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The Next World

Part Five

Alex was not nice to me the night I let Cryin' Ryan take Angel back off to his room, and I have to admit I was not entirely undeserving. I'd heard some serious shit about the Bishop of Dallas/Ft. Worth -- and while there was no way of knowing for sure if any of it was true, smoke often indicates fire. I guess neither of us slept that well, because when there was a tap at the door the next morning, both Alex and I leapt out of bed to see who was there.

It was Angel. He was dressed in a baby blue teddy and matching lacy panties. I figured his regular clothes were in the paper bag he was carrying.

"That guy," he exclaimed, "His fucking Holiness, is so fucked. Somebody gotta suck me off right now or I probably just gotta explode!"

Naturally, we obliged. We stripped him out of his Cryin' Ryan lingerie and just dived down on his sweet little crotch. Alex got to his dick first, so I came up behind and insinuated (okay, maybe rammed) my tongue up his ass. We could feel him relax a little. We worked at him harder.

Well, I could feel his little rosebud grasping at my tongue as his kind of muscular butt cheeks massaged my face cheeks, but I only could imagine how his dick was doing in Alex's mouth. What I imagined -- and it's just imagination, mind you -- is that Angel was thinking how nice it could be if he had a grown-up dick and was pushing it down Alex's throat.

Well, maybe not.

If there is a God out there somewhere, I just don't get why he tests me so hard. Why bother? I just fail, time after time after time.


We ordered room service breakfast. The boys wanted pancakes and bacon, with extra syrup. I had the eggs Benedict with truffles, because it was the most expensive thing on the menu.

Anyway, to me at least, it sounded like Cryin' Ryan could have been a lot worse -- but Angel just didn't get why he had to lay there getting his toes sucked all night. Okay, some of the time he was getting his toes sucked, he had to lick Cryin' Ryan's nipples, which were so hairy it was hard to find them in that big fucking bush of chest hair. Yes, I know. There are plenty of bear lovers out there, but I still don't get it.

Anyway, Angel wanted some more of me and Alex, and we were happy to oblige. We licked him and stroked him all up and down his smooth little body.

I started out paying special attention to his legs (but not his toes.) Angel had the smoothest, tightest little thighs, and I always liked thighs. Alex took Angel's little balls in his mouth and gently tongued them while I, just as gently, fingered our little Mexicano's asshole and nibbled his ear. It was all very sweet until my adorable, innocent Alex pulled back, got up on his knees, and laughed as he peed all over us.

"Jesus Christ," I exclaimed, "what the fuck is that about?" Hell, I'd just barely managed to get my mouth closed in time. I didn't get an answer though, because both boys were giggling too hard. Eventually Alex caught his breath long enough to say, "Well, I had to pee. Oh, come on, just fuck us, Bishop Bob."

Frankly, I'd never thought of boy pee as erotic, but it didn't smell all that bad, and their asses were all open and ready. I had one of those little hotel bottles of hair conditioner next to the bed, and I fingered a dab into each of them, and I fucked first one until I was almost ready to shoot, them switched to the other, going back and forth three or four times until I couldn't help it anymore and shot my wad way up Angel's ass. Alex, bless him, never was jealous, especially after he'd already had a couple of anal orgasms.

It was only after that that Angel said, "His Holiness said to give you something." He fished in the paper bag with his regular clothes, and came up with a folded sheet off a legal pad.

I took the piece of paper, but didn't open it yet. "HIs Holiness? His fucking Holiness?" It was the second time Angel had called Cryin' Ryan "His Holiness," so I figured it was no mistake. Did the guy think he was the fucking Pope? We ain't no Papists here in Texas -- except for the fucking Mexicans.

Okay, Angel. I'm sorry. I know you don't give a shit about some fucker over in Italy -- not unless he could suck you off better than me or Alex. And I'm betting he can't.


So I'm looking at the paper Angel delivered to me, and it's this totally crazy schedule of churches where he wants me to give the stump speech in one fucking weekend -- some in Dallas, some in Arlington, some in Ft. Worth. "And when, in holy fucking shit," I thought, "am I supposed to squeeze in talking to the volunteers and nudging them just that little extra bit towards blowing up their own asses? And when do I get even a minute to fit them up with their vests or their truck bombs, and give them their directions out to where Archie thinks the evil lies?"

