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 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!
Secondly, I have decided to revive the polls from my other stories! Here is a link to the poll. Take it! Your answers will help guide the next chapter!
I have more stories to share, but for now, grab your cock and enjoy part 2 of The Epidemic. And remember, don't cum until the end!
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Zeke was too mad himself to look back at his middle son, who he had just fed some serious cock to, and then thrown onto the driveway. It wasn't that he was mad at himself – he was mad at what he had done. He had played the game, whatever kind of fucked up game it was, and he had lost. Whatever had happened to him – and all the men – overnight was more powerful than him. Whatever was coursing through the veins in his perpetually hard and massively thick and long cock was able to overpower him and make him do things – horrible things – to two of the boys he loved the most. And what was worse, whatever was going on with Mason and Cliff and the other boys seemed to be powerful – WAY more powerful – than them. They were completely at a loss for their needs. Mason was a slave to his thirst for cum; Cliff owned by his need to have dick in his gullet while getting verbally harassed like no child his age should.
But as Zeke crossed the driveway, he vowed to stay strong. He knew he had to adapt or survive, so beating himself over what had happened following his son's rescue wasn't worth it. He had to go with the flow, even if that flow meant using his kids for sex. If he panicked, that would mean he would never see his oldest son or his wife again. Though the wife thing wasn't so bad. But it would also mean that he would never figure out what had happened to his sons. And that wouldn't stand. He'd be getting to the bottom of this boy fucking epidemic if it killed him.
He was feeling confident as he turned the doorknob of his home, still smelling the air from the fire across the street. But when he opened the door and saw what was going on in his own living room, all of that confidence was replaced by blind rage.
In the middle of his living room kneeled his little, tiny son, Mason. The kid had the blank eyes and a mouth that seemed to open unnaturally wide for a kid his age – the telltale signs that he was in full zombie mode.
And just inches from that outstretched, pink hole of a mouth he had, was a simply enormous, pale, veiny and smooth white cock. And out of that white anaconda shot what was the largest gob of cum that Zeke had ever seen anyone, shoot, EVER. Even on porn. And do you know where that giant loogie of cock snot went? STRAIGHT into Mason's happy, waiting mouth.
Zeke took just a half a second to look the man attached to the cock that was currently shooting two, three, four and five more giant gobs straight into his baby boy's mouth. He was the youngest guy in the room, and by far the skinniest. But boy was this kid ripped! And that pale monster between his legs is absolutely deadly for that child in front of him. The guy has a fucking PacMan tattoo on his hip bone. He's tall, but lanky, with dark, messy black hair and thick, plastic rimmed glasses.
Those very glasses flew across the room as Zeke tackled the man, knocking him mid-orgasm to the floor. He was so intent on beating up his son's big-dicked assailant that he doesn't even notice that as they fall to the floor, Mason follows with his tongue out, deftly catching some of the cum that's still spewing jizz everywhere, and licking up off the floor what he misses.
Zeke raises back his big arm to punch the guy square in the face, but he feels a hand stop him. He looks back in anger and sees Clark, his read headed, meek neighbor from across the street. Clark! He had given Clark the task of watching over Mason. How could he let this happen? And why was he stopping Zeke from giving the man a pounding of a lifetime?
"CLARK! WHO THE FUCK IS THIS KID AND WHY IS HE IN MY HOUSE?"
"Zeke, please! Calm down. This is PacMan. He goes to high school with your son, Hunter. I saw him outside and called him in – I – I needed help. Mason wasÉexhausting meÉ"
Zeke glanced down at his neighbor's cock, which was usually also pale, thanks to his fair skin, like PacMan's. But now Clark's cock, which was ginormous to begin with, was even bigger because it was swollen, red and throbbing. It had clearly been jacked beyond raw.
"I don't know what happened," Clark continued. "But your son
– he wouldn't stop! It wasn't like when he gets it from you. He was
"How many loads?" Zeke said quietly, trying to control his anger.
