Date: Sat, 24 Nov 2012 07:55:17 +0000 From: Rob Armstrong Subject: Spike's Piercing Parlour 14 - Hallowe'en Family Balling 5 SPIKE'S PIERCING PARLOUR, PART FOURTEEN: HALLOWE'EN FAMILY BALLING 5 THIS STORY CONTAINS THEMES OF INCEST BETWEEN FATHERS AND THEIR 18/19 YR OLD SONS, WATERSPORTS AND DOMINATION. THESE CHARACTERS EXIST IN AN AIDS FREE, CONSEQUENCE FREE, FANTASY PARALLEL UNIVERSE AND ARE NOT TO BE EMULATED. PLEASE SUPPORT NIFTY WITH YOUR DONATIONS AND KEEP THIS INCREDIBLE RESOURCE GOING. CONCLUSION OF SERIES FINALE (part five) WITH THANKS TO MY READERSHIP Earlier that evening, Clay, Thor, Spike, Doc and Farello watched their handiwork with pride and rampant desire as two teams' worth of naked jocks were loaded into their positions in the standing stones - stripped, boned up, weak with lust, putty in the hands of their captors. Clay snuggled back into his naked father, enjoying his dad's hands on his dick. Thor ran his tongue over his son's neck. 'Nice goin', boy - you and Spike played your parts well.' 'Thanks, Dad - thought Spike wouldn't to let us in for rea...' But suddenly Clay broke free of the embrace and stepped forwards, peering into the gloom ahead. 'Where's Moose?' 'Big furry linebacker with long hair?' enquired Spike. 'Yeah, saw him sneak out a few minutes back. Probably tryin' to escape...' Farello was horrified. 'WHAT? But that homophobic little shit could make more trouble for us than anyone if he's loose. His father's a police sergeant in this district.' But Spike and Doc seemed totally unconcerned. 'Trust me,' said Spike, 'He ain't goin' nowhere. He'll be back.' 'But how can you be so sure?' asked Farello. 'Yeah,' put in Clay, 'And how come Doc's oil stuff didn't work on him? Moose is the last person I woulda said had the strength of character to resist.' Doc rubbed his chin thoughtfully - and then went back to groping Spike's ass. 'It isn't down to character but dumb luck. The formula is effective on 99.7% of the male population. Your Moose falls into the other 0.3%. Plus you said he's homophobic? Often a sign of closeted gay inclinations. If he was already sexually excited before we hit him with the oil vapour, that could have lessened the effects as well.' When Spike later reported Moose slipping into that fissure in the rock wall behind the hot spring, Clay knew he and Doc had been right. 'Tolja!' stated Spike smugly, 'There he goes, meek as a lamb.' 'He'll come out to play when he's good and ready,' added Doc. Thor nodded, satisfied. 'Let's just hope Symansky and Rogers do their part with the dads. I sewed the seeds, gave Howard's dad the card.' By now Clay's construction buddies and an assortment of Spike's regulars had started to seduce the players, licking and fingering what flesh was still exposed by those granite and dirt standing stones. There was a high-pitched, choking sob from one of the jocks. 'Not my hole, man... oh Godddd... my pooor hoooole...!' 'There goes the first cherry of the evenin'!' crowed Spike. It set off a domino effect of similar laments, up and down the concourse... 'Motherrr of Goddddd...' came the jocks' wailing cries, '...oh Goddd that hurrts... take it ouuuu.... ohhhhh yeahhhh.... arghhh... ungh...' ...as, one by one, each virgin jockhole was breached forever... Spike noticed Farello hopping from foot to foot eagerly. 'Go,' he told him, 'Break in some jock ass, you done your part, so enjoy! But remember you an' the others got one hour to get inta costume!' Cock dribbling, the light of rut-lust in his eyes, the coach hurried off to breed the cunt of as many of his young charges as he could drive his dick into. Doc wasn't far behind him. Back up in the studio, Spike and the Larsens set about putting up the black drapes and transforming it into the coat check area. Len Wiseman was there, putting the finishing touches to his black kohl eyeliner and stuffing padding into the bra of his mummy costume. 'Contrary to popular opinion,' he griped, 'not all gay men actively enjoy dressing up as a woman!' 'Sorry, Lenny,' Clay said with a shrug,'You're the only one with the right build to pull it off - or the acting skills.' 