy dick, perhaps? The kid frowned, scrambled off my lap so he could stand up, just barely missing doing permanent damage, took a couple of steps away from me...fuck, now the kid was afraid...and then pointed his goddamned Elite fucking phone at me.
Christ on a crutch. It was probably sending streaming video or something as I sat there on the damned bench and tried not to look like a pedo pervert. Except I didn't know what the "I'm not a pedo pervert" look was like, since the pedo pervert who'd molested the boy had been as normal looking as me. Of course, given the kid's probable wealth, maybe whoever was on the other end of the phone was hooked into the CIA/NSA/FBI/Homeland Security/whateverthefuck and he was even now downloading my life history including the size of my dick, the marine tattoo on my right bicep, and the embarrassing birthmark on my ass.
"He wants to talk to you." And the kid moved over to stand in front of me and handed me the phone.
"Hello. I'm...." My introduction of myself was cut off by a man with an odd voice, a voice that was vaguely familiar, but couldn't possibly be since I didn't swim with the sharks that lived in that special part of the ocean.
"What is actually going on?"
"I'd rather tell one of his parents."
"His mother is in Paris; his father is unavailable. I'm his uncle, and I'm at least an two hours, possibly three, away from where you are...which is on a bench by that tree northwest of the soccer field where the game was played this afternoon." Well, he either got that from the video the kid sent, or the Elite was really that good. "Now talk."
"I...found your nephew in the toilet...with a man. The man was, uh, forcing him to perform fellatio...."
"Cut the crap. The man made my nephew give him a blowjob. Is he still alive?"
"Unfortunately. Although to be honest I would've held him for the cops, if I could have caught him, but your nephew was scared and the choice was stay with him or go after the bastard when he ran."
"You made the right decision. Now please make another, and get him home."
I let my exasperation loose. "Jesus, what is it with you people? You don't bother to watch a great kid like this, you don't care enough to be here to watch his game and cheer for him, you don't care enough to be sure he has a way to get home, and right after he's been molested you're going to let some other strange man just walk off with him and hope that he gets home safely?"
The voice...what the fuck was it about that voice?...turned cold. Excellent technique. Almost as good...well, shit, I had to be truthful...better than mine. "I have your photograph. Between my brother's resources and mine, if you force the boy to do anything he doesn't want to do, much less hurt him in any way, you won't be alive twenty-four hours later. And the way this call is encrypted no one just heard me threaten to kill you if you hurt my nephew. Or hear this threat: before you go you'll be begging me with what little voice you have left to allow you to die. So continue to play Sir Galahad, or Lancelot, or whatever good knight you might choose and bring him safely home."
The reply that sizzled in my throat, starting with "fuck you and the horse you rode in on" and going downhill from there—no one, but fucking no one gets away with threatening me and walk away believing he'd forced me to act a particular way because of a threat—fizzled and died. That was my ego. And I've got a just-molested, forlorn little boy staring at me, who didn't need me ripping his fucking uncle a new asshole open wide enough to cram my fist and most of my arm up inside it. So I laughed instead. A real laugh, too. In the instant of controlling my anger I'd realized I didn't fucking care what the guy thought, about me, about anything. I was already going to get the kid home safely so what the fuck did his threats matter except to serve his damned ego?
You know the kind of silence that sometimes happens in a conversation? The "what the fuck was that" kind of silence where you have no fucking idea what to say/think/do next? Uncle jerkwad was doing that bit right then. So I hung up on him. Gave the phone back to the kid.
"C'mon, kid, it's you and me and a car your daddy would be ashamed to be seen with. He...ck, he probably wouldn't allow you within a mile of it if he had a choice." The boy kind of giggled at my dumb humor, and took my hand when I stood up and offered it. I hooked my suit coat on a forefinger and slung it over my shoulder. Oops. Couldn't just go off. I had to call in and let someone know what was going on. You don't just vanish from work and expect to still have a job, well, at least not without a lot of groveling, and I'm not the groveling kind.
"Wait a sec, kid." I let go of his hand and unhooked my own cell from my belt. Next to the Elite I might as well be using two cans tied together with a string. Oh well. Doc wasn't in, or I'd have told him what was really going on, but I just said I had a family emergency and was taking the rest of the afternoon off. Not that there was all that much of the afternoon left. And by morning I could come up with a believable emergency.
The car definitely wasn't up to what he probably rode around in all the time, but at least he wasn't wincing. I walked him to the passenger side, unlocked the door and opened it, and headed around to my door. I slid in behind the wheel and turned to look at him. He was still standing there, looking very thoughtful. "Hey, kid, I know it's not what you're used to, but the a/c will be on and you don't have to ride in it long, unless you live way the he...ck away from here. And once we get you safe, we can call the cops and maybe catch that slime. I sure got a good enough look at him for the Sex Crimes Unit sketch artist to work her miracles."
"It's not the car, sir, it's just...." He paused and then got in and pulled the door shut. "Well," he said in a very, very soft voice, so I almost couldn't hear him, and he wasn't looking at me, "it's just, well, Tom didn't force me to do anything."
The words didn't register just then. I was starting the car, putting my seatbelt on, reaching over to make sure the a/c vents on his side were open, turning to him to make sure he buckled up, when that last sentence finally got through the granite that frequently seems to make up most of my skull.
My "what did you say?" was a masterpiece of brilliant comeback. I was frozen there, right arm along the back of the seat, left pulled back from reaching past him for the shoulder strap, to resting on the steering wheel instead. The boy didn't say anything for a moment. He just slid over to the middle of the seat, actually pretty close to me, and still without looking at me, used the lap straps to buckle up. Then he looked up, an odd expression on his face, one I couldn't decipher, though I'm usually pretty good at it. I also realized that he was, for all practical purposes, sitting with my arms pretty damned close to being around him. Pull back the right, stretch out the left, and I had him.
So I didn't. I turned forward, one hand on the wheel, one hand putting it in gear, and started off. "Address?" I couldn't help it, it was my touch-of-granite voice, one I don't normally use with children. He gave it to me. I'd never been there, of course, but I knew how to find it. I'm sure almost anyone in the city could. The Harris. Most major cities had one, but ours was the flagship. According to the news stories, the least desirable condo in the building sold for a bit over five million. I had a fairly good idea that wasn't the one he lived in.
"Please don't be mad at me." He hesitantly put a small hand on my thigh. It burned. The inside-the-skin kind of heat that goes directly to your crotch. When this is over, I better talk to doc. I need some serious help.
"You want to tell me what the fuck is going on?" Two more rules broken. You don't talk to a child who's been molested in that tone of voice, and you don't swear in front of or at the kid. Especially not with the big fucking "F-word."
He just sat there, not moving his hand. I paid attention to the traffic. Ignored the way I could feel every skin pore on his tiny hand right through my slacks. Waited for him to speak.
"T...Tom is my friend. He wouldn't hurt me. Or make me do stuff I didn't want to do. `n...well...I like sucking his dick. He says I'm real good at it."
I kept my sigh to myself. Wished I could shut my eyes and bang my head against something, anything. Better yet, bang my fists a couple hundred times into fucking bastard Tom. How did he get to brainwash the kid? Where were his goddamn parents and his fucking uncle with all their money and all their threats about protecting him? I managed to use the right tone this time. "This wasn't the first time?"
"Unh-uh. Tom likes to watch my soccer games. And if we can, he lets me suck his dick in the john. But he never hurts me, never forces me. I want to do it."
Lets him. The prick lets a little boy suck his cock like it's some kind of goddamned privilege he's bestowing, and the boy should be grateful. "Son, ten-year...."
Aw, Christ on a pair of crutches. Eight? "Son, I'm sorry, but eight-year-old boys are too young to know what's right and wrong about sex with older people. Especially with older men when you're a little boy. He should never have touched you, never have suggested that you...suck his cock." Another fucking rule down the fucking toilet. Always use the correct words in language a child will understand. Except this boy obviously understood too damned well.
His tone brightened. "Well, that's okay, then, `cause I asked him."
This time, my "what?" didn't shatter glass, didn't make the car even vibrate a little or swerve to one side.
"The first time was after a game. I went to pee, and Tom was there. He was peeing too. I stood by the trough and took my pee-pee out, but I was too short, `n I really had to go `n I guess he could tell, `cause he asked me if I wanted help. So he shook himself and then picked me up, `n balanced me on the edge. I peed a really long time, and when I was done he set me back down, and I was looking right at his pee-pee. It was long and soft. It had skin all over the end. He asked me if I liked what I was looking at.
"I told him he had a really big pee-pee, and he said that was a little boy's word, that men called it a cock or a dick. So I told him he had a really big dick and he kind of laughed. That shook his dick around and it started to get bigger. So I asked him if I could touch it. He said it was okay, so I did. It got really long and really hard really fast. He kind of moaned when I started rubbing it. `n then I asked him if I could suck on it. I `member he said, `Oh, Christ, yeah," `n he gasped real loud when I started licking underneath his skin."
He paused, and I guess he heard my question in the silence: How the fuck did a little boy know about sucking cock. He answered the silence, with a little giggle. "I watched my daddy's DVD's. Lotsa cock being sucked. I `pologized for not being very good, but he just said I was doin' great, fuckin' great, `n would I please just go back to doin' it, `n maybe let him push his dick into my mouth some more.
"So I did. I couldn't take all of it, well, not then, but he held onto the sides of my head so I was real still and then started sliding his dick in and out of my mouth. He asked me if I knew what he was doing, but I guess he knew I couldn't answer `cause of his cock, so he told me he was fucking my mouth pussy. `n that he'd never fucked a kid's mouth before, but it was the best little pussy he'd ever had, warm `n wet `n tight `n he was gonna give me somethin' really hot to drink in a little while `n I should just swallow all his daddy-juice down, `n then he started fucking my mouth faster `n sayin' dirty stuff to me like on the DVDs `n then all of a sudden he was gruntin' `n moanin' and I had this like really big mouthful of hot salty cum. It tasted sooooo good. I swallowed it all, just like he said. `n he said I was a really good cocksucker, a real natural."
