The following story is fiction and contains scenes of violence and of n/c sex. If such a subject is offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.
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The Best Defense Is a Good Offense
I was thirteen when he moved in with us more than a year ago. He was a cousin once removed or an uncle or something; the relationship was never clear to me. What was clear was that he was a big time loser. He did not have a regular job and when he did get something it was low paying pick-up-for-the-day work of various sorts. My folks did not like to talk about The Loser when I was about although they did when they thought I wasn't. Suffice it to say that he was the black sheep of the family and we were stuck with him for now. He wasn't even a good black sheep for he had a rap sheet. I'm certain that he served time. I avoided him and my parents must have approved for they never told me to be 'polite to our guest' as they did with many others over the years.
This weekend my folks were away and I was home alone except for him. The original plan was that I would stay with a friend but we got the call that my friend was very sick just before I was scheduled to go over. I talked with my folks about how could I show responsibility if they never left me alone. I pointed out that I was almost fifteen, doing well in school, been wiping my own butt for years and certainly knew how to use the microwave and the phone for food as well as they did. Beside, if there were any problem there were lots of neighbors and friends to call on. They agreed albeit with the expected reluctance.
The next morning I had breakfast and showered and was back in my room. I had put on my new high boots with their glaring shine and was posing in front of my mirror. I was checking myself out like every other developing teen does trying to decide what poses made me look best, i.e., handsome, macho and sexy while relishing the raw beauty and sexiness of my maturing body.
I thought of the Kayapó warrior in the Amazonia exhibit in the natural history museum. He was totally awesome. He was posed as a Maori warrior doing a war dance like the New Zealand All Blacks do before each game. He was wearing just body paint. His forearms, hands, calves and feet were bright bold deep rich red. From his shoulders down he was covered in black paint but it looked like it had pin strips where skin showed through. He had a black mask and white cock. When I saw him I was cowed -- just like he wanted his enemies to be -- even though he was just a manikin. But now I was him -- strong, fierce and terribly awesome. I tried to scowl to increase my power even as I was flexing my muscles. One muscle took care of itself for my cock was as hard as a rock and jutting up and out. If I didn't use the spear in my hand, then I could use my cock to stab my enemies.
Then I was interrupted.
"The little boy thinks he's a man." It was The Loser in my doorway. All he was wearing were filthy, stretched, torn briefs. He was grinning stupidly and laughing (more like clucking). Then he grabbed his crotch. "This is what a real man has." Then he took a gulp of some cheap booze from the bottle in his other paw.
«Shit. I don't need this asshole messing up my day.» "Get out of here." I snapped, "Go back to your hole in the basement." I ordered. Several times I had heard my father yelling at him that he was never to come upstairs unless explicitly invited.
He just laughed and played with this crotch which was not tented. "I got what you need, boy." Then he pushed that disgusting rag down and off. He pulled at his wiener and maybe it was half hard.
It was my turn to laugh. "Get out of here and take your little baby pee-pee with you." He didn't move. "I'll call the cops. They'll lock you up and throw the frig'en key away." I picked up my phone; he moved closer. I was close to panicking. Could I run past him and get out? Then I could call the cops. But another reflex took over. I lashed out with my foot and got him right in the balls with my hard boot. I was sure glad that I was wearing those boots. He howled and crumbled into a heap at my feet clutching his little peanuts. I imagined that sparks had shot from his eyes. It was like in the movies but this was real life. I've never seen a guy get it like that before. I felt like that warrior more than ever now with my enemy at my feet. It was juvenile of me but I laughed at his suffering. I was even thinking about giving him another kick but I did not. Instead I placed my boot on his neck and pressed down in jubilation. He whimpered. He whined. I was not the little weak boy he had come to molest but a powerful fighter who had caused him to crumble; who had crushed him.
I lifted my foot and he rolled over while continuing to whine. Then he stuck his tongue out and started to lick my boot. He added some supplicating words to his whining: "Please Master." He did not specify what he was begging for or to prevent. I was pumped though for I was the conquering warrior. He was licking my boots and although he was scum he was still more than three times my age and that made me feel even more powerful. I just stood there luxuriating in my domination.
Then he started to move up and lick my leg. I could have easily kicked him away but I didn't; I couldn't since he was so helpless and pitiful. He continued to beg as he licked his way up my leg to my crotch with my rock hard cock jutting out proudly. I don't think that my cock was ever harder or as huge. Even without my touching my prick, I was oozing pre-come. Then he tilted his head back and licked my ballsack. Oh, did that feel great! It was the first time. He was not what I imagined doing this to me, especially my first time but I was not going to stop him. I immediately decided that I was going to enjoy my conquest.
