Date: Sun, 13 Dec 2020 08:12:08 +0000 (UTC)
From: Boy Daddy <badgod69@yahoo.com>
Subject: BOY DADDY, Pt. 26

"Boy Daddy" -- Badgod69@yahoo.com

The following is a work of fiction. It is not based on any real events or
people.   Shoot me an email -- I like hearing from readers.

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BOY DADDY, Part 26

When Sam got home from school that day, the first thing he did was pull his
jeans down and make me smell his dick.

"I been thinkin' about you doin' this all day, dude, ever since you yelled
it at me this morning that you were gonna do it when I got home.  Go on,
smell it -- it's hella strong!"  His eyes were wide with nasty delight, and
he was almost laughing with horny excitement.

He sat down on the edge of our bed and spread his legs wide for me.  Even
before I dropped to my knees in front of him, I could smell the sweet
seediness of damp sperm wafting up to greet me.

I quickly opened my pants and got them off before kneeling and burrowing
into Sam's crotch, inhaling the fine, fertile, male funk now steaming from
both our groins.

As I rooted around in his crotch, I began mumbling bits of information on
our new sex offender buddies, knowing it would excite Sam as much as it
would me.

"Bob told me all about the RSOs, bro..."  I lifted his full, hairy balls
and ran my tongue up and down his sweaty taint where the scent of sperm was
strong and ripe.

Sam moaned and squeezed my head lightly between his thighs before spreading
them wide again.

"What'd he say?" he muttered, running his hand through my hair.

"Mmmm, a lot..." was all I offered, then gently suckled his smelly balls
one at a time, tasting the salty, tangy mix of day-old sweat and semen.

"Aww, fuck..." Sam moaned, laying back on the bed, luxuriating in the warm,
wet ministrations of my relentless mouth.  "C'mon dude...what'd he say,
what'd they do?"

I chuckled into his ass crack, hiking his hairy legs up to expose the whole
length of the furry cleft.  I wriggled my tongue around the rim of his
anus, sending sweet shivers through my son's body, before pointing my
tongue and gliding it in and out of his ass as deep as I could go.

Pulling back a bit, I sighed, "Well, Waylon...", then gave his shithole a
series of slow kisses, "Waylon, he, uh...", then lapped the length of his
hairy crack.

"Fuck, dude, what?" Sam whimpered.

I raised my head from his ass and lowered his legs, then grabbed his hard,
sticky cock in my fist.

"Waylon raped the teacher he had in 4th grade..." I said softly before
swirling my tongue around the ridge of his engorged cock head and lapping
up the bead of pre-cum that instantly appeared, "...when he was 14..."

Sam dug his fingers into my scalp and groaned loudly.

"And then again when he was 20," I added, going down on his dick and
tasting stale cum.  When I went back to stroking it, I added, "He's 24
now."

I could tell that Sam wanted to say something but was too overcome by what
I was doing to him to get any words out.  Instead, he just moaned.

"Jesse's an ex-skinhead," I continued, alternating between jacking his dick
and licking it.  "He's been in prison twice.  He's a rapist, too, and he
likes it rough.  He's 34.  He mostly chases young pussy, but occasionally
he'll fuck around with guys.  Bob said he'll fuck anything if he's drunk
enough, but he gets violent when he's drunk."

Sam writhed under my hands and threw his arms over his head, releasing a
burst of sweat stink that made my cock lurch.

"That's hot," he whispered.

"Felipe, the Mexican dude, he fucked most of his kids," I began.

The sight of Sam's dark, hairy armpits, glistening with potent scent, was
irresistible to me.  I lay on the bed beside him, the moist, odorous hair
tickling my nose as I burrowed into one, then the other.

"He got his wife and two of his daughters knocked-up.  This was in Mexico.
They were all pregnant at the same time.  He used to molest his two sons,
too, until they got too old for him, then they started fucking the girls,
too.  The youngest daughter blabbed to their priest and Felipe and his sons
got in big trouble, so he took off and came here.  His family's still there
but they won't talk to him anymore.  He's 43."

"Ohhhh, fuuucckk..." Sam moaned.  He raised my face from his pit and
plunged his tongue into my mouth.  The longer and deeper we made-out, the
closer we got to blowing our loads.  But it was too early in the game, and
we both instinctively pulled away from our kiss.

"Now smell MY dick, babe," I said, getting to my knees so I could shove my
junk in his face.  "My pubes are still damp with your load."

He snickered and started sniffing and lightly licking my taint, gradually
moving to my balls and then up the length of my shaft until he reached the
drooling head.

"Damn, you're ripe!" he giggled, and then his mouth enveloped my prick
head, like a snake swallowing an egg.

The exquisite pressure of his lips and the expert suction of his mouth made
me tremble.  Sam was by far the best sex-mate I had ever had, the most
attuned to my body and all its responses, desires, and needs.

As he serviced my dick, I murmured more details to him, timing my words to
his movements and reactions.

"Pete's a goofball, Bob says.  He's a total exhibitionist.  He likes to
expose himself to groups of women or kids whenever he can.  His next
offense will take him to prison.  He's older than I thought, he's 37.  He
looks younger to me."

Sam let go of my dick and pushed me back flat onto the mattress.  Hiking my
legs up, he dipped his head down between them and started stabbing at my
asshole with the tip of his agile tongue.

"What about the gross dude, the old fat guy?" he said from down below.

I crossed my arms behind my head and let Sam go to work pleasuring us both.

"That's Karl.  What would you guess?"

"Gotta be somethin' totally pervy," he said.  "Some sorta child molester, I
would guess."

"Mmm-hmm, but a wannabe.  He got busted for receiving and distributing
kiddy porn.  Classic, huh?  And then he started making it, too; or at least
he tried to.  I guess he tried to talk the next-door kids into letting him
film them naked.  Of course, they told their parents, and that's what
brought the cops around.  He's 57, if you're interested."

Sam had been snuffling around my asshole while I talked, grunting and
huffing like a pig.  Suddenly, his head appeared above my crotch, his lower
face smeared with spit and ass sweat.  He looked like a complete
degenerate.

"Stupid; he's fuckin' stupid, bro," he said disgustedly.  "Anybody would
know better than that, it's too risky, how dumb can he be?  Even a kid
would know better, Jesus..." he added before ducking below my sightline
again.

But I was ready for a new position, so I quickly got up on all fours, my
ball sac hanging low and heavy like a horse's.  I rocked my hips back and
forth a few times to set my nuts swinging, something that Sam loved seeing.

"Duuude...your balls are hangin' so fuckin' low.  God-DAMN, babe, you're so
fuckin' hot!" he said in a quavering, breathless voice.

He fondled and caressed my hairy nuts like they were a baby bird in his
hands, amazed and enraptured by the precious, beautiful thing he held.

When he started lapping them with the flat of his tongue, I pushed my hard
cock down between my legs so he could get at both.

"Let's see; who's left...?  Oh, the old guy, Daniel.  He's 65, bro, old
enough to be my grandfather. For some reason I think he's kind of hot.
Anyway, he's a high school history teacher, or he was until he got busted.
He sponsored the school's philosophy club, too, and he'd have the members
meet at his house on Saturdays.  All boys, seven of `em.  They worshipped
him, I guess; they were all really close with him."

"And he fucked one and got busted, right?" Sam laughed, moving his mouth
away from my balls and starting in on my dripping prick.

"Nope, just listen.  First off, they'd always have their meetings naked, in
honor of the Greeks and philosophy and shit, and the boys thought that was
awesome.  Then, the meetings turned into sleepovers.  They'd spend the
whole day naked.  He let them drink and smoke-out sometimes, too, and they
all took turns sleeping with Daniel in his bed."

"Lucky Daniel," Sam muttered between licks on my dick.

"Hell yeah, for a while.  Sometimes a member would bring a new kid over to
join the group, and that had always worked out OK.  But this one new kid
blabbed to his parents about them all being naked and boys sleeping in
Daniel's bed.  And that set off the whole drama," I continued.  "He ended
up getting fired, but the parents wouldn't let it rest, and he had to
register as a sex offender.  Isn't that a load of bullshit?"

Sam maneuvered me onto my back and then laid full-length on top of me.

I had always loved full body contact like this, the heat and weight of my
son's body glued to mine, the moist warmth of his skin, the feel of our
cocks pressed firmly together.  And most of all, gazing into his handsome
face, inches from my own.