The boy's voice swelled with pride. My cock swelled for other reasons. I managed to ask him how long it had been going on. When he told me a year I almost crapped my pants. The kid had been getting molested in a park toilet for a year, since he was fucking seven! and no one knew, no one cared? Only it wasn't just the toilet in the park, he told me. Sometimes they'd go out in the woods. And my mind flashed to that image of the boy bent over a log, that long thin cock pounding in and out of his ass. But surely the bastard hadn't gone that far. But he had gone pretty far...pretty far down the boy's throat apparently. Every fucking inch according to the proud little boy beside me. And they didn't just do it in the park. Somehow the pervert managed to meet up with the boy at one of the upscale department stores where they'd pretend to be father and son, so nobody wondered when he took the kid into one of the toilets. They'd almost got caught once, but the boy had pulled his legs up off the floor while he sat on the handicapped toilet and the pervert went right on fucking his face while some man took a long piss in the stall next to them. And apparently never wondered why there wasn't a piss-splashing sound from the man standing in front of a toilet in the handicapped stall.
That's when the boy shocked me. I should have been expecting it. But sometimes like my wife says...said...I have these blinders on like I don't want to see what's there around me, just see what I want to see straight ahead. Which is why, she said, I didn't have a clue about why she left, and wouldn't be coming back. The boy lifted his hand off my thigh, and put it down again on my cock, which was enthusiastically pleading to be let loose so it could get some happiness. Long and slow, followed by hard and fast would be great. But really, really quick was okay. Or anything in between. My cock wasn't being particular right then. Any kind of happiness would do. And the kid offered. "Can I suck your cock, sir?"
My cock spurted a round of precum applause at the idea. Jesus. I haven't stained my slacks with a spurt like that since I was a teenager and horny almost 24/7. And the boy continued to gently squeeze and stroke. I did not just whimper I told my cock, silently, deep inside my head where the boy couldn't hear. That was just the normal surprised grunt of a man whose cock has been grabbed by a sexy little eight-year-old boy. No way, I told my throbbing dick. The kid has been molested for a year by some pervert who is going to pay for that, and no way am I going to contribute to the hurt. The stain naturally spread.
The boy rubbed the wet spot. "Wow!" he said, soft and sexy, "I bet you cum really big. `n taste really great, too."
I had to figure out how to break the news to him gently that hardon or no hardon there wasn't going to be any dick sucking this afternoon. Okay, maybe there would be. If I couldn't find one of the clean whores on the street for a blowjob, there was always the Adonis. I'd never been but I'd heard a guy could get blown there pretty easy, and with a cock the size and hardness of mine, I shouldn't have any trouble. Just this one time. That would be okay. I'd probably die of terminal lust before I managed to drive all the way home to the fucking empty house.
Ah. Problem solved. We'd arrived at the Tower. I could drive by and shove the kid out of the door and be on my way without any complications and explanations. Except the Tower had a high fence around the property, and a closed gate that obviously required an entrance code. Okay, so no easy way out. I'd just have to go up the driveway, stop, reach over, unlock the door, and ease the kid out. And then come back later with a soft dick and deal with the kid's family and getting SCU involved and all the rest of the shit. The kid told me what code to punch so that the gates swung wide. What kind of idiots built a security system that could be breached by a kid in a stranger's car? I looked ahead at the canopied entrance. In the movies this kind of place would have a kindly old doorman. One who could take over and shepherd the kid inside and up to whatever palace he was living in.
As I stopped the car, I found out I was right. The Tower did have a doorman. He was Kong's younger brother, and probably only slightly less hairy. I'm only six-one; he had to be a half a foot taller, maybe more. Shaved head. Well, what else? I mean this guy made Vin Diesel look like a pussy-whipped cuckold. Dark eyes, squarish face, a five o'clock shadow that probably started ten minutes after he shaved. Muscles not merely for days, but decades, all squashed into a uniform without braid and similar shit, just a well-fitting and obviously expensive suit with a discreet "Harris Security" label on the pocket. And a couple of large bulges. The most obvious one was at eye level through the passenger window as he approached the car. The slightly less obvious one was slightly higher. He was definitely packing. Now why couldn't daddy have hired someone like this for the boy? The pervert would have been a messy, flat film of blood and body parts on the floor of that toilet the first time he tried something on the kid.
I'd rolled the passenger window down and he bent over to look in. His face brightened in what I guess passed for a smile when he saw the little boy, who had fortunately lifted his hand off my cock, and was starting to unbuckle the lap belt. "Welcome back, young sir. And who might this be? I don't recognize him."
He looked at me over the boy's head and his expression said he was definitely sure he didn't want to recognize me and that I had about three seconds from the end of the glare to explain why I had the little boy cuddled up next to me in the middle of the seat instead of sitting by the door like a normal, non-sick-pervert-bastard would do. After that, no trash compacter would be needed to get rid of me or my car.
I got a few more seconds of grace because Kong had to back up to let the boy scramble out. Damn. The kid's head barely came up to Kong's waist. He was looking right at that "damn but I pack a huge basket" bulge. Had the kid ever? No. It was just that park pervert. But the image still flashed of Kong doing the same thing as park pervert Tom: holding the boy's head very, very still in those huge, hairy-knuckled hands, and then fucking the kid's face and throat roughly, while the kid moaned and whimpered for more. Christ I have a sick mind. Who knew?
The kid solved one problem and then created another. "He's okay, Sam. He rescued me! This...this pervert was trying to force me to...to do things to him when I went to take a leak, and he, well, he beat him up and scared him off."
Do they give Oscars for the most believable lie ever told? Logically, though, the kid had to be a good, hell, a great liar if he'd been having sex with Tom for a year and hadn't been caught. I'm not sure if Kong really bought it, something about him was a bit more astute than his size and looks would indicate, and I never really imagined Max Harris' security company would hire idiots at minimum wage, especially not for a job at a place like this. But he at least acted like he believed it. Problem solved. The kid was home and safe and would be well taken care.
Then the new problem. "He's gonna take me upstairs so I get home safe."
I didn't need to see Kong's face to know there was a "No fucking way, not on my watch" expression on his face. Fine by me. Kong-Sam...sounded like a cheap martial arts movie title...started to explain that I was unknown, couldn't break the rules and let a stranger, all that good security yada yada yada, until the kid interrupted and played his trump card. "He talked to my uncle and my uncle told him to take me home."
Kong wasn't about to give up without one more fight. His "But...."was well-done and was clearly going to be followed by all the reasons that I had already fulfilled my duty and brought him home and he was safe and the family could deal with it. A man like him would have all the arguments/explanations planned out in that brief moment between the end of the uncle line and inhaling the air for the "But...."
He never had a chance. "All the way home," the boy said. Very firmly. Eight years old. Crotch-high to a behemoth who could wipe the floor with me without even breaking into a sweat or breathing hard. The behemoth caved. Fucking coward.
"Of course, young sir."
I wondered if Harris Security had a good dental plan. The way his teeth were grinding he might need it. Now he was walking around the front of the car to open the fucking door. Right. Like I was going to let him stare down between my legs and see my still hard cock and precum-stained slacks as he held the door open. I opened it instead, swinging my legs out and doing that kind of left-turn thing as I stood up so my back was to him as I stood up, pulled on my sport coat that I'd grabbed from the hook over the back door, and buttoned it. I tugged my tie back into place. Looked down. Okay. Since my cock was pointed north by northeast...up and toward my left hip...he couldn't see the stain. And hopefully not much of the bulge it made.
Ah. Better idea. I continued left, my back still toward him as I casually walked around the rear of the car, and headed toward the ornately-carved entrance doors, saying "C'mon, kid," as I walked past and held out my left hand for the boy to take. And my frigging cock oozed again when he wrapped his hand in mine. Well at least Kong didn't have any idea what was going on since I'd kept my back to him.
Except there was that growl when we got to the doors. Could've been my imagination. It was kind of working overtime and had been ever since I got to the park. Maybe Sam wasn't Kong. Maybe he was some kind of huge fucking werewolf, getting in a little practice before the full moon tonight. Naw.
We walked the full length of the football field...well, that's what the fuck it felt like...before we hit the elevators. As the door slid open, I muttered "behave!" to the boy. He looked up at me and grinned and mouthed, "okay."
Okay. So the kid was smart enough to know there were probably surveillance cameras in the elevator and that it probably wasn't a good idea for a hot little boy to be chasing a grown man around an elevator trying to get into his pants. He pulled a small card out of his butt bag and slid it into the reader. Penthouse. Had to be. I fucking knew it. There went that plan. The really good one to walk him from the elevator to his door. Politely explain that he needed to stop sucking pervert cock in park toilets, or anywhere else, and that I'd be back to talk to his father or whoever to try to help him. Then shake his hand and leave. Except the elevator didn't open on a hall. It opened right into the damned living room.
Not that I got to see much of it. A quick impression of size, friggin' windows a couple stories tall looking out over the city. Shit, if I looked down I'd probably see clouds he lived so damned far up. Guess the kid had been taking lessons from Kong-Sam, but without the polite little bow first. He just dragged me down a hallway.
And into his bedroom. I figured that's where we were headed. I could live with that. A kid's room, a kid-sized bed, nothing was going to happen with a man my size. I'd take back control, explain things, and then leave.
Except. Always fucking "except" this whole fucking day. Except...the room we walked into was just an entrance room to the actual bedroom. The actual bedroom was huge. Just like the goddamned bed. Kong and three of his nearest and dearest gorilla friends wouldn't have crowded it. I certainly didn't. I'm not quite sure how, but I ended up sitting on the edge of the bed, half-sprawled back, supporting myself with his hands, while he stood between my spread legs.
The words telling him to stop dried up in my mouth when he put his hands, both hands on my crotch and started feeling me up. More precum leaked. Christ, this had to stop. Right now. Right...right after he finished unzipping me and pulling my meat out for a little air. A little air was a good thing. A few big gulps then back inside. Except my meat was reluctant to go back in the darkness. It liked the late afternoon, setting sun glow across the room. Across the boy's face as he rubbed his palm on my leaking knob and then licked the precum off. Fair's fair. My meat didn't often see the light of day. Never the admiring look of a slender, dark haired little eight year old boy. The only time it came out for fun and games lately has been jacking off in the bed when I finally got home at night, or the couple of quick ones under the harsh fluorescents in the john at work. My meat certainly enjoyed being petted, responding with more and more juice.