'Quit bitchin', Cleopatra!' growled Spike, 'Ya ain't the only guy here who enjoys takin' it up the shitter, so get offa ya soap box!' 'Can it, Captain Eloquence!' retorted Len, fearless as ever, 'Last time I checked I was the only one with balls big enough to come out!' And Spike canned it - actually chuckling under his breath. Thor and Clay looked at each other in wonder. NOBODY but Lenny could have gotten away with that. The rapport between this unlikely duo was proving quite the revelation. Another guy appeared, wheeling in the clothing rails. Clay saw it was the hot young bear cub he had spied Lenny sitting with before the game. Odd. He wasn't the type he thought Lenny would have gone for. The guy was pretty overweight, but it suited him. The open collar of his plaid shirt revealed a furry body. He was very handsome, a lush beard lining his jaw, his hair trimmed to a close crop - and the most beautiful, startling green eyes that Clay had ever looked into. Clay was poleaxed. He had to gulp before he could speak. 'Erm... so Lenny,' he had to clear his throat, 'Harrumph! Aren't you going to introduce me to your date?' Lenny glanced round from his make-up mirror. He looked from Clay to the young bear. He spotted instantly the connection between them... ... and beamed with pleasure. 'Go easy with this one, Romeo,' he instructed Clay softly, 'He needs VERY careful handling - he's one of the gentle ones.' The bear cub colored and gave a sweet, shy grin. 'Lenny and I are't each other's dates, we're just buddies...' Clay went white. It was the shy smile that did it. That, and the gentle way in which the speaker corrected a misconception. 'They're not comic books,' Clay quoted, 'They're graphic novels.' Oreo Joe's smile widened. 'You remembered.' Clay shook his head in disbelief. 'My God, Joe - I never would have... Hey, Wiseman, I thought you didn't do makeovers?' Lenny pretended to be having trouble with his fake boobs. 'Yeah, well... a haircut and contacts do not a makeover... erm... make. Anyway, I had great material to work with.' Clay nodded, drinking in the sight of Joe Foster. 'Yes, you did.' And suddenly - unaccountably - it was Clay who felt shy and unsure of what to say. Joe stated firmly that he wasn't planning on staying for the festivites down below - he was just here to help for the set-up - and he resisted all of Clay's persuasion to the contrary. What Clay, Thor and Spike had planned simply wasn't Joe's scene. But as Joe was leaving, when everybody else was occupied, Clay made sure he got a kiss goodnight. And that Joe did grant, with pleasure. It was a kiss that bolted thru Clay's tongue, thru the centre of his being, and earthed finally thru his feet. In years to come, in spite of all the hot action that followed, that kiss was the memory Clay cherished most from that night. Hours later, Thor and Clay, dressed as pornographic superhero and his boy wonder sidekick, were entertaining an audience of devoted regulars and some new dad-and-jock fans in the wet bar. Father and son appeared standing knee deep in the piss tub. Dressed only in silvery masks and short capes, they pressed the undersides of their throbbing fucksticks together and performed their signature 'human fountain' routine, where they both let fly with a heavy load at the same moment. A double geyser of hot yellow piss gushed up from their crotches, straight up into the air, before raining down upon their tanned bodies, and into their open mouths. There were whoops and cheers from the floor, and even from one or two of the jocks handcuffed to the long urinal. Their dads were so inspired by the display that they immediately hurried over to their boys to give them a much-needed drink straight from the faucet - to say nothing of a good hosing down. The Larsens shared each other's piss load in a long frenching session. When they were done they took in the scene all around them and high-fived each other. They had done it. The evening was a runaway success. Spike's original vision had been brought to life. Fathers and sons were fucking everywhere. The smell of animal rutting challenged even the stench of piss in this place. So typical of sports-driven dads, men were getting competetive about their sons' sexual abilities and versatility - and were more than delighted to prove their claims. Fathers had their sons bent over, generously holding their asses wide for any big-dicked passer by who cared to seed their boys' cunts. 