"You wanna fuck this guy, huh?  I can tell you're interested.  Why are you
so into him, dude?  He's fuckin' old!" Sam snickered.

I had to laugh, too.  Old guys didn't interest me at all, normally.

"I don't know, bro.  It's weird, but he gets me hot!  And actually, I think
I wanna get fucked by him.  He's got a nice dick, did you get a look the
other night?  And he cums a lot, more than I'd expect from an old guy.  I
don't know, I just wanna see what happens," I laughed.  "Bob's the oldest
dude I've ever fucked around with."

Sam listened to everything I had to say, but he still thought it was funny
and continued to tease me.

"Dude, he's probably got a saggy old ass!  If he fucks you, he'll probably
have a heart attack before he even nuts!"

Sam made me laugh.

"Here's the best part.  Bob said that as soon as Daniel got home the other
night, he called him and wanted to know all about YOU!"

I knew this would surprise Sam, and he pulled his head back to look at me
quizzically.

"Me?!"

"Mmm-hmm.  Bob said Daniel told him you're the most beautiful boy he's ever
seen, and he has a crush on you.  He's obsessed with you, bro.  Says Bob,"
I said.

Sam groaned comically and buried his face in the pillow under my head.

"Ahhhh!  Why me?!  Why, why, why??" he yelled melodramatically into the
pillow, making me laugh loudly.  Sam was laughing, too.

"Because you ARE beautiful, goof!  It just shows he's got good taste in
boys," I teased him.

Sam propped himself up on one elbow, still on top of me, and ran the
fingers of his other hand absently through my chest hair.

"Fuuuuk..." he mumbled.  "Well, you'll have to tell me all about it.
You're on your own, dude," Sam said.

I pulled his face back to mine and we made out like kids until we both
popped our nuts.

Over dinner that evening we excitedly made plans for how we'd get to better
know our new sex offender buddies.

Now that we knew more about our them, we decided the first guy we wanted to
chill with was Jesse, the ex-skinhead.  Both of us found his story
exciting.

Bob had given me a list of the guys telephone numbers, so I called Jesse to
ask him if he wanted to get together for dinner at our place.  Once he
realized who I was, he agreed to come by the following evening.

Jesse was a decent-looking guy, a few inches over six feet tall and built
like a stereotypical ex-con who's spent a lot of time lifting weights.  He
must have weighed around 190, 200 pounds.

Jesse had been a skinhead since he'd turned 14, back in Chicago where he
grew up.  His head was still shaved, basically, though his hair was now a
bit longer on top, creating a sort of fringe that well-suited his
square-jawed face.

In one way, he reminded me of Ben, due to their similar coloring.
Reddish-blonde hair covered his muscular arms and legs. and his eyebrows
were nearly white.  His ruddy cheeks and steely blue eyes gave him an
almost Viking mien, and the numerous tattoos that covered his arms and neck
heightened that impression.

You could tell there was something a bit off, though, something
unpredictable and dangerous about Jesse.  Part of this was his affect.  At
first, he seemed emotionally flat and unfeeling, but gradually became more
personable and insinuating.  Both aspects were vaguely disquieting.

On the other hand, Jesse could be disarming and goofy like a big kid,
making wise cracks and proving himself to be quick-witted, when he wasn't
being sly and cunning.

Sam was smitten with him.  I could tell from the way he looked at Jesse and
the things he said to him.

In turn, Jesse buddied-up to Sam immediately.  He praised Sam for his
performance at Bob's, joked with him about all the girls Sam must have
lined-up, complimented Sam on his build, his haircut, even the t-shirt he
was wearing.  But it felt hollow and fake; creepy.

After dinner, we went back to the living room and smoked-out while we
sipped our whisky.  Bob had warned me that Jesse got violent when he was
drunk, so I made sure to limit our intake.

If Sam had had his way, he would have gotten Jesse shit-faced just to see
what would happen, I knew.  Some part of me wanted that as well but my
wiser angel won out.

Jesse turned his attention to me now.  He asked lots of questions and
eventually blurted out that he had originally thought I might be an
undercover cop looking to bust the guys.  But he'd changed his mind when he
saw me fuck my underage son.

We laughed about his suspicions, and Jesse now seemed far more mellow and
at ease.

As yet, we hadn't talked sex much at all, other than a few brutally
off-color comments he made during dinner about eating pussy.

I got down to business as I refilled our glasses.

"So, what are you into, bro?  What gets you off?" I asked.

His eyes went flat and hard, and he sneered a half-grin at me.

"Poundin' pussy, dude, the younger the better!" he smirked.

"How young?" Sam immediately asked.

"Mmm, 13, 14's good," he chuckled.  "Or so."

"You got a girlfriend, dude?" asked Sam.  "A girlfriend with a young
pussy?"

Jesse hooted with laughter.

"Nah, I like variety, bro!  Lots and lots of it," he replied.  "You should
come with me some night when I go pussy poundin'.  We'd have a shitload of
fun, dude," he said.

"Sure, hell yeah!  I'd love to come.  When can we go?" Sam asked.

"Anytime.  I'll call you and let you know I'm on my way.  Like, maybe
tomorrow night?"

"OK, awesome!" Sam shouted, and they high-fived.

I had listened to this with an edge of concern for Sam.  I had questions I
wanted answered before feeling comfortable with Sam joining in Jesse's
games.

"Don't forget tomorrow's a school night.  How late would he be getting
back?" I asked Jesse.

"Whenever you want him home by, no problem," he said.

"OK, well, midnight then.  And where will you be going?"

"The Tenderloin, man, my usual stompin' ground!  Lotsa young street skanks
in the `Loin!"

I laughed with Jesse.

"OK, just don't get Sam in any trouble, bro, I mean it" I said.

"Wow, this'll be awesome," Sam said, excited like any teenage boy would be
in a similar situation.

"Yeah, I think you'll like it," Jesse said, grinning broadly and winking at
my son.

"Hey, what'd you get sent to prison for?" Sam blurted out, wanting to learn
more about his new buddy.

"Huh," he grunted.  "Which time?  I been in the joint twice."

"OK," Sam said expectantly, eyes shining.

"Well, the first time I was 17, just a kid, but they tried me as an adult.
I used to like setting people on fire.  It was funny as hell, but this one
time the guy almost died.  Dude was a total asshole and deserved it.  My
lawyer told me that if I apologized in court and accepted responsibility
and showed remorse, she could probably keep me out of prison.  I just
laughed in her face and told her I wouldn't do any of that because I wasn't
sorry and didn't regret anything and didn't give a fuck about the dude I
burned."

"Wow, that's bad-ass, " Sam murmured.

"The second time was bullshit, cuz nothin' even happened, really.  I
stalked this bitch I'd seen a couple times and followed her into her
apartment building.  I tried to fuck her, but she broke away and ran
outside and found a fuckin' cop.  They busted me on the spot for attempted
rape and that's why I had to register.  I didn't even get to fuck the
bitch, how do ya like that?!  And they still sent me to prison!"

"Wow, that sucks, dude!" Sam said.

"Yeah.  But the cops don't know shit.  I've had more bitches and done more
crazy shit than they'll ever know," he boasted.

"You're a good-lookin' guy, Jesse.  Why not just ask them out on a date,
and save yourself the risk of prison?" I asked.

Jesse laughed.  "Nah, I like `em to struggle, I like the surprise.
Otherwise, where's the fun?"

It was a short evening, and Jesse took off well before 9 pm.  Sma and I
fucked around, both of us fantasizing about Jesse and his dangerous edge.

That night I had a sex dream about another of the RSOs, the young rapist,
Waylon.  In the morning, I couldn't remember the details, but I knew it had
been a really great dream.

Around noon, I got the surprise of my life when the doorbell rang, and I
opened the door.  It was Waylon.

I eagerly invited him in and immediately fired up the bong.  We smoked-out
while we chatted, comfortable and relaxed with each other.

Waylon stood around 5'8" and had a fine, natural physique, a swimmer's
build, though a bit on the soft side.  His mom was Puerto Rican, his father
German.  The combination gave him dark brown hair and skin that tanned
quickly and easily, with hazel eyes, and a fairly smooth body.  He also had
a big, thick, uncircumcised dick, with a magnificent foreskin close to an
inch long, like a nipple or a snout.

His hair was messy and frequently looked like he'd just rolled out of bed,
but it suited him.  In fact, his entire being and persona felt as if he had
just rolled out of bed -- slightly disheveled, a bit awkward, unfocused.

