Date: Sun, 16 Oct 2011 03:25:24 -0700
From: applesandpears@hushmail.com
Subject: A Little Revolution 13

Ok readers, listen up! This is how it works. If you like this series, make
sure and give me plenty of feedback. It's the only thing that keeps me
motivated. Send me a note and let me know what you liked. Maybe you'll even
see a bit more of it;) Send any and all mail to me, Adrian, at:

applesandpears@hushmail.com

Editor's Note: Naturally, this is all fiction, don't take it seriously,
don't fuck your kids, etc., or anyone else`s. We don't live in this
world. If you have a hard time telling fantasy from reality, seek
professional help.

Chapter Thirteen-Mohammad

Mohammad stood in the shadow of the early evening doorway watching the
skate park from a distance. He had lied to Prevert about the blond little
French boy, Rene. He actually knew nothing about the boy, other then his
number. He knew him only from the streets and from his reputation as a game
bit of play. He didn't know where he lived or with whom. He'd sent the
younger boy a half dozen texts but he'd gotten no response. He knew he
couldn't avoid Prevert forever. Not if he wanted to keep going to school,
hanging with his friends, and conducting his business on the hard streets
of Paris.

Rene seemed to have disappeared. He had to find him.

Across the rue Mohammad saw a man approaching. He was a slim man, with his
blond hair cropped short, wearing dark glasses and a fashionable hoody and
jeans. Mohammad guessed him to be in his early 30s, and he wore a
fashionable stubble across his cheeks. As he approached the skate park he
pulled back the hood of his sweatshirt and Mohammad remembered that he'd
seen this man before. Several months ago he'd seen him with Rene. They were
in a car, a tricked out Golf GTI, Mohammad always noticed cars. They were
in the Bastille, pulled to the curb, talking. Then Rene had yanked his
skateboard out of the back seat and gotten out of the car, spying Mohammad
and walking towards him. The man had looked around with the look of someone
who didn't want to be seen and driven off. Mohammad had asked Rene about
him and Rene had just smiled a wicked smile. Rene knew Mohammad's
reputation as a hustler. "Maybe some day I'll introduce you so he can make
you a star" the blond boy had said, but when Mohammad had pressed he'd
dropped his skateboard, jumped on, and rolled away.

Mohammed pushed away from the wall and followed the man.

The little skate park received good light from the street lamps along the
Quai de Jemmapes. Across the road the black waters of the Canal St. Martin
glistened like oil. A young couple sat along the canal's edge making out,
the boy with his hand halfway up the girl's shirt. There were a half dozen
skate rats still using the worn bit of concrete. They were the harder kids,
the ones who hadn't run home to dinner with mummy, who were still out after
dusk working their tricks and trying to keep off the concrete. The man
walked around the park to the south side where there was a low retaining
wall. He sat along the top of the wall, turning and watching the boys and
young men working at their skating, watching them in a way Mohammad knew
all too well. Mohammad stripped off his hoody, knowing that his tight
t-shirt would show off his slim, hard body better, and rolled over, taking
a seat on the wall a few feet to the man's right. When in his peripheral
vision he saw the man checking him out he boldly turned his head and nodded
his chin. The man didn't look away, like most of Mohammad's street
contacts. He stared directly at the boy, his eyes in shadow. Mohammad felt
a chill run down his spine, but he didn't look away.

"What the fuck do you want, you little prick?". The man's Parisian slang
was up to date, but Mohammad could detect the slightest bit of an
accent. Might as well get to the point.

"I'm a friend of Rene's. He said you were cool. If not, you can go fuck
yourself".

Mohammad stared at the shadows where the man's eyes would be. The man
stared back for a moment, and then he smiled, revealing the glint of a gold
capped incisor.

"A friend of Rene's, eh? So you're looking for a little work?"

"Always."

"I don't know. Rene didn't tell me about you. What's your name?"

"Mohammad."

"Mohammad what?"

"You mean you want my last name?". It was unusual, but Mohammad could see
no reason not to. The man seemed to know exactly who Rene was and Mohammad
guessed he could help him find him.

"Mohammad Siddiq."

