Date: Sun, 10 Sep 2023 17:45:38 +0000 From: jacklynch945 Subject: The Prince The Pauper And the Chief Chapter 4... Can you imagine life without Nifty? Please show your support with contributions to keep the Archive online. You can find out how at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html This story includes episodes involving underage minors having sex with adults. I expressly condemn this kind of activity. I have made every attempt to present these acts in a thoughtful, sensitive manner. You may not agree. If so, I encourage to avoid reading it. This story mentions real people, real places, and real events, but the characters and the story are entirely fictional. It contains descriptions of sexual interactions between minors and adult men. Your feedback, whether in the form of comments and constructive criticism, will always be welcome. Please email me: jacklynch945@proton.me. The Prince. The Pauper. And the Chief. By Jack Lynch Chapter 4. The Bike. A few days later, Chief Brady leaned into the counter at Al's Package Store. "I hardly believed it when I heard it," he said. Al chuckled. "Well, ya better believe it. They gave me an offer I couldn't refuse," growling an imitation to the famous line from The Godfather. He was talking about the just announced sale of his building at the corner of Main and Water to Bank of Boston. The news had appeared just this morning in the latest issue of The Vineyard Gazette. "That should give the boys at the Edgartown National Bank a run for their money," Tim smirked. That institution had long held a prominent position in the neo-classical Federal style building just kiddy corner from Al's. "Almost got a deal put together on a piece of land on Upper Main Street," Al continued. "Gonna even have my own parking lot." Tim nodded his approval. Inside, he was already processing more traffic snarls from cars trying to turn in and out of parking lots of the growing number of businesses on the far end of town. "Hey! Chief Brody!" Gomer greeted Tim with a chuckle as he entered from the stock room. His name was really Mario but he was more of a Gomer, so that's what everyone called him. Tim gave him a hard stare. "Will you shut it, Gomer?" Tim replied, obviously annoyed. Gomer was referring to the movie they shot on the Vineyard last summer. Jaws, it was called. The whole season was practically ruined when the production company took over most of the Island while they filmed the movie. Road closures, detours, crowds, demands from the movie people that wouldn't quit. The corner by Al's was basically closed for two whole days creating a traffic snarl Tim would have a hard time forgetting. They even changed all of the store signs to Amity this or Amity that, the fictional island where the movie took place. The most arresting part of the whole experience was Tim's uncanny resemblance to Roy Scheider, the actor who played the lead role of Chief Brody. Long narrow face, medium long dark brown hair, long nose, and thin lips. Same athletic build, both 5'10." The first time they met, it was kind of a "ha-ha" moment. After getting their picture taken together, they became pretty good friends. They both had their jobs to do but even still, there were fun moments. Tim was asked to stand in for Roy a couple of times while they lined up shots. And, on a whim one day, Roy hopped out into the street in full costume and make-up to direct traffic as Tim and the rest of the crowd cheered him on. It wasn't very long before Islanders made the light hearted connection between Brody and Brady. Since then, Tim was occasionally called Chief Brody, half as a joke, sometimes by mistake. Annoying, to be sure. "Chief, I need you to see something out back," Gomer said. "Ok, what is it?" Tim replied with a sigh. Gomer led Tim, followed by Al, through the stock room to the store's back door. When he opened it, the three of them looked upon a pile of four or five bikes laying in a tangle next to the garbage cans. "Found `em this morning when I came to work," Gomer explained. Tim crouched down to look at the bikes more closely. One of them, a banged up dark red bike had a small piece of soiled and partially ripped paper taped to the seat tube. "K. Kincaid, 22 Lyme, OB." "Al, can I use your phone?" Tim asked as he frowned. Back inside the store, he grabbed the phone on the wall and called the station. "Hey, Margie," he told the dispatcher, "Tell Pete to bring the pickup over to Al's Package Store." A short while later, Pete and Tim arrived back at the PD. Just before Pete unloaded the last bike, Tim stopped him. "Leave that one on the truck," he said. "I'll run it over to Oak Bluffs myself." *** Phil thrust his hips up one more time. "Do it, Goddamnit!" He yelled at Kip. Kip's fingers were dutifully wrapped around Phil's cock. Seconds later, three shots of cum came squirting out of Phil onto his stomach. After coughing a couple of times, his respiration started to return to normal. Through half open eyes, he gazed at Kip. The kid was amazingly beautiful. He almost regretted the way he usually treated him. When he asked him, no, when he told him, or no, rather, when he made him strip naked, that alone was enough to get Phil going. At first, he looked hard at Phil. Then, shrugging his shoulders, he complied. Shorts and underwear came off first. Naked from the waist down, his soft dick just kind of jiggling a bit. A neat little patch of hair on his pubes, light tan skin, his limp dick a couple three inches long, pale smooth thighs above his tan legs. He pulled one arm through the sleeve of his t-shirt followed by the other, and jerked his head through the top. Narrow, undeveloped chest, tiny nipples, bony shoulders, narrow neck. Naked. Phil like that word. Much better than nude which was so...refined. Naked had a kind of crude, hard sound. Tough, final, complete. Now that it was over, Phil had mixed feelings. He had wanted to fuck the kid in the worst way but, so far, it was a line he resisted crossing. Something in his warped mind about violating his marital vows. Taking his wife's kid's cherry would be a helluva lot of fun, but it somehow felt wrong. A few minutes later, now dressed, Phil was about to take up residence in his recliner, a fresh beer already in the cup holder. Kip dressed quickly, too. Without a second look, he turned to head out the door. "Do them dishes before you go out!" Kip glanced at him, mumbling something unintelligible. "God damn it!" Phil grabbed him by the elbow and gave him a swift blow to the side of the head with his open hand. Kip shook his head, eyes stinging, as he stumbled toward the kitchen sink. Phil glared at him as he took the first long swallow of beer and collapsed into the recliner, legs half stretched out. Just then, a soft rap at the door. "Get that, will ya?" Kip's mouth dropped open when he went to the screen door and saw the Chief. "Aren't ya gonna say, `hello?'" "Oh, hi," Kip replied warily. He wondered right away what he'd done wrong now. Tim stood to the side, revealing the bike that was now standing in the yard next to the pickup. Kip's eyes widened. "Oh, gosh!" With a small squeal, he threw the screen door open and jumped off the porch steps, running quickly to the bike. He ran his hands over the handlebars and seat, somehow trying to make sure all the parts were still there. Tim couldn't help but smile. Now standing on the other side of the bike, he was just about to launch into his usual lecture about taking care of your own property. Then, he saw it. A rising red welt on the side of the kid's face. Without a word, he turned, went back up the porch steps, and grabbed the screen door. Walking swiftly into the house and into the living room, he spied Phil. He had just taken another long draw on his beer and let out a satisfying belch. A resolute look on his face, Tim went directly to Phil, grabbed his shirt by the neck, and swiftly pulled him up to his feet. "Touch that kid again and you will be very sorry," he growled through clenched teeth. Phil started to protest but, then, realizing that might not be a good idea, he belched into Tim's face. Tim half let him go, half pushed him back. Phil stumbled, tripped on the arm of the recliner, and tumbled backwards onto the floor. Hard. Tim just glared at him, turned, and walked out of the house. Kip was still standing next to his bike, a big smile on his face, revealing a crooked canine on the left side of his mouth. A cute dimple appeared on his right cheek. "Gee, uh, thanks, Chief!" Tim didn't say anything. He reached over the side of the pickup, nudged a box open, and pulled out a crusty bike lock. "This might come in handy, Kip." A brief pause. "So, there's not a next time."