THIS IS A STORY OF FICTION. THE AUTHOR DOES NOT CONDONE INCEST OR CHILD ABUSE IN ANY WAY. THIS IS MERELY AN OUTLET AND NOT MEANT TO REPRESENT THE AUTHOR'S THOUGHTS OR OPINIONS.
OK I got that out of the way. Now men – if this story got you off and made you cum, please write to me! KentTheWriter@gmail.com, or better yet at KentTheWriter on Yahoo Messenger. I also have a tumblr at www.kentskorner.tumblr.com. Lots of micro fiction there, and hot pics of men from my stories. Legal pictures only.
I only write while interacting with fans, so I need guys who will help me by giving me feedback or just getting nasty with me while I write. So hit me up!
Lastly, when you've shot your sploodge on every inch of your keyboard, don't forget to take my poll. Your answers decide what happens next. You can find the poll here: http://www.misterpoll.com/polls/574944
And now, without further ado, the next chapter. And remember – don't cum until the end!
They decided to split up and take two separate routes around the city. Zeke figured this would cover more ground, and though he didn't say it, if one car ran into trouble, at least half the boys and half the men would be OK and able to carry on. It was a dangerous world of man boy sex, and even The Father almighty had to admit he didn't know what may await him in the city.
Zeke and Marco took the police paddy wagon. In the back sat Zeke's two young sons, Cliff, a middle schooler, and Mason, the baby of the family. They also had Marco's little tiny boy, Bry, riding back there.
The other men took PacMan's car to the south, through the Little Havana, the Cuban part of town.
Zeke and Marco were headed into the ghetto—the black neighborhood. It was a bit more dangerous, but Zeke felt they were better equipped to handle what may lay there, compared to the other men, who were all a bit smaller and lessÉ.alpha.
Everything had been going well until about halfway through the trip. They were traveling real slow when they passed an overturned school bus.
"What the FUCK is a school bus doing in this neighborhood? These kids take the bus!" Marco cried out as he slowed down the car. He drove real slowly by the bus, looking for any bodies inside. But there were none—it was empty.
As he drove by slowly, Zeke was able to make out the name on the side of the bus. BREYERSON ACADEMY. The all-boy private school on the outskirts of the city. SHIT. They started school an hour earlier, didn't they? That very well meant that the bus could have been traveling through this neighborhood when the boys and men all changed. Which would meanÉ
Zeke and Marco looked at each other, and it was clear they both knew what had happened. The boys had freaked out, probably gone after the bus driver, flipped the busÉand then set off in the city in their zombie-like state, looking for ANY man to satisfy their craving.
Those boys were all rich little snots from the wealthy part of town. Zeke knew the school well—he had wanted to send his boys there but couldn't afford the tuition. It was a nice school, despite the snobbiness. But those boys were mostly pussies—there was no way they would survive a second in this part of town.
"We have to rescue them," Marco and Zeke said at the same time.
"What about the boys?" Zeke asked.
"What boys?" Marco said. Zeke looked down at his new best friend's uniform—a khaki pair of coveralls. Sure enough, Zeke's massive boner was leaking a pool of precum halfway down his thigh. These new cocks of theirs were crazy. Any time you got a hard on, it was like you couldn't think straight.
"OUR BOYS," Zeke said, trying to snap his partner out of his horniness. "Our sons? In the back?"
"Oh. Right. Well, there's no way anyone's getting in back there. It's three feet of steel and locked about one hundred times. They'll be safe if we just park them in an inconspicuous place. "
"Seriously? Leave our kids in the middle of this goddamn neighborhood?"
"Zeke, our boys are a hell of a lot more safe than however many fucking kids were in that school bus. We have to try and help them!"
Zeke got serious for a moment, thinking of the implications. Could he really leave his naked children in the back of a police car, unguarded, in the middle of the city?
But then he thought of what might be happening to those boys. Their little white bodies slithering out of that school bus. Prowling for cock. Searching down dark alleys and in dumpsters and crack housesÉjust for a fix. Goddamnit. It was a fucking drug war on children! Child sex addicts gone wild. And NOT in a good way.