The man continued to look at him for a moment, then stood up. The light
fell across his face and Mohammad could see that his eyes were pale.

"Come with me, Mohammad Siddiq."

They started walking down the quai in the direction of the
Bastille. Mohammad fell in next to the man. As they walked, he reached into
his pocket and took out a phone, punching in a few commands. Eventually
they came to a Velib station and the man waved his phone in front of the
sensors for two different bikes. He took one and Mohammad took one. They
rode off together on the heavy grey public bikes, heading southeast towards
the Seine. At the Boulevard Voltaire they peeled away from the canal and
descended towards the Place de la Nation, from which Mohammad followed the
man down a series of small side streets. They dropped off the bikes at a
nearly empty Velib station and walked down a narrow street deep in
shadow. The man stopped on the corner and took out his phone. He called up
a program. Mohammad could see just enough of the screen to realize that he
was looking at a live video feed from inside an apartment. After a minute
the man put the phone away and they walked two more blocks in the evening
gloom.

It was a 19th century building, very Haussmann. The man punched the numbers
into the security lock and entered the building. The two of them crowded
into the tiny elevator that threaded the center of the staircase and rode
to the fifth floor. At the end of the hall was a large, heavy door that the
man opened with three different keys. It had a double dead bolt.

The apartment was tight, Mohammad thought, the kind of place he'd like to
have some day. It had high ceilings and antique moldings, the walls and
ceiling all painted a stark white. The floors were heavy antique
parquet. The place was nearly bare, with just a few pieces of fashionable
furniture in the bohemian way. There were two long low leather couches in
the salon, and through an open door Mohammad could see a huge bed with soft
white bedding and a simple antique carved wooden headboard. All the tall
narrow windows of the place were covered with thick off-white shades, but
while the man went into the kitchen Mohammad pulled one of them aside. He
recognized the Coulee Verte directly below, the public park that had been
built along the top of an old railroad viaduct. He could see where the
Coulee passed over an open green space a few hundred feet away, obviously
the Jardin de Reuilly. He knew then that he was just behind the Gare de
Lyon train station. He heard the man come into the room and stand behind
him. When Mohammad turned around he was there with two beers in his
hands. He handed one to Mohammad. He had taken off the hoody and Mohammad
realized how wiry he was. He looked like one of those guys who run hundred
kilometer races. Mohammad didn't even know his name, but he gingerly took a
sip of the beer.

"Show me your cock".

Mohammad was surprised by the directness of the order, but he was an old
hand at giving men what they wanted. While he kept the bottle of beer to
his lips with his right hand, with his left he reached down and pulled down
the front of this trackies and his underwear, showing his soft dick to the
man, who assessed it impartially.

"That will do. I don't hire boys who don't pack meat. Pity you're
circumcised, but that's usually the case with you arab boys."

The man turned and headed down a short hallway to a back bedroom. Mohammad
followed. This was obviously where he actually slept, judging by the
tangled sheets. Against one wall was a long desk. An array of computers
were stacked below it, and three large monitors sat in sleep mode. The man
sat down and typed in a series of commands and the center screen came to
life. A window opened and he typed in another string of commands. Then he
opened a web browser and entered an address. Soon, they were on a web page
of a search engine, the search engine of the database of the National
Police. The man typed in "Mohammad Siddiq" as Mohammad watched.

"Show me your id card."

"Mohammad dug the card from the bottom of his pocket. The man typed in his
card number and checked the spelling. Then he pressed enter. Mohammad's
criminal file appeared. The boy got an instant knot in his stomach. Who was
this dude?"

"Well, Mohammad, it looks like you've been a bad boy. At this point, I'd
usually just cut you loose. Why shouldn't I?"

Mohammad drew a blank. What did he mean? Did he not hook up with boys with
records? Why? He couldn't figure it out. Then he did the default thing he
did whenever he got into trouble or was perplexed by adult behavior. He put
down the beer on the desk, sank to his knees, and reached for the buttons
of the man's jeans.