But still. I couldn't do this. I couldn't be the same kind of pervert that this Tom bastard was. I was just stressed out, frustrated with my job, with my life, with my lack of a sex life, which had, I suddenly realized, been going on for a lot damn longer than I'd really thought. Fucking blinders, I guess. That's what made me susceptible and unusually horny. But I was a mature adult. I could deal with this. I got all the way sitting up, my fingers gently holding his thin wrists, keeping his hands away from the aching, leaking cock standing up so eager between my legs. And then the kid screwed me. Big time.
He looked up at me and with a smile that said he knew precisely what he was doing, he licked those thin lips and said, "What a big cock you have. Can I suck your cock, daddy?"
It was the "daddy" that screwed me—up, down, right, left, sideways, corkscrew. The image of a little boy, my own little boy, eight years old, Christ, fucking younger than that when I first taught him how, sucking my long thick daddy cock. My head flashed back to the Johnson case. The pedo ring with the travel agent that imported little boys from Central and South America; smuggled them into the States, arranged for fake adoptions by the men who'd fucked them, sucked them, used them while on vacation. The pedos who shared them out. Loving their little boys they all claimed. All except Johnson, who kept his two, real brothers, nearly caged when he wasn't fucking them or letting his friends borrow them. Johnson, who was killed by one of his buddies to try to keep everything secret after the two boys escaped and one died.
The killer was a mild-mannered Clark Kent type, fresh-faced, innocent looking. A good provider who'd rescued a woman and her two boys from their physically abusive father. Married her after the divorce and her husband went to prison. Adopted the boys. And worked his way into the bed of the older one; was undoubtedly planning on adding the younger one soon. He was backed into the corner of the room for a while, babbling, explaining, saying he loved the boys, that he'd never hurt them, that he'd never do anything that they weren't willing to do, that it was the older boy who'd seduced him. And I'd looked at him and said, "You had sex with your stepson and you don't think anything is wrong with that. You sick bastard."
I looked to my left at the huge mirror on the wall that reflected—very, very clearly—the image of a very slender young boy, naked now, his shirt on the bed, his shorts on the floor, his hands resting on the thighs of a formerly good, devout, Catholic husband while the boy deep-throated thick Irish meat. A very, very clear reflection of a sick bastard. But at least a sick bastard who knew what he was doing, what he was about to do, was wrong.
I was fucking lost. Lost in the warmth of boy-mouth on my cock. Lost in tightness and heat like I'd never experienced. I'd turn myself in later. Never imagined I'd ever want this, ever even consider it, but right here, right now, this talented young cocksucker was what I wanted. I was damned sure the memory of this little while would be worth being frequently raped in prison, the extra penalty for a child molester who gets caught. Or turns himself in.
I held his head like the others had done, and I was somehow sure there had been more than park pervert Tom, and fucked his generous mouth and throat, plunging in and out and he took every damned inch of it like he'd been born with a tight cunt instead of a young boy's mouth. I looked back and forth between the actual boy and the reflections, turned on by watching myself face fuck a little kid. Watching him play with my fat, low-hanging balls that were pretty soon gonna bunch up tight against my dick while I blasted his throat with cum. Watching him, feeling him, reach his little boy hand between my legs, work it under my ass, finger and play with my hole.
Fuck. A young boy was sucking me and playing with my dirty asshole. I hadn't bothered showering this morning. I had to be raunchy down there. Knew I was. Could smell my own sweat and funk. The boy moaned onto my meat, pulled his hand up, sniffed his finger, moaned again, and put it right back where it had been, my body heat and my sweat letting him work his hand back so that his first two fingers were working my hole. Nothing had ever been up there, well, at least not from the going in side. Was I really going to let a little boy finger fuck my asshole? Fucking right. I did a reverse Kegel and two fingers slid right in. We both groaned.
This was stupid. This was dangerous. His father, his uncle, Kong, some fucking servant could walk in any moment. I didn't fucking care. And as he got me closer to cumming I heard Peggy Lee's old recording in my head, the one about "is that all there is?" Knew I wanted more than just a quick blowjob. I stopped his sucking, pulled him off my cock, to loud complaints from down south, fury, actually. Grabbed his shoulders, made him take a step back. His face crumpled. "Please, daddy, please let me suck you. I'll do better, I promise. I'll make it really good."
My smile was meant to be reassuring, but my peripheral vision showed the pedophile in the mirror to be a crazy man in the grip of raging lust. I worked harder, got the smile a little better. That was easier once I got a look at my first naked little boy, my first naked boy with a hardon. Maybe an inch and a half, two inches long; nail straight out from his body, his undropped balls clinging tightly just below. My hands on his shoulders looked so big, so rough against the soft, white, white flesh. You could see all of his ribs but he obviously wasn't underfed.
"You're doing just fine," I whispered. Paused. Added, "son." Hey, definitely ain't gonna be a sunrise tomorrow morning, have to wait until the day after, because the kid's smile had sucked all that light out of the sky and let it loose in here. And here, now, for however long it lasted before we got caught and I wound up in pedo hell, this was my little boy sexing his daddy. And I wanted more. Lots more.
I leaned forward, his eyes widening in surprise as he realized what I was about to do. I pulled him close to me and first just holding him by the shoulders I kissed him, very softly, very gently. Which lasted all of a nanosecond before my son's mouth opened and he began devouring me. He wrapped his arms around my neck and tried to climb through my skin. I fell back on the bed, pulling him with me, on top of me, his naked young body writhing against my dripping cock, while my own hands explored his arms, his back, his butt, my fingers swooping down between those taut little butt cheeks, finding his boy pucker, pushing gently...and my fucking finger slid all the way in.
So my little boy was no virgin. Somebody else had gotten to pop his cherry. So what. That surely meant he could take daddy's cock much easier. But I couldn't dry fuck him. Would he.... Only one way to find out.
I pulled my finger out of his ass and moved it up to where we were swapping spit. He knew the moment my fingers reached his lips, broke our kiss, inhaled all of the scent and then sucked first my index finger, then my fuck finger down into his mouth, soaking them with spit. He watched my eyes intently as I moved my hand back to his butt. Something in his eyes.... I shoved my forefinger in. Hard. He whimpered and smiled and pushed his hips back. The second finger was more difficult. Great. He hadn't been fucked so much he was loose and sloppy.
Looked like the morning after tomorrow was gonna be kind of dark and bleak, too, as he cooperated enthusiastically with being finger fucked. His eyes opened wide and he began to pant a little, working his hips so I could get in deeper, faster. Then the wide, wide "O" of shock and the loud gasp when I pulled my fingers all the way out, made a triangle with my first three fingers and shoved them all the way back in, hard and fast. A talented, trained, eager rectum.
Fuck that shit. It could be a rectum tomorrow when I was in jail. Right fucking now it was a little boy's pussy. A boy cunt that needed a good fucking. My son agreed. He began babbling as the finger fucking went on. "Oh, daddy, are you really gonna fuck me? I wanted you to, oh jesus fuck that feels good, wanted you in my boy pussy, rammin' home in my cunt. Fuck me good, daddy, my cunt needs it, needs your big hard meat slamming in. Fuck me hard, daddy. I...I like it hard."
"Oh, yeah, baby," I said. "Daddy's gonna fuck his little boy's pussy hard and fast. Punch fuck your tight cunt until he fills you with daddy juice nice and quick. And then daddy's gonna stay hard and go on fucking you, fucking that hot little cunt until you scream you can't take any more and I'll keep on fucking until I decide to breed your ass."
With that, I rolled him off me so he lay gasping on the bed. "Get my goddamn clothes off, boy."
"Oh, fuck yeah, daddy."
While I sat up enough to yank off the coat and toss it, undo the tie far enough to pull it over my head, rip a couple of buttons getting the shirt off and tossing it, too, my son was quickly down on the floor, yanking off my shoes without bothering to untie them, peeling my socks off, sniffing one really deep before dropping it to the carpet, and then standing up, bending over me trying to get my belt unbuckled. I took over, did it, unbuttoned my slacks, then leaned back on my arms and raised my butt off the bed. My fuck-eager son tugged my slacks down to my knees, and then leaned further, swiped my knob end with his tongue, and pulled the boxers down as well. Butt on the bed again I raised my legs and he backed off a bit, struggling a little before he got slacks and underwear around my ankles, off, and dropped like the rest of my clothes.
With my feet resting on the floor, legs spread wide, balls hot and hanging, cock standing up to his full eight and a half inches, but obviously trying for a record nine, my son just looked at me. And then with a wicked grin, scrambled up on the bed, straddled me, and reached behind to line my cock up with his hole.
I stopped him, but he didn't look upset. I think he could tell from my expression I hadn't changed my mind. And I hadn't. But there were two things I wanted to try. Two more things I'd never thought about before. I told him to get a couple of pillows, which he did very quickly. I plumped them behind my head while I had him straddle my chest. We both knew what was coming next. Or rather who was cumming. I'd never sucked kiddy cock before. But now I was going to. My own baby boy's prick.
He got into position and with me holding his butt tight, moved his hips forward. I swallowed his tiny hard cock and balls, making my mouth as tight as I could without hurting him, giving him a warm place to fuck. He squealed as his fragile-seeming hips began to buck against my face; squealed even louder when my fingers went back up inside his pussy. "Oh daddy daddy daddy, I'm fucking my daddy's face, fuck, fuck my pussy daddy fuck me oh please oh daddy my pussy feels so good oh daddy daddy I'm gonna oh shit shit fuck piss, FUCK!" And on the last shouted obscenity he began bucking and heaving in an uncontrollable fit before he finally collapsed, draped over my face, propping himself a little on the pillows on either side of my head, his still hard, still very warm pricklet and balls still/once again in my mouth.
Okay. Three fucking new things.
Letting your little boy piss in your mouth after you've given him what even you, completely fucking new to this, knew was a damned good cum, is no big deal. Really. Surprising, yeah. But you can't ruin a good thing by jerking away and making him feel bad. I'd say "just go with the flow" but that would be incredibly bad. But that's what I did. Swallowed every hot, tangy drop of it. Made a big show of smacking my lips with pleasure when he was done. He giggled, and then asked me to please, please, please! fuck him.