A wispy mustache and facial scruff made his general unkemptness complete.

Homemade tattoos marked his body, most of them crudely drawn in blue-black
ink.  Each one meant something specific to him, recalling people, places,
or events.  They looked like hobo symbols to me.

Waylon told me that he developed a crush on his 4th grade teacher from the
first day he walked into her classroom, when he was 9 years old.

Her name was Mrs. Evans, a pretty blond with big tits, in her late 20s.
All the 4th grade boys had crushes on her and on the playground during
recesses they'd trade smutty comments about what they'd like to do to her.

None of them could imagine much more than kissing her on the mouth while
groping her tits, but that was enough to keep the boys horny, happy, and
attentive during lessons.

Waylon never forgot Mrs. Evans, and one day when he was 14, he decided to
stop by his old elementary school to pay her a surprise visit.

The school day had just ended, and the teachers were settling-in for their
after-class chores when Waylon entered her classroom.

He said she was pleased and surprised to see him.  And when she told him
that he had turned into a handsome young man, he knew he just had to have
her, or he'd go out of his mind.

Apparently, they flirted back and forth, at least that's what Waylon
thought was happening.  Everything she said, every gesture she made, Waylon
thought was a further sign that she wanted his dick.

As she moved around the classroom, gathering the materials she needed for
her next task, Waylon casually moved to the door and barred it so no one
could get in.

She moved behind a folding screen that partitioned a small portion of the
room off from the rest of it, where the sink and closets were for the kids
to hang up their belongings and wash up before and after lunch.

When he heard the tap turn on and Mrs. Evans washing her hands, Waylon
quietly stepped behind the partition and came up behind her, then pressed
his crotch against her ass and wrapped his arms around her chest.

Thoroughly startled, she tried to spin around, but Waylon pressed in harder
and tightened his grip as she began to plead with him to let her go.

When he started kissing and biting her throat, she managed to shove
backwards against him hard, causing them both to stumble and fall to the
floor.  Waylon never let go of his hold on her, and now found himself on
top of Mrs. Evans.

As he hurriedly shoved her skirt up to her hips and ripped her panties off,
she stopped struggling and began talking to him.

She never screamed or called out for help, just tried to stay calm and
connect with him.

As he fumbled with his belt and zipper, frantic to haul his hard dick out
and put it in her pussy, Mrs. Evans told Waylon that she wouldn't tell on
him, would make sure he didn't get in trouble, if only he didn't hurt or
harm her.

Waylon just laughed, and said he'd never hurt her.  He just wanted to fuck
her.  He told her that he jerked-off every day thinking about her,
imagining what it would be like to be with her.

As he poked around her pussy with his dick, trying to figure out how this
all worked, Mrs. Evans stopped struggling and actually reached between his
legs and guided his cock into her cunt.

The second her fingers touched his throbbing prick he shoved his tongue
into her mouth and mauled her lustily.

She eventually relaxed and clasped his sweaty, heaving body to hers,
running her hands up and down his back or clamping his bucking ass cheeks.

He didn't last long and as soon as he came, he got off her and helped her
up, then ran out of the room and out of the school.

He wasn't sure what to do or where to go, so he hung around the parking
lot.  Mrs. Evans came out shortly after and spotted him loitering near her
car.

Incredibly, she offered him a ride home, and he accepted.  The short trip
was awkward and silent, until she pulled up in front of his house.  Before
he got out, he leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on her lips, though
she pushed him away and said nothing.

He said he didn't worry about getting in trouble at all because he trusted
what Mrs. Evans had said about not telling on him.

She was as good as her word.

Waylon said he never forgot how fun and exciting it had been fucking
Mrs. Evans on her classroom floor.  He used the incident as jerk-off fodder
over the next few years, though he didn't try to contact her again.

Years passed, and Waylon moved away to attend college.  When he was 20, he
came back home on a school holiday, and one day spotted Mrs. Evans on the
street, hand-in-hand with two small children.

His mind went back to when he was 14.  His dick immediately hardened in his
pants, and he decided to follow them, just to watch her some more.  He made
sure to keep a good distance behind them, not wanting to be recognized by
her.  He was unsure how she'd react if she saw him, though he crazily
assumed she'd be glad to see him again.

He followed them for some time, and eventually they walked home.  Waylon
now knew where her house was and planned to come by in a few days just to
say `hello'.

As he was moving away from her house, a car pulled into the driveway and a
man got out -- Mr. Evans, he figured.  The guy was handsome and well-built,
well-dressed, and appeared to be around 40 years old.

When Waylon saw him get out of the car and go inside, he experienced a
terrific shock of jealousy and hurt.

As crazy as it was, Waylon decided then and there what he would do and how
he'd do it.

The next day, he walked to Mrs. Evans' house about an hour earlier than he
had the day before.

He paced the perimeter of the house and looked in the windows, being
careful not to be spotted by neighbors, The only one inside was Mrs. Evans,
though he heard children's voices nearby.

He walked over to the gate that led into the backyard and peered over it.
Two little kids, the same boy and girl he had seen yesterday, played
noisily on a swing set and jungle gym.

Satisfied that he could safely carry on with his plan, he walked to the
front porch and mounted the few steps to the door.  When he tried the
doorknob, he was gratified to find the door unlocked; soundlessly, he let
himself in.

Mrs. Evans was in the kitchen, busy washing something in the sink.  Waylon
crept up behind her silently, and as he had done years before, pressed his
crotch against her ass and wrapped his arms around her chest, groping her
full tits.

Simultaneously, he said, "Hey there, Mrs. E!", in a loud, cheery voice.

She gasped and gave a slight shriek as she forced herself around to face
him.  When she saw him, her eyes grew huge and she went pale.

"Hey, it's Waylon!  Remember me?  From 4th grade?" he laughed, still with
his arms tight around her.

"Oh, my God," she muttered and struggled to get out of Waylon's grip.  She
was unsuccessful.

Waylon leaned in for a kiss, but she turned her head away and started to
whimper.  With her throat exposed, Waylon covered it with bites and kisses
and then let her go.

She backed away from him and leaned against a wall.

"Why are you here?  What do you want?" she asked.

"Just to say `hi'.  I haven't seen you in years, how you been doin'?  Hey,
can I meet your kids?  They sure are cute!  Call `em in and introduce us,
will ya?" he said.

Mrs. Evans at first refused.

"Ah, come on!  They look like sweet kids, just introduce me!" he insisted,
and eventually she relented and called the kids inside.

When her son and daughter came in, she told them that Waylon was an
ex-student of hers and had dropped by to say `hello'.

The kids were friendly and curious.  The boy was 8 and the girl 6.  After a
short while, Mrs. Evans told them to go back outside and play.

"Yeah, you two run along and don't come back in until your mom calls you.
We have a lot of catching up to do.  Oh, but hey!, maybe next time we can
play together.  I know lots of cool games.  Or maybe your mom could drop
you off at my house and we could have a sleepover!  Would you like that?"

The kids squealed in excitement and told their mother they wanted to have a
slumber party with Waylon.

Mrs. Evans blanched and again told them to go outside.

As soon as the kids were out, Waylon locked the door behind them.

"Don't want them seeing something they shouldn't, right?" he said.

Mrs. Evans said nothing, just stood with her back against the wall, as far
away from Waylon as she could manage.

Waylon got his pants opened and hauled out his stiff prick.

"Look how big my dick is now!  Last time, I still had a kid's dick," he
crowed, laughing and proud as hell.

He wagged it at her and bucked his hips a few times in anticipation of the
good time coming.

"You like it?  You want this dick, don'cha?" he said.

And with that, she fainted.  Waylon got spooked at first until he realized
that it wasn't anything serious.  He picked her up and took her into the
living room where he placed her flat on the sofa.

He got out of his clothes fast, and then climbed on top of her and sank
into her pussy.  He said it felt like coming home to a warm, snug room,
soft and safe and cozy.

She came-to as he started to fuck ferociously, slamming into her hard,
every thrust making her involuntarily grunt and gasp.

He tried to kiss her, but she turned her head away and began sobbing.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he continued thrusting.  "You feel sad?"

She didn't respond, but only continued crying.

"Don't you like sex, Mrs. E?  Don't you LIKE to fuck?" he asked, genuinely
bewildered.

Finally, she choked back her sobs and was able to croak, "Waylon, you're
raping me!  I don't want this!  Why are you doing this?"

"Don't you like it?  Am I doing it wrong or something?" he asked.  "Are you
uncomfortable?"