"I—I don't think you wanna know."
"HOW MANY LOADS??"
"43," PacMan said in a smug voice. "Well, 43.5 to be exact, if you count that last load."
"FORTY FUCKING THREE LOADS OF SPERM? WE WERE GONE 45 MINUTES!!"
"And a half," PacMan said from his place on the floor.
Zeke was roaring, and about to pound his fist into PacMan again, but this time his fist was stopped by two hands. Two very tiny hands. Two hands belonging to Mason, who had stopped his daddy from beating up the man who just fed him very thick and white cum.
Zeke stood over his bow, towering over him, and looked down at the little guy's big, blue eyes. Damn – how was it that those eyes (when they weren't in zombie mode) were able to make him relax so much? Then Mason threw his arms around his daddy's waist and started kissing his father's hairy sick pack.
"Please daddy," kiss kiss kiss "Don't hurt PacMan. He helped me. It tasted good!"
And then Zeke realizes that Mason isn't kissing his tummy. No, the lil guy is lapping at his dad's abs. Yes, he's lapping at the few splatters of cum he hadn't already guzzled down his little whore mouth. His own son, practically twisting his dad's stomach hairs around his tongue to get every morsel of the cock cream there was to have.
How could Zeke be mad at Nelson for giving the little guy what he needed? He had seen how persistent Mason could be, the boy had always been stubborn. And besides, he saw what happened when Mason went without cum. He took a deep breath and reached his hand out to Nelson, helping the nerdy stud to his feet.
"Right. I'm Zeke."
Zeke came back to his senses, and realized that introductions were necessary. Marco, the burly, hairy cop who had rescued him, had followed Zeke inside, holding in his arms like some twisted King Kong the still passed out man, Jeremy's father. Behind him was Jeremy himself, who only moments ago had been chowing down on stranger ass, and finally Cliff, Zeke's own son, who was still dazed from the rough face fucking he got in the car from his pop.
"Jeremy, what's your dad's name?"
"Dean," Jeremy said in his shy voice.
"Right. Marco, put Dean on the couch over here. This is my neighbor, Clark, and that's PacMan, apparently. This is Clark's son, Nate."
Nate was a teenaged boy, skinny and pale and redheaded like his father. He was picking a red pubic hair from his mouth. "Hello," he said as he examined it, then popped it back into is mouth and swallowed it.
"Clark, everybody, this is Marco. He's on our side. And this is Dean, and his son Jeremy. They're with us too. Clark, can you help Dean? He's been hit on the head and was bleeding pretty bad."
Clark was a nurse, and flew into action when he heard that
someone needed his services. He was a good man like that. "Do you still have
the First Aid Kid I gave out at the block party last year?"
"Yes, it's upstairs in the bathroom."
Without being asked, Clark's Son, Nate, took off up the stairs. He was eager to help his dad, now that he had had his fill of his father's testicles. When he returned, Clark sopped up some of Dean's blood and the man started to come to, still dazed.
"Where—Where am I?" Dean asked.
"What happened while you were gone?" Clark said.
"So who are the boys?" PacMan asked, a bit too hungrily.
"Are you sure you can trust this guy?" Marco asked.
"Where am I?"
"What happened to your son?"
"Will you feed me next time, Daddy?"
"QUIET!" Zeke roared, and the room fell silent. He had leapt up onto the coffee table that stood in the middle of the room, the men and boys in a circle around him. "Listen to me. This is chaos. Everyone in this room is now in my tribe, do you understand? We're in my house, so I'm in charge. If anyone has a problem with that, speak up."
No one spoke up, though PacMan coughed quietly. Zeke gave him a look.
"All right. Then on top of that, everyone in this room has my trust. We are a tribe now, men, like the Cave Man days, and we have to stick together. To stick together, we need a leader, and since you all are turning to me anyway with all your questions, I'll just take on that role myself. Now listen up and I'll tell you all what happened."