I told him "not yet" and that there was something else I wanted him to do.
Like sit on my face.
Didn't have to ask my hot little boy twice. I just thanked God that he was so limber, because if he hadn't been I'd probably have had a black eye, a broken nose and a concussion from the speed with which he leaned back on my chest, raised his legs over my head, spun on his butt while somehow keeping his own back and head high enough not to crash into me, dropped his legs, raised his torso, leaned forward and then got his balance so he could scoot back and drop his scrawny ass on my face.
I've eaten a lot of pussy in my life. My wife liked it...well, occasionally. My girlfriends in high school and college had adored it, well at least the more sluttish ones, not the uptight, missionary-style-is-the-only-style ones. Pussy-licking got me hard, but this was the first pussy I started servicing that made me so hard I hurt. Nothing but absolutely fucking nothing tastes like tongue-fucked boy cunt. Not that I was experienced with the flavor, and the only asses I was going to be licking in prison were hairy Bubba holes to get `em turned on before they fucked the lowly child molester, but I sure the fuck enjoyed the taste right then. My skills apparently hadn't gone away, despite the length of time since they'd been used. I was spreading his scrawny butt wide with my fingers, plunging my long and talented tongue in and out of his little hole, lapping and slurping and getting him dripping wet, while he writhed and squealed above me, and I could feel him jacking his tiny cock.
And I knew I had to get some relief. Quick. For the first time in a fucking long, and I do mean a long fucking time, I knew that even if I came hard and fast right now I was going to stay hard. So fine.
"Suck daddy's cock, baby boy."
"Oh, daddy!" The squeal was high-pitched enough to get dogs within a twelve-block radius into a frenzy but it was cut off real quick as he bent and scooted forward and fucking devoured my cock. All of it. I mean, Christ, every fat fucking inch of it. I don't mean I've got some horse cock. Definitely not a cock like I've seen on most blacks, gym showers, pissing at a urinal trough, whatever. Hell, some of that meat was as big soft as mine is hard. But no woman had ever swallowed me all the way.
My little boy just did. Thank you, Jesus! And whatever big-cocked man taught him to deep-throat his daddies.
I started losing control. I never lose control during sex, but that's what the fuck was happening. My hips began to thrust with uncontrolled eagerness, my head whipped back and forth on the pillows as I started to hyperventilate, I pushed the boy's head down on my cock, holding him in place, for that moment not giving a fuck whether he could breathe, whether he'd choke, just knowing I had to blast a fucking load deep in his throat pussy or I'd fucking die. So I did.
Not die. Just blast one of my best loads ever right down his throat, do-not-stop-do-not-pass-go directly to his belly, before easing off so he could taste my cum. Fucking little cumwhore slut swallowed every goddamn spurt.
And kept a lot of it in his mouth so he could turn around and stretch out on my chest...he was such a damned small eight year old...grinding his hard little cock into my belly and then raise his head, open his mouth and let me see how full it was of my thick white cum. I couldn't help myself. Jesus, it was sick. Eating your own cum. I'd heard of guys who did that and if I'd been a fucking lot more in touch with my feminine side, every time some guy in a locker room would make a passing comment about tasting his own jizz, my reaction would be "eeeewwww." As it was I just kept my mouth shut.
Here, now, I did the opposite. An eight-year-old boy slut who'd just given me the best fucking blowjob of my life, wanted to share my cum with me. An offer I couldn't refuse. I opened my mouth. Very carefully he leaned forward and let it slide off his tongue, his lips and plop onto mine.
My mind balked at that point. Told me how gross that was. How fucking un-Catholic. I asked my mind how it could be un-Catholic to fuck young boy cunt when so many Catholics did it. Like all those priests all those years in all those countries. Nobody'd said much about bishops and monsignors and archbishops and cardinals. But I knew politics, and if the rank and file were getting that much kid cunt, upper management was getting the cream of the dry-cumming kid crop. A brief image of a very young altar boy raising the pope's white robes to find him naked and hard underneath and leaning over to suck the old man's cock and play with his balls and the papal ass passed through my mind. My dick twitched.
I swallowed my own cum. Smacked my lips and grinned at the little boy to let him know I liked it. Not really. Probably an acquired taste. A taste I was certainly going to acquire once the men in prison started using me. Maybe learning now would be better. I could kiss my little boy and then later...pray to Jesus not very much later...I'd fill his boy pussy with spooge and then eat it out. I pulled his head down to mine and kissed him, swapping spit and tongue and cum back and forth until we'd swallowed and shared it all.
My boy sighed and rested his head on my right shoulder. I reached up my right hand to stroke his hair, his face. Damn, but my hand felt so huge, so rough, against that soft black hair, that soft, delicate skin. My left hand stroked down his back, gently squeezing and feeling his tight little butt. My right thumb was idly stroking his nose, his cheeks, down and across his lips. He opened his mouth and sucked it in. Fuck. My thumb was an erogenous zone? Either that or I'm just a sick pedo fuck and anything a little boy does to me that's remotely sexy is going to turn me on. Yeah, that was probably the real explanation.
But who cared about explanations. Not with my cock still hard. Still leaking. Complaining bitterly to my head about being removed from all that warm, hot, tight flesh, and yeah, spraying the juices felt really good, but that was then and this was now and what the fuck was I going to do for him.
I don't know that I've ever stayed hard after cumming before. Oh yeah, sure, I've done the multiple cums thing before, though getting my wife past two was always a chore. Hell, getting her to two was a chore. But there'd always been a little down time, a little mostly soft relaxation time while my dick gave my balls a pep talk about how he really, really, really wanted this, so would they do him and a favor and do a quick refill so he could get on with it.
I guess my balls must have been preplanning or something once they knew boy cunt was involved, whether mouth or ass. I didn't fucking feel drained at all. In fact, the cock and balls team were clearly cheering me on. I wasn't sure what the fuck game this was...second inning, second quarter, round two?...but it was time.
I curled one finger into his still somewhat moist little cunt.
"Oh, yes, daddy, fuck me, please."
I've always been a dad willing to do whatever his children wanted...within reason. Sure, there were some...okay, a fucking lot...who would say that what my boy wanted me to do was not reasonable at all. Evil, vile and perverted, definitely. Reasonable, no. But damn if it didn't feel real reasonable to me right now. Of course, to my cock, anything at all that let him spurt his juices, especially inside something sleek and kind of greasy slick and warm and tight, was reasonable. Fuck, it was necessary.
Who am I to argue with a practical dick?
I rolled the boy off me and onto his back. Sat up. Turned, spread my knees wide at his feet, relaxed back on my haunches. Mostly relaxed. One thing was definitely not. My cock was standing up straight and tall and proudly oozing precum.
My boy looked at me, gave me a big smile as he lifted his legs and grabbed behind his knees, and then managed to say without a snicker, "Oh, daddy, what big meat you have."
"All the better to fuck you with, little boy."
I looked at his little hole again. It looked so small between those thin cheeks. But it was a dark brown pucker, almost bruised looking. A sure sign that dicks...oh God! dildos, too?...had been up inside that hole. I braced myself on my left palm, used my right hand to guide my leaking knob around his pussy, covering it, greasing it up with my thick precum. I took a deep breath. Pushed the head against his hole, nudged it only a little. Another deep breath. My conscience began shrieking again about the vileness of what I was about to do, the mortal sin that imperiled my soul. My pedo lust came up behind my conscience, tall and powerful, one arm around the neck, a massive hand to grab the head and give it a sharp twist. Blessed silence...well, probably not blessed...followed. The crack! hadn't been all that loud. But I really didn't hear it as I thrust my hips forward, my boy's pussy relaxed, and my cock head was in!
My boy's "Yes!" was a long, hissing sound of joy. Eagerness. Lust.
I must have held still too long, fighting a very-nearly-losing battle with my cock and balls to just say the hell with it, cum now and do a real fuck later. My boy started wiggling his hips, his little hands holding tight to my forearms, using them as leverage to try to get more of my thick daddy meat into his tight...oh thank you Jesus so very goddamned fucking tight...little pussy.
"Please, daddy, please. I need your dick in my hole."
I moved my hips and another inch or so went in. There were plenty of inches left. I wanted him to get used to me so I wouldn't hurt him.
So I was kind of fucking surprised when his right hand pinched my left forearm hard. Really hard. That got me to look up at his face instead of at our joining where I was oh-so-slowly easing my cock into his cunt. "Damnit, daddy, I told you I like it rough. Fuck me harder."
Three best fucking words in the English language. Any language, I guess. "Fuck me hard," was good, too.
I did a kind of balancing act, bracing his slender body with my hands on his shoulders, but still keeping most of my weight off him. And then I shoved my hips forward. Hard. Maybe not quite as hard as I was capable of because I still had reservations about his ability to take me, but not enough reservations to hold back from impaling him with that one stroke.
I was so far gone in lust his scream of pain and pleasure and his immediately shouted, "Oh, fucking Christ, daddy, fuck your little boy's pussy hard!" didn't faze me. Kong Sam, the servants, his fucking uncle, his father and all his angry male relatives could have come rushing into the room and short of bashing my head and hauling me off him, nothing was going to stop him from getting the fuck I deserved. Wanted. Needed. Though I'd never known the need before today.
Hard he wanted, hard he got. No time for his tight pussy muscles to adjust, to expand to accommodate the long thick foreign object, as the doc would say, going in and out of his cunt. I pounded his tight hole hard and fast for a couple of minutes, oddly enough not even getting close to a cum, before he shrieked and his entire body vibrated and his ass muscles clamped down hard around me. Damn! I'd just given a little boy my very first dry cum.
He slumped, almost boneless, for a second, and then revived, opened his eyes, grinned up at me as I slowed my strokes to long, deep pleasurable ones that I knew I could keep up for a miraculously long time given how hit the kid made me. And then he asked, "Do you like Chinese?"
Jesus. I'm fucking my first, and after I surrender tomorrow, my last, boy-cunt and the kid is hungry while I'm doing it?
My expression must have told him something because he smiled up at me while his ass walls did incredible things to my meat. "Silly. Not that kind of food. Chinese men."