"Suck it, boy." I snarled. "Suck my big hard mancock, boy." with that I grabbed his ears and pulled his head down on my rampant shaft. He did not resist at all but submitted to my every pull and push. I did not let him do very much but just fucked his face; driving my hard shaft deep into his mouth and down his throat. I did not care that he had trouble breathing. He came to me and was getting what he deserved. Well, actually, I was doing what I wanted because I beat him and was exercising my right of conquest. I also knew that he could never go to the cops -- I was a minor and he came to molest me.
You may wonder how I knew what I was doing. Well, it because of two things. First, I frequently had played 'winner wins loser' games with my friends. We were only boys and never went to extremes like this however. Second, I surfed the web and read about dominance and submission stuff because it excited me. I most liked it when a teen was dominant although it was usually with another teen. The older/younger stuff all had the older one dominant but I wanted to top another guy. I had the ball (or should I say "balls"?) and I was running with it.
But I was not thinking all that, just that I was totally in control and face-fucking a guy old enough to be my father. That kept my cock like a steel ramrod as I repeatedly plunged it deep into his hot throat. Than I exploded -- blasting a large load down his gullet. It felt like the largest load I had ever shot. And it took a while for it was multiple shots -- like a machine gun. The Loser was gagging but I did not care -- he had come for sex and now he was getting it -- my way. I pulled out and he started to breathe again in big gulps. He did not try to move away. I still had hold of his ears -- they were just convenient handles for me. I could see that his little pee-pee was still limp. He did not dare to be a man before me.
I pulled him back onto my prick and he followed my directions like a whipped puppy does. It is polite to give a guest a drink and that is what I did. I twisted his ears so he had to look up. "Don't spill a drop, boy." I said. Then I started to piss. I pissed right down his throat until I emptied my bladder completely. Then I pushed him off my cock and stepped back. He did not move. It was like he was petrified. I raised my foot and pushed him in the chest -- hard. He fell back and sprawled on the floor. He looked so helpless. He was so helpless. A pitiful loser but I was on a power high; I had to keep going.
It was clear that he did take care of himself. He looked awful. The cock he had boasted about was more boyish than mannish. Perhaps if he had been hard, I would have left him be but he wasn't. I picked him up roughly and dragged him into the bathroom. I made him stand in the tub, wet his pubes and covered them with shaving cream. I took my razor and went to work. He was silent -- not a murmur of protest as I pulled the razor through his pubes. Not that he had very much but now he was not going have any. It did not take me very long to do the task. His filthy balls were hairless so I did not have to deal with them. I used the hand-held shower to rinse him off.
He was so meek and compliant. He dropped to all fours on my command and I hosed off his butt. I made him scrub his crack until the water ran clean. I let him air dry and then got him out of the tub and draped over the toilet. I commanded him to stay still and I picked up the bath brush. It had a long wooded handle and a big head which is like a small paddle. Even better than grandma's hairbrush for spanking.
"You been a very naughty boy. You're going to get spanked." I snarled as I got into position. I raised the brush and brought it down hard on his naughty butt. It made a resounding WHACK in the tiled room and then he howled. I watched the red oval form before doing the second cut on his other cheek. I found new territory to attack and the results were the same on his butt. He howled and begged but was too scared to move. I was oozing pre-come in my pleasure.
After the sixth pop, there really was not much virgin territory as the redness was spread over his entire ass. He was very unhappy but stayed in place not that he would get far if he tried. I gave him more than a dozen hard hits. His ass turned bright red and he yelled for each of them. He was crying by then -- like a little naughty sissy boy.
I was glad that I had gotten some rubbers hoping to need them. After putting one on I got behind him and rammed into him. He had come to my room for a fuck and that was what he was getting. This was ever so sweet. His hole was as hot as his just strapped butts was and it felt great as thrust in and out not caring how he felt. "You ain't got anything like this MANCOCK, pussyboy!" I taunted. He was making noise but I could not tell if his howls were of joy or pleasure not that it mattered one iota. After a few minutes I again blasted a big load. Ah, the joy of being a horny teen.
Then I had to make sure that he would not come back. I grabbed his baby balls from behind and gripped them very tightly practically crushing them. "Please, Master" he screamed. "Mercy Master, please." he whined.
I grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. "GET BACK TO YOUR HOLE AND STAY THERE, BOY. Next time I'll bust your worthless baby balls." I growled at him and while giving his little huevos a hard squeeze to emphasize my point. When I let him up he ran back downstairs and then into the basement as fast as he could.
Technically, I guess that I had my first man, but that is over rating him. I wonder what I should tell my parents.
© Copyright A.I.L., November 19, 2005
Your comments are appreciated. YLeeCoyote@mail.com
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