Then Zeke filled everyone in on the details of what he knew, what had happened at Jeremy's house with the masked intruder, and everything else he could think of. They all just listened, silently stunned.
"Everyone clear? Now, we need to make a plan. It's not safe here. There are boys everywhere, and our kids are in danger. We need to get out of here. Out of the suburbs. I have a plan, and anyone who likes it can come along. Anyone who doesn't like it is out of the tribe. All right?"
Another long pause of silence. Everyone seemed to agree.
"We'll take the boys in this room and the ones we have in the Paddy Wagon in the back and we'll get them out of here. I know a place in the Redwoods where we can go. I'm a Park Ranger after all, so I have keys to it. It won't be very big, but we can all fit. Some of us might have to sleep on the floor."
"But to get to the redwoods, we'd have to go through the city, won't we?" Clark asks.
"Yes, we will. But if we stick together, we can make it. The only problem is, there isn't enough room for all of us in the police wagon, and my son, wherever he is, has my wheels. Clark's burnt up in the fire."
"I have a car," PacMan said. "It's my mom's Mini Van. Well, it was. I think the rest of us can fit in there."
Zeke looked at the boy. This kid was irritating and strange, but at least now he had a purpose. They all had a purpose. Zeke was their leader. Clark, their medic. Marco, their security. Dean had revealed that he's a city planner, and knows the city like the back of his hand. PacManÉtheir driver.
But as if PacMan could read Zeke's thoughts, he piped up to make it known that he was more useful than just a driver. Pushing up his glasses in a really nerdy way, and taking on a voice of pure pretension, PacMan said, "And ACTUALLY I am the only one who has any sort of idea what's going on."
Everyone looked at him in disbelief, but he kept going as if no one was paying him any special attention.
"Look, clearly whatever's happening has happened a thousand times before. In movies, books, comic books—you name it. This is a pure apocalypse story ripped out of some perv's mind. And I can read that mind. I've read every zombie novel and seen every zombie movie. I know that whoever created this world—and yes, I assure you it was someone specific—he had a mind not unlike mine. So it might be best to keep me around."
After a moment of silence at this speech, all Zeke could say was, "I see." The boy seemed to know what he was talking about, as annoying as he was. Plus, without PacMan they'd be stranded without a way to transport the boys. So it was worth it to let the little weirdo tag along. Plus, his body was fucking hot.
Together, maybe this ragtag group of fathers and friends could protect these boys, and if need be, keep their needs fulfilled until they could figure out a way to undo what had been done to all of them.
"Uh, Zeke? What about the boys in the back?" Marco asked. He had moved to the window and was looking at his police wagon, which was rocking with the weight of the angry boys inside who had been denied what they needed for so long.
Ah yes, the three children in the back of the truck. Zeke had forgotten about them in the hubbub. They were still back there, and he had no idea who they were. But they were sons, and all sons needed protection. He would want someone to protect Mason if he was lost out there in the world. The boys were part of the tribe. And then Zeke said something he never expected himself to say.
"We're gonna have to give them our dicks. Or whatever they want. We can't travel with them like that, and it will keep them quiet. Listen, Men, we need to accept that this is our new duty. To fuck our children. It sucks, and it hurts, but we have to do it. For the boy's sake."
"For the boy's sake," the men all said together. Zeke thought that made a good motto for the gang. And he was happy to see all of the men were listening to him so intently.
"All right. Then let's start bringing in the boys."
Without having to be asked twice, Marco and Clark, who Zeke now saw as his Right-and-Left-men, stood and marched out the busted door leading to the garage and to the driveway.
"Boys, get up on the stairs," Zeke barked at the children in the room: Mason, Cliff, Nate and Jeremy. They didn't need to be asked twice. Like little cock-satiated soldiers, the three boys who had so recently gotten their needs from their fathers, obediently marched up the stairs, their tiny and smooth asses bouncing in unison. When they got to the top, Zeke ordered them to sit and watch through the railing posts.