She tried to shove him off her but failed.  Her tears came fast and hard
again.

But she was ruining it for Waylon.  It's not much fun to fuck somebody
crying, not like that.

So, Waylon said, "Stop crying!  Please.  You're ruining it.  If you don't
stop, I won't ever come back!"

In his fevered mind, he thought that would do the trick.  But Mrs. Evans
only sobbed harder.

Confused but ready to cum, Waylon pulled his dick out of her, got off her,
and shot his frenzied load all over her face and hair.  When his balls were
drained, he thwacked his prick against her tits, sliming them with spermy
ooze.

When he began to put his clothes back on, Mrs. Evans sat up on the sofa and
tried to clean herself up as best she could, still sniffling and swiping at
her eyes.

"You better hurry, cuz your husband will be home soon, and the kids
probably want to come in.  Don't want `em suspecting anything," he said
good-naturedly.

Her eyes flashed at him and she yelled, "Get out, get out of here!  Never
come here again, never, you hear me?  My husband will kill you if he ever
sees you, I swear to God!"

And with that, she picked up a heavy glass dish from the coffee table and
hurled it at his head.  It missed him, but her fury spooked him badly and
he left hurriedly.

Shortly after he arrived back at his parents' home, the cops showed up and
arrested him for rape.

He spent the next 18 months in jail but was paroled and set up with a
psychiatrist after that time.  He knew he had lucked-out and that his
consequences could have been much worse.

This had all occurred in Georgia, Waylon's home state and the source of his
drawl.

Listening to him tell his story, I couldn't help but be stunned and
horrified by what he was saying.  The fact that he didn't truly comprehend
the outrageousness of his behavior, or understand Mrs. Evans' reactions,
made me realize how oddly Waylon's mind was wired.

Yet there was something so guileless, so innocent about Waylon, and at the
same time so mischievous, that I had my hand down his pants the whole time
he talked, perversely excited by his story, fondling and squeezing his
leaking prick and roiling balls.

When he told me how he now only fucked women in the ass, and how much he
thought about ass -- his, mine, everyone's -- he opened his pants and
shoved them down his legs, flashing me his moist hole.

But before I could get at it, Waylon had shoved a finger up his shitter and
was grinning at me like a monkey.

"You ever play with your butthole and then smell your finger?" he asked me.

Taking his cue, I spread my legs and started fingering my hole.

"Yeah, of course," I answered.

He chuckled, pulled his finger out, sniffed it, stuck it in his mouth and
closed his lips over it, grinning and looking me straight in the eye during
the entire maneuver.

"Now you do it, too," he murmured, sounding like a little kid daring his
best friend.

I laughed and shrugged, then did the same.  Waylon cackled in glee as he
watched me.

"That's nasty!" he snickered.  "You're nasty!"

I reached between my legs and stuck three fingers up my ass and rotated
them.

When I pulled them out, I held them under Waylon's nose.

He inhaled and his eyelids fluttered and closed for a few seconds, a
blissful smile spreading across his unshaven face.

"That smells really good..." he murmured.

"It tastes even better, kid," I replied.

His eyes sparkled as he giggled, and he shoved his finger back up his ass
for a second, and then offered it to me to sniff.

Hoping he was clean, I leaned in and gave it a light whiff.

"Nice and fresh.  Clean, but earthy," I said, giving his finger a good,
deep sniff.

I got up from the sofa and stood directly in front of him with my back
turned to him, then bent forward, exposing my hairy ass and hole.

"Smell it, kid," I said.  "Eat me out."

Waylon sighed happily and actually licked his lips as he grabbed my hips
and pulled me backward into his face.

When his nose and tongue were in place, I clasped the back of his head and
ground my sweaty hole into his face.

Sighs and groans of pleasure came from both of us as he made-out with my
shitter, trying to force his tongue as far up my ass as he could manage.

Waylon mumbled "Tastes so good..." a few times.

"You wanna fuck my delicious ass?" I muttered at him.  "You wanna fuck the
shit outta me?"

Waylon snickered like a naughty child and nodded `yes'.

I moved away and leaned against a wall, pushing my ass out for him to use,
stroking and petting my hairy crack and cheeks to excite him, poking at my
hairy hole with one finger.

He whipped his t-shirt and jeans off quickly and came over to me, peeling
his foreskin back as he jerked for maximum stiffness.

"C,mon, kid, fuck me good and hard," I growled.

He wrapped his arms around my sweating chest and pressed his groin against
my ass, just like he did to Mrs. Evans.

When he placed the tip of his cock against my hole, I shivered from the
sensation, then pushed my ass out further, inviting him to impale me.

He hocked a wad of spit onto his dick and stroked it, then spat in his hand
and slathered my asshole.

As he began slowly sliding in, I reached behind me with one arm and clamped
my hand to his lower back, pressing and urging him forward.

"Go on, shove in hard, I can take it, dude..." I said.  "Fuck me like you
fucked her."

He nearly whinnied with glee and shoved hard into my ass, pressing his
sweaty chest against my back as he rabbit-fucked my shithole.

"You wanna fuck Mrs. E's ass, don'cha? I panted out.  "Plug her fuckin'
shithole with your cock, get your dick all slimy with her ass, shoot your
load deep in her guts, huh?"

Waylon came unglued, nearly climbing on top of me so he could fuck deeper
and faster, really working me over.

"That's it, kid, fuck me like a pervert fucks!" I bellowed.

Waylon was keening and nearly crying in his frenzy.

"Wait, dude, pull out, pull out just for a sec!  I gotta suck that fuckin'
dick!" I said, turning around and dropping to my knees as he withdrew in
surprise.

I moved so fast his hips were still bucking while his slimy cock bounced up
and down.

I grabbed it and yanked him forward so I could swallow the whole thing at
once.  When I did, Waylon let out a terrific groan and threw his head back.

I could taste the flavors of my guts on his cock, and around his pubes the
smell of my ass-stink was exquisitely fertile and earthy.

As I licked his cock clean, Waylon watched in fascination, a crazed gleam
brightening his eyes.

"Nasty...dirty," he chuckled.  "You like that?"

"Fuck yeah," I mumbled, just as I started lapping his sweaty balls.

Suddenly, he pulled back and spun around, proffering me his pretty ass.

"Stick your dick in me and then I'll suck it, too," he said breathlessly.

I grabbed him by the back of his neck, spat on my dick, and knocked on his
shitter with my gleaming knob.

Waylon bore down and his hole distended a bit, inviting me to slide in.  By
this point, I was beyond being considerate, and I rammed into him like a
monster.  Waylon shrieked and gasped and whined, but I didn't care.  In
fact, it only made it better.

"You fuckin' like gettin' raped?  Huh?  Yeah, you motherfucker, enjoy it!"
I sneered in his ear.

He yelped loudly with every thrust, but the sound quickly lost its edge of
pain to be replaced by intense, searing pleasure.

"I fucked her, I fucked your wife...!" he barked out.

I had no idea what he meant, until he said it again and I realized he was
pretending I was Mr. Evans.

"Twice!  I fucked her twice!  Your wife, I fucked her twice!"

This kid was freaky.

"You son-of-a-bitch!  You raped my wife and now I'm raping you, fucker!" I
played along.

"I'll do it again, I'll do it again," he shouted, laughing wildly, crazily.

"And I'll fuckin' kill you, maggot!  You ever so much as look at my wife
again, I'll put a bullet between your eyes, you hear me?!  You fuckin'
worthless piece of SHIT!"

I spat at him multiple times until bubbling saliva dripped off the back of
his head and neck.

I pulled out fast, making him yelp again, then took his throat in my hand
and forced him down to face me on his knees.  He knew what was coming, of
course, and his sweet mouth hung open, ready for me to force my befouled
cock down his throat.

But the sight of him infuriated me, for some reason.

Before I let him suck my stinking prick, I smacked him across the face
hard, first one side, then the other.  His eyes got teary and my handprints
were scarlet on his cheeks.

I was really getting into this scene, mostly because he was so into it.

I grabbed his hair and yanked upwards, making him shriek and half-rise.
Then I threw him backwards and he tumbled onto the floor, knocking hard
against the coffee table, and ending up on his back.

He scrambled to sit up, fear now beginning to register in his eyes.

I barked a short, derisive laugh at him.

"Come here!" I shouted, startling him.

He started to stand, and I barked at him again.

"Crawl, motherfucker!"

He did, and when he got to me, I placed my hands on my hips while my cock
lurched drunkenly inches from his head.

