Date: Thu, 4 Apr 2002 10:10:06 EST
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: Crybaby

				  CRYBABY
			   by Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM

     I've always laughed at the stories of the great heist and the
professional burglar. I'm a criminal attorney, and I can tell you that
there are many, many more stories to the contrary, where the burglar
catches himself due to his own incompetence. I make my living getting them
out of the fixes they get themselves into.
     For example (true story!), there was the bank robber who disguised
herself as a clown so she'd be impossible to identify. Full costume, from
orange hair and red bulb-nose to oversized clown shoes. However, when a
teller tripped the alarm, and her car wouldn't start, she had to flee the
scene on foot. She was caught. You ever try to run fast while wearing clown
shoes?
     This was like that. I got home from work one day to hear a muffled cry
for help. I live in the country far from neighbors in a secluded area, so I
of course went to see who was yelling. If I didn't, no one would.
     I live alone in a beautiful old house, two stories with an attic space
and basement. I keep my windows locked when I'm gone, but I hadn't locked
the basement window. I figured it was too small for anyone to get in the
house through.
     I was right, but the burglar didn't know that. A young fellow,
sandy-haired, green-eyed, with an angular face that wasn't handsome nor
ugly, the thin, undernourished body that told you at a glance that he had
grown up in poverty and/or had run away from home years ago. Typical "white
trash."
     This was the fellow who had tried to slip into my house through the
basement window, figuring he'd fit. He almost had, I had to admit. He had
gotten as far as his arms, which is where he had jammed tight. Only his
head, shoulders and arms were still outside the house.
     "Get me out of here." he begged when I went around the bushes and
found him there, a rather inconspicuous place. "Please, mister, I didn't
mean no harm."
     "You sure got yourself stuck proper." I said, standing there, looking
at him. "How long you been there?"
     "I don't know. Hours. Please get me out." he said. "I'll go quietly."
     "I got to think about this." I told him. "Police are too easy on your
kind. Especially when they see how you caught yourself. They won't give you
worse than probation."
     "I'll tell them everything." he said. "I swear to God I will."
     "Let me go see how things look from the other end." I told him.
     I went into my basement. This guy was wearing nothing but a tanktop,
sneakers, and shorts. No socks, no underwear. The shorts were very baggy,
and had sort of caught on a rake's prongs I stored there, pulled up to
where his cock and balls were hanging out of them.
     And he had a hard-on. I laughed when I saw that. I grabbed his eight
cut inches and said, "What's this, fellow?"
     "I gotta piss so bad." he moaned.
     "Well," I said and looked around. "Let's take care of that, first." I
got an old bottle and stuck it over his cockhead. "Okay, kid, you got a
bottle to piss into. Fire away."
     "I can't." he groaned.
     "Such a cry-baby." I derided him. "It may take hours for me to get you
free. Now shut up and take your whiz."
     He finally managed it, and nearly filled the quart bottle with yellow
liquid. When he was done, I took the bottle to the basement sink and dumped
it out.
     "Now, let's see what I should do with you." I said.
     He began to beg and whine again. I grabbed him by his balls and gave
him a squeeze, not too hard, but enough to shut him up. "You're just lucky
you didn't strike tomorrow instead of today. I'm leaving for two weeks'
vacation, and you would have been stuck here that long. I don't get
visitors and there aren't any neighbors for five miles in any direction. So
shut up and be grateful I'm here."
     I had kept a hold on his balls, and his cock began to rise up. Hell,
the guy couldn't be more than twenty-one. You don't have much control over
it at that age.
     I grabbed his cock and started stroking it. He had tried to rob me,
and I sure didn't owe him any favors, but that was a pretty nice dick he
had on him.
     A clear bead of precome glistened on the piss-slit, grew and got
smeared by the foreskin while I stroked him.
     "Oh, mister, what are you doing?" he asked me.