'Look at all the dick my boy can take,' was the new boast, 'Can your kid take the length of that big guy's whanger?' 'My kid? My kid can take two dicks at a time - watch this!' 'Dad? Dad, what the fuck? Mr Jameson's already fucking me!' 'Just keep ridin' on his dick, son. Keep goin', Jameson - no don't pull out! Just gonna sliiide on up behind my boy...' 'Argh! Dad, stop that - SHIT! Pull out, pull out, you're splittin me apmmmmmmmpfff!' 'Ssshhh, son, don't fuss, I'm tryin' ta make a point to that overbearin' jackass over there...' 'Mmmmmmpffff!' 'Oooh yeah! Nice, tight boycunt. God, Jameson, your dick feels incredible, glidin' up alongside mine up my boy's chute...' 'Mmmmmpff... mmmmmm.... mmm... nnngh... nnngh... nnngh...' 'That's it, son, if ya relax I can take my hand off ya mouth!' 'Nnnngh... ohhhh Dadddd... so fulllll... so fullll...' 'Hey, Jameson - kiss me while we dick my boy, ya handsome fuck!' Wet, slurping sounds... tongues everywhere. 'Oh, yeah, son, shove ya tongue in as well - my kid's a great kisser, Jameson, ya gonna love his salty spit...' More frenching, spitting into open mouths... licking, tonguing... ...until... 'Ah, shit, willya look at that? Bastard's done started fistin' his boy, now. Son...?' 'Dad... no! No... ohhhh Goddd... I said nnn... argh... four fingers already?...so easy... yeahhhh... do it Dad... go for the thumb... stretch my hole like spandex.. ...let's show those assholes... oooof! ...unghhhh...' And so it went on. Some of the more seasoned boy-fuckers had to restrain overenthusiastic fathers from doing damage to their sons' holes in the spirit of macho rivalry. Thor and Clay were just wondering where Spike had gotten to - he was missing all the action - when the man in question burst in from the direction of the latrines. He and the three sports coaches were carrying none other than that scourge of the underdog and terror of the nerd - Moose Bruckner! They carried Bruckner at shoulder height like he was a fucking table. The guy struggled and writhed, but it was hopeless in the grip of such a massively muscled quartet. All eyes turned to this new scene and everyone followed them over to the bar towards the back of the dungeon. Each of Moose's captors took a limb and secured it firmly with good strong rope, until the bully was spreadeagled on his back. The crowd of onlookers cheered as his enormous, furry torso rippled and heaved, fighting against his bonds, slick with sweat from his efforts... ...his dick never subsiding for an instant... 'Get the fuck offa me, you queer bunch of homo fags...' he wailed, the deeper notes of hopelessness clear in his voice. 'Homo fags?' Spike snarled - a pretty fearsome expression at the best of times, but in his current getup, utterly terrifying. 'As opposed to what, genius? STRAIGHT fags? God, ya too fuckin' stupid to be left wanderin' free. We gonna bitch ya, fucker, an' get ya collared before ya do yuhself a damage...' Moose was sobbing now. 'Not my ass, man... pleeease, don't stick my ass... glommm!' Moose's head was clear of that end of the bar. At Spike's signal, Symansky had pulled it back by his long mane of hair and plugged his open mouth with his dripping fucktool. Splutter! Choke! Cough! Cough! Retch! Thrust - thrust - thrust - thrust - Gurgle! Regurge! Choke! Strangle! Symansky pulled out for a moment. He pulled Moose's head up again so he could watch Spike grab the jock's dick firmly... as his devil's forked tongue flickered out and danced over the shiny helmet. Spike gave Moose an open-mouthed, needle-toothed grin of hunger. Moose wailed in superstitious dread... Spike touched... just... touched... the tips of his fangs to the tender flesh around the rim of Moose's helmet... Moose froze in place, hardly daring to breathe... A little pressure from Spike's jaw now. The flesh... dimpled... not quite breaking... as Spike moved his jaw in a slight... chewing... motion... A high whimpering tried to escape the back