I laughed quietly now, mean and nasty.

And then I pissed in his face.

When the initial blast hit him, he opened his mouth, assuming it was cum.
When he realized it was hot piss, he closed his mouth and turned his face
away, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

I grabbed him by his chin and forced him to face me again.

"Open your mouth, maggot!  Drink my piss," I snarled.

He wrinkled his nose and kept his mouth closed.

"I said OPEN YOUR MOUTH!" I shouted, squeezing painfully hard on his jaw
and forcing his mouth open.

My piss-stream was strong and pungent, and I could see tiny wisps of steam
rise in the afternoon light as it splashed and cascaded all over Waylon's
head and chest.

He gagged often and kept trying to spit it out.

"Swallow," I growled.

He shook his head `no'.

"Swallow it, god damn it!" I barked.  "I don't want piss all over my
fuckin' floor, faggot, so drink every fuckin' drop, ya hear me?!"

He started swallowing now, and I couldn't believe how hot and desperate he
looked, chugging down my hot piss while he whined and whimpered.

I've never been into piss-play, but it seemed like the perfect activity to
indulge in with Waylon, especially for this particular fantasy scene of
his.

When my bladder was empty except for the few final squirts, he backed up
and started to stand.  I slapped him again and forced him back onto his
knees.

"You're not done yet, maggot.  You still gotta suck all your ass-slime off
my dick, you stupid fuck."

I grabbed his chin again and clubbed his face a bunch of times with my hard
prick before shoving it into his mouth and down his throat.

He gagged loudly and tears sprang from his eyes, so I let go of him and let
him suck at his ease.

"Fuckin' faggot bitch," I muttered as he worked.  "That ass of yours tastes
real good, huh?  You love it, don'cha, you sick bastard...the taste of your
shitty guts...you fuckin' love it, you goddamn filthy cocksuckin' freak!"

Waylon was in his element now, squealing with perverse thrills while he
savored the flavors on my smelly, throbbing dick.

When I'd had enough, I put my foot on his chest and roughly shoved him
backwards,

"Now I'm gonna cum in your ass, faggot.  Get up and bend over," I
commanded.

He got into position and reached behind himself to spread his ass cheeks
and expose his tortured hole.

Glancing over his shoulder at me, his eyes were half-closed with lust and a
feverish pleading for me to rape him.

I slammed into him in one clean move, roaring into his hot bowels and
making him bellow like a bull.

I immediately went into full fuck-speed, my groin slapping his sweaty ass
with pile-driver force.  Waylon was shrieking in lustful agony, and my
voice joined his to create a degenerate hymn.

Like an assassin's bomb, my cock exploded in his guts and filled him so
full of cum that it seeped out his shithole and dripped onto the floor.

I didn't spend any time lolling and relaxing in the damage, but quickly
pulled out and turned around.

"Now, fuck me, kid!  Blow your load up my fuckin' ass!" I demanded.

Still half-dazed from the abusive fuck I'd given him, Waylon did as he was
told, stabbing into my guts with furious glee.

"Yeah, bro, shoot your fuckin' load, just like you'd do in her ass," I
said, knowing I didn't even need to say `her' name.

Almost before I even finished saying it, Waylon let out a high-pitched gasp
and yelped.

"Oh fuck, fuck, FUCK...huhhuhhuhhuhhuh..." he grunted like an animal.

He wrapped his sweaty body around mine as tight as he could while he blew
his load up my ass.

I kept clenching my butt cheeks to milk every drop out of his balls that I
could get.  I wanted to feel good and full before letting go of him.

As his hips slowed their bucking, I stood up fully, forcing him to withdraw
his prick from my well-fucked shitter.

I turned around and grinned at him, both of us spent, sweat-soaked, and
deliriously satiated.

With a leering wink, I brought my cupped hand under my asshole.  Waylon
didn't even notice, not until he heard me rip a wet fart as I forced his
cum out of my guts.

I snickered like a naughty schoolboy.  Another good, powerful squirt
rumbled out and slopped into my hand.

When I felt emptied, I moved behind him and cupped the same hand between
his legs, directly under his shitter.

"Bear down and squirt it out," I said quietly, intently focused on his
battered, mucky hole.

Shivers of over-stimulation still coursed through his body, and when I
poked his anus with my finger, he sighed and grunted out a torrent of sperm
into my slimy hand.

I must have cum like a horse.  It just kept pouring out.  After five spews,
he was empty.

I moved to stand in front of him again, both hands cupped now, containing
the warm pool of swill.

I moved my hands back and forth, sloshing the stuff to mingle our loads.
Waylon watched with rapt attention; his eyes huge with fascination.

I adjusted my hands so that our juice flowed into just one palm.  With my
now-free hand, I stirred the elixir with my finger, slowly, reverently.

Waylon kept glancing from my hand to my face, watching every move I made,
every fleeting expression.

I brought my filth-covered finger up to his lips, and lightly rubbed them
with our combined juices.

I dipped my finger into my hand again, and then rubbed my lips in the same
way.

Leaning in to kiss his mouth, he met me halfway.  We joined lips gently and
held the kiss for a moment.  When we broke it, we gazed into each other's
eyes, and both automatically licked our lips.

I raised my cum-filled hand to my mouth and sucked up a big, slimy sip,
then brought my hand to his lips.

He didn't miss a beat, and eagerly slurped-up a good portion of our hot
soup.

Instinctively, we moved in for another kiss, this time a ravenous wrestling
of tongues, slippery with precious filth.

When we were through, I said, "Now we're bound together forever, kid.
We're holy bros, cuz we drank cum fresh out of our shitters.  That's real
magic, dude."

He looked spectacularly lewd and depraved, dirty and disheveled, full of
drop-jawed incredulity, his sleepy eyes seeming to stare at and through me.

He whispered "wow", then chuckled.

"Put your arms up," I said, and as he did, I rubbed my hands together,
coating them with our stinky ass-cum, like it was hand lotion.

 I rubbed them through his hairy pits, over his ass cheeks, between his
thighs, and finally wiped what was left in his pubes and on his nuts.

"Come back tomorrow.  Don't take a shower.  Wash your dick ONLY, not your
balls or pubes.  And wash your hole, but not your crack.  Got it?  That's
the only places you can clean until I tell you.  You're gonna stink so
fuckin' raw by then!" I snickered.

Waylon agreed to everything I said, got dressed, and left in a sexual daze.
I offered him a ride home, but he had ridden his skateboard over.

After he left, I cleaned up the area where we'd played, wiping up errant
piss, spit, and sperm from the floor.

As I was working, Sam walked in.  The early afternoon had flown by -- it
was already 4:30, and Sam was home from school.

As he dropped his backpack on the floor and unzipped his hoodie, he looked
around a bit and raised his eyebrows quizzically.

"I smell fuck-stink."

He sniffed a few times.

"Strong; it's fresh.  Who'd you fuck, dude?" he asked casually, with a sly
smile.

"Waylon," I answered.  "You just missed him, babe, he left like five
minutes ago."

"Did you both get fucked?"

"Yep.  Dude, it was hella freaky," I laughed.

Sam, of course, demanded an immediate and complete description, so I gave
him the blow-by-blows.

He ate up every word of what I told him, and said he was looking forward to
playing with Waylon, too, especially if it was all three of us at once.

While I was recuperating from my afternoon adventure, Sam was gearing up
for his own with Jesse, their evening's pussy-hunting foray only hours
away.

Jesse wasn't due to swing-by for Sam until 9:30 p.m., so we had a casual
dinner and smoked-out leisurely afterwards.

When Jesse's truck-horn blared out front, Sam grabbed his jacket and
eagerly rushed out the door.

"Be careful, bro!" I shouted after him, and he yelled back, "OK!"

The second he got his door closed, the truck roared out of the driveway,
its tires screeching, and disappeared into the night.

Sam was due home by midnight, and Jesse had promised me he'd get him home
on-time.

Of course, I was concerned for Sam's safety and well-being, but we both
took risks like this all the time.  Even though he was still a kid, just
17, Sam was pretty damned savvy and could take care of himself.

About 90 minutes had passed, and I was just settling-in to watch some porn
and smoke a joint when my phone rang.

It was Sam calling.

He had taken the public transit train home and was calling from our local
station, a few miles across town, asking me to pick him up.  He sounded
subdued, almost defeated.  I told him I was on my way.

When he got in my truck, I could tell that something had gone wrong, that
he was agitated and confused.