Once outside the car, they both adjust their cocks in their khaki coveralls. The uniforms Zeke had picked out for all his men – those just like the ones he wore to his job as a National Park Ranger – were useful because they let them whip out their cocks at a moment's notice. However, they did nothing to hide hardons, and they all pretty much just had a constant wet spot of white where their frothy precum had worked through the fabric.
Marco reaches back into the police car one more time and withdraws two guns. He hands one to Zeke. "Just in case," he says seriously.
Zeke nods and tucks the pistol into his waistband. Then he gives two pounds on the back of the truck. They listen together to the children moan from inside. They were already getting ready to go into full special-needs mode.
"Kids? Look uhÉstay here." Zeke shrugs his shoulders at Marco. What else could he say? "Your daddies will be right back. We just gotta goÉtake care of something."
There were a few muffled moans, and little Mason's high pitched voice said, "Cum, daddy?"
"When I get back, kiddo," Zeke said, feeling his own cock throb against his stomach. Then he turns to his companion and the two big, burly, horny, armed men venture out into the scariest part of the city, leaving their boys behind.
Zeke and Marco didn't have to go far. The escaped Breyerson Academy boys must have been desperate, because from the sound of it, they were all crammed inside one ramshackle, half-abandoned apartment building that was only a block and a half away from where the bus had crashed.
The two men stood across the street in silence, cocks throbbing in unison, as they listened to the frightening, disgusting, erotic sounds coming from the graffiti-covered building.
The building itself was scary enough on its own. Half of its windows were broken or shot open, and it hadn't been painted in about 100 years, by the looks of it.
But the sounds were much worse. It was almost deafening. The two men could hear hard slaps of flesh followed by whimpers of pain and surprise. A sickening, wet squishing sound—very rhythmic—was coming from one of the upper floors.
And beyond that there were deep, male voices. Moaning, groaning, screaming in what sounded like pure rage. They were black men's voices—no doubt about it—while such pathetic whimpers and slurps and cries and wails could only be coming from little white boys.
"FUCK THAT WHITE KIDDIE BITCH! GIVE HIM ALL YOU GOT!" came the loudest voice of all. "TEACH HIM WHAT FUCKING HAPPENS WHEN BOY WHORES COME WANDERING INTO THE GHETTO"
And then there was a truly heartbreaking sound that sounded gooey, wet, sharp, disgusting noise that could only mean one thing.
"Those niggers are fucking those kids," Marco said.
Two hours later they had devised a way to get into the
building. Under Marco's lead, they surveyed the building and found a fire escape
that went around the back of the building. It was rickety and rusty, but it
allowed them to see into each floor of the building, hopefully without being
seen. Judging by the sounds in the house, whatever was going on there was
pretty distracting. And let's face it—in the last 72 hours they had
figured out that when your 6-inches deep in your own son—or any boy, it
was the best, most intense, purest sort of pleasure a father could experience.
These guys wouldn't notice two grown men scaling a fire escape, watching their
boy-fucking escapades, would they?
They hoped not. But just in case, they each brought a handgun.
Marco helped Zeke up onto the fire escape first, and then the burly man pulled himself up. It gave them a perfect view of the room that took up the first floor. It's a dingy room—painted a sickly yellow. In the middle of the room is an ugly, woolen, green and gray recliner. It looks like it's about to fall apart, like someone's been jumping up and down on it for years.
But it's what's happening on that chair that's truly alarming.
Seated in the chair, bare ass naked, is a tall, thin, black man. He's got mocha-colored skin, and he's just skinny as a rail, with real long arms, and two lean, black legs stretched out on the end of the recliner.
And popping up between that footrest is, for certain, one of the Breyerson Academy boys. He's still got his uniform on, in fact. Or sort of. It's a bit sooty and tattered – like he crawled through a war zone. But you can still make out the blue blazer and khaki pants – now covered in oil stains and city grime. And something else—something very wet.
He's got a nice thick head of hair, sandy blonde, and entangled in that gorgeous hair is a big nigger fist.
"Oh my dear god," Marco whispers.
"Jesus Christ in heaven," Zeke agrees.