Turns out my answer was down the bottom of the paper. I was supposed to invite them all back to the hotel conference room there in Arlington on the Monday. There'd be a brunch served. Also, there was a list of targets, which didn't look too much like Archie's usual targets. I had a pretty good idea there'd be some extra ingredients in the brunch food, and that neither I nor the boys would be well advised to eat it.

Little inclined as I was to do so, I called Archie. The phone service from Arlington to Oklahoma City is not bad at all, so I got through right away. I read him the target list, and heard him getting more and more agitated at the other end of the line. When I finished, there were a few moments of silence.

Then he said, "Bob, I don't care how many little boys you're fucking down there, so long as you take out Cryin' Ryan!"


I should have known better than to think I could keep secrets from Archbishop Archie Archibald, at least as far as my sex life was concerned. He really stayed on top of our sex lives. I shouldn't have been at all surprised when the nine-year-old twins brought the room service to our hotel room door at lunchtime.

They had deliciously fair skin, and dark red hair, and just the tiniest scattering of freckles. They had the sweetest smiles, and prominent little bottoms. They were wearing tight tee-shirts, one daffodil yellow and the other dawn pink, and tiny little white short shorts that displayed the lower crescents of their previously mentioned bottoms. White ankle socks and tennis sneakers completed their ensembles.

They were just a little young for my taste, but I had to admit they were still pretty tasty, and I figured Alex and Angel would enjoy them a lot. Of more concern to me, though, was that they came with a new list of bombing victims, straight from Archie. Prominent on the list was Bishop Cryin' Ryan.

I scarcely noticed what we were eating for lunch, although I recall I was the only one eating the escargot, which was seasoned with just the right amount of garlic. Mostly, I was concentrating on the two lists of bombing targets: Archie's and Cryin' Ryan's. Both had a fair number of Republic of Texas political figures, and some of them even were the same on both lists.

I crossed those off.

The twins had brought a music player along, and now that they'd finished eating, they were doing a sexy little dance. I was momentarily distracted, but went back to the lists.


It really was up to me, you see, to figure out who needed to die. It already was pretty obvious that my days as a Bishop of the Texas United Religious Denominations were limited, because neither Archie nor Cryin' Ryan could keep me around after I'd arranged the demolition of their ecclesiastical and/or political enemies. My only chance was to get to Reno, out there in the Free Lands, and hopefully not get killed by some Libertarian militia along the way. I'd try to take the boys along. They don't care who or what you fuck in Reno.

I looked up again. The twins were still dancing, stripped down to tiny pairs of lacy panties, both pairs white so I couldn't tell them apart anymore. Angel gestured one of them towards him. The boy danced closer. Angel sat with his smiling face at the level of the boy's crotch. The boy moved in the rest of the way, and rubbed his pantied crotch across that smile. Angel smiled harder.

I was wondering if the twin had a stiffie. I couldn't see, but I figured it was a reasonable assumption. I guess I felt more confident in my assumption when Alex gestured the other twin nearer, turned him around, pulled down his panties, and started licking his ass. Now, that twin certainly had a stiffie, and a very cute one at that. As is kind of rare in the Republic of Texas, the kid was circumcised. Maybe the twins were from the same circumcising sect as Alex.

Oops, no. The other twin was uncut. Well, at least now I could tell them apart.

Anyway, I was entirely distracted from my lists. I put them aside, and went to join what looked like it might develop into a regular boy orgy. You never want to miss a boy orgy. Well maybe you do, but I don't. And, yes, there were more "important" things I should have been doing, but it's really hard to resist diving into a pile of sexy young boys, and I've never been too good at self control, or postponing gratification.

I dove right in. A bottle of baby oil would have been really nice, and maybe Archie should have sent some along with the twins, but he didn't, so we had to make do with hand cream and conditioner and spit. I'd already yanked off the pissy sheets and flipped the mattress, but all things considered, Cryin' Ryan would be stuck with a pretty big bill for damages.

If he lived that long.

(To be continued. Your comments are welcome: heedon@tormail.org )