He had a big cock for a wiry dude, and by the time Mohammad fished it out
it was already stiffening. He was circumcised as well, which reconfirmed
Mohammad's feeling that the man was an American. He licked the fat red head
and then, taking a deep breath, dived down on the hardening organ, using
his best technique, massaging the head with his throat, using his hands on
the base, fishing into the jeans and giving the man's balls a light
squeeze. He put on a real show, occasionally looking up under his brows
into the man's blue eyes while sliding the long dick past his soft red
lips. He knew how much men liked to watch him blow them. The man didn't
move from his chair, but watched impassively, occasionally taking a pull
from the bottle of beer. After several minutes he let out a sharp, almost
silent sigh, and Mohammad felt the large load of cum coating the inside of
his cheek. He sucked hard, swallowing every drop. Then he pulled his lips
off the dick, took a swipe from his beer, and wiped his mouth. The man let
out a sharp laugh. Mohammad watched as he clicked a few keys on the
computer and Mohammad's record disappeared.

"You are now unknown to the police" the man pronounced. Mohammad didn't
understand how this man could do what he did, or if it was really true, but
he plastered a smile on his face. He wasn't going to tell this guy about
Inspector Prevert, though.

The man stood up and started stripping off his shirt. He was covered on his
arms and shoulder blades with tattoos. Mohammad recognized some of the art
as being characters from classic video games. Zelda, Mario,
Streetfighter. His tough, wiry body was completely devoid of hair, probably
removed by laser judging from the lack of stubble. He had a good tan,
without any real lines. He stood over Mohammad, who was still on his knees,
and gave his half inflated cock a few tugs.

"Yeah, you'll do."

Mohammad followed him into the shower, stripping off his own sweaty
clothes. It was a large shower, obviously a new addition to the apartment,
with two large heads that provided that rarest of Paris experiences, strong
water pressure. When Mohammad stepped in the man grabbed him by the arm and
swung him around, kneading his ass with his other hand.

"Holy shit, boy, that's a fucking beautiful ass."

"Yeah. I guess." Mohammad felt a little confidence at the compliment. "It's
gonna cost you though, if you want to fuck it."

The man looked the boy hard into the eyes, and then smiled a wicked grin.

"Don't you worry, son. You're gonna get paid. You gotta go home tonight?"

"Nope." Mohammad came and went as he wanted from his grandmother's tiny
apartment.

"Good. You're gonna stay here tonight and let me sample that beautiful
pussy of yours. Then tomorrow, it's Saturday, so I'll have a few friends
around your age over and we're gonna have real fun."

"Will Rene come?"

The man regarded him with an inquisitive look.

"Um, I haven't seen him for a few weeks."

"Why do you care?"

"Well..." Mohammad was at a loss for words.

"You want to fuck him?"

"Yeah. I mean, he's cute."

"That he is. We'll see. Until then though, you're gonna do what I want, you
hear? Just follow directions and you're gonna leave with pockets full of
cash and balls empty, you get it?"

"Sounds like fun. So, what, um, what do I call you, man?"

The man looked at him like he was fronting for a moment, but then his face
broke out with a sarcastic smile.

"The kids call me Uncle Bobby".

Mohammad knew it was a fake name, but all the same he craned his long, fine
neck up and stuck his eager pink tongue in Uncle Bobby's mouth.

* * *

Mohammad loved getting fucked, but this was ridiculous.

He was on his hands and knees in "Uncle Bobby's" big bed, the one he used
for filming. The 16-year-old Romanian teenager behind him had bottomed out
his big cock in Mohammad's ass. The older boy's strong hands were grasping
tight around his waist, jamming him forwards and back. Mohammad struggled
from the motion of the fucking to keep the hard little prick in his mouth,
the stiffy belonging to the older boy's little eleven-year-old brother, a
cute compact boy with tight curly blond hair, bright red cheeks, puffy
large dark nipples, and a straining kid-sized cock. Both of the Romanian
boys were well muscled for their ages, the older one a dedicated
bodybuilder who had been helping his little brother to start pushing
weight. Both of them were very cute and very experienced sexual
performers. Both had been in "Uncle Bobby's" movies before.