The little grade-schooler isn't just sucking dick. He's nearly being killed on it. White strings of spit and forth hang about his face like he's some stray mutt. He's shoved all the way down the big black dong – which is insanely long, looking enormous even on such a tall guy.
Up and down the kid goes. But what's really astounding is the amount of spitty, slimy, cock-juicy froth the impalement has worked up. It's everywhere. All over the black guy's skin, making a sharp contrast of wet white on muscled black. But mostly it's all over the kid. All over his face, his mouth, his neck – even matting down his beautiful hair. He's just utterly, and completely drenched – like only a seriously slutty boy of the highest caliber. They always did say "The Best Boys Come From Breyerson."
Oh god, what was Zeke thinking? They had to bring an end to this, NOW. He started to withdraw his gun, but he felt a strong hand squeezing on his muscular shoulder. He looked back at Marco, who was holding one finger up to his lips. Then in the quietest voice possible, the gruff police officer said, "We have to case the whole place. Just bursting in will get us killed."
Zeke gave a look back at the scene in the room. He allowed his eyes to focus for just a single, quick moment, on that foamed-up cock junkie getting his youthful throat absolutely torn apart. Choke-fucked children. And then he followed his companion up the stairs.
Halfway between the first floor and the second, they heard a shocking, exciting sound: a woman. A woman's voice. Moaning, screaming, wailing—but still, a woman's voice!
The two fathers scrambled up the fire escape, thrilled to hear the sound of a woman for the first time in days. Where had all the women gone?
But when they got to the window looking into the next room, their faces full of hope turned into sheer disappointment.
It was another dingy room, much like the first one. A bit brighter, but still dilapidated and scary. Graffiti on the wall. A dirty mattress in the middle of the floor that Zeke was certain some druggies had been shooting up on before the Epidemic began.
Spread out on that mattress was not a female, but a white teenaged boy. Another Breyerson Academy student, no doubt—the school went all the way from kindergarten through high school.
This one tugged at Zeke's heart strings—the boy on the mattress reminded him so much of his still-missing son, Hunter. What was going on with his eldest son? Why did thinking of him make Zeke's cock go crazy? WHAT was his son's need, and who was giving it to him?
These questions only served to distract Zeke from the shocking scene in front of him. Because that white teenaged boy was not alone on that mattress. No, he was accompanied by a big, hulking black man.
Unlike the first one, this guy was no long and skinny thing. He was rounder, bigger and all around more intimidating. But what these two were doing was so out of character for them bothÉ
The big black stud was face deep in that jock boy's beautiful, sculpted booty. And he was going crazy—not unlike the kid downstairs. This black man was eating this kid out in a way that was going to make the kid felt like he'd been really fucked. It was intense, sloppy and noisy, full of grunts and groans.
The kid—who by all means looked like he could have been the quarterback for the Breyerson Academy Chiefs football team—was the one making the noises like a woman. As he was getting his pink, teenaged hole masterfully eaten, he was screaming and moaning like an absolute woman.
It made both Marco and Zeke blush.
This room didn't fill them with the fear, anger and dread that the first room did. Unlike the little boy downstairs, who surely must be totally unwilling to do what he was doing, this boy seemed to be really enjoying what was happening. And the big black hulk wasn't raping the kid, he was just eating him out like an aggressive pro.
Once again, Zeke wanted to bust in, but once again, Marco stopped him. He motioned upward. One more story to go. And they knew from the sounds they had heard earlier that was going on up the upstairs room was by far the scariest and most sickening.
They could hear it as the ascended. Deep, dark gangster voices—two of them, over gags, squishes, whimpers, and little screams that were quickly cut short.
They rushed to the window and peered inside. It was the attic—and not a nice one, either. Just floorboards, roofing, graffiti, a few dirty rags here and there, and lots of dust and cobwebs. No place a child of any age should be.
But in this room was the smallest child they had encountered yet—just about the same size as Marco's tiny son, Bry. He was pale as a ghost—though maybe it was just the contrast of what was going on with him. He had a mop of very curly, dark brown hair. Just the tiniest, most delicate little boy the men had ever seen.