"YouÉyou sure you want them there?" Dean asked, his voice still ;trembling and weak following his recovery form his head injury.
"Yep. They need to watch. The boys don't understand what they're like when they are in zombie-mode, and the sooner they k now, the better. Got any other questions?"
Dean just leaned back on the couch, clearly in agreement with his newfound leader, or else too woozy from his head wound to suggest that maybe his young son shouldn't watch the methodical man-on-child sex that was about to happen.
But Zeke was already setting up the room. He moved the coffee table aside, and dragged a couch, his muscles bulging, across the room to face the couch already running parallel to the couch where Dean was sitting. Now the two space in between the two couches was clear and wide open, like a stage, with seating on either side. Zeke plopped himself down on the couch next to PacMan, trying hard not to keep his face hard. Trying not to betray the fear – the fear of what Marco and Artie were about to bring through the door. The fear of what kind of disgusting fetish the next child would have in, and who – or what – would have to satisfy the whore-child's needs.
But this was the right thing to do. The children they had picked up were family now, too, along with all the men and boys in the room. If they wanted to band together, this had to happen, so he had to remain strong. Strong for all the men who were now relying on him to keep a hard exterior and maintain calm in this time of utter boyslut chaos.
Zeke's musings are cut short when he hears the snarling from the garage, and then sees Clark and Marco return, holding each arm of the 15 year old boy who had attacked Zeke in the garden, just before Marco saved him. He knew what this one wanted – armpits. He remembered how the boy had feasted on his own sweaty underarms like he hadn't eaten in weeks. And by the look of the brunette's adorable, freckled and twisted face, he was even hungrier now than had been then.
"This one likes pits," Zeke says matter-of-factly. "Anyone want him? It should be a pretty easy one."
Without a moment's hesitation, and with a creepy smile on his face that Zeke does NOT like, PacMan rises from his place on the couch, his long, pale cock at attention, and raises both his hands up in the air. His pits are just as pale as every part of him, and lined with dark hair. A tattoo Zeke hadn't noticed till know of a dragon stretches to his left pit.
The display of these two sweaty armpits is too much for the boy being retrained by the two adults. His boyslut-strength allows him to break free, and in no time he's across the room, his face buried as deep as humanly possible inside the nerdy teenager's armpits.
The boy is somewhere between snarling, growling, moaning and whimpering as he laps at the pits like a hog. But something stranger is happening that has the attention of every other man and boy in the room. As the boy licks, and in time with his hungry pit-laps, PacMan's cock seems to grow bigger, and thicker. It's getting redder too, its paleness fading, and the veins coursing through it are throbbing in rhythm with the licks.
It's pretty clear what's going to happen.
BLAMO! Without touching himself, PacMan throws his head back and unloads a load that, if you can believe it, is even thicker and chunkier than what he had spewed into Mason's throat only a few minutes ago.
Most of it lands on the floor in the middle of the room, pooling at Nelson's feet. And as he begins to come, the boy licking his pits slowly begins to stop lapping hungrily, instead just lazily moving his pick lick tool through the pits already so wet with his saliva. And eventually, he stops entirely.
Unfortunately, the scent and sight of cum has sent off little Mason once more, who seems to bound into full-on Zombie mode. He's near the top of the stairs, watching, and in no time he busts open the wooden posts on the railing blocking him and jumps onto the couch below, landing on Dean's lap.
But he only stays there for a moment, because after all, there's some salty jizz from a stranger's cock right there on the living room floor, and it's still hot. Mason it loves it most when the jizz is still hot from cooking in those tasty balls.
Like a miniature Spiderman, the little tiny boy leaps at least five feet to get to the cum, making pore Dean hurt even more.
But that doesn't seem to bother Mason. The little grade-schooler only has for cum.
Unfortunately, before the disgusting childhood cum addict can make it to the puddle of dirty jizz on the floor, a big, firm hand grabs him by the nape of his neck and literally lifts him off the ground. Mason dangles there, his legs kicking furiously, reaching for the cum, tongue out, while his dad dangles him and gives him a stern look. Because Mason has "fed" only recently, the stern look from Papa actually gets through.