     "Isn't it obvious?" I said. "I'm thinking about what I should do with
you, and playing with your dick while I think about it."
     That really got a hard boner on the kid. Helpless and at my mercy, and
he was getting into it. Amazing how many men really want to be in this
position, how many of them get to breathing hard in my office when I come
around the chair and tell them just what the system will do to them if they
get convicted. I bag more cute studs that way. I think a lot of crooks get
into trouble so they can be punished.
     So this kid didn't surprise me in the least, getting all hot in this
position. I leaned up and ran my tongue along his shaft while stroking it,
and that's when the kid groaned and blasted a load into the air. I was glad
I was out of the way of that load, I had on my best gray Italian- made
business suit that day.
     "Oh, God, mister, oh, oh!" he groaned as he shot his wad.
     After he fell into gasped whimpers of post-passion, I said, "Well,
kid, maybe I know what to do with you, after all."
     I went upstairs and changed into blue jeans and t- shirt, then got the
rope from the garage and went around to the outside. The kid was there
still, his face kind of flushed and relaxed, like he thought he was going
to get out of this the easy way.
     I grabbed his arms and tied them tight together over his head. He
cried and whimpered as I did that, but I slapped his face hard and told him
to shut up, I wasn't going to let him get away.
     "I've got to pull you out of there, and when I do, you run off to
whereever you stashed your car or bike. No way." I finished.
     "Please, mister, don't tie me up." he pleaded with me. "I can't stand
it."
     "Shut up." I snarled at him, and slapped him again. "You're not
getting off that easy."
     I cut a short length from the other end of the rope and went back to
the basement and tied his feet, not together, but so he could only take
short steps. Just to be safe, I thought it over and removed his sneakers
and shorts. No one runs away while naked. They'll try to recover their
clothes first, every time.
     Back outside, I removed his tanktop, then a strong set of hoists and
the kid was out of the basement and on my side lawn, naked as the day he
was born.
     Not a bad body, this kid was scrawny but had worked on his muscles,
maybe with barbells or just lifting whatever he could. Like most amateurs,
he had concentrated on his arms and chest; his legs were thin and
underdeveloped. His arms weren't very big, but they did at least bear some
muscle.
     Me, I work out regular, part of my first floor is a fully-furnished
weight room. I could take out this kid easy if he fought me.
     He didn't. He trundled along behind me docile as a trained dog, and I
took him indoors. Inside, I fastened him face-up on the bed and I said,
"Now, kid, let's give you some proper punishment." I shucked my pants and
t-shirt, and climbed onto him, sat on his chest. "First, kid, let's see
some lip action on my balls." And I lifted up to shove them into his face.
     I expected him to be reluctant, maybe even try to bite me. Instead,
this hesitant tongue licked in between my balls and across the thick coat
of hair there.
     That gave me a proper erection. I carry seven inches, shorter than
this kid's, but I'm really big around, thick and uncut. The kid seemed to
take inspiration when he saw he was turning me on, and he really went to
town then, sucking and lapping at my balls.
     He was enjoying this too much. I shifted to get my feet under me, and
scooted forward, shoved my ass crack onto his nose. "Now eat out my
asshole, kid. Get to lapping that shit-chute."
     I meant to gross him out and punish him. He was a burglar after
all. But this kid didn't hesitate, he stuck his tongue in like a pro.
     Maybe he was. These street kids make their living however they can;
maybe this kid sold himself from time to time when the pickings were
slim. He gave me a proper rim- job, and I really got carried away, flogging
my cock while he nipped and clutched and sucked at my asshole.
     I couldn't stand it any longer. I scooted back and plopped down on his
chest, and hand-fed him my cock. He had the saliva all worked up when I
did; he took it all the way down in the first thrust with no catching or
friction.
     I moaned and grabbed him by the back of the head, face- fucked him
hard and fast. He grunted and made slurping sounds like a hungry pig or a
suckling baby, and took it all without a bit of gagging.