Unfortunately, he was NOT being treated with care. He had two companions in the room with him—two of the scariest looking niggers the men had seen yet. They were both tall—about 6 foot 5—and they appeared to be identical twins. One had a row of gold teeth in the front of his mouth and the other wore a red bandana over his bald head. Both of them were ripped as shit—clearly spent lots of time at the gym—and both were covered in intense gang tattoos.
He was taking them in both ends. Jesus Christ, the kid was taking two identical Colored, nigger, gangster cocks at once—one in each end. What was the world coming to?
He wasn't even on a bed or a mattress or a table. No, the kid was suspended in mid air. Bandana, who was pummeling the kid's throat into putty, was holding his arms while thrusting his hips forward into the child's face. Meanwhile, Gold Teeth had the kid's ankles wrapped around his waist, and his big hands covered the boy's hips while he impaled the child with every inch of his ginormous nigger cock he could.
Zeke nearly passed out.
Those two evil niggers had worked up quite the rhythm with the small, scared, alone child they had between them. Zeke actually almost laughed cause it was so cute. As bandana would pull out, gold teeth with thrust in, making that disgusting SQUISH sound. The sound of a child's innocence being fucked apart. But fuck it was so wrong.
No child that size should be tossed around like a ragdoll for two nasty gangsters. It was insane. How could a child that small take two cocks that were SO HUGE? The nastiest whore you know wouldn't touch these guys with a ten-foot pole. They were just TOO big. And two too many.
So how did they manage it? Zeke wondered. How do they manage to stuff what must be over a foot of nigger cock into a child whose torso was barely a foot long? It defied physics, and yet it was happening.
"Fuck, my niggah," said bandana. "I think he needs us to switch again. That thing is happening."
"Fuck yeah, nigga. I fucking feelin' that shit too. Fuck this kid—so goddamn needy. I'm ready when you are."
Marco and Zeke could only watch in horror as to what happened next.
At the same time, the two gangster gorillas pulled out of the child. Bandana pulled his out with a mighty pop, but that Dirty `ol Bastard Gold Teeth is having a much harder time. Because the child between these two nigger fuckers was not exactly able to fall off a dick just like that. His hole was simply too small.
Zeke suppressed another laugh. Why do I find this disgusting act funny and adorable?? Zeke wondered as he watched Gold Teeth do a sorta comical Black Face routine, trying to extract the head of his cock from the child's innards.
Meanwhile, Gold Teeth just watches as spit and precum and who knows what else dangles from his massive black tool all the way down to the ground.
"AHHHHH!" came the child's scream.
"Finally!" Banda says. NOW SWITCH!"
Again, Marco and Zeke can only watch in horror.
That hole barely has time to recover from its extraction before Bandana runs around and shoves the entirety of the length of his nigger dick into the child. The kid just sorta makes a squeaky noise as he takes a cock that is too big for an adult, let alone a kindergartner.
But that's nothing compared to what Gold Teeth does. Despite the fact that he's just pulled that Anaconda cock from where the sun don't shine, he's about to slide the fat head of his child-deflowering-nigger-dick square into the tiny tyke's mouth cunt. Gold Teeth doesn't even want to touch his own dick considering the renovation he had just given the grade schooler's guts. No, he puts his big, tatted biceps behind his head, bucks his hips to slap the kid with his cock, and grunts, "Clean this shit off, white boy." And the cock somehow disappears once again into the child.
Then they resume their rhythm.
SQUISH SQUISH SQUISH
"We have to do something," Zeke whispered to Marco. He couldn't stand it one second longer. "We have to do something RIGHT NOW."
Marco looked at his new friend, his face hard as stone. He too was compelled to help the children, but as a police officer he was curious to know what the best plan of attack was. He also knew, however, that being a good law officer meant reacting quickly, even when all the facts weren't known. Judging by the look on Zeke's face, he was going to react one way or another no matter what Marco did, so he figured he'd just do his best and hope they made it out safely.
"Follow me," Marco whispers as he begins to descend the fire escape. Zeke looks at his friend, wondering if he can make himself follow when he knows what's going on in that room. He gives one last look through the window, and sure enough the poor little white boy is still being spit roasted on two gargantuan nigger dicks.