of Moose's throat... ...and then Spike began to swirl that tongue back and forth across the sensitive glans... swirling in circles... brushing up and down... ...one tine of that tongue beginning to slither down into Moose's piss slit... drilling... drilling.... Moose's cry began to break free from its bonds... And then suddenly Spike opened his jaws wide and plunged Moose's dick all the way down his deep, deep throat like a starving anaconda... This time Moose's head went back of its own accord, as Spike vacuuumed his dick, stroking it up and down, massaging it with is throat. Moose's hips began to buck... ...and that was when Spike pulled off his now red and angry member, a narrow steel sound suddenly appearing in one hand, which he swiftly plunged down Moose's piss tube before he could draw the next breath. At the sight of his steel-raped dick, Moose's eyes flew wide and his jaw dropped open in soundless shock. Spike slowly rotated the tool in its new home and began to gently work it up and down, jacking Moose from the inside. Farello and Rogers fell upon Moose's nipples and began feeding. Symansky once again took advantage of that open mouth and continued raping Moose's throat. They heard no more from Moose for the next few minutes, other than the gulping and glomming of a novice throat struggling to adapt to the thick, hot coach meat that battered and filled it... Thrust - thrust - thrust - thrust - Gurgle! Gurgle! Huagh! Gurgle! Thrust - thrust - thrust - thrust - Gurgle! Glomm! Gulp-gulp! Nomm! Thrust - thrust - thrust - thrust - Nomm! Nomm! Nomm! Nomm! Thrust-thrust-thrust-thrust... Nomm-nomm-nomm-nommmmmmmm..... Now Moose's head was coming up WITH Symansky's dick, trying to follow it, hold onto it, in spite of the painful grip Coach had on his scalp.... Spike, meanwhile, withdrew the sound... and replaced it with a thicker one... Symansky watched that steel upgrade drilling into Moose's piss slit and the sight sent him over the edge. He barked and thrust just one last time, pulling back slightly so as to be sure it was the jock's mouth that got flooded with his first taste of mancream... Semen spilled out of Moose's mouth, but a good deal he swallowed reflexively. In a daze, he allowed a thick film to remain coating his tongue... The first he knew of what was coming next was the unmistakable buzz of electric hair clippers... ...Moose's blood ran cold... 'Nuh...' he uttered thickly, 'Nuh.. nuh... not my hair, man...' Spike laughed like the very Devil he emulated, as he switched places with Symansky at the jock's head and brandished the clippers. When Spike gripped his long hair and ran the clippers slowly, inexorably through Moose's scalp, the jock let loose a scream of visceral, almost physical torment - as if, instead of a mere haircut, he were being scalped like an unlucky fronteirsman in the old West. The cry came deep from his soul, ripped from his core... his essence... his very manhood... In all but the physical sense of the word, regardless of what was to follow, this was the true moment of Maurice 'Moose' Bruckner's deflowering. A hush fell, the crowd feeling the magnitude of the moment. And then, when Spike triumphantly held a fistful of long dark hair aloft, they errupted in a blast of cheering and whooping - a few of the more tasteless even giving vent to Apache warcries. Expertly shorn, his head naked save for a uniform zero crop of stubble, Moose lay trembling and beaten, his face blotchy, tearstained. And then out came the straight razor - and even that ghost of his former magnificence was denied him. In no time his scalp gleamed, pink and shiny. By now Symansky had exchanged the sound in Moose's dick for the next grade up... Out came the clippers again and Spike changed the guard. This time Moose just watched, defeated, all fight gone from him, as Spike began to systematically clip and then shave every hair from his body. He didn't even try to make a break for it when they loosened his bonds to turn him over and do his back. For this, Moose was kept on all fours on the counter top, ass up, head down in submission. Men masturbated their sons and the jocks their dads as they watched the unfolding