I've never fucked or sucked with a man before; definitely never a kid, so what the fuck do I know about Chinese men? "Look, son," I started, planning on finishing with something clever like "all I want to do right now is nail your fucking boy cunt to the floor, the wall, or something." I was interrupted by my own loud grunt.
Pervert kid. He was so small he was almost in a ball with my fat cock up his ass and me hunching over him, but I was close enough he could reach up both hands and squeeze my nips. Fuck. Who knew my tits were on a direct electric line to my cock. Yeah, yeah, some of my previous fucks...college days, high school days, even my wife...had rubbed their palms over my chest, sort of an affectionate or lust-driven, in-passing kind of thing. Nothing. Zip, zero, zilch like the saying goes. But Jesus fuck Christ! The kid squeezes my tits hard and they stiffen up...fuck, I could actually feel `em getting hard...and my cock jolts and I try to cram even more meat into his already full hole.
"Shut your eyes, daddy."
Little fucker. Well, yeah, that was true in several ways. Soft, seducing voice. He wanted my eyes shut, fine.
"Fuck me slow and easy, daddy."
Whatever my boy wants. I drifted off, eyes shut, feeling not much more than my cock in his hole, his warm little hands all over me, even managing to reach between us and caress my cock as it moved in and out of his cunt.
His voice caressed me, too. "Wouldn't you like to share me, daddy? Fuck your little boy for the first time, fill his pussy with your hot daddy cum, while another man watches, joins in. Then you get to watch your little boy get fucked by another man. That would be hot, wouldn't it, daddy?"
I groaned. Damn. I hadn't even cum for the first time in a boy's pussy, my...temporary, one-time-only...son's eight-year-old pussy, and I was fantasizing about sharing him. Fuck. Either the kid was the devil himself, putting ideas in my head, or he knew me. Better than I knew myself before today. Knew that if this was real I'd want to share him, want to watch other men use him. Fuck!
"A cool Chinese man, daddy. One of your friends. You invited him over, but you were too horny to wait, so you started without him. Oh, God, daddy, that feels good! Fuck me, oh please, fuck me."
The boy panted and gasped from the few fast, deep strokes I'd given him, and then he recovered and went on. "Only he's here, now. He let himself in and he's undressed, coming over to the bed with his hard dick out in front. You know what he's gonna do before he fucks me, don'tcha, daddy? `cause you don't just want to fuck boy-pussy for the first time. You want to try it all."
Marines, fucking uptight, anal-retentive Irish Catholic marine fathers don't blush easy or often. Eyes clenched tight, I blushed. Hard. Prayed the kid wasn't watching, knew somehow he was. Yeah, that would be hot. Have some man suck my dick, see what it felt like to have a man's ass wrapped around my hard meat, maybe while my boy ate my ass. Man, I could go for that.
Fucking mind-reader boy slut started in on me again, though. "Not just fucking your Chinese friend, though, daddy. Letting him come up to the bed, stroke your face, turn your head to the side, use his thumbs to open your mouth, and then slide his hard Asian dick into your mouth, takin' your mouth cherry, daddy. Givin' you a hit off some poppers...."
What a mind-fuck. It was so fucking real I could almost feel the man's hands. Feel my mouth open, feel a cock...fuckin' Christ a man's cock...slide into my virgin mouth, feel one hand cupped around my jaw to hold me steady, while the other hand held a large, kinda square brown bottle under my nostrils and my boy whispered instructions to me, telling me to suck in those poppers, and I'm off in a fucking haze while the hand lifts and I know the guy's gonna take a hit himself, and his cock is all the way in my throat, I'm staring at soft, fine black pubes, a smooth, tautly-muscled hairless belly, and my eyes drifted up and up.
The fucking oral, aural and visual shock hit me pretty much at the same time.
The oral shock was that this wasn't a goddamned fantasy. I was actually sucking a cock, or well, not so much sucking it as holding all of it, a pretty goddamned fat all of it, in my mouth and into my throat.
The aural shock was the man's voice, the one that had sounded so familiar on the boy's cell phone, dropping down on me, saying, "Ah, Eliot, I knew you'd be a natural cocksucking pedo."
The visual shock was recognizing the face. Doc. Fucking Harry Chang, on loan to SCU when we needed his Homeland Security/FBI expertise. Doc had profiled me?
My stunned expression must have showed. Doc just grinned at me, then rubbed his left hand down his smooth, muscled, hairless chest to cup the ball sack up tight against the base of his cock, his fingers resting on my chin, while his right hand held my face in place. His hips pulled back, pushed, pulled, pushed, a gentle movement that eased that fat Asian cock in and out of my mouth. That weird-ass hair of his standing straight up in front, his eyes twinkling behind the wireless glasses he was even wearing while naked and fucking my face, relaxed something inside of me.
But still I struggled. Pulled back a bit. Enough to get my mouth off his cock, although I found myself giving it one last slurp with my tongue before I did. And even though I wasn't moving my own hips, no way in fucking hell was I going to let my own meat slide out of its boy-cunt haven/heaven.
I opened my mouth to speak, but Doc beat me to it. "Yeah, Detective Taylor, I know, I know: what the fuck?" He grinned and fucking twinkled at me. A grown fucking...okay a damned hot fucking...grown man grinned and twinkled. Jesus. Okay, so maybe cock wasn't such a bad taste after all. Or maybe I just liked Chinese. I leaned forward, sucked in the knob and part of the shaft, nipped him with my teeth, and slid back off.
"Let's see if I can make it clear for you. I figured you for a latent pedo a long time ago. Remember when you confided to the department shrink that you thought about torturing the men who molested and hurt kids, though you never had and never would, and she turned you in? Made your life hell, almost as bad as if you'd really done it? And then you talked to me, told me all about it, told me about those fantasies.
"Detective, you sure you can't multitask, here? You know, fuck the little boy cunt and suck the Chink FBI dick? And listen? All at the same time? Too complex for a dumb Mick cop?"
I rammed my hips into that boy pussy, causing my loaner-son to shriek, "Oh, daddy!" and sucked down the Chink federal cock, being sure to use lots of teeth when I did. Serve the bastard right.
Except he didn't flinch, just grabbed hold of my head so he could adjust it for his convenience and started fucking my mouth nice and easy. Just like I was doing to eight-year-old ass pussy.
"I'm damned good at what I do, detective."
Bastard. He knew using the rank while I'm fucking little boy pussy would be a turn-on.
"That's why your department relies on me. And with all the pedo cases you've had the last few years, I've gotten even better at recognizing the signs. Yeah, profiling. Not just the kind where I can tell you you're looking for a man or woman with particular characteristics, but where I can gather the evidence, the signs and symptoms, and tell you the characteristics of a particular man.
"Your characteristics, detective. The little signs that told me you've gotten turned on, even when you weren't aware of it, by anything to do with little boys getting sexed, sometimes when they were forced into it and you couldn't admit inside your head that that kind of turned you on, but even more so when everything said they were actually enjoying it. And that torture crap you got such a hard time about? Just that, Eliot, pure crap. You'd never do that, although you do, well, get a little rough with suspects sometimes."
Doc's warm laughter washed over me and I deep-throated the Chink meat, working it with my tongue and he moaned in response. And chuckled.
"What gave you away at that point was talking about the things being done to kids that made you think about torturing the perps. And you weren't even aware that every act you described as making you angry, was about a little boy. But the final confirmation was Eddy. Remember how you fought for that boy? Fought to keep him out of prison, even with the Feds' zero-tolerance-for-kiddy-porn program? Remember the hardon, well, the almost full hardon, you got when you told me what the boy said to you when he cried in your arms?
"Fuck, man, you wanted to do to Eddy what his kidnapper had just done to him. And you had the hardon to prove it."
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Doc was right. Damn him.
For half a second I wondered whether, if Eddy was here, now, if I'd yank my meat out of this really young boy cunt so I could slam it home in equally-experienced teen pussy. Especially a teen who'd turned me on like I'd rarely been turned on in my life. But with the way my life was going down the toilet tomorrow morning, and with Eddy safely with the Feds, no way I'd ever know. So I might as well just enjoy the here and now.
Becoming a pedophile, or admitting I've been one all along. Learning to be a cocksucker for men as well. And with that admission inside my head, some of the tension drained out of me, just like it had drained out of the boy when we were in the park.
Doc's hands caressed my face and then held me gently, but closely. I'd have to struggle to get away. I knew what he was going to do, wanted him to do it. He knew I did.
"Your daddy's a good, cocksucking cop, little boy," he said quietly as he began to fuck my face. "A natural man-slut, just like his son is a natural boy-slut. He fucking your pussy good, little boy?"
"Oh, yes, uncle, I really like my cop daddy's dick in my hole. He fucks me so fuckin' good."
"That's good. Now, detective, don't cum in your boy's cunt just yet. Fuck him, but concentrate on my meat. You're gonna lose your virginity in a few seconds, cunt, when you take your first load of man cum down your throat. Now work on my fucking cock, and do a fucking good job, because that's a skill you're going to need from now on."
Fucker had to remind me where I was heading after tomorrow, didn't he. Fuck him. Or rather, fuck me. I let him do with me as he wanted, let him hold my head tightly now, and start fucking my mouth hard, pulling his slick meat all the way out, ramming it back in, making sure I kept my teeth covered, feeling his balls bang at my chin on his harsh in-strokes, listening to his breathing get faster and faster just like his stroking, and then the money shot, the last hard thrust into my mouth and I could feel the cum pulsing up the tube inside his cock, bursting out his slit, splattering and filling my mouth with a salty, hot, bitter, sweet, what the fuck do I know taste I'd never experienced before.
And damned if I didn't love it. Damned if it didn't turn me on to taste his cum.
I savored it, slurped it, swirled it around my mouth, lapped it up, swallowed it, and kept on swallowing until he was done. More than done. I cleaned every drop I could get off his softening prick before I let it ease out of my mouth.
All this time, everything he knew about me, and I'd never used his first name. I smiled. "Harry."
But then the smile mostly went away. You can't completely lose a smile when your meat is buried in young boy cunt. But still....
"You're right. I do like it. I guess I'll be pretty good at it with some practice, and after tomorrow I'm gonna have a lot of practice."
"Yes, Eliot, you are. Just not the way you think. You planning on turning yourself in for molesting this little boy?"