"What happened?" was all I needed to ask.

At first, he just shook his head and let out a huge sigh.  Then he turned
to me, and it all came out in a rush.

"Dude, he's a fuckin' whack-job. He's nuts!  First off, he was already
half-drunk when he got here, and he drank all the way to the city.  I can't
even believe we made it there.  By the time it all started, he was totally
wasted."

"By the time what all started?" I asked.

"Dude!  Fuck, you don't even wanna know, seriously.  It was awful.  I ran,
bro.  I got the hell outta there as fast as I could," Sam said.

"OK, good.  That's smart, that was good," I said.

"When we started cruisin' around checkin' out street hos, he asked me if I
brought a mask.  What the fuck, a mask?!  I told him no, and he said to
grab one from behind the seat.  Ski masks, eyeholes only, over the head.
There were a few of them."

Sam was clearly agitated as he told me what happened.

"He said I didn't need to put it on yet, and he turned off the main drag
and started cruising the side streets where there were only a few people
walkin' around.  He pulls alongside this one bitch, really young, like
maybe 12, 13.  He says, `Hey, girl', all friendly and shit.  `You busy?
Wanna have some fun?' and motions her over to his window."

He paused for a second and gently blew out his breath.

"So, as she's walkin' over, he turns his head to me and whispers `watch
this.'  I think he's about to make some smooth move or something to get her
in the truck, right?  No.  He fuckin' sucker-punches her in the face and
she goes down.  Out cold.  And he's laughin' and hootin' and acting like a
crazy motherfucker.  I can't believe what just happened, what he did, and
he peels off down the street, goes a few more blocks, then turns down
another side street and does the same fuckin' thing two more times!  Just
slams them in the face and then drives off.  Fucking lunatic..." he said.

"Yeah.  No shit," I agreed.

I got Sam a beer and tossed it to him.  He cracked it and drank half before
telling me the rest

"So, he keeps tellin' me to `do one', to try it for myself.  I told him I
didn't want to, and he thought was hilarious.  So, then he parks in the
dark and tells me to put on my mask.  I watched him pull his over his head
and get out of the truck, so I did the same."

He looked at me with an expression that nearly broke my heart -- ashamed
and scared.

"So, we're lurking in the shadows and we spot this bitch walkin' alone and
comin' our way.  He told me to just follow his lead and everything would be
fine.  Just as she walks past, he grabs her and pulls her into the shadows
and flings her against the wall, really hard.  He made her keep her back to
us, and when she started struggling, he told her if she looked at him he'd
kill her.  That freaked me out bad and I started panicking, I guess.

"Dude, it all happened so fast!  He fucked her from behind and when he came
he slammed her head against the wall and knocked her out, stuffed his dick
back in his pants, and grabbed me.  We walked hella fast for a block or two
and then he pulls me into another shadowy area away from the streetlights.

"These two skanky-lookin' hos came towards where we were hiding.  He jumped
out when they passed us and knocked their heads together so hard they
collapsed right on the street.  He dragged one into the dark and ripped her
skirt and panties off and raped her bad, dude.  I watched it.  I didn't
know what to do.  He told me to bring the other one into the shadows, so I
dragged her about ten feet and propped her against the wall.

"He told me to hurry up and do her, but I couldn't.  There's blood
trickling out of her nose and there's more blood on her forehead, and it
freaked me out bad, real bad.  And I puked.  I fuckin' barfed, dude, and
then I turned and ran like hell.  He shouted at me to stop, but I kept
goin' until I got to the train station.  And, yeah.  That's it."

He closed his eyes for a second, as if he were trying to delete the images
behind them.

I wrapped my arms around him and stroked his hair, kissing his forehead,
his eyelids and cheeks, now moist with tears.

"You did the right thing, babe," I murmured, "you did good.  It's over
with, and now I've got you.  You're safe, Sam, you're home, and you didn't
do anything wrong.  I love you so much."

I was kind of surprised at how rattled he was.  Sam had seen and done
plenty of outrageous things, usually at my suggestion, but frequently on
his own, as well.

Whatever he'd seen this night must have been truly horrifying to him.  I
felt bad for him, but I was proud of my son, glad to know he had a working
conscience.

When he'd calmed down and was again his old self, we made love -- not our
usual animalistic fucking, but gentle, nurturing, emotional sex.

I did everything I knew to give my son the physical pleasure and release he
deserved, and whispered all the sacred words of love, adoration, and
devotion I could think of.

We slept like angels that night.

I let Sam stay home from school the next day, just to take it easy after
his miserable experience of the previous night.

Waylon was due to swing-by around noon for a good time, and Sam told me
he'd probably join us.

I had a feeling that Sam would go all aggro on Waylon as a way of venting
and dealing with his emotions from the night before.  It seemed like a
good, healthy thing to do, so I decided I'd steer things in that direction
if it wasn't happening on its own.  Plus, Waylon would probably like it, so
we'd all have our fun.

Around 12:30, Waylon rolled up on his skateboard.  As soon as I heard him
clickety-clacketing down our sidewalk I popped a boner.  Even as a kid,
anytime I heard a skateboard drop or rumble along, I'd get hard.  And every
time I rode one, I rode with a rock-hard dick.

He had on the same clothes as yesterday and looked even more rumpled and
unkempt.  I hoped he hadn't showered like I'd instructed him.

When I opened the door, I got a nice whiff of sex-funk coming off him.

He leaned into me and kissed me deeply.

It surprised the hell out of me, but I didn't let on.  Sam saw it happen,
and when I glanced at him, he was grinning like an imp.  I just shrugged.

Waylon moved to where Sam was splayed-out on the sofa and stretched out his
hand for a shake.  Sam slapped it instead, and they nodded their greetings
to each other.

Out of the blue, he said to Sam, "Dude, I'm totally in love with him,"
gesturing at me.

I barked out a short laugh.

Sam guffawed but controlled himself and said, "Yeah?  How come?"

Walking back to me, Waylon leaned against my side and put his arm around my
waist.

"Cuz he's just right, dude.  He did everything right.  We had the best time
ever, yesterday, and this morning I realized we're in love."

He said this matter-of-factly, then swooped in for another kiss.

I pulled back and said with a chuckle, "Whoa, hold on, kid.  What are you
talkin' about?  I'm not in love with you!  And I don't want you in love
with me, not like that.  The only guy I'm in love with is him," I added,
motioning to Sam.

"Sam's the only guy I've ever loved like that, or ever will.  No offense,
kid.  But that's the way it is.  We can play around all you like, but don't
say shit like that, I don't like it."

Waylon just stared at me, a vacant smile tugging at the corners of his
pretty lips, and slightly shook his head.

"It's not my fault.  I can't help it.  You did it.  It's your fault," he
said quietly.

Neither Sam nor I made a sound, at first.  The moment was kind of creepy,
but also absurdly funny.

I shook my head and said, "Whatever, but no.  Anyway, let's play.  I'd
horny as hell.  Sam's gonna play, too.  Get your clothes off, kid."

I brought out a bong and prepped some weed while Waylon stripped off and
stood in front of us, openly exhibiting himself.  He absently fiddled with
his long foreskin, twiddling and pinching it, making my cock ache to be let
out.

 Sam's eyes lit up.  He sat up straight, leaned forward, and reached out to
fondle Waylon's sweet cock.

The kid stepped forward so Sam could more easily examine it.

Sam rolled the foreskin back and swiped his thumb over the moist, ruddy
head, smearing already-leaking pre-cum across its tender surface, then
pulled it forward again to create a big nipple.

Taking Waylon by his hips, Sam pulled him a bit closer and wrapped his full
lips around the long foreskin, sucking and nibbling on it like a bitch's
tit.

Waylon giggled from the sensation, like a little boy discovering a nasty,
new thrill.

Sam let go for a second and jacked Waylon's shaft.

"Fuck that's nice, dude.  I wanna see it squirt.  And you fuckin' stink
like ass; ass and jizz," he laughed.

He gave Waylon a gentle push and then stood up to take off his clothes.

I lit and passed the packed bong to Waylon, then began undressing, too.

While I was stepping out of my sweat-shorts, Waylon said, "My girl wouldn't
fuck last night."

He chuckled sort of breathlessly and didn't say anything else.

"You got a girlfriend?" Sam asked, a bit incredulously, I thought.

Waylon nodded absently, a dreamy look in his far-away eyes.