"How many is that now, bro?" Gold teeth asks his brother.
"231 in the mouth andÉahhhh FUCK dat's tight stillÉ.230 in the ass."
Zeke shudders and follows his friend down the stairs. He watches in shock as Marco slowly raises the window. The beautiful muscle teen who's being eaten out is still screaming like a woman. But at the sound of the window opening, he raises his trembling head every so slowly. Still screaming like a total bitch, the stud looks at Marco and his green eyes go wide.
I know that kid! Zeke realizes. He's the quarterback on the Breyerson team! Jesus how could I not recognize him? He's the best in the fucking state!
Oh—I know how come I don't recognize him—cause instead of riding around town in his pickup truck with a bunch of teenaged girls, he was face down in a dirty mattress in the slums of the city with a nasty nigger munching on his pink hole.
Marco put his finger up to his lips to tell the boy to be quiet, then immediately realizes how ridiculous that is. The boy obviously wasn't capable of being quiet while getting a tongue bath from a stranger.
But the kid seems to get the message. He continues to writhe there on the floor, squealing and moaning and crying in total gibberish.
Marco creeps up to the kid, then withdraws his gun from his partially unzipped coveralls. He puts the gun right to the temple of the black man, and cocks it.
Everything stops. The nigger stops eating white hole and the white-college-stud-turned-whimpering-fag stopped screaming. The nigger looks up slowly, his face glistening with spit and ass juice.
"Who `da fuck are you?"
"Shut up," Marco barks at the man. "Son, what's your name?"
They all turn their eyes to the white boy, who is still panting, completely naked, on the mattress. "BrentÉBrent Binner."
That's right! Brent Binner.
Zeke notices that underneath the college boy, right where his crotch was on the mattress, is a GIANT wet stain.
"Jesus," he mutters to Marco. "The kid was so scared he went himself."
"'Dat ain't piss you white idiot," the black man says.
"'Dats cum. `Dis kid's been fucking jizzing himself while I been eating him
out. Fucking loves it. You heard him."
"No!" Brent screams. "No that's not true! I—welll—uh—I—"
"Brent," Zeke says sternly, placing his hand on the boy's muscled shoulder, "It doesn't matter if it's jizz or what. The question is—was he doing that to you against your will?"
"Spit it out, kid. We don't got a lot of time," Marco barks.
"NO! It was AGAINST my will—I mean at first it wasn't..something happened. Back on the bus. We were all riding and then all of the sudden—I went crazy. I can't really remember, I just remember needing to have a mouth on my ass. ANY mouth—andÉandÉthis was the first place I got to. I asked him for it at firstÉbut thenÉ"
Zeke watched a single tear fall from Brent's beautiful eye.
"He wouldn't stop. I couldn't get up—I couldn't stop himÉ and I couldn't stop cumming."
"It's ok, son," Marco says, now putting his hand on his other shoulder. "We're here to save you. We'll explain everything—but first we need your help. We saw two other boys in this house. Do you know if there are any more?"
"I—I don't know. I don't think so. I rememberÉI set out with Ashton and little Harry—I don't remember why. But the three of us landed here. IÉI'm sorry. I don't know where the others are."
"That's OK," Zeke said. "We're gonna get Harry and Ashton out of here in no time."
"Please," Brent said. "We need to save Harry—he's my little brother."
In no time, they had worked out a plan. They had the ass-muncher run off, told him to run as far as he could, or else they'd shoot his two buddies. They watched him take off naked through the streets, running as fast as he could. And you know niggers can run fast.
Then they decided they'd go rescue Ashton, who happened to be downstairs right now gagging and drooling and spitting up on some skinny black dick. Zeke and Marco silently decided to save Harry for last, first because it was two guys up there, so they'd need all the bulk they could get. The second reason was because they knew that if Brent saw what his kid brother was going through, the boy would panic. They needed time.
So the three of them descended down to the first floor. They repeated the process of slowly sneaking in—this time they were fortunately in a window that faced the back of the recliner the man was in. They could still hear the slurps, the gags, the near-puke noises the child was making as he was forced to suck dick like no porn star would.
They came around, and this time Zeke held the gun to the man's temple. He cocked the weapon.