Christ, am I that much of an open book to him? Guess the fuck so. I nodded.
"Well, then, if that's your plan, you're going to need another kind of experience, aren't you? To see if you're a natural, there, too."
Shitfuckpissdamn! I had to stop fucking on that. Not pull my dick out, just stop moving. Let some bastard in the holding cells tomorrow night pop my cherry, or have Doc do it now? I'd rather not lose my last bit of virginity, but, well, fuck, there were lots of sex things I hadn't done yet, and as a combination cop and child molester in prison, I guess I was going to experience most if not all of them first hand. Frequently. From inmates and guards. And the warden at the prison where I'll probably wind up doesn't much like me. I sighed.
"Okay, d...Harry. Just...."
"Be gentle, Eliot?" he said with a soft laugh.
I nodded again.
He stroked my short hair affectionately, almost like he was rewarding a dog he was training. Well, fuck, he was training me, so I guess it was okay. But I'm not going to heel, or eat out of a fucking bowl. And if he scratched behind my fucking ears I'd bite his fucking fingers off.
"Close your eyes, again, detective."
"Just shut the fuck up with what you'd rather, Eliot. You think you're going to be given much choice after tomorrow?"
That did shut me up. I closed my eyes. "You want me to suck...."
"Eliot." He was stroking my head, my back. "Fuck your little boy."
I started again, and as I did, I felt his hand moving down to my ass, down between my hairy cheeks, down to the raunchy hole where my kid had been finger fucking me. His fuck finger rubbed over my hole and then, fuck, just slid in. I grunted when a knuckle brushed my prostate. Damn that surge felt good. And then he slid the finger back out, brought it up to my face, my mouth. I knew it was there, I could smell the funk. Bastard wanted me to suck on my own stink, suck my own ass juices off his finger. Fuck. Except...that's what I'd be doing in jail. Only it wouldn't be a finger I'd be sucking, it would be the dick that had just used my ass while another one took a turn.
I sucked. I was doing a really good job of cleaning his finger, while his other hand stroked my face. That's when his other hand started playing with my ass.
What the fuck? Harry doesn't have three hands. Someone else had his fingers on my crack and my hole. Shitdamnfuck. Kong. Kong was in the goddamned bed. Why hadn't I felt his weight when he got on? Maybe he was just leaning over? Kong. Oh shit, he was probably as big-cocked as the rest of him, not some puny-ass dick like jocks on steroids. Nope. No fucking way. I needed to ease into this fucking thing, not go for the fucking gold the first time out.
Marines...cops...do not panic. Unless panic is the only option. Panic here was justifiable, your honor. I didn't really mean to hurt anyone by thrashing around to get away, but your honor, would you have willingly let Kong's meat up your ass without a struggle? Oh. You would. You have. Shit.
Harry knew me too fucking well. He said in that quiet, soothing doc-voice of his, "Eliot, you can have me take your cherry...."
"You. I pick you, Harry. You do it. Fine with me."
He went right on as if I hadn't interrupted. "Or you can let someone else do it. Why don't you listen to what he has to say, and then, if you want me to be the first to fuck your new cunt, I will."
"I won't change...."
I shut the fuck up. Have I mentioned I sometimes don't think before I act or react? I knew that voice. Knew it from the videos I'd watched. From talking to him. From holding him while he cried in my arms. Eddy. Eddy was here. Could Eddy have my fucking ass cherry? Was the pope Italian and Catholic?
And the kid was begging me. Jesus.
I was heating up my strokes in the kid cunt beneath me, breathing heavily, and hot, hot, fucking hot Eddy is touching my hairy ass with those soft teen hands of his, whispering, almost in tears, pleading with me. "Please, detective. Have sex with me. I'll make you feel good. Honest. H...Harry said you might want to, you...you might let me stick in my dick in you, oh God, man, please, I've wanted you since you arrested me, since you found me, you don't have to give me anything, you don't have to care, just, let me get my dick inside of you or you, you, you could fuck me, would you like to fuck my hole?"
My voice was hoarse, raw. "You want to make me feel good, Eddy?"
His voice broke, "Oh, shit, yeah."
"Eat my hole, Eddy, bury your fucking mouth in my raunchy, hairy ass."
Where the fuck did that come from? No one had ever eaten my ass. Until my little boy's finger fucking a little while ago, and Harry's, too, nothing had touched my ass except soap, water, and toilet paper. Why the fuck would I believe....oh fucking Christ oh JesusMaryJoseph. Men do have pussies. Only a pussy could be that sensitive when a young teen boy buries his face in your sweaty ass and tries to fuck his tongue out of your mouth...from the goddamned inside of your body.
I don't think I moaned. Or at least not too loud. It was probably the kid beneath me who was moaning the way I was twisting my meat inside his hot little hole, making him thrash his head from side to side and play with his hard little dick, frantically stroking it as I sent him into one dry cum after another.
I could feel his small, soft hands on the muscles of my butt, spreading my cheeks while he tongue-fucked me. I could feel my ass muscles loosening, relaxing, getting sloppy wet with his spit. Getting ready for teen cock. But not yet.
"All those times your daddy made you suck his dick and give up your pussy...he ever suck you off? Let you fuck him?"
Eddy lifted his head. "N...n...no."
"No, what?" My voice was framed with granite, the edges hard and sharp.
The boy caught on, quickly, instinctively. "No, sir."
Harry put his hand on my shoulder. I looked up at him. "Eliot...."
It was his doctor voice, his warm, caring, warning voice. I didn't so much glare at him as try to let him know from my expression that somehow, some fucking way I didn't understand the fuck at all, I knew what I was doing. Knew what the boy needed...at least for now.
I guess he understood. And I understood the return look: You fuck with this boy, you mess with his mind, you hurt him, and I will personally rip your cock and balls off and feed them to you, even if takes a couple of Kongs to hold you down while I do. No shrinking violet, our Doc.
"That why you fucked your little brother, Eddy? Made him do all those things while the men watched, and paid you all that money?"
"I...I didn't make him. He wanted to!"
"He did? Just like my little boy here? He's the same age as your brother. You like what I'm doing to your pussy, son?"
"Fuck, yeah, daddy," he managed to gasp. Harry was working the boy's tits, driving him frantic again.
"Was it like that, Eddy?"
"No, sir." His voice was very soft now, and his hands weren't stroking me any more. "But daddy did it to me, did all those things to me, told me it was all my fault he did them, because I was such a slut, such a cum whore. And it was true. I did want him like that. I loved it when he did those things to me."
Images of a younger Eddy...little, littler, littlest Eddy...being used by his daddy, drinking down gallons of daddy juice over the years it had gone on, his ass filled over and over again by daddy cock, flashed through my mind. I lost control and rabbit-fucked my kid into another squealing cum.
"So you deserve to be punished for that, don't you?"
There was an audible gulp before a very hesitant "uh-huh."
"So do you want your reward first, or your punishment?" Stupid question to ask a teenager, hell, any kid, really. Which would you prefer to have first? Chocolate cake with chocolate icing, or your vegetables?
Eddy surprised me.
"Punishment." The word was preceded by a deep breath, and his hands firming on my slowly pumping ass where they'd been resting all this while. "But...what reward?"
I looked over my shoulder at him. God, he was so fucking hot. "Well, you're helping put all those men in jail." I kind of winced, inside, though. I mean, fuck. Some of the bastards deserved jail, sick perverts who hurt the little boys they sexed. But now I knew there was something different. Pedos who loved little boys, little boys who wanted to suck man cock, have it ride their boy holes until the screamed as they came. Amazing what having your eight-or-so inch meat buried in eight-year-old boy cunt will do for your perspective, huh?
"But I got my reward. I'm not going to jail. I just have to go to see a shrink."
Damn, but he's an honest kid. "Then how about you fuck my ass as a reward for being a hot young man?"
He was crying and grinning and rubbing his hands on my ass again. And his prick was hard.
I turned my head back so I could lean over and swap spit and tongues with my little boy, and use my fingers to twist his little tits. He seemed to like that. I wiggled my ass. Lifted my mouth briefly. "C'mon, Eddy, make my shit hole a pussy."
Smart, Eliot. Really fucking smart. I realized just how smart...or not...I'd been about two fucking seconds too late. Right after Eddy, that hot, eager-to-please teen, did exactly as he was told. He gave my shitter a half-assed swipe with his tongue, hawked some spit, nudged my hole with the head of his cock while his hands braced on my butt cheeks, and then he rammed it home. Balls-deep. One fucking stroke.
Marines do not scream. Ex-marine cops do not scream. Especially not when all it was, was a pain like somebody was slicing razor blades up inside my ass and then shooting them out to the rest of my gut as my asshole, godchristshitfuck! that hurt!, adjusted to having hard teen meat plugged inside it. So it must've been some other asshole wimp who bellowed out, "Jesus fucking Christ! kid. That's virgin pussy. Go easy!"
We all froze. And then Harry, bastard cocksucking fag Feeb pedo freak friend that he is, started to laugh. Laughed so goddamned hard he lost his balance and fell off the bed. Went right on laughing.
My kid was laughing, too, his giggles and guffaws doing funny things to his ass muscles as they played with my cock. And then he controlled himself and smiled up at me, and said, "Aw, does daddy's pussy hurt? Want me to fist it and make it better?" Fucking kid. Eight-year-olds shouldn't have wicked snickers like that one.
I looked over my shoulder, figuring Eddy would be in a kind of panic over hurting me. Little shit. He was grinning! Of course, what with all the shrink crap he'd been going through, the only action he'd probably been getting was his hand, and even then I bet the fucking shrinks would have been trying to reprogram the fantasies he used to get hard and cum. But now that teen meat, all five or so thick inches of it, was buried in a hot ass again. He'd taken his young brother's cherry, just like his own daddy had done to him years ago, and now he'd taken a man's cherry. Fucking teenager was in fuck heaven!
And from the glint in his eyes he was gonna start a heavenly fuck any second now. Putting me in fucking hell the way my ass, oh fuck shit hell, the way my cunt was feeling at the moment.
"Harry, stop the goddamned laughing and help me out here. Lube him."