ritual. Their team captain was being stripped of everything that had made him the alpha male. The top dog. It was primal, the toppling of a king... the ultimate subjugation... ...and it made them all horny as rutting hogs... It was with mixed feelings that Clay looked on, as boned up and dripping as the rest of them, but he alone refrained from jacking his dick. Moose was undoubtedly receiving his just desserts... but they had been friends once. Who knew? Perhaps one day they could be again. Clay's own first experiences in this dungeon had been the making of him. Perhaps they would be for Moose as well. A new shout went up from the bar. Spike held up a butt plug for all to see. The business end was a long slender teardrop of black rubber, the neck attached to a long devil's tail, similar to Spike's own. It was fully animatronic, powered by D-cells, the tail swishing and the plug itself not only vibrating but twitching, bending and flexing. No wonder Spike had a big smile on his face all evening. He switched the thing off for a moment and lubed it up generously. Fresh tears coursed down Moose's face as he felt the tip kiss his brown eye, but he otherwised made no complaint. His face creased in pain as the toy pushed through his ring and glided up his anal passage... And then, when the plug was properly lodged... Spike threw the tiny switch to activate it... Spike had to step back sharply as the tail came to life on its random programme of movements and darn near took his eye out. But the wasn't the only thing that got animated. Moose was wide-eyed and panting as that toy rocked and rolled inside of him. His features scrunched up small in pain and then widened out again in surprise. In, out, in, out... And then his panting deepened to a low grunting. He lowered his upper body to the counter top and left his ass in the air, dancing... Rogers fastened a leather slave collar around his neck. Spike and the others untied him and hauled him down from the bar. The crowd parted and made a path to the urinal as Moose was frogmarched over there. The other slaves were set free and Moose was made to sit in the trough alone, right on top of that butt plug, ass deep in a river of piss. His tail swished, flicking cold piss in his face. Again his arms were spread wide and they handcuffed him to the piping above his head. For the first time, Moose was clearly displayed in his new nakedness. The macho ape man was gone. In his place was a slave, a pinkly gleaming bald adonis of massive muscle. Spike fastened a smaller version of his horned headdress to Moose's head and the image was complete. A collared, slave demon. For the next twenty minutes, Moose was the sole subject of that urinal. All focus was on him, and the assembled crowd gave generously, pissing over Moose from head to toe, washing all the last loose hairs from his recently shaved body. Moose's admirers unloaded over him - sometimes two, three men at a time. It was interesting to see that every one of his teammates - including Clay - stepped up to baptise the Moose into his new life as a pig slave fagboy... ...butt plugged and a steel sound still lodged in his dick... But he wasn't there quite yet. So far he merely accepted the never ending golden shower as a just punishment... 'Oh no...' he could be heard to mutter, half-crazed since the loss of his hair, '...pissin' all over me... even my buddies... ooooh... ahhh... that fuckin' rubber thing rapin' my ass... my poor, straight jock ass... no fair... uhhhh... ahhhh... it twitches deep up inside me, man...' But then a little old bear with a massive furry paunch, man tits and saggging ass walked up. Instead of spraying Moose with his piss, he turned around and planted his old asshole on Moose's face. For a moment the ghost of the old Moose could be heard. 'Mmmlf.. FUCK, get offa me ya filthy ol' pervert!' But his heart wasn't in it... and the dirty old guy bore down hard... ...As Clay had once been obliged before him, Moose now had to make the choice between rim or suffocate... The tubby old bear suddenly sighed in pleasure at the first touch of Moose's tongue. And in no time he was gasping, as Moose found his inner slut and practically sucked out the contents of the old timer's shit-chute... The rim session musta gone on for ten miutes, easy, during which the old guy's eyes were nearly crossing. He lifted off Moose's mouth every so often so everyone could enjoy the self-flagellating commentary that Moose was keeping up... 