Uncle Bobby had spent a good part of the night fucking Mohammad
himself. They'd smoked some weed and fucked until late that night, then
made sandwiches and watched some of Uncle Bobby's porn. It was really good
shit and Mohammad had a new appreciation for him. He was a pro. As they
smoked and fucked the man had loosened up a bit. He said he was a Canadian,
but he'd lived in Europe for years. He was a marathon runner, he was a
hacker, and he liked boys and girls both but Mohammad definitely picked up
that he liked boys more. After watching the porn, they'd smoked a little
more and fucked a little more then fallen asleep. In the morning Uncle
Bobby had gotten up and gone out for a run, coming back with coffee and
pastries. He'd called up the two Romanian boys, Stefan and Andre, and
arranged for them to come over for a little filmmaking session. Mohammad
had gotten an unusual vibe from Uncle Bobby. He was smart in a street smart
way, but also smart in a hacker way. Mohammad was getting the feeling that
he'd be a good adult to know.

Stefan reached around and with a gym-callused hand he stroked Mohammad's
stiff bone. The older teen was picking up the pace.

"Flip him over and come on him" Uncle Bobby ordered from the side of the
bed, where he stood, wearing a tank top and no bottoms, his hard erection
pointing forward, an HD video camera held to his eye.

The older boy obeyed and pulled his oversized thump stick out of Mohammad's
round bronze ass with a pop. He grabbed the arab boy around the waist and
flipped him onto his back, spreading his legs open. Then Stefan grabbed his
cock and started jerking it. His little brother flipped around and kneeled
over Mohammad's chest, offering his little ass a few inches above
Mohammad's face while leaning forward and sticking his pink tongue into his
brother's mouth. Mohammad started licking the clean hairless little ass
while the older teen straightened up, leaned his head back and then spewed
with a grunt, shooting a fat dollop of cream all over Mohammad's crotch and
stomach. Still licking the younger boy, Mohammad grabbed his own stiff slim
cock and jerked it hard, using Stefan's cum as lube, and squirted his own
load. The first squirt shot right up onto little Andre's belly and Mohammad
then rolled the boy over and licked it off with a flourish.

"Damn" Uncle Bobby exclaimed, "that was real hot. You guys are gonna be
huge stars." Little Andre smiled a sweet, heartbreaking smile at the
encouragement, but Mohammad and Stefan were older and had to maintain their
cool detachment. Mohammad had done porno before, and all it had ever done
was get him in trouble with the cops, bringing Inspector Prevert into his
life.

Still, this was a way cooler experience then that earlier porno. Uncle
Bobby knew what he was doing; he had a fancy camera and had even bothered
to get the lights right before he started filming. He told them that after
the fucking was done they would go down to the park and kick a football
around; apparently the video he was making would have a little "plot" about
how the two brothers had met young Mohammad on the pitch. It was total
fucking fiction, but Mohammed didn't mind. He had been promised two hundred
euro and was having a good time.

But he still hadn't heard about Rene. He'd raised the suggestion to Uncle
Bobby again that morning, but the man had dismissed him, saying Rene wasn't
"right for the scene". "Don't worry", he'd added, "you'll get your crack at
that ass eventually. I know that little blondy will be back for more".

Mohammad knew that Prevert's patience would be running out. He had to find
Rene and find a way to let him get picked up by the Inspector without
everyone in the neighborhood knowing he was a rat. Then a disturbing
thought came to him. He'd just been filmed sexing a younger boy by Uncle
Bobby. Busting someone as obviously professional and skilled as Uncle Bobby
would be a big deal for Prevert. What if that kid Rene spilled the beans on
Uncle Bobby? If Prevert raided this apartment and found this video,
Mohammad wouldn't be able to play the choir boy and lie his way clear like
he had before. Little Andre was obviously pre-pubescent, any cop could tell
the boy wasn't of age, and Mohammad was older now. Finding Rene might very
well mean jamming himself up as well. He'd have to figure out a way to make
the Inspector happy without it leading back to him. Fuck.

"Mohammad!" Uncle Bobby was looking at him. He'd wandered off with his
thoughts. "Wake up, son. Back to earth. I want to film you three in the
shower. Then we'll go down to the park. Got it?"

"Yeah." Mohammad smiled his most charming smile. He would have to stick
close to Uncle Bobby for the next little while. Maybe Bobby would even let
him crash here. He needed some time to think.