Apparently that was an offer he couldn't refuse. It took him, what, half of a tenth of a thousandth of a second to persuade Eddy to pull his meat out of my warm hole. And not much longer after that, Harry was chowing down on my hairy ass. I figured it was okay for marines and cops to moan during sex. So that's what I did. Loud. Long. Didn't fucking care if Kong heard me all the way downstairs, though he probably had with that girly scream someone gave a little while ago.
Damn, but if I had a few minutes between the end of all this fun and turning myself in, I was going to write a letter to the International Olympic Committee. Recommend a new sport for both summer and winter games...rimming. Or ohJesusfuck, tongue-fucking. That's what Harry was doing. Fucking my hole with a talented tongue. An Olympic-gold tongue. Getting me wet, relaxing me, and then the bastard stopped. I was really pissed about that until I came down from a tongue-fuck high and realized from the noises that he was getting Eddy's teen prick sloppy wet.
Then Harry moved back next to me, forced my head up, and before I could inform him that marine pedo fag cops do not kiss other men, his lips were on mine, forcing my mouth open, shoving his tongue in so I could taste Harry, taste my own ass juices, taste Eddy's cock and precum. Okay, I guess pedo fag former marine cops could enjoy kissing a man. Especially when the kiss was accompanied by a hot teenaged dick sliding up my now-eager fuckhole.
Eddy sighed when his hairless balls banged against my big and hairy hangers. Harry sighed after pulling away from the kiss, straightening up and getting more comfortable...with his dick all the way in my mouth and into my throat. Felt...fucking right, somehow. My kid sighed, too, as the daddy-cock in his pussy got active again.
Then we all went kind of fucking nuts. I'm big, I'm strong, and at that moment I wanted everything all at once. Eddy, gorgeous hot fucking Eddy, to dump his seed in my ass, to breed my hole with this fourteen-year-old dick; Harry to give me my first taste of man cum, and my little boy to writhe and shriek in a couple of fast cums while I pounded his pussy into submission and filled him to overflowing.
For these thy gifts we are duly thankful, Lord. Or fucking something. I got my incoherent wish. The only thing I was in control of at that moment was my hips, ramming unmercifully into my little boy's wet, squishing hole, pounding him to a screaming dry cum, and then another, while Eddy and Harry were along for the ride, adapting their own fucks to the bucking and heaving of my body. I stopped for a moment, just a moment, yanking my meat out of the boy cunt, forcing Eddy deeper into my ass, but pulling Harry's cock from my unwilling-to-let-go mouth, gasped to my boy to turn over on his belly and when he eagerly did, his cunt raised high on the pillow that had been supporting his hips, I rammed home again to his shriek of delight. Almost lost Eddy's cock there but he's a talented rider and came right along, and Harry moved in front to give me cock to fill the void in my mouth.
I was the only one who couldn't talk. The others made up for it. Filth and obscenities poured from their mouths, washed over the heaving bodies, made the flames hotter, brighter, higher, until one ignited me and right in the middle of another boy cum, I let loose with fountain of spooge, pulsing, racing down the tube in my dick, eager to try get to this pussy pregnant. My clamping ass muscles set Eddy off, and I could feel my own cunt getting filled with teen seed, and then Harry was breeding my mouth with thick, salty wads that I managed to gulp down.
We paused in temporary exhaustion, but not for long. I carefully cleaned Harry's cock, and as he slid it out of me and shifted so he could plump his ass down and lean back against the headboard, I could feel Eddy sliding out of me. Fuck. I'd just cum twice and my dick was still hard. But I pulled it out of the tiny boy cunt anyway. Somehow we all knew what was going to happen next. Without a word, we shifted positions. Eddy was on his back while I kneeled over him, lovingly cleaning the teen meat that had just turned my shithole into a man pussy. My little son sat on Eddy's face and we could hear the slurping sounds as Eddy lapped and sucked to get my cum out of the kid cunt. Just like Harry was doing on the south 40 with the teen cum in my hole.
Then we all shared sloppy, wet, cummy kisses before relaxing against the pillows. Harry, the little boy I'd so thoroughly fucked and whose name I realized I still didn't know, me, and Eddy within the curve of my left arm. Limp dicks to the right of me, limp dick to the left of me. And me. Still fucking hard.
My callused palm rubbed Eddy's naked hip. "You ready for your punishment, boy?" I asked him softly.
He stilled. His body tensed. He looked up at me with a flash of fear in his eyes. I'm not sure what he saw, but he relaxed a little and said, "Y...yes, sir."
"You wear jeans coming over here?" He looked puzzled and nodded. "Go get `em, put `em on. Nothing else."
He looked at me like I was out of my fucking mind, but scrambled out of bed to get them, his soft dick flopping back and forth as he moved. We all admired the view when he found them on the floor, along with all the rest of the clothes that had been tossed there, and leaned over to pick them up. Thin legs, tiny butt, a glimpse of a brown pucker that had been daddy-fucked so often, but from what he'd said after his arrest, hadn't been used at all since daddy went to jail. Well, except for his rape. He stood on one leg, then the other, pulled them up over his hips, buttoned them. Obviously adjusted his crotch and turned around to us with a cocky grin on his face and a pretty good hardon-start plainly visible. I gestured to him to come back to the bed and he did, clambering up to lay down beside me again.
It was my turn to get off the bed, though. And I did, with my still-hard and aching, leaking cock leading the way. My balls felt like a gallon jug of milk had been turned upside down and emptied, and then put right side up and refilled. I reached my pants and did my own bend-over-give-`em-a-show routine. Except I reached back as if I was going to scratch my ass, and then shoved two fingers into my still wet cunt. Somebody gasped from behind me. Harry, I think. I got what I needed and turned around, sucking my fingers clean of my ass juices and the remnants of teen cum. Eddy was the one who gasped this time. When he saw tie I was holding in my right hand. But more importantly, the handcuffs I was also holding.
Harry was frowning. Big time. But at least he was keeping his goddamned mouth shut. Okay, so I'm not a fancy Feeb with a fancy medical degree or three, I'm just a dumb-ass ex-marine Mick cop. But I know my fucking job. And I do get flashes of insight. This was one. I was going with it.
The eight year old was staring at the cuffs, too, although he was playing with his again-stiff little prick. Eddy was mesmerized by them as I came back to the bed. Fine by me. Gave me a chance to give Harry my best "keep your fucking mouth shut as hard as it is to believe I know what I'm doing" glare without the boys noticing.
I got up on the bed. Told Eddy to move away from the others and raise his arms over his head. Slowly, silently, he did what he was told. I knelt next to him, crossed his wrists...they were so small that one cuff fit around them...and then snapped the other cuff to the bed rail.
I moved to his feet, his slender bare feet, looking so vulnerable somehow. I caressed the arches. Then used my tie to lash them together. He whimpered and I looked up at him. Tears glistened in his eyes. I'd found him, just like this...almost like this, in the room where the kidnapper was holding him. But he'd had duct tape over his mouth. I didn't have duct tape. Hadn't known when I took just a little break from the office so many hours ago that I'd need duct tape. I looked around for a substitute. Damn. Found it. Walked over to the dirty clothes hamper, opened it up. Fucking rich...and a typical kid. The tighty-whitey briefs I pulled out were piss stained and smelled like a well-used little boy. I sniffed appreciatively, and my dick oozed precum. I got back on the bed and Eddy opened his mouth. I stuffed the briefs in. A tear leaked.
"You deserve this, don't you, Eddy? You deserve everything that's just about to happen to you, don't you?"
I waited, and waited. Another tear. A couple more. And then a very small, shaky nod.
Thank you, Jesus! My cock would have killed me, or gone on strike at least, if Eddy had said no, and I'd had to stop. I felt motion on the bed, but didn't look away from the boy. A hand rested on my left forearm. Harry's. A light squeeze. Looked like the brainy pedo Feeb finally figured out what the fuck was going on.
Christ! Except for briefs instead of duct tape this was how he looked. Half naked. Bare feet. Low slung jeans. Tiny, tiny tits that were...yeah...pointy hard. Not a bit of hair on his body except for that thick bush in his pits. I wanted to bury my face in his pits one by one, smell and lap and suck him until they were sloppy wet. Tweak and rub those little tits. But not now. That would have to wait.
"Turn over, boy."
It was a struggle, but he managed. His arms were straining but he was on his belly. I picked up the pocket knife I'd palmed from my slacks, flicked it open. Laid the blade flat on his back and Eddy got very, very still. I lifted it, and then carefully started on the seam, until I finally got enough of a hole that I could grab it with my fingers. The fabric screamed a little...and so did Eddy, though it was muffled by his gag...when I ripped it into a nice hole over his teen boy cunt.
Just like I thought. It wasn't the bright pink pucker of a virgin, or even a near virgin. It was a brown hole that showed how much it had been used. I told him how well-fucked his hole looked. Told him how much of a slut he was, always teasing men on the webcam, taunting them, making them hard and leaving them wanting even after they'd cum while watching him sex himself or his little brother. Making them pay for the privilege of wanting still more and not being able to get it.
Asked him whether that was what he'd done to his daddy. Whether that's why his daddy finally had to take his cherry and start pummeling his little boy's pussy. Because the little whore teased and taunted and egged him on. Eddy was starting to cry as I thumbed his hole. Got my thumbs wet with spit and jabbed them one after the other into his cunt. He whimpered and shook.
I dropped spit on my cock, smeared myself until I was slick with the precum I'd been leaking since I realized I was going to do this. Nudged the wide head of my meat against his ass lips so it was well seated. Pushed just a little, felt his lips open. Leaned forward, whispered in a gravel voice that I knew the other two in the bed could hear, "Dirty little slut prickteasing fuck. Teased your daddy, flaunted your little dickie and your little cunt until he didn't have any choice except to take your little hole and use it. Teased all those men with what they couldn't have until one of them took what you refused to let him have. All your fucking fault, you dirty slut boy. Just like this is your fault, too, isn't it?"
And with that I rammed all eight-plus thick cop cock inches deep into his tight, tight hole.