'Oh nooo... skanky old guy-ass in ma fuckin' face... mmmmllppp... sluuuurp... doin' me dirty... me... a fuckin' jock... fuckin' cap'n of the fuckin' TEAM, man... mmmmmnnnnfff... could get prime cheerleader pussy any time I want... 'stead o' this skanky ol' homo's shitty ass in ma face...' Spike regretted not planting a mic at the urinal to record it, it was so priceless... 'Old enuff ta be ma grandpaw... mmmmnnnnfff, thlurrrrp, lickkkk... punishin' me... punishin' his grandson, cos I been bad.... mmmmmmnnnff... I been so damn meeean to all of them.... thluuuurp... cos I'm jus' a worthless shit-bag... yeahhhhh... do it, grandpappy, I got it comin'... I deserve ya shitty old ass in ma face.... mmmmmnnnnfff... thluuurppp... oink... thluuurpppp... sluuuurppppp..... yeahhh.... unghh... do it grandpaw... shit in ma mouth.... mmmmmffff.... oink.... scarffff... oink, oink... woof! Woof! Lick! Lick! Nommm-nom-nom-nom-nom....' The old guy ground his ass in Moose's face, while he reached down and worked the sound up and down in his dick... 'Yeahhh.... grandpa ass... gonna visit my own grandpa every day from now on... give him a bed bath with ma tongue... lift his legs up and eat his dirty ass out... nom-nom-nom-nom... Woof! Jus' like I'm eatin' you, grandpappy...' When the old bear finally pulled off, turned and pissed in Moose's red face, Moose opened wide and stuck out his tongue so as not to miss a drop... 'Glug-glug-glug-glug... mmmmmm.... yeahhh.... gaaaaargle...' There would have been a free-for-all then - but Spike had plans, so he and Symansky stepped in and quickly uncuffed Moose from the pipe. The dragged him instead over to the piss tub and threw him in. Moose cried out, churning the yellow waters of the bath as he wallowed in them, nearly drowning himself in gallons upon gallons of fresh, steaming hot manpiss. The free-for-all was now a go - as everyody directed their jets into the tub. Lost to shame by now, Moose splashed around going from this dick to that, eager to have at least a taste of everbody's piss before their supply ran dry. The tide mark rose higher and higher. Guys were running to and from the bar with bottles of water to reload their bladders before the piss orgy passed. Thor and Clay were there too. Moose fully fellated both of them - their piss bypassing his mouth entirely and heading straight to his stomach - before accidentally pulling them in on top of him in his enthusiasm. Then were were three of them in the tub and piss was sloshing over the sides, soaking into the dirt floor. Pigs on the outside placed their mouths at the rim of the tub to catch the overflow. Thor, Clay and Moose's bodies intertwined, thrashing around, frenching and swapping mouthfulls of piss back and forth. Symansky jumped in as well to join them and the waters frothed and churned as if there were piranha in there. Spike, Doc, Rogers and Farello stood back, cigar's in mouth, hands on each others' dicks, taking in the crazy hot action. Doc blew smoke into Farello's open mouth. 'So... can I cook? Or can I cook?' Farello passed the smoke back. 'I should know - I had a pretty good taste of your cooking myself a few weeks back.' As the two began frenching, Spike commented, 'You sure can, Doc - though in Moose's case, that wasn't no special formula. That was all him! Kid's the biggest, most natural pigslut I ever saw.' And talking of which... Spike clapped his hands and his voice boomed via his mic through the sound system. 'Enough, ya pigs! Playtime's over... for now!' There was a chorus of rebellious 'awwws' - but you didn't mess with the Devil. Spike and the others hauled Moose out of the tub and dragged him, his ass still twitching with the butt plug, over to the showers. 'Gotta get him all nice and clean for his big finale,' Spike told them. All squeaky clean now, Moose was taken back to the counter top of the bar. The shower seemed to have returned something of Moose to himself and he began to struggle afresh as they tied him down on his back again. 