Date: Sat, 19 Jan 2008 23:47:25 EST
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: "The Puppy and the Corvette"

			THE PUPPY AND THE CORVETTE
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
			WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM

That was a fucking Corvette in there. Brad looked at it through the dirty
glass window in an attitude approaching awe. Un-fucking-believable! How did
the Armstrong brothers get hold of a Corvette! They must have stolen it,
everyone knew the Armstrongs were a bunch of no-goods.

Liberating that Corvette for a brief ride around town would be nothing more
than charitable on his part. And if he got caught by the police with it,
he'd just tell them where he'd gotten it and let the Armstrongs catch the
heat. They'd be rolling him to testify against them and he'd sing like a
chicken about to get its head cut off!

The Armstrongs' pickup wasn't home, so they weren't home. Coast was
clear. Only problem now was how to get inside. The window was locked. Brad
peered at it, it wasn't one of the really tough locks, just an aluminum
latch with a bent-over top part to hold the window shut. Less an order to
keep out than a suggestion! Apply a little pressure and it ought to bend up
and out of the way...say by a judicially applied tire iron.

Brad found the latch much tougher than he'd figured but by jiggling the
window he got the lower part to spin slowly around, and after nearly a
half-hour of making a racket that he would have worried about if the
Armstrongs had had neighbors anywhere within a half-mile, he got the window
open. Now to work his way on in and get to that sweet, sweet ride! He could
take it up to Carver and tool around main street. He could get a chick in
that other seat in no time. And like they said, you can't get laid in a
Corvette, but you can get laid the minute you step out of one!

He sidled through the window on his belly and did a sort-of tuck-and-roll
on the garage floor. Damn, it was dirty! Brad got to his feet and, dusting
at his jeans with the back of one hand, he semi-stumbled over toward the
Corvette, toward his prize. As he got closer, though, he froze. The
Corvette wasn't the only car in here. There was the fucking pickup!

Brad spun around, but it was too late.

"What the fuck we got here?" Harley Armstrong said with a scowl on his
face.

"Looks like we got us an unannounced visitor here." Mark Armstrong said,
right behind him.

A meaner pair of men would have been hard to come by. Mark, six foot two,
was the elder by a handful of year, he had been in prison, only getting out
recently, and had spent his hours there working out as much as allowed. He
had shaved his hair while in prison (or maybe had all the hair yanked out
by the roots, for he was totally bald, but it didn't make him look old,
feeble, or wimpy in any way. The missing hair on his head was countered by
an abundant moustache, a soup-strainer that stuck out a good half-inch or
so from his lip, the hairs were so thick and piled atop each other. Brad's
sole attempt at a moustache previously had given him a dusting of white
hairs that his grandpa had opined that he needn't shave off, the cat could
lick them off for him any time he got tired of them.

Harley was slightly shorter and smaller than his older brother, but not by
a hell of a lot. Harley drove a truck when he was working, which was
seldom. He wore the same battered pair of dungarees, pale blue work shirt
and Caterpillar hat every time Brad had seen him. Maybe it was the only
clothes he owned! Six feet of wrathful trucker stood beside the angry
ex-con and Brad couldn't decide which one looked meaner!

"I'm sorry!" he blurted out. "I didn't mean anything!"

"What the fuck you doing in here?" Mark demanded.

"I just saw the car." Brad admitted.

"What about our car?" Harley asked in a hard tone.

"I just...just wanted to see it." Brad prevaricated. He felt like a puppy
that had just piddled on the living room floor.

"See it." scoffed Mark. "Shithead thinks we're going to believe that!"

"He came in here to steal it!" Harley judged. "He's been known to lift cars
here and there."

"I was just going to take it out for a ride." Brad yammered. "I would have
brought it back to you when I was done! Really!"

"Really, hell!" Mark said. "We got ourselves a car thief here."

"Better call the law on him." Harley said.

Brad remembered his own thoughts on that, and set his jaw. Play this hand
for all its worth! "Sure, call the police." he said. "I'll tell them
everything, including about the car you got here."

The looks on their faces told him all he wanted to know.

"You guys stole this 'Vette yourselves, didn't you?" Brad went
on. "Anything happens to me, I'll just tell them to come looking in here."

"Shithead thinks he's got us." Harley chuckled.

"Thinks we'd actually bother the cops with this piece of cow turd." Mark
agreed.

Brad's confidence evaporated like so much spit on a stovetop. "Hey, guys, I
was just fooling." He said quickly. "I wouldn't tell on you guys. I just
wanted to try out the car. You know how it is, you see something and you
want to try it out."

"You know how that is, Mark?" Harley asked his brother.

"Yeah, I know how that is." Mark agreed. "I'd feel that way in the pen,
when some fresh fish would come in. I liked being the one who got to break
him in. One guy, I paid five cartons of cigarettes to get him, but that
virgin butt of his was worth it."

"Hey, now, guys." Brad looked at the window. Damn it, he'd never get out of
there before these two could grab him, he'd had to squirm up to get to it
from outside, and the garage inside was a good foot lower inside. And the
way out was blocked by the Armstrong Brothers.

"Seems only right that we teach this young punk a lesson about breaking
into our garage." Harley went on. "And it needs to be something he ain't
going to go bragging about to anyone."

"I wouldn't mind breaking in one more, just for old times' sake." Mark
said. "I got me a girl who's putting out for me, but still, hell, I got an
extra fuck in me I could give to this guy."

"Sounds about right to me." Harley agreed.

"Hey, man, don't do that." Brad begged. "Just let me go and I won't ever
breathe a word about this stolen 'Vette. Honest!"

"Well...I wouldn't want to take a guy against his will." Mark said. "I'll
give you the choice we give the fish in prison."

"What's that?"

"You can either be our bitch...." Mark paused.

"Or?" Brad wanted to know.

"You can get the shit beat out of you." Mark continued.

"Take your pick." Harley said. "Think it over slowly. We'll wait. But not
too long." And Harley balled his hand into a fist, which told Brad his time
to think was measured in seconds, not minutes.

He watched that fist as it uncurled, flexed up again, tightened, began to
raise up. "All right, all right!" Brad said hastily. "But...you gotta
promise to go easy on me. No rough stuff." That didn't sound strong
enough. Or weak enough. "Please?" He added.

"We'll think about it." Mark said.

"I'd say that depends on how good you do without it." Harley put in.

"Okay." Brad gulped. "What do I do first?"

"First is to take off those pants." Mark said. "Hard to fuck a guy when
he's got them on, you know."

"Okay." Brad swallowed hard again and reached for his fly, unzipped his
jeans and began to worm them down his body. His leg-grasping jeans didn't
want to let go, but he managed with a couple of hops to get them
down. Shit, he forgot about his shoes. With his jeans at half-mast, he
reached down and un-Velcroed the sneakers and then took them off by using
his toes on the other's heels, and now clad only in his socks, he could
take his jeans off. His shirt was next, he undid it, and now wore only a
purple t-shirt with a faded logo from a lake resort he'd been to three
years ago when he'd been sixteen.

"That's good enough." Mark said roughly. "I like to leave a little bit of
clothing on them, they feel so much more naked that way."

"That t-shirt ain't going to cover up anything important." Mark agreed.

"Got the family jewels on full display."

"And look at that tiny little dickie he's got, too."

Brad couldn't argue with that, he had a comfortable size when erect, but
now, his cock was scared into being a wilted dimple in his scrotum, the way
a dog's draws up into its body when not in use. "Now what?" he asked these
men, these hard, hard men.

"Down on your knees, puppy." Harley said. "I got a bone for you." And
Harley was working at the buttons on his dungarees. "Just think of it as
your new chew toy."

"Meanwhile, I'll take that cherry you got hanging behind you." Mark put in.

"No rough stuff, please!" Brad said quickly.

"Ah, hell." Mark grunted. "I'll squirt a chunk of axle grease up there,
that ought to do you."