"NO MASON. YOU JUST ATE. And we need you to stay calm. I want you to eat up all the jizz when the men are done. Trust me, there will be a few more loads coming and we'll leave them all right there on the floor where you can get them. But you have to wait, OK?"
These words bring tears to his eyes. "But – but"
"NO BUTTS LITTLE BOY!" Zeke shouts as he drops his kid to the ground and slaps him hard, once on each cheek. That seems to do the trick, and sniffling back his tears, Mason makes his way back up the stairs.
Zeke turns to the teenager who has just spent some time enjoying the armpits of a total stranger.
"What's your name, son?"
"Luke," the boy says.
"Hah! Luke the licker!" PacMan shouts. Zeke gives him a dirty look, but PacMan just smiles.
"Hello, Luke. You're OK. We're here to help you. Do you know where your family is?"
The boy shakes his head. "I was home alone. My mom and dad were out and I haven't seen them since I – since I startedÉneeding those." He nods at the arm pits. "What's happening to me?"
"I don't know, son," Zeke says, patting the boy reassuringly. "But we're gonna find out. We'll find your family too. But in the meantime, you're part of our family, OK?"
The boy nods. He's strikingly handsome for a young teenager, looking a bit old for his age, and very well defined, though skinny. His brown hair is wiry, much like armpit hair, and judging by his sizable teen cock, he's a Jew.
"Now run up the stairs with the rest of the kids. We have one more boy to take care of. Marco, Artie—go get the next one." Zeke tries once again to hide his fear. He knows what the next boy is like. He remembers him from the encounter outside. The boy had tried to slam himself down on Zeke's dick. The kid was impossibly small and just as young as Mason. And he wanted to get fucked. Who would fuck the kid?
He looks to Marco and Artie, and notices that neither of them have moved. He raises his eyebrows in question.
"I uh—I can't get the next one," Marco says, hanging his head.
"Why not?" Zeke asks.
"BecauseÉbecause he's my son."
The room falls silent. Marco's SON? MARCO'S SON? The tiny, innocent little boy gagging for cock up his ass is Marco's SON? Holy shit! Zeke thought he had it bad, his youngest being a total cumhound, but at least his son didn't need to get his guts rearranged by cock. Good lord!
"Do youÉdo you know his need?" Zeke asks carefully.
"Yes," Marco says. "It's worse than you think."
"I know what it is," Zeke says, putting a hand on his new friend's big, broad shoulder.
"No, you don't. It's not just that he wants to get fucked. It's that he—he—I can barely say it. He likes to clean off cock after it's been—soiled. He likes to lick dirty dick. GODDAMNIT! MY LITTLE SON IS ADDICTED TO LICKING COCK THAT IS COVERED IN BOY PUSSY JUICE!"
The men and boys in the room gasp as this revelation. A boy who likes to lick dirty cock? At that young age? How is it possible?
"Well, it has to be done," Zeke says quietly after a few moments have passed. "But you should decide who will do the deed. We're all family now. Whoever you want to do it will do it. Whoever you choose will man up, right men?"
All of the men in the room nod, each one looking at the ground. It's clear none of them really feel up to the task of anally raping a child and then feeding him their dirty cock. But it's a dirty boyfucking job and someone has to do it.
The men are all standing now in a circle around Marco. The big, burly, hairy wolf of a man looks at the men around him, taking each on in carefully, considering their cocks. Which one would give his son what he needed? Which one would take his son's virginity?
His first inclination is to look to Zeke. He is their leader after all. But one look at the tool between the man's legs – which is big and hairy and throbbing hard at this point – and he knows that the nearly 15 inch fuck tool would do irreparably damage to his child's untouched fuckhole.
Then he looks to Artie. The man is a good man, Marco can tell, and though his tool is extremely, devastingly huge, it might just do the trick for his slutson. But then he looks at Clark's nut, the once-pale sack completely red and raw. Fuck! His child has even sucked all those redheaded pubes off his father's ballsack. How disgusting. No, Artie clearly needed to rest.
Dean was the next option—but Marco had to rule him out pretty quickly for one reason and one reason alone – the man's cock head. While his dick length was only about a foot, shorter than the other men in the room, and his girth was slightly less than a beer can, what he "lacked" in his shaft he more than made up for with his insane cockhead. It was about the size and color of a delicious, big, juicy red apple, though he had never seen an apple throb like that. And while the rest of the cock would be a peach compared to the other dicks in the room, envisioning that mushroom head of doom popping into his son's virgin hole was far too much.
That left PacMan. PacMan who had deliberately dumped buckets of cum into a stranger's young son. PacMan who had willingly lifted up his arms and let a handsome teenager munch on his hairy pits. PacMan who said vile, hateful things with a smile on his face—the clear misfit of the group. Marco hated nerds, always had, and so PacMan was definitely not going to be the one to take his son.
So who could do it? Marco found his answer when he looked down.
Between his legs, Marco's cock had grown to proportions he never thought possible. It was literally bouncing up and down as he considered his options, the head rising and falling in an arc almost a foot high. It was as if it was nodding at him, saying, "Yes, it's me. I'm the one. I'm the one who has to chart into uncharted territory known as your son's guts. I'm the only one who can give your son what he needs – a vicious anal pounding for his first time, followed by some heavenly cock gobbling. And deep down, you know some part of you wants to watch that, Marco. You want to watch your son clean off his virginal cunt juices and whatever else is coating your cock after you give him the pounding of a lifetime. And the time is now."
"Go get my son," Marco barked, grabbing his cock with both hands, "and clear a space."
The men didn't have to be told twice. Zeke dismissed PacMan, Dean and Artie to go out to the car. He needed a word with Marco, his best pal, who was clearly having a bit of a freak-out. The man was jerking his cock wildly, and his gorilla dick was bigger and thicker than it had ever been. But what was going on in the man's groin was very different from what was going on in his head, Zeke could see. The man was freaking out, trying to cope with the fact that in just a few seconds, he'd be preparing to slide the massive, painful tool he was currently double fisting into his young, tiny, only son. How could it be that one man's cock could want the VERY opposite of what his brain told him to do? And how could it be that the cock was going to win out?
"Marco, look at me," Zeke said, placing a firm hand on his new friend's round shoulder, and commanding his gaze.
The two hulking, muscled, hairy, big-dicked fathers stared each other in the eye. Two men in a new world.
"Listen to me, Marco. I know we don't know each other well, but I trust you and I think you trust me. So I'm going to tell you the truth. You are doing the right thing. The creature that is about to come through that door isn't your son, what's his name?"
"Bry," Marco says, barely speaking.
"Ok. There is no more Bry. Not right now. Bry has checked out, and been taken over by a wild animal. A viscous creature. So I want you to stop thinking of him as your son, or your Bry, or your little tyke or your tiger or whatever fucking nicknames you have for the kid. You need to start thinking of him as Ôit.'"
"'It?'" Marco asked, his voice every so slightly stronger.
"Yes, It. It's a thing. Not a child. A cock-addicted animalboy, not the little baby you sprung forth from your massive cock. He's in serious need of gut rearranging, because he is not your little pal, your special little guy or your grade-school smartie anymore. He's been taken over by some strange, terrifying beast. And I know you want to save your son from that beast. But the only way to do that, is to feed the beast what it needs. Capiche?"
Zeke could barely believe the words coming out of his mouth. Marco was apparently in shock, because he was staring blank-eyed at Zeke. So Zeke gave his friend a hard slap across the face to bring him back to reality. The reality of a world where boys were made by their fathers to be used, sexually. The way life should be.
Marco recovered from the shock by stroking at double-time, up and down his yardstick of a dick.
"What is that thing out there in the garage?" Zeke asked.