     I had myself a real good slave here. I took possession of him by
blasting my load down his throat while stars danced in front of my eyes and
I got all muzzy-headed. The orgasm was that intense; like I'd sort of
floated out of my body and had to find my way back in.
     After it was all over, I realized that this kid had shot his own wad,
and hit me square in the back with a slimy, sticky load. I turned around
and told him to lick me clean, and he did a good job of sucking clean the
hairs there at the small of my back in that little "fan" shape you get when
you have extra hair like me.
     When I was done, I leaned down and gave him a quick kiss of
appreciation, but before he could get any ideas, I got out of bed, pulled
on a silk bathrobe and went to fix us some supper. I had already decided to
let that vacation go; I was going to have more fun at home.
     I fed the kid well; I'm a good cook and I wanted him to be healthy. I
spoon-fed him, not trusting his hands free just yet. I'd have to think
about that, if I was going to keep this kid for a couple of weeks.
     When he was done, he asked permission very nicely to use the can. I
thought it over, and guided him to the guest bathroom. There was almost
nothing in there and nothing dangerous, not so much as a single disposable
razor. I untied him and put him in there. The only window was a narrow slit
near the ceiling; even a dumb kid like this wouldn't try to get out.
     Then I stood guard at the door. He came out nice and quiet, and I
started to tie him up again.
     "You don't have to do that." he told me. "I'm not going anywhere."
     "Sure, kid, sure." I said as I finished binding his hands. I decided
against his legs, I wanted to lead this kid around the house like a pet
dog.
     "No, really." He said, peering into my face, then sort of sagged. "I
don't blame you for not believing me. No one ever does."
     "Come on into the living room, Fido, and you can tell me all about
it."
     I made him lie on the floor at the foot of my armchair, just like a
dog, and rested my feet on him like that. It felt good to have him there,
anyone there. The baths are okay, or the quick ones in motel rooms, but
there's never quite the relaxed mastery of having a full-time slave. I
decided when my vacation was over, I'd have to see about getting one.
     He told me his life story like that. Typical; I'd heard it many times
before. The birth to a poor family that couldn't afford him even with
welfare (when the father drinks and the mother's a tramp, the money goes to
the adults, not the children). The stealing to survive, the truancy, the
juvenile hall offenses, and, I knew it, the evenings of standing on the
sidewalk dressed in little as possible, eying the rich men who troll that
beat. Prostitution and stealing, that's how he survived.
     I don't know why I did it, but I started telling this kid my own
story. Orphaned, an aunt who tolerated me because of the money attached to
me via the life insurance trust fund, which she managed to bleed dry by my
high school years. Working to put myself through law school, the stint at
the D.A.'s office, then the public defender's office, then on to my own
private practice with the contacts I had made. Now I'm thirty, successful,
with my own office and three associates, and plenty of money.
     "Sounds like you got everything in your life arranged. Almost." the
kid said.
     "What do you mean?" I asked.
     "Nothing." he said, and started lapping at my bare feet. I let him
give my feet a thorough working over. It's amazing how good that feels, to
have your feet licked clean by a warm, submissive tongue. And how many of
the nerve endings in the feet pass right through your groin on their way to
your head.
     I shucked that robe and climbed onto the kid, fucked him right there
on the living room floor. He loved it all, took my cock with only a bit of
spit to lube it, and then got on his knees and lifted his ass into the air
for my taking, his face still rubbing the rug, arms splayed out over his
head.
     I used him rough and hard, and the kid still loved it, took it all and
shot his wad onto my Persian rug. When I finished pumping his ass by
leaving a heavy load inside it, I thought it over and untied his hands. He
looked up at me in wonder.
     "Get up here on the chair with me. Sit in my lap." I told him.
     He clambered in there like my nieces used to. Poor things, three of
them, they all died in a car accident when I was in law school. My aunt had
died some three years ago, and she had been my last living relative.
     Anyway, this kid got into my lap and hugged me up tight. One of his
hands plowed through my chest hair and wrapped itself around one of my
nipples.
     I looked at this kid up close, and saw a gentleness in his eyes. This
hadn't turned out quite to be the week of debauchery and revenge I'd had in
mind. When he saw me smiling at him, he actually reached for a kiss, and it
didn't feel bad at all, kissing him. When he was done, I said, "Fido, this
isn't going to be a bad two weeks."
     I kept him for that two weeks of vacation I'd planned, pretending
through my phone calls to the office to be in Mexico (I arranged for any
calls to the hotel there to be forwarded back to my home; they'll do that
for a fee, you know).
     "Fido" really made that big house a home. He took over housecleaning
duties, never bothering with the clothes he had, working nude whereever he
was. It felt great to just walk over whenever I got the urge and plug his
butt. I fucked him while he was swimming in the pool, in the kitchen while
he washed dishes, had him suck me off while I was in the weight room
working out, and generally everything I could imagine.
     But like all vacations, they end. I gave the kid a good fucking that
night and in the morning, told him to get dressed. "I'll give you a lift to
wherever you need to go."
     "Go? Where?" He asked.
     "Where you stashed your car, bike, or however the hell you got way out
here in the country." I told him.
     "I walked." he said. "Honest. A trick of mine had taken me out here to
use, then dumped me off without paying. That's why I decided to break into
your house when I found it and the unlocked window. I had to have bread to
catch a bus back to the city."
     "I can give you a lift into the city." I said.
     He got dressed, and I sighed when I saw those baggy shorts, ragged
tanktop, dirty sneakers. He really looked nice.
     I fished into my wallet, took out a hundred and handed it to
him. "This ought to take care of you for a while."
     "Yeah." he said. Then, I saw the tears in his eyes.
     "What the hell's the matter?" I asked him.
     He sobbed and clutched at me, arms around me fast and fiercely. "I
don't want to go! Can't I please stay here with you?"
     "Stay here? I don't know." I said. I hadn't planned on this! I should
have known when he didn't sneak away after I untied him. The kid had spent
two weeks putting down roots, right in my home.
     Roots. I looked around the house. I couldn't get a maid to come out
this far for any reasonable price, not a good maid. The house hadn't been
this clean in years. There was the shelf he had arranged with my old school
trophies and a few knick-knacks, very artistically done. There was the
coffee table, which shone with a luster it hadn't had since I brought it
home years before. The carpet now spotless. I realized that there wasn't a
spot in the house now that didn't bear this kid's touch.
     He was ruining my suit with his tears. I lifted him away and he looked
at me. "Please, mister. Don't send me away. Please! Ple-e-ease!"
     I looked at him. He had filled out nicely in the two weeks, by using
my weights and eating proper food. Give him another year and he'd be
downright handsome. Except for the tears on his face.
     I took his face in my hand. "You always were a cry- baby, Fido. Crying
when I first met you, and crying now." I paused, sighed. "Hell, why not? If
you really intended to rip me off, you'd have done it by now. And...."
     But the kid was kissing me then, one hand fishing at my crotch. I
never did finish what I had to say. By the time he was done, I had to hurry
to make it in to work.
     I got back that night pretty late; catching up would cost me overtime
for days. I smiled as I passed the garbage pails outside the garage, noting
that one of them now contained the shorts, sneakers and tanktop Fido had
been wearing when I first met him.
     He met me naked at the door and leaped into my arms.
     "Down, boy, down!" I ordered. "I picked you up a little present while
I was in town."
     I made him get into begging posture, on his knees and paws in the
air. Then I showed him--a black leather collar, bearing a gold tag with his
name on it: FIDO
     I grinned at him, and said, "After all, when you adopt a stray dog,
you got to buy him a collar! Right, boy?"
     "Ruff!" he said.

				  THE END
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