The nigger with the long skinny dick and the boy attached to it slowly turned around. "PleaseÉhelpÉ.meÉ" he said in a quiet voice, raising his hands above his head.
"Help you?" Marco roared. "What do you mean HELP you??"
"NoÉlookÉ" Brent said. The high schooler was pointing to little Ashton. The kid was still going at it. He was still slurping down nigger dick at an alarming rate, still gagging, still forcing disgusting ropes of mucus and dicksnot and whatever else that kid's mouth was leaking .
"I'll be damned," Marco said. "The kid is doing it to himself."
"PleaseÉget him off of meÉ" the nigger panted. "I—I already gave himÉso much. SO much cum. I can'tÉI can't make anymore. But he won't—he won't stop. He's a monster."
The two men and the teenager stare at each other in
disbelief. Could it be true? Could little Ashton, who Brent had described as a
precocious, outgoing kid, really be CHOOSING to make such a mess of his face,
his beautiful hair, all for the sake of cum.
"No," Zeke said. "It's not his need. Cum isn't his need. It's thisÉTHIS MESS."
Zeke walked over and grabbed the boy's hair in a squishy fistful. Then he pried the boy off. It was like pulling the kid out of a trance. He stared around at the room, locking his eyes on Brent.
"Hey B—" the kid started to say, but he was cut short when he snorted in a big glob of whatever had been dripping down his nose seconds earlier. When he recovered, he said, "Hey Brent! What are YOU doing here? I was just hanging out with my new friend. His name is—hey?? Where'd he go?"
They looked back from the child, and saw that the sneaky, skinny African childfucker had taken off on his own. How odd.
"Hey, buddy," Brent said in a soft voice. He made his way over to the little guy, and reached his hand up to scoop some of the snot and spit and foam off his right eye."
"No—don't! I—I like it."
All of the men in the room froze. They stared at the redheaded slut-beast-child, who was just happy as a clam in the middle of the room, drenched almost head to toe in his own back-throat-slosh.
"Really, I kindaÉI kinda need it. LikeÉI don't like being dry anymore. Especially in my hair." The kid had a killer smile that never seemed to be washed away.
"Goddamnit," Marco muttered. "What has happened to kids these days?"
"I don't know," Zeke said. "Seems like each one is sicker than—"
"Look," interrupted Brent, "I have to go save my brother. Take me to him, now. Or else I'll go find him myself."
Zeke and Marco shared a knowing stare. Zeke gave his pal a knowing nod and turned to Brent. He didn't have to worry about little Ashton listening in – the kid was busy licking some cocksnot off his little paws.
"Brent, there's something you need to know," Zeke began in a very cautious tone. "Your little brother's in a very dangerous situation. I'm not going to beat around the bush—right now he's sandwiched between two giant black guys, and they're stuffing him from both ends. I'm sorry to put it so bluntly, but little Harry is no longer a virgin in any sense of the word."
Zeke could hardly believe the words as they came out of his mouth. Every day it seemed like the things he was saying (and believing) were less and less foreign. It was as if his brain was evolving as well.
"WhereÉisÉ.heÉ" Brent spoke slowly.
"Now don't go getting all excited—" Marco began, reaching out for the kid's broad shoulder. Brent shrugged him off.
"WHERE IS HE?"
"He'sÉon the top floor. But—" Zeke was too late. The boy was off and running up the stairs—this time the main stairs—toward the top floor. Zeke and Marco set after him, but damn the kid was fast. Zeke and Marco were both fit men, but they were no match for a high school football running back. The kid bounded up the stairs, and soon they heard him reach the top floor.
They stopped and listened. There was the sound of a scuffle, shouting, and then—
A piercing cry breaks the air. A woman. No—not a woman.
"Brent!" Both Marco and Zeke cry out as they run up the stairs. And sure enough, as they turn into the room where little Harry is being kept. They skid into the room and come to a stop.
Zeke's eyes turn first to Brent, who—surprise, surprise—is flat on his stomach, his beautiful bubble butt in the air, screaming like a bitch. Because buried in his muscular ass is the face of none other than Gold Teeth, who has abandoned his post inside little Harry's throat in order to take down Brent. And it worked. That explained one of the THUDS: Gold teeth had taken the kid down HARD—and was now eating him out just as hard.