"Mm-hmm.  She said you smell nasty.  She said you have to take a shower if
you wanna fuck.  But I wouldn't.  I said J.J. told me not to.  He told me I
couldn't, and I promised him."

He gave a short, high laugh.  The kid was spooky.

But he was also sexy as hell and had an amazing cock and a hungry ass, and
that was all that mattered to me and Sam.

I had the advantage of knowing how kinky the kid liked to play, how
malleable and eager-to-please he could be.

Sam and I had great fun talking shit to each other when we were in the mood
to `fuck mean', as we called it, our term for intensely aggressive sex.
We'd make up outrageous stuff to say and do to each other.

So, I was excited to discover what sort of fucked-up, transgressive scene
Waylon wanted to act out today.  I had been feeling the itch for some mean,
nasty fun all morning, and I was getting impatient, especially knowing that
Sam would be another player.

I loved seeing Sam be aggressive, loved watching him be a sex-bully.

"What're we playing today, kid?" I asked.  "What kinda game you got in
mind?"

Not surprisingly, Waylon said only, "I dunno, whatever you want," and left
it to me to call the shots.

Sam and I gave each other a significant look, and I guess Waylon noticed
it.  In any case, he mentioned having a funny dream a few nights earlier.

"Let's do my dream," he suggested.  "J.J., you're him again, and Sam is me,
and I'm the little boy."

I understood only some of what he meant, but I was able to guess the rest.

"Her son?" I asked, not even needing to say her name.

Waylon chittered and nodded `yes'.

"Who's, what, eight?"

"Uh-huh," he muttered, eyes wide, so deceptively innocent.

Sam didn't know what we were talking about, but it made no difference to
him.  All he was interested in was plowing Waylon's ass and getting his
nut.

He still didn't know the depth of depraved pleasures available to us.

"OK, bro, pretend you're Waylon, and that Waylon's an eight-year old," I
hurriedly explained.  "I'm gonna pretend to be the boy's dad, who's furious
at you.  Got it?"

Sam just shrugged and scratched his hairy nuts, having a hard time keeping
his eyes off Waylon's ass.

The kid plopped himself down on the sofa, laid back, and spread his legs.
His hole looked red and tender, no doubt from the beating I'd given it
yesterday.  I got a sharp thrill, knowing it'd throb and ache like hell
when Sam got to work.

Sam knelt on the sofa and made Waylon pull his legs up.  When his asshole
was fully exposed, Sam gave a low whistle of approval and fingered it for a
few seconds.

"Damn, dude, you look raw.  And ripe," he added with a laugh.

Waylon sucked in his breath when Sam fingered him, but breathily said, "It
hurts but I like it so much I don't care."

"Good for you, kid," Sam replied.

It made me smile to hear Sam call Waylon `kid', since he was seven years
younger than Waylon.  But that's how Waylon presented, like a boy in
mid-adolescence.  Specifically, 14.  His brain seemed to be frozen in time,
right around when he'd had his first experience with Mrs. E.  I knew how
profoundly early experiences could imprint and influence future kinks and
fetishes.

Sam started noticing details as he got his first real close-up view of
Waylon's body.

"You got dried cum all over your ass," he snickered, lightly touching the
crusty patches where I'd wiped ass-cum the day before.

"Mmm-hmm, in my armpits, too," Waylon murmured.

Sam leaned down as Waylon threw his arms over his head, and inhaled deeply.

"Fuuuuck," Sam giggled as he nosed through the matted hair, "they stink
like ass almost more than jizz!"

When he straightened-up again he glanced at me with a lecherous smile, and
muttered "Fuckin' rank, dude; you rock!"

We all took a few huge bong rips, and then got down to business.

I let Sam and Waylon start off, allowing me to get a sense of the game and
how I'd enter into it at the right time.

It didn't begin well.

Sam was so completely focused on his dick and getting inside Waylon that he
didn't say a word, at first.

The kid had a frown on his face, but I wasn't sure why.  Was Sam not giving
him what he needed, or was he already pretending to be a little, pouting
boy?

Finally, Sam spoke up.

"So, what's your name, kid?  How old are ya?"

"Oliver, and I'm eight years old," Waylon said.  "What are you doin',
mister?  Why did you say we had to take our clothes off if we wanted to
play and not to tell my mom you were here?  What are we gonna do?"

Sam laughed evilly before saying, "I'm gonna stab my fuckin' dick up your
guts and rape the shit outta your bitch ass, that's what we're gonna do!"

I knew immediately that this was not the right tone for Sam to be taking.
It wasn't `Waylon', at all.

Waylon immediately rebelled.

"I don't say that, I won't say stuff that way...I'm scared of me if you
talk that way, don't do it...be nice and make me like it, make me like
you...I'm just little, a young, little boy," he whiningly complained.

But he was half-laughing, too, seemingly aware of the ridiculousness of
what he was saying.

Effortlessly, Sam adjusted his demeanor.

"Shhh, shhh, shhh...it's OK, Oliver, just be quiet and I'll tell you the
new game we're gonna play, a new game I'm gonna teach you, all right?" Sam
said softly, rubbing his leaking cock-head all around the kid's quivering
asshole.

Waylon murmured softly, a happy, contented child now.

"OK, I'll be good, I'll be quiet...go ahead and show me," he added.

"Good boy.  Your mom asked me to show you this game cuz it's feels so good
and it's really fun!  I'm gonna stick my dick up your butthole and pump
your butt until I squirt sperm inside you, like big boys do.  OK?  Your dad
does it to your mom all the time, and she loves it as much as your dad!
Ready?"

"Won't it hurt?" the kid asked in a small, quavering voice.  He really did
sound like an eight-year old, both hot and creepy as hell.

"Uh-huh, it will, but then it'll feel really good once I start pumping and
you get used to it.  You can scream and cry if you want to, that's normal;
but I may have to cover your mouth if you get too loud, OK?" Sam said.

Waylon sighed and chuckled like a cherub.

"OK, go ahead, Waylon, do it; stick your dick up my butthole," he giggled.

Sam had been lubing-up as they talked, and now he pressed his glistening,
bulbous cockhead against the kid's greasy, puckering hole and slid in
masterfully in one smooth move, all the way up to his pubes.

Waylon thrashed and roared, finally letting out a series of sharp, deranged
shrieks as Sam rotated his hips, his cock in up to the hilt, sending
agonized spasms through the kid's body.

When Waylon started groaning and wailing like he was being murdered, Sam
covered his mouth and started pumping the kid's ass with pile-driver force.

"I'm fuckin' your sweet baby ass, little guy...fuck yeah, go ahead and
scream, buddy, it's OK...bite my hand if you want...aw fuck, you got the
sweetest little eight-year old ass I ever fucked, you know that, Oliver?"
Sam was into it.

Waylon stopped yelling and Sam removed his hand, but the second he did,
Waylon started whining and pretending to cry like a child.

"Ow, ow, stop, mister...it hurts so bad...ohhh, Waaaylon...ohhhh Jesus,
you're raping my baby ass...my dad will be mad when I tell him...do it to
my sister...do it to her, too...she's only six and she's got a pussy!  Aww,
FUCK..."

I knew my cue when I heard it.  It came just in time, because my cock was
so hard, I was afraid I'd shoot off my wad before I had even entered the
game.

In my most authoritative `dad' voice, I bellowed, "What the fuck's going on
here?!"

I genuinely startled them, and Sam instinctively started to scramble off
Waylon.

I flew at Sam and clasped him by the scruff of his neck, shouting, "You
son-of-a-bitch!  First you rape my wife and now you're back to rape my
son?!  I'm gonna beat the shit outta you, ya fuckin' maggot, I'm gonna kill
you!"

Waylon's eyes got as big as saucers when I grabbed Sam.

Sam's arms went up trying to protect his head and face as I swatted wildly
at him.  I wasn't using my full strength, of course, but it was enough to
make some good sounds and keep Sam off-balance.

"Don't, Daddy, stop it, stop hitting him!  Please stop, Daddy, please!" the
kid cried out.

I let go of Sam with a shove.

"Jesus fucking Christ, I don't believe this!  Now you've got him begging
for it!  I was saving him to rape for myself, I was gonna fuck him when he
turned 12, and now you've ruined him.  He's defiled, asshole!  He's useless
to me now, what am I supposed to do with him?! SHIT!!" I roared.

Sam and Waylon shot each other a quick glance, unsure how to proceed.  I
was giving one hell of a performance, perhaps a little too convincing.  But
now I was into it, too.