"Okay, sure, yeah." Brad panted. "Anything, please."

While Mark got the grease gun, Harley had his cock out and walked over with
a forward-thrusting strut, his cock foremost, and when he got that
nine-inch tool over close to Brad, Brad obligingly opened his mouth, but
Harley just slapped Brad's cheeks with the prong as he chuckled
meanly. "You want this boner, little puppy? Let me hear you whimper for it,
then."

Brad didn't want to argue, he began to make hungry-puppy sounds,
hnh-hnh-hnh-hnh-hnh!

"Yeah, come on, puppy, beg for it, beg me for it."

Brad put his hands up in begging-puppy position and made his hnh-hnh-hnh
sound again.

And that's when he felt the cold steel of the grease gun at his ass. "Oh,
God!" he whined.

"Now that's a whipped puppy sound." Harley said approvingly. "Good puppies
get the treat." And now he shoved his cockhead at Brad's mouth and Brad let
the hard, sticky, nasty glans slip into his mouth. God, Harley was fucking
filthy! He nearly gagged on how strong the cock tasted, it was thick and
raunchy and sweaty and greasy. He could literally taste the oils on the
skin, and the extra-nasty sour taste of a lump of smegma lurking in the
fold. He nearly barfed at that, but Harley's hand grabbed his head when he
began to jerk away and forced him back down again.

At his buttocks, Mark was working the grease gun and Brad felt the thick
white greasy oil as it was squirted up into his bowels. The grease gun
wasn't designed to grease asses, and a lot of it squelched out onto his
buttocks instead, but he got some.

Mark's hand slapped Brad's butt and then Brad felt him fish off a glob of
the grease. "I'll lube up the old tool for you." He grunted. "That'll get
you slicked up faster'n anything."

Brad whimpered and kept sucking the cock in front of him. If Mark had
fucked other guys, he ought to know what he was doing, maybe he wouldn't
get totally torn up here.

He could hope.

He felt the hard prod pressing and he yelped. That thing was huge! What was
it, the size of a baseball bat?

"Hey, I haven't even pushed it in yet!" Mark objected. "Wait until I push
it in before you yell."

"If he can yell around my clamdigger, that is." Harley argued. "I plan to
shove mine in deep when you do."

Oh, God! Brad squirmed, started to jerk away, big hands on his head and his
hips held him tight, and then he got double-crammed! Harley was slightly
ahead, he stuck that rod as far down Brad's throat as he could get it, and
as Brad was reeling from that, he felt the broad man-bat shove up his
butt. Oh, God, it hurt, it hurt! His ass was giving way, he wasn't tearing
but he was stretching, stretching, oh, God, it hurt, it hurt!

Mark wasn't being overly rough, but you can't push a baseball bat up a soda
straw without doing some damage! Brad was being split like a rail, it felt
like, he could feel the bones in his pelvis being distorted from the
pressure, a woman giving birth in reverse must feel like this, and he had
another boring rod in his throat, he was choking, unable to breathe, unable
to think, he was stuffed completely full of male dongs, and he was going to
burst!

And with one accord, the two brothers pulled back from Brad's ass and
mouth, Brad felt an undeniable suction-effect from this, his gullet
threatened to follow Harley's cock up and out of his mouth, his bowels
threatened to turn inside out as Mark withdrew,

"Ah-huh, uhhhhhh!" Mark moaned as he pulled back out. "Damn, a tight, hot,
virgin cunt-hole! God, I love the young'un's cherries. Love to pluck 'em,
love to fuck 'em, hot damn, they feel good every fucking time!"

"Mmmm, yeah, this kid's got a nice warm mouth on him, too." Harley
grunted. "I say let's get to doing some serious banging here, big brother."

That ended the coordinated attack on Brad, now it was every brother for
himself. Brad could only brace himself as hard man-meat dove into both ends
and withdrew as roughly, he was being force-fed one stiff prick while
another played pogo-stick inside his butthole. He was no longer his own
man, he was a "puppy," a "kid," a "cunt-hole!"