'Nah... lemme... lemme go...' A haze of cigar smoke hung over the bar as Spike and Coach Rogers worked. Hot wax dribbled down from Spike's candle, splattering onto the boy's nipples and causing him to arch his back in both pleasure and pain. 'Ah, shitttt...' Moose whined, 'my tits, man...' Then the largest of the sounds was inserted into Moose's urethra and Coach Rogers began to jack him with it in earnest now. The hairless jock began to writhe and moan in pleasure. With Moose thus distracted, Spike donned sterile rubber gloves. Clay knew what was coming and his pierced nipples throbbed at the memory of it. But Spike was not inclined to be kindly to Moose as he had been towards Clay. There was no freezing agent in the antiseptic today. Spike just ripped the soldified plaques of wax off Moose's nips, and then raped his virgin nipples forever with steel. Moose howled, the full sensation of the puncturing needles punching thru his nubs and setting his tits on fire. He was at least lucky that Spike had, once again, pulled off his trademark simultaneous piercing technique and there needed to be no second ordeal for his nips. 'You fuckin' pierced me, man...' Moose wailed, 'Fuckin' turned me into a pierced faggot pisslovin' bitchboy... can't ya turn up the dial on this thing in my ass none?' He was clearly fine. And ready for stage two. Spike and Rogers swapped places. Rogers undid Moose's wrist bindings and sat him upright. Moose ground his ass into the counter top, trying to get deeper penetration from the butt plug. Rogers held him tight around the shoulders, trapping his arms in place. He held him fast so that he could watch... Spike removed the last sound from Moose's piss slit... ...and a third needle suddenly appeared right at the frenum of Moose's dick - the centre point of his helmet on the underside. This time Spike did take pity, and swabbed his flesh with the same numbing agent the last sound had been coated with. Rogers held on as Moose bucked. 'What... whatcha DOIN' to ma dick, man?' And a second later he screamed again - more at the sight than the sensation - as Spike punched the needle up thru the frenum and out the top of his piss-slit. He worked fast and a few seconds later Moose had him a Prince Albert. Though Moose screamed and screamed, his dick got, if anything, harder. And eventually he was all screamed out. 'Piercin' ma dick now...' he moaned, never one to miss the obvious, 'Ma poor dick... I musta been real bad...' 'Oh you been real bad, all right,' Spike pointed out,'and now ya daddy's gonna give ya some home correction!' The light of salvation sparked in Moose's eyes. 'My Dad's here?' Visions of his father leading a SWAT team were snuffed as he turned to see one of the slave chairs had been wheeled in from the leather dungeon. His father was strapped in tight - stark naked except for his police hat, tilted at a drunken angle. Worst of all was the dazed, near cross-eyed grin on his face. 'Oh, ya daddy's been here fuh hours,' Spike explained, 'Got a tip off that somethin' was goin' down here tonight at old 'Spike's' and came by himself to investigate - wanted to grab all the glory of the bust.' Moose didn't need to know it was Spike himself who had engineered the tip-off. Sgt Bruckner had something of a reputation as a corrupt, bribe-taking, credit-stealing sonofabitch - and therefore easy to manipulate. He'd been proving how easy he was to manipulate in a sling all evening. His hole was now more malleable than window putty. It was clear to see where Moose had gotten all his body hair from. The man was a frickin silverback - salt-and-pepper edition. His powerful build had gone a little to seed from his desk job at the precinct but he was still impressive. But unlike his son, he was plainly NOT immue to the Schultz formula. His dick was pointing straight up, straining for relief. Moose's ass began to grind on the butt plug again... It seemed like hours later when the party finally started to break up, though in fact it was only about forty minutes or so. After Moose had