"WHAT IS THAT THING THAT WAS ONCE YOUR CHILD?"
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" Zeke said in his best drill sergeant voice.
"A WILD ANIMAL THAT IS OBSESSED WITH HIS FATHER'S COCK! A CHILD THAT NEEDS ME TO PLUNGE INTO HIM, MUCK UP WHATEVER IT IS HE LOVES SO MUCH< AND FORCE FEED IT TO MY CHILDSLUT ANIMAL BEAST!"
Dean, PacMan and Artie returned with the very animal beast he was discussing just in time for the cockhound to hear his father say these words. Not that any of it got through. The kid was foaming at the ass, gagging and whining like a sick puppy, snarling for his father.
Artie and PacMan figured that whatever Marco had just yelled was enough for them, and released the child. You'd think a kid that hungry—the only child in the room who hadn't gotten his fix yet—would be able to make it to his father in a half a second. And he was. But his father was able to make it to him in a quarter of a second, being a full grown man, and he tackled his son in the middle of the room, falling with the kid in his arms down into the pool of cum that Mason was still eyeing so thoroughly.
The weight of a large, full grown, muscular man was apparently a bit much for the little tyke to handle, because he was momentarily stunned. Which gave Marco just enough time to grab the boy and flip him over so that the tiny little guy was on his stomach face down in the puddle of man jizz.
The men and children watching had a chance to marvel at the contrast between father and son. While Marco was the most bulky, hairiest guy in the room, with dark Italian features, olive skin and messy, wiry black hair, little Bry—the animal slut—-couldn't be more different. They shared the same wiry hair, though Bry's was a bit longer. The kid was TINY, tinier even than Mason. He had none of the bulk of his father, though that might be because he was till years away from puberty. But his frame looked delicate and breakable under his smooth, white skin. But apparently he was pretty sturdy, because Marco didn't mind pressing the kid down into the cummy floor with one fist as hard as he could, and pinning his son there.
"YOU ASKED FOR IT, YOU GOT IT! NOW GET READY TO GIVE ME MY SON BACK!" Marco screamed at his own son.
Then the room was rendered silent by a horrifying squelching, ripping, tearing, stretching sound broke across the room. There was just a single second of silence. Then the screams began.
It was hard to tell with little Bry whether the screams were because he was finally starting the first journey to his first new meal of his lifetime. Daddy-bum-sperm-fuckjuice or whatever it is the slut likes. OR are they screams of pain at the feeling of a softball-sized cockhead, wielded by none other than Dear Old Dad, ripping his virginity into a million pieces. And at such a young age! But for the sake of argument, let's assume they were screams of happiness at finally getting what he wanted. Otherwise, the rest of this chapter may be a little upsetting.
Because Marco was so in the zone, buried a few inches into his offspring, that the screams didn't startle him for a minute. No, the defunct police officer just leaned forward pretty quickly, watching with a grunt as his fuck tool was sent to the rescue, straight into his boy's guts.
There was a bit of magic in the air, because that boy's torso was NO WHERE near as long as his father's. And yet the child made room. He cleaned his little butt hole and found some extra space, because in no time dad was buried in. He was crushing his son down into the pool of cum, and he was so much bigger the kid just wasn't visible anymore. He lay there for a second, allowing his cock to really sit in his child, only moving his hips back and forth.
Meanwhile, Bry's screaming didn't let up, though they were comically muffled by his father's weight. What's going through the slut's mind? Is he able to figure out that the pain in his tummy is going to translate into the fulfillment of his need? Can he wait any longer for his dad to withdraw, so he can see the remnants of his virginity on his father's insanely long pole? And then lick it up? Or is he just totally zoned out zombie slut boy?
Marco was moving his big ass in wide circles, like he was dipping a dipstick into a paint can. He was clearly cleaning out the boy's insides, making sure he really coated his meat in his son's innards. How did he know to do this? Was there something-some father son bond—that told him to do this? Would the other men have known how to so thoroughly gather the slutgunk inside the kid? Your guess is as good as mine.