The source of the other THUD was on the other side of the room. Unfortunately, it looked to be little Harry's head that made the thud. Because once Gold Teeth roughly pulled out of him, the kid just flopped to the floor, drooling and staring off in a hazy, zombified state.
Unfortunately for Harry, Red Bandana didn't see this as a reason to stop his assault on the kid's tiny, white, purebred, rich little hole. No, he was still cramming his dark chocolate hot poker into the child's guts. Like seriously, his cock was somewhere around this kid's spleen at this point.
He had the little tyke by his ankles, and instead of lowering himself down into the child's no-longer-pristine hole, he found it easier to raise the kid up and down. He'd let the poor, withered thing slide down 10.5 inches of his cock, so just the rim of the head was visible, then pull him back up. Inevitably, Harry's head was banged into the floorboards repeatedly.
Zeke truly wanted to believe that the head trauma was what was causing the dumb look on Harry's face. But he knew better.
Not knowing what else to do, Marco and Zeke burst into the room.
"WHAT DA FUCK??" said Red Bandana as he spied the two full grown men, with actual guns.
Marco had his gun pressed against the temple of Gold Teeth, while Zeke was aiming at Red Bandana. The two black guys put their hands in the air.
Brent stood up, now free from his ass-munching spell, and ran over to his little brother, who was still impaled about 9 inches on that horse cock and slowlyÉslidingÉdown.
The high school jock grabbed his little slut brother under the armpits and yanked him.
"GET OFF OF HI—" he started to shout, but stopped when he realized thatÉuh ohÉthe poor little kiddo was STUCK.
"I SAID GET OFF—" he shouted again, but the kid just wouldn't come. He had slipped all the way to the end of the nigger dick, but apparently that fat black mushroom head was pretty persistent in keeping him barbed and attached.
Every time the teenager pulled, the little kid made these silly little noises, like the air was being sucked out of him while he was being punched in the gut. Cutie pie.
Finally, the jock couldn't handle it anymore. He kicked his big Quarterback foot right into Red Bandana's chest, while at the same time he grasped his little bro's hairless pits and YANKED WITH ALL HIS MIGHT.
But it was useless. Though Brent's beautiful biceps were flexing and veins were appearing in his neck (and big teenaged cock) he just couldn't get the darn thing off. ErmÉdid I say thing? I meant grade schooler.
For a long moment, everyone stared as Red Bandana hanged their in the air, the only thing keeping him from falling to floor being his giant throbbing mushroom head. And then.
POOOOOOOP BANG! Down he went, and the child came free with a squeal of delight or scream of horror. Kind of hard to decipher at that point.
Brian pulled his little brother into his arms and hugged him tightly. This gave Marco and Zeke quite the view—of his little asshole. What a mess! The gaping thing was a veritable waterfall of jizz. So thick and gooey that it ran down the kiddo's legs and literally POOLED at Big Brother's big feet. Truly disgusting behavior for a boy his age, don't you agree?
"I think I had enough, Bwent," he said.
Anyway, it was that single moment of joy when the kid finally popped off that gave Gold Teeth and Red Bandana the opportunity to act.
Marco and Zeke spun around to see that both of the black men had pulled their own guns from somewhere.
There was a long moment of silence as all four men in the room pointed their guns at each other. No one moved or said a thing as they stared each other down. Meanwhile, their cocks were all raging hard.
Suddenly, their cocks began to bounce up and down. The two big nigger dicks, the two massive white cocks, all bouncing up and down in unison. Throbbing. To a beat. A beat that could suddenly be heard outside the window.
"What—what's that song?" Zeke said. He recognized the tinny tune. It was so familiarÉsomething that reminded him ofÉchildhoodÉ
"It's the ice cream man! It's the ice cream man!" shouted Harry.
Indeed. The Ice Cream Man had arrived.
That's all for now. Don't forget to hit me up on Yahoo at KentTheWriter, check out my blog at www.kentskorner.tumblr.com, and of course, to take the poll: