The following story is a work of fiction. Aaron Carter and any celebrities presented here are real people, but they are treated as characters in this story. The text in no way implies any knowledge of the celebrities' true sexuality or actions, and it is not intended to suggest that the celebrities are straight, bisexual, or homosexual. This is from my imagination only; the events depicted here involve sexual acts with a minor, are fictional, and should not be considered fact. If you are underage in your location, please do not read.
Just the Thing
It was getting cold that night, even for California weather. The streets of Los Angeles, which had been bustling earlier that December evening with early Christmas shoppers, were now largely empty, especially along the beach front area. It had been mildly pleasant that day, but the temperature was falling with the sun. Dampness from the ocean was settling in, making the cold worse, and people had fled to the warm of their homes.
This is the situation in which little Ricky found himself. He had just turned 9 last week, though no one knew or cared. Running away from his foster home the month before granted him the freedom he craved and kept him away from the filthy hands of his foster father, the one that had labeled him a little faggot and proceeded to force him to suck cock every chance he got. Thankfully, the son of a bitch hadn't fucked him up the ass. Ricky didn't ever want to go back, and he doubted the man would even care. No posters with his face on them appeared in the city anywhere, so the little boy could be fairly certain that no one was looking for him. He'd been living on the street ever since, surviving on thrown out food in the dumpsters behind restaurants, but he didn't know exactly what to do to improve his situation.
He'd seen other kids on the street pimping themselves to get a warm place to stay, sometimes for a night, sometimes two. In rare instances, some would get taken in for good, though he knew it was to provide regular pleasure for the perverts that took in the little boys and girls. He'd had enough of that and didn't even bother to hitchhike for fear of being molested. For a 9-year-old, he knew what that was and wanted no part of it.
This night, however, he considered it deeply as he shivered on the park bench upon which he sat. He only had the one set of clothes he'd dressed himself in when he ran away--a denim jacket, black t-shirt, jeans, worn tennis shoes. As he stared at the ocean, he pulled the jacket more tightly around him. His breath steamed out from his mouth and nostrils as he thought about at least hitchhiking to the nearest runaway home. Los Angeles was littered with them, but going there meant taking a chance of getting to a new foster home and possibly a new pervert to be his "daddy." Ricky didn't want that, but he figured finally that he could just runaway again if things got bad. It beat freezing to death on the street.
Getting up his courage, Ricky started walking up the street. His black hair had gotten longer since he been out on his own, and it now blew in the cold breeze. He had slightly dark skin, a Hispanic trait passed down by at least one of his parents, neither of whom he knew. He'd been given up for adoption as a baby, an unwanted pregnancy he'd heard through talk at the orphanage, before he'd finally been settled in his foster home. He reached in his jacket pocket and took out a cigarette from the pack he'd stolen from a teenager's satchel at the beach. Lighting it, he knew that he shouldn't smoke, but the warm fumes felt good, and he'd gotten somewhat hooked at his foster home. It calmed his nerves, and he didn't want to abandon smoking just yet. As he walked, Ricky reasoned that it would take him most of the night to make it to the first runaway home by morning unless someone picked him up. At least the walk would keep him warm enough.
Ricky had walked for about a quarter of a mile when he heard a car coming behind him. He finished his cigarette and threw the butt away, exhaling the smoke before turning around. The headlights hit his face, and he extended his arm and thumb in the classic hitchhiker mode. He had no knowledge of car models, but the vehicle that approached him was bright red with a sunroof. There was enough light left to see this, but he couldn't make out the driver. Hopefully, it was a lady--there'd be less chance of a lady attacking him than a man.
The car slowed down and stopped just off the street beside him, and he looked in the window, which lowered for him to see inside. To his disappointment, it was a man, not an old one but definitely an adult. He was wearing what looked like a leather jacket and gloves. He had somewhat spiky blond hair and a short goatee. "What's up, kid?" the man asked. "Need a ride?"
Ricky hesitated at first, but he felt the cold breeze on his face and then made up his mind. "Yes, sir."
The man smiled, and Ricky heard the lock on the door pop. "Get in, little man. It's cold out there." Ricky opened the door and got in. "Where ya headed?"
"Into town," the boy replied. "To the runaway shelter on Fifth Street."
The man steered the car back on the road. "A runaway, huh? How old are you, and what's your name?"
"I'm nine. My name's Ricky."
"Nine years old and on the street? Not good, Ricky."
They drove along in silence for a few minutes. For some reason, Ricky began feeling uneasy. He kept his eyes on the road in front of him or out the car window, but he sneaked glances at the man and noticed a couple of times that he was looking him up and down. Ricky didn't like that look as it was the kind that his foster father sometimes used on him. He started to think this was a bad idea, and his mind raced to find a way out of his predicament.
Just then, the man said, "Hey, little buddy, I need a smoke. You mind?" Ricky shook his head. "Great," the man continued. "I left my cigars in the back seat. I'm gonna pull over long enough to reach back and get one, then we'll be on our way. Is that cool?" Ricky nodded. They pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. The man turned and reached into the back seat. Ricky wondered why, if the guy smoked, would he leave his cigars in the back seat. He heard the man muttering, "Now where the fuck did I put `em? Oh, here they are." Ricky stared out the window, thinking he should just jump out of the car and run down the beach. If the guy chased him, he knew some places to hide until the man would give up looking for him.
Suddenly, he felt a cloth being pressed over his nose and mouth. A sickly-sweet odor invaded his nostrils, and he realized too late that the man was grabbing him. "That's it, you sweet little fuck. It's beddie-bye for you right now." Ricky struggled, but he was no match for the man, who'd draped an arm around him to hold him as he fought back. The odor in the cloth was so strong, and he tried to scream, but the scent overpowered him, making him dizzy. His eyes rolled back in his head, and all his strength left him. Ricky's struggles ceased, and total darkness enveloped him.
Nick Carter grinned as the helpless child went limp in the passenger's seat of his Camaro. He kept the rag over the boy's face for a couple more minutes to be sure that the chloroform was working before he released him. The kid was just what he was looking for, and he'd been driving for the last hour to find someone just like him. He was perfect in every way. Pulling back, Nick threw the rag into the floorboard in the back and capped the small bottle, tossing it back as well. He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a thick cigar and lit it. He drove back on the highway and turned into a deserted alley.
Getting out, Nick made his way around to the passenger's side. He picked up the little boy in his arms and placed him face down over the back of the car. A single lamp attached to the side of building to his right gave him enough light to see by as he proceeded to strip the kid of all of his clothes. He smoked his cigar and lustfully gazed over the boy's thin frame, his gaze lingering on his small ass. He reached down with his gloved hands and parted the preteen's buttocks and grunted in approval. Cautiously rubbing a finger over the sphincter, Nick was pleased to find this was a virgin boy, at least anally. It was just what he needed. Hoisting the child over a shoulder, the Backstreet Boy opened the trunk of his car and placed the limp form inside, throwing his clothes in with him. He extracted a roll of duct tape and a small cloth. Opening the small mouth, he stuffed the cloth in and taped the boy's mouth with two thick strips of tape. He then bound the kid's wrists together before doing the same with the ankles. When he was done, Nick stood and took a deep drag of his cigar, exhaling the smoke through his nostrils. He reached down and caressed the small, shriveled little penis with one leather-clad hand while rubbing his own throbbing cock, which bulged obscenely in his tight leather pants.
"You're gonna make a good bitch tonight," Nick mumbled as he pulled back and slammed the trunk shut. Getting back into the car, he backed out of the alley, turned the car around in the street, and drove back in the direction from which he originally came. His cock pulsed between his legs, and he turned on the car stereo system. Guns N' Roses began blasting "Anything Goes" from the speakers, and Nick puffed his cigar heavily as he drove.
He had a very special stop to make.
There was a knock on the door, and Aaron Carter stopped masturbating. He was sitting in his den watching a fuck movie that his buddy, Vincent Kartheiser, had lent him. It was yet another kiddie porn the perverted actor had brought back from a trip to Amsterdam featuring preteen boys and girls getting raped by older men. He had just started watching a scene with a 6-year-old girl being force-fucked by her father and two older brothers when he heard the knock. Stuffing his hard 9-inch cock into his sweats, he turned off the porn and got up, grumbling because of the interruption. He wasn't wearing anything but his sweatpants, his tanned torso and arms showing all the tattoos he'd gotten over the years. His hair was tousled all over his head from the shower he'd taken 15 minutes before, and his eyes were red-ringed from the pot he'd just smoked. He knew that he looked a mess, but he didn't care as he made his way to the door. Aaron wondered who was there as this was the back door, and not many people came around to it.
Aaron turned the knob and pulled the door open to find his big brother, Nick, standing there. He was dressed in his black leather jacket with a black undershirt, black leather gloves, tight black leather pants, and black boots. He was smoking a cigar, and he possessed the biggest shit-eating grin ever. Aaron broke into a smile and said, "Whoa, man, you look dressed to fuck. What are ya doin' here? I wasn't expectin' you for another couple of days."
Nick blew a cloud of smoke and said, "Wasn't gonna miss my little bro's birthday, now was I?" He sauntered into the doorway.
"But it isn't `til day after tomorrow, Nick," said Aaron. His birthday was December 7th, and he and his twin sister, Angel, were turning 23. "You and the girls and dad weren't supposed to be here `til then." Aaron was referring to their other sisters when he said "the girls."
Nick took another long drag of the cigar and exhaled before taking it from his mouth. "I know, li'l bro, but I got just the thing for your birthday present this year, and it wouldn't be cool if I gave it to ya while the family was here. `Sides, I'm not sure what to do with it after you use it."
Puzzlement crossed Aaron's face. "Whaddya mean?"
"You'll see. Lemme go pull in your garage." Nick walked back outside.
Shrugging his shoulders, Aaron closed the door and went to the garage, which was through the other door in the kitchen. He opened the automatic door, and Nick drove his red Camaro inside beside Aaron's Harley Davidson motorcycle and behind his SUV. After his brother shut off the engine and Aaron closed the garage door, Nick jumped out and opened the trunk. "Bet no one thought to give you this," he said with glee.
Aaron stepped around to stand beside Nick and looked in the trunk. Lying there unconscious was the figure of a little Hispanic boy bound and gagged. His wrists were behind his naked body, and his ankles were held together with duct tape. A generous amount of the same tape covered his mouth. Aaron's pedo cock lifted the front of his sweats, and he licked his lips. "Oh, fuck," he said in a low voice. Nick had known that Aaron was into kiddie sex ever since he caught him with his once-regular little boy whore, Devon, the summer a year before. Devon was a 10-year-old, now 11, whom Aaron had found giving a blowjob to a black man behind an abandoned warehouse near the beach one day. After paying for a blowjob, Aaron found out that Devon's older brother, Brad, pimped out the boy to earn money, and had rented him to Aaron for sex many times over the last several months. Aaron had taken great pleasure in raping the kid repeatedly, being as rough as possible, and he had shared the little boy with Nick a couple of times when the Backstreet Boys visited. A month ago, Devon and his brother had moved upstate with their foster family, and Aaron had missed the little bitch. Now, Nick had gone and gotten him a brand new boy slut for him to molest. "He's a hot present, bro," Aaron said. He rubbed his aching hard-on through his sweats. "Let's open him up."
With his cigar in his mouth, Nick grabbed his own bulge and ran his other hand down the back of his little brother's sweats to place a finger at his asshole. Pushing his middle finger in, he heard Aaron gasp and said, "I was thinkin' the same thing, baby..."
It didn't take long before the Carter brothers had hauled the little boy to Aaron's bedroom and had him face down on the king-sized bed. Aaron had stripped completely naked and was standing at the foot of the bed masturbating his rock-hard 9-inch penis. A lit cigar stuck out from his mouth as he watched Nick on the bed beside their newest victim. Nick kept his leather on as he fondled the unconscious little body. "How old is this little slut?" Aaron asked lustfully.
Nick lay beside the kid and ran his fingers of one hand up and down his crack and licked the back of his neck. "His name's Ricky, and he told me he was 9."
"How'd ya get him, man?"
"Picked him up hitchhiking. He's a runaway. Nobody'll miss him. When he got into the car, I pretended to get a cigar from the back seat, where I was keeping some chloroform. He let his guard down, so I knocked him out with the stuff, tied him up, and brought him here." Nick pulled his lips away from the boy's neck and looked at Aaron. "You like your present, bro?"
Aaron squeezed his dick, and drops of clear precum dribbled onto the carpet. "Fuck yeah, man. It's the perfect present."
"Tell me, bro," Nick said seductively. "Whaddya wanna do to him?"
Aaron kept fisting his lust-engorged penis as he looked from the boy to Nick and back to the still form of the helpless little victim. The end of his cigar glowed bright red as he pulled on it with his thin pink lips, and smoke emerged from the side of his mouth. It circled around his blond head and faded out over him. His masturbating arm flexed, making it seem as if the tattoos he had placed there were moving. He kept stroking and smoking steadily.
Again, Nick asked him, "Whaddya wanna do to him? I wanna hear it, bro."
With a cold voice that hinted of the penned-up sexual feelings that permeated his perverted brain, Aaron Carter simply said, "I wanna rape him with my big fuckin' cock and make him my bitch."
"Fuck yeah," Nick Carter said. He parted the little boy's ass cheeks, and the tiny pink preteen sphincter came into view. "Let's do it..."
TO BE CONTINUED