But finally, he seemed to think he had gotten enough, and with another horrifying squelch, he withdrew every inch of his dick from his boys' guts. Then he fell back onto his hands, letting his son get up, his still hard and throbbing cock thoroughly coated in shiny childslut slime.
And though he had just taken more than a foot of cock, and though he was still only able to get through half of his ABC's and didn't know how to multiply, the little guy was well enough to get up and crawl, slowly, his hindquarters limping a bit, so that his face was in his father's legs.
And he looked up at the cock towering above him. Licked his lips. And leaned forward.
I want you to imagine that for a moment. Picture the boy, smiling despite his red eyes and tear-streaked cheeks, leaning forward, tongue out and inches from the underside of his father's gargantuan cockhead. In just milliseconds, the little grade-schooler will taste something no child he knows has ever tasted. His own interior. And what tool will distribute this delicious gift? Well the intense and scary meat that was just buried in him – his dad's!
Yes, as Bry would have said, had he been able, "Daddy you fucked me weal hawd!" But he couldn't speak. He could only faceplant into his fathers dick, where he began lapping hungrily. He spent time sucking on the head, in an adorable way trying to fit the whole thing in. When that didn't work, he started to go for the kiss-and-lick-method, spending extra time digging deep into his father's piss slit.
"That's it boy," Marco was saying, "Lick it up."
But then something unexpected happened. When the kid got to the underside of his dad's cockhead, he accidentally nipped his dad a bit with his puppy teeth in his eagerness to taste his own butthole. It hurt Marco, made him yelp – but it also did something to his dick. It made it explode.
Yes, a fireworks display of jizz showered over Bry and the floor, and Bry could only watch. He was slowly coming back to himself, less insane with hunger, but still awed by the thick ropes of jizz that shot a foot high in the air, then landed down on hi m.
Of course, this also got the attention of Mason, who was watching form the stairs. But Zeke was too shocked by the whole thing to stop his son this time.
Suddenly, Marco was sitting with a still-ejaculating dick, in a pool of cum, with the two youngest and tiniest boys in the room. Finally the cum stopped showering down, and a few spurts dripped down the dick.
Mason went to down on the pool on the floor, even lapping underneath Marco's thick thighs and ass to get it all. He didn't seem to mind the dust on the floor. At the same time, Bry was back on his father's cock, sucking and licking hungrily at the whole mess. Including the cum.
Mason noticed this as he pulled his face out of the puddle on the floor, his cute little mug dripping with cold floor-jizz.
"Do you like that stuff too, Bry?" He asked in his "Do you wanna play?" voice from days of yore.
"This white stuff! Yeah! It tastes good. You like it?" said Bry in an unbelievably tiny voice, in between laps of dirty dick of course.
"OH!" Bry said excitedly. "Then you gotta try this!" He gestured to Mason to Join him. Mason obeyed, and Bry grabbed his father's dick in both hands, and turned it so a part of the cock that wasn't covered in fresh cum was exposed.
Mason looked at it, sniffed it, and then to the shock of every adult in the room, stuck out his tongue and started lapping at it.
"Yum!" he said. "I like this stuff too! Do you mind sharing?"
And just like that, Mason and Bry became best of friends, sharing their needs, and working together to clean of Zeke's now spent cock. They were like little explorers, pointing out different parts to clean up to each other, comparing tastes, laughing all the while. The men were either too shocked or too exhausted to interfere.
The rest of the men reclined on the couches, watching the spectacle, waiting for it to be over. But the boys were thorough! Finally, after nearly an hour, the two of them couldn't find anything else disgusting to lick, and the both had bloated tummies.
Zeke took this as his cue to get up.
"All right. Everybody upstairs. We have enough bedrooms for all of you. We're going to sleep for a few hours, and then I want everyone back here at 4am. We're heading to the city."
That's all for now. Don't forget to vote in the poll!