finally surrendered his cherry and ridden his father's drooling fuckrod, both Bruckners had served time in slings, side by side. And nobody had reamed out Moose's ass harder than Len Goodman. By that time, everybody was pretty much partied out. People were in such a mess, covered in one substance or another, that the wet room showers were constantly on the go for another hour beyond that. Those who had been converted this evening staggered out in a kind of fucked-out daze. Fathers and sons - most of whom had lost their original clothing, had been kitted out in boiler suits and reunited with their possessions - left the dungeons looking bewildered. But their arms were still around each other and each pair grinned a secret grin. Moose Bruckner and his father were still frenching as they disappeared up thru the tunnels back to the street. 'Huh,' said Spike, 'They'll be back.' Thor nodded. 'They'll all be back, sooner or later, buddy.' And when Thor was right, he was right. That night was, indeed, only the beginning. The seeds had been sewn here at Spike's, that Hallowe'en. Long buried desires had been given expression at last, and the genie was out of the bottle. Up and down Manhattan, across the river in New Jersey, and outward from there, the effects began to spread. Spike's prediction about hot fathers and sons lusting after each other was proven to have more than a little foundation. And if ya don't believe me, come along to 'Spike's' one evening, why doncha? It's on the Lower East Side. Everybody knows 'Spike's'. they can direct ya right to it. But only a select few know what REALLY goes on there after the sun goes down. Bring ya dad along, if he's hot. Ya son got an eighteenth birthday coming up? 'Spike's' is the perfect place to bring him an all his best buds. But get everybody there good an' early. It gets kinda busy... EPILOGUE HANK WOZNIAK still works construction, along with most of the construction crew. However, their Friday night poker games have become more interesting. AARON JONAS WILBY III divorced his wife shortly after the events of Hallowe'en and lost pretty much all his assets to her in the settlement. He still owns a townhouse on Park Avenue and is forced to run it as a high class brothel, catering to wealthy gay men. AARON JONAS WILBY IV works as a whore in his father's brothel. His engagement to socialite Meriel Upward has been broken off. JUNIOR ORTIZ and his family are working on bringing peace to the street gangs of New York by the slow, carefull introduction of the various factions to Spike's Piercing Parlour. Their slogan is 'Make Lust, Not War.' The COLLINS FAMILY now live under the roof of Coach Rogers. MAURICE 'MOOSE' BRUCKNER and his father POLICE SERGEANT BRADLEY BRUCKNER both work as whores at Wilby's brothel - Bruckner Senior on his days off from the precinct. Bruckner Junior faces dismissal if he doesn't get his soaring weight gain under control. JOE FOSTER runs his own highly successful clothing outlet for larger gay men in San Francisco's Bay Area. LEONARD GOODMAN now lives and works in West Hollywood, refusing roles as the heroine's gay best friend in romantic comedies. He is covertly working on Hollywood from the inside, turning one action hero at a time and blackmailing closeted executives into sanctioning gay-themed scripts for mainstream release. COACHES SYMANSKY, FARELLO and ROGERS are still working in physical education - though they have widened the training programme for their more promising athletes. ERCAN ALTINYILDIZ deputises as manager at Spike's sex dungeons during Spike's increasingly frequent absences. CARMINE 'SPIKE' RUSSO has been enlisted by GEORGE 'DOC' SCHULTZ as an operative for the Pentagon on a top secret mission to investigate and combat paranormal/demonic phenomena all over the United States. THORSTEN and CLAYTON LARSEN now live in the San Fernando Valley, where they run their own porn studio specialising in gay incest. CLAYTON also attends UCLA as a media post-grad and divides his free time between LA and San Francisco, where he has a home with his lover JOSEPH FOSTER. Clay and Joe have been together for four years. END OF SERIES. I MEAN, LIKE... FINALLY...