Hard, male meat ramming into him...it was doing something to his brain!
God, was he getting into this? He couldn't be getting a hard-on here, could
he? Would he?

He was! Not only that, he felt the undeniable rising of passion's
percolation as it rose through his body. He was feeling stimulation from
somewhere in his butt from that pounding it was getting, a sort of tingling
but it was positively the same basic sexual impulses that would race from
his cock. He was receiving sensation from his dong as well, but the source
of all delights was his butt.

As it built, Brad began to hunch back against Mark's thrusting hips,
feeding upon the growing passion.

"I think our little puppy's getting into it." Harley hooted. "Look at him
rutting against you."

Brad shook himself and began to give Harley the sort of blowjob he'd always
dreamed of getting from the girls he'd dated, and yet never, never
got. Harley gave a gurgle and then with little warning, Harley was creaming
in Brad's mouth. Just a loud grunt, a tension in the hand holding Brad's
head, and then hot squibs of jizz were spraying down Brad's throat.

"Yeah, aw, fuck, yeah, give him a good hot load, little bro." Mark
grunted. "Damn, he's a hot little cunt, isn't he, damn, yeah, oh, yeah, oh,
ah, ah!"

At least this time Brad had some warning, he thought as he swallowed and
gulped at the hot load jetting into his gullet. He could tell Mark was
about to come, and he had made the big stud do it, he had milked both these
huge men and milked them dry.

Just like a good little puppy!

And when Mark's groans grew higher and higher, Brad found climax clawing at
his brain, he sped up his own body's thrusts backward at Mark's dong and he
beat Mark to orgasm by a spare handful of seconds, his wads splatted out
and got Harley on those filthy dungarees, Harley still panting, his rod
spent and lying wet and limp on his open fly. Brad sprayed a half dozen
hard wads before he damped down into dribbling, as fireworks ignited inside
his mind, and he felt the hot salty sting as Mark unloaded into his ass.

"Oh, man, oh, man, oh, oh, oh!" Mark wound down, the last of the three to
give volume to his joy, and then there was silence.

"Hot damn, that was good." Harley broke the brief quiet. "Hoo, yeah, we got
us a hot little property here."

Property. He was property. "That wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."
Brad settled for saying, though his heart cried out to vow unending loyalty
instead.

"I reckon we get a fuck like that out of a guy, we can let him look at our
toy car." Mark said.

The Corvette. "Yeah, the 'Vette." Brad stood up, feeling the grease and the
sperm making his thighs slippery as the goo and spunk ran down both of
them. "Mind if I just sit in it for a while?" And once inside, he could
think about asking to turn it on, to back it out of the garage, to take it
just down the road....

"Go ahead." Mark said. "All she's good for."

"Huh?"

"I got that body at a wreck shop." Harley said. "The engine blew up. Inside
the hood is just a shell."

"Oh." Brad said as he drew on his clothes again. "What are you going to do
with it?"

"Get the parts, fix it up, little at a time." Mark said. "We figure, a
couple of years, we'll have a mostly-new Corvette all our own."

"Going to fix it up." Brad said wistfully. "That sounds like fun." He
pulled up his jeans and fastened them, zipped them up. Just his shoes left
now.

"Going to be a lot of work." Harley allowed.

Brad took the plunge. "Could you use an extra pair of hands, help you put
it together."

"I reckon we could." Mark agreed.

"Could I maybe come by and help?" Brad offered. Zip, zip, his sneakers were
Velcroed back onto his feet.

"I reckon so." Mark said. "Of course, that is, if you don't mind doing
whatever we say."

And the smiles on their faces said that the duties wouldn't all be
mechanical.

Brad matched it with his own. "Absolutely. Anything you want me to do is
fine with me."

"Then come back tomorrow this same time. We're going to be making a list of
what we'll need for this car and work out how to get it."

"I sure will." And Brad went out the door and back down the road to his own
home.

And if he'd been a puppy, his tail would have been wagging like mad.

				  THE END
		   Comments, complaints or suggestions?
		  E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
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