I ripped the gag out of his mouth, moved my cock halfway out of his cunt, and shoved it back in. He started babbling, nearly incoherent, admitting that this is what he deserved, all he deserved, he was just a useless piece of meat to be fucked and discarded, it was all his fault, I should rape his teasing faggot hole, rape him hard, and then tie him up again and wait for my friends to come over and use his worthless cunt. I couldn't help myself. Those images were such a fucking fantasy turn-on, a fantasy I'd never realized I had, and we were acting out those fantasies. Fuck, I just started reaming his pussy with long and deep strokes, four, five, seven, and then I came to my senses, slowed, stopped, held very still, buried deep in his pussy.
I risked a glance to my left.
The little boy was wide-eyed...shock, horniness, whatever...on his side with his right leg raised and Chinese cock stroking in and out of his hairless young boy pussy.
I rested my weight on my right forearm, next to his body on the bed, my left hand went to his head, ran fingers through that thick hair, gently caressed him, and then I reached out, patting around, looking like a fucking idiot because I hadn't thought of the fact that punch-fucking a hot teen boy cunt might cause the bed to move and the handcuff key to slip off. But I was lucky. I found it, reached up, unlocked the cuff around his wrists, and tugged it off. His arms collapsed on the bed.
I rolled to my right, keeping my dick embedded. Christ, the idea of fucking a hot boy through a hole torn in the ass of his jeans was such a goddamned turnon. If this wasn't going to be my once and only boyfuck day I figured I'd have been spending a lot of money on boys' jeans just so I could rip them open and fuck me some boy cunt.
I wrapped my right arm around under his head, angled my hand down to stroke his belly, used my left to caress his hair, his face, his lips, to tweak those oh-so-tiny little nips and hear him gasp when they connected to his cock. Reached down to gently squeeze the renewed hardon under the jeans.
"Look over there, Eddy. Look at...well...fuck...whoever he is...."
Both boys said "Charlie" at the same time. Charlie laughed and I could feel the sound release some of the tightness in Eddy's muscles.
"Look at how his Uncle Harry is sliding his dick in and out of Charlie's hot little cunt. Looks like he deserves that, doesn't he?"
Eddy's nod was hesitant.
"Yeah, Eddy, he deserves it all right. As a reward. For being so goddamned cute. For being so goddamned loveable. For wanting men to use his pussy and his mouth. For having such fuckable holes.
"Just like you, Eddy. Just like you really deserve. For being so damned fucking loveable. The man who raped you? As full of shit as the shrinks who're probably telling you how sick you are. Fuck `em all, Eddy. This is what you deserve."
I forced his head to twist toward me and managed to kiss him, hesitantly at first for both of us, and then with a mutual groan we tongue-fucked each other's mouths while I began sliding my dick in and out of his hole, enjoying the feel of the denim sliding along the sides of my meat.
Eddy pulled his mouth away, gasped, "Please, Eliot, oh please fuck me. I deserve it!"
Marines and cops know how to take orders. They may not like it, but they know how to take them. This was an order I could live with. Fuck, an order to die for.
I fucked him while we lay on our sides, watching Harry rabbit-fucking Charlie into a couple of orgasms, the mutual watching ratcheting up everyone's lust, until Eddy moaned loudly and begged me to put him on his belly and fuck his pussy hard. Another order! I obeyed and began long-dicking him, sometimes pulling all the way out so I could quickly look at his gaping teen boy pussy before slamming my meat inside again. Eddy was clawing at the sheets, pressing his face into the mattress, moaning, thrusting his hips back, cooperating with his fuck, with his rape, until he finally shuddered and began cumming in his jeans. The clamp of his ass muscles around my cock was enough to trigger my own cum. My shouted, "Oh, Christ! Eddy, love, I'm fucking cumming in your pussy!" might've set off Charlie and Harry because I could tell from the sound of Harry's wild grunts that he was breeding his nephew's pussy just fine, while Charlie was wracked with yet another dry cum.
We all uncoupled slowly, this time leaving the cum where it fell or spurted or oozed. In a couple of minutes, a now naked Eddy was cuddled within my arms. Charlie was doing the same with Uncle Harry. Uncle? I wondered if he really was, but was too wiped to do much thinking.
I guess the Feebs never get too wiped to think. Part of their indoctrination? Boy and I were just settling down for a long summer's nap, when to my surprise...Harry's voice intruded. A voice with a smile behind it. "Well, congratulations, detective, on solving the Graham case."
I'd rather cuddle a young teen boy and think about the possibility, remote though it seemed at the time, of maybe getting hard again and asking the kid politely, or begging and groveling if necessary, if I could maybe fuck that magnificent ass cunt again. I didn't want to think about work. About how I could no longer be a cop. About how I had to turn myself in in the morning, although I wouldn't mention Harry.
Fucking Chink Feeb mind-reader. "Get off the martyr kick, Eliot. It's not going to happen."
Yeah, right. A man's gotta do...and all that shit.
"You're going to get a commendation."
Yeah, right. Captain Kerrigan is going to pin the Order of the Pedo Fucker, 1st Class, on my chest in a big fucking ceremony in front of the squad, the mayor, the D.A., and the cops who were holding my arrest warrant.
"Eliot, do you have any fucking idea who Charlie is?"
Fucking Chink Feeb was laughing at me. I half glared at him, said "no," and went on caressing the wonderful boy in my arms. "Well, other than the fact his family has enough money to fill all the cargo trains in the country, as well as a finely trained cunt to fuck."
Nope. No bells ringing. I shrugged. Harry laughed again. "His grandfather is Senator Graham."
Senator Cameron Graham? Our Senator Graham who practically ran the Senate single-handed? Son of Cameron, Junior, who built the family's wealth even more since he took over control of Graham Industries, Graham Communications, Graham Whatever-the-fuck, Inc., when his father went into the Senate fifteen years ago? I was so fucking dead. Wait. Wait. What was that about a commendation?
I guess those last couple of sentences must have been out loud, because both Charlie and Harry were laughing at me.
"Intrepid Sex Crimes Unit cop just happens to be in a park...cruising little boys in hopes of getting into their mouths and asses, but we won't mention that...and rescues the grandson of the great and powerful Oz from certain degradation and humiliation at the hands of an evil child molester. Of course the molester escaped, but it was far more important for you to protect the frightened little boy and get him home safely. And wait there until his family could come to him and thank you for your rescue."
He paused in the damned oration, grinned again, and said, "They should be arriving any time now."
"Relax, you idiot. Yeah, what they taught us at the academy was definitely right. Marines, especially Mick marines, just don't know how to think. And then make one a cop? Talking about fucking brain drain!" He leaned forward a little and rapped a knuckle on my forehead. "Anyone, any thing home in there? Who do you think got Charlie's cherry?"
The littler boy giggled. "Grampa Cam. Daddy was really pissed. I'd been sucking him, `n sucking Grampa Cam, too, but daddy didn't know, and daddy was gonna make this big deal thing on my birthday, `bout fucking me for the first time. Grampa was too horny to wait until I was four. So he buggered me six months early. Grampa's a great buggerer-fucker.
"So are you, Eliot. My brother is gonna want your dick. That's Cammie the Turd...uh...." he gave that wicked snicker again and then went on, "Cameron the third. He's six. My littlest brother is three next week. Grampa Cam agreed to wait this time. Carl is really ready. You can prob'ly fuck him too, once daddy and Grampa have."
Harry smiled at what I knew was a dumbfounded look on my face. I'd just gone from learning I was not only a pedo but a cocksucking fag who liked being fucked, who was going to turn himself in for breaking the law in such a fucking big time way, and now I was going to be commended by a United States Senator, and his grandson was offering me three and six year old boy cunt to fuck?
"But...I can't go on working for SCU. I...."
"Relax, Eliot. You'll manage. The others do. But right now there's something more important for you to think about."
I was going to do my dumb-ass imitation again when the twinge between my legs told me what was going on. My cock was alert again and drooling, old one-eye looking for that really young boy pussy.
Harry reached out and stroked my meat. "My turn, Eliot."
"Huh?" Brilliant, El, just fucking brilliant.
"My cunt needs some action, too, Eliot." Damn but his hands were talented. I spread my legs so he could reach under and finger my hole. He sighed. "I'll fuck that later. Right now, unless you have some objection to trying out Chink Feeb ass pussy on an ancient thirty-six year old man, I need a good rough fucking."
He squeezed my length. Looked at Eddy. "You think you could get hard enough, Eddy, to fuck your little cousin's cunt?"
Eddy maneuvered over to where Charlie was now on hands and knees and leaned over the boy to lap at his cunt. I probably would have done the same for Harry, except he soaked two fingers with his own spit, rubbed and shoved them inside a surprisingly hairy hole, and then braced himself on all fours and ordered me to fuck him.
Damn, but my dick was beginning to like taking orders like this. Although he had a little performance anxiety given the number of cums he'd just gone through in a comparatively short time. I was thirty-eight for Chrissake, and I hadn't cum that frequently even when I was a teen and jacking to Playboy and my own mostly anatomically incorrect dreams and fantasies. But then, I don't recall ever being turned on by those dreams and fantasies, or the later realities, anywhere near to the extent I'd been turned on all day. But my balls were reassuring. Give them boy cunts and man sex and they'd keep on producing little sperms like the fucking Energizer bunny.
I buried my cock in Harry's hole. Definitely not a virgin. All he did was grunt. Fuck. I'd have to do better than that. I looked to my left just as Eddy looked to his right. Two studly tops grinned at each other over the males they were doggy-fucking/puppy-fucking.
Christ, and I'd been so depressed only a few hours ago. Over a fucking divorce.
Divorce is a good thing when you're a pedo who'd rather fuck little boy cunt, and when you're a fag who was obviously going to get off big time breeding a man's cunt...and couldn't wait to have that same man, other men, shit, lots of other men do the same to him. So he could do them. Those others. Others. Harry had said I could manage at work...just like the others. Fuck.
I shook my head. Later. I did my best Scarlett imitation in my head, and concentrated on the fuck at hand. Although I have to admit, that as warm and hot and tight as Harry's ass was, and as obviously talented as it was in treating a cock just right, I couldn't help imagining, just a little, that I was fucking a very small three year old's ass, gliding in and out on the thick cum of his father and grandfather. Was Harry maybe thinking he was a tiny boy, so very young, so very fucked?
I slammed home and Harry moaned, then begged me to fuck him harder.