They just stared at me in awe, so I continued ranting.

"Well, go on!  What are you waiting for, you selfish bastard?  Go on and
fuck him!  Might as well, he's ruined now, completely spoiled and fucking
RUINED!  Guess I'll rent him out to any guys that like to fuck little boys.
Hell, they can fuck him for free for all I care!  In fact, that's even
better -- any men who want to fuck my eight-year old whore-of-a-son, step
right up!  Let's see how many cocks he can take up his ass in one session!
Fucking little bitch-ass boy-whore, fuck you," I boomed.

I was working-up a powerful sweat.  A surge of adrenaline coursed through
me, my stiff cock spasmodically jerking.

Sam caught the playful twinkle in my eyes and cracked a half-grin.  Now he
knew for sure that I was pretending, that I hadn't actually gone off my
head.

He sneered at me, and said, "Shut the fuck up, old man.  Go fuck your
whore-bitch of a wife!"

Surprisingly, Waylon didn't stop or correct Sam.  I thought Sam sounded too
aggressive to `be' Waylon, but I guess the kid approved of where Sam was
taking this.

"Shut your god-damned sewer-mouth, maggot!  Go on, go on and fuck the shit
out of him, show me what you're made of so I can judge!" I sneered back.

Sam slapped Waylon's flank and motioned for him to pull his legs back
again.  When he did, Sam thrust his hips forward and sank his prick into
the kid's guts.  Waylon huffed and grunted, tightly squeezing his eyes shut
in painful pleasure.

His hips a blur, Sam began to build-up a fiery aggressiveness, and I stoked
it even hotter and higher by talking mean, fucked-up filth at him.

"How is it, maggot?  How's my little boy's shithole feel on your fuckin'
dirty prick, you son-of-a-bitch?"

Sam's head snapped back, and a thrilled sigh escaped his lips at the venom
of my words.

"Awww, so fuckin' tight and virgin-fresh, new and unused...bitch-boy's got
a hella sweet fuck-hole, dude!" he answered.

"You call me Mr. E., maggot!"

"Sorry, gramps; I mean, Mr. E."

"Snide little cocksucker," I muttered.

"And speaking of sucking cock..." I added, "Suck your daddy's big, ol'
hairy dick, Oliver."

I moved to the arm of the sofa where Waylon was resting his head, swiping
my hard, dripping cock against his perspiring forehead.

Waylon was nearly bouncing from the ferocity of Sam's fucking, but he
eagerly grabbed for my prick and guided it to his wet, gasping mouth.

"Hell yeah, son...I'm gonna train you to suck dick like a pro, like a good
whore; and I get to be the first to shove my cock down your throat, since
your ass already got popped," I said, shooting an angry, accusatory look at
Sam.

Waylon was having a hard time getting my dick in his mouth, so I hiked one
leg up and propped my foot on the sofa arm, allowing me to squat down and
smear my sweaty asshole against his face, as well as pumping my dick in and
out of his throat with ease.

As I did this, I said to Sam, "That is, of course, unless you already made
him suck yours...did you?"

Sam laughed, and drawled, "Nah, not yet.  I was savin' that for after I
fucked him."

I scowled.  "Fuckin' dirty faggots...you're all alike.  Do it now!  I wanna
see it while I take a turn on his ass."

Waylon squealed.  He looked so amazing, completely degraded, stuffed full
at both ends, writhing and whimpering like a pig in slop.

When we evacuated him simultaneously, Waylon gasped and panted, a demented
look of happiness and raging horniness on his sweat-drenched face.

"Ohhh, fuuuck..." he whispered, "You guys are fun...you play good -- "

Before he could say anything else, I shoved my stiff horse-cock into his
ass with such force that his entire body heaved forward, nearly toppling
from the sofa.

With a demonic cackle, Sam stifled the kid's screams by cramming his prick,
slimy with anal effluvia, into the kid's mouth.

A wild, ravenous humming replaced Waylon's shrieks as he hungrily tongued
and sucked Sam's dirty prick.

"That's right, Oli, clean all that shit off my dick...tastes good, don't
it?...you like it, huh?, the way it tastes?...hell yeah...that's what your
slutty little shitty ass tastes like!  I knew you'd like it, you fuckin'
little freaky perv..." Sam murmured nastily.

Watching them wallow in their lewd degeneracy, I was pushed to the edge,
teetered there for a few, delirious moments, and then prepared to plunge
head-long into a pit of perverted bliss.

"Awww, you fuckin' bitch, I shoulda raped your faggot ass years ago!" I
roared.  "Get ready, boy, Daddy's gonna fill you full of his babies!"

As my balls got ready to drain, Sam reached his moment of truth, as well.
It couldn't have been choreographed more perfectly.

I bellowed like a Neanderthal as the first bolts of sizzling cum erupted
and shot deep into Waylon's tortured guts.

After those first two blasts, I pulled out fast and let the rest of my
drenching load fly wild, spattering the length of the kid's body and all
over the sofa.

I must have shouted every filthy word I knew as my pulsing, flailing cock
spewed out showers of hot, smelly sperm.

As my balls emptied, Sam's engorged prick let loose with a series of
sharpshooter squirts that smashed into Waylon's face and neck.

Two blasts hit the kid directly in his eyes.  It looked to me like Sam had
aimed purposely.

In seconds, Waylon was yelping from the searing pain in his eyes as his
tongue swiped all around his mouth, trying to suck up any cum it made
contact with.

"Owww, fuck, my eyes burn so bad!" he complained.

Sam laughed at him.  I joined in.  We were fired-up.

"Occupational hazard, slut," I chuckled.

"Yeah, it's your own fault, anyway, stupid" Sam added.

Pathetically, Waylon whined, "How is it my fault?"

"Cuz you turned me on so bad I couldn't help it!  I HAD to.  You made me do
it cuz you're such a fuckin' whore, such a talented little cock-tease," Sam
said, like a good fuckboy.

"Fuck yeah, you're to blame, Oliver," I agreed, keeping the game moving.

"You're always runnin' around in shorts or your underwear, showin' off that
ass, tempting me with it, every time you fuckin' lean against me, or climb
all over me when we're playing...you're silently begging me to fuckin' rape
you, I've known that all along..."

Waylon was jerking-off like a monkey with one hand, while swiping Sam's
load out of his eyes with the other.

He was clearly in distress, but it was funny to see him, equally torn
between needing to rinse out his eyes and busting his nut.

I saw the depth of his personal perversions at that moment somehow, and it
thrilled me.

He started to grunt rhythmically, but managed to say, "Come here, Daddy, I
think I can smell my ass on your dick..."

I certainly could.  I had been taking a moment to savor the aroma wafting
up from my bloated cock before sharing it with the kid.

"Damn, son, you're a dirty little bitch, aren't ya?  Here, smell it before
you suck it," I muttered.

While Waylon bathed my greasy cock in his mouth and sniffed all around my
sweaty crotch, Sam moved to the other end of the sofa.

Kneeling on it, he pushed Waylon's legs back and then bent down to
tongue-fuck his mucky hole.

Almost keening now, the kid was close to spurting, so I pulled my cock away
from his ravenous mouth and stood back to watch the show.

Sam was gorging noisily on his face-full of ass, but when Waylon started
loudly grunting and squealing, he removed his face and replaced it with two
fingers, working them forcefully deep inside.

"C'mon, you fuckin' little prick, shoot your load!" Sam encouraged him as
he finger-fucked.

"Blast it in your face, you hungry bitch!" I snarled, my dick starting to
fatten.  "Attaboy!"

His agonized voice rising to a tortured falsetto, Waylon fisted his dick
ever faster but suddenly slowed down, his girlish soprano turning to a
boyish tenor as he prepared to unload.

Sam's fist was virtually punching the kid's ass from the force he was using
to finger-fuck him.  He'd done this to me many times, and I knew how
brutally, shockingly pleasurable it felt, once you got past the blasts of
pain.

"Fuck, here it comes!" Waylon shouted, and a jet of milky sperm rocketed
out of his dick and exploded on the bridge of his nose.  More spurts
followed, and soon his mouth was full of jizz. His entire face was sopping
wet.

As soon as the final sperm dollops dripped into his mouth, Waylon swallowed
twice, lowered his legs, and stretched as he uttered a long, satisfied
sigh.

Sam collapsed into his side of the sofa, thoroughly spent.

"Impressive load for an eight-year old," I said facetiously.

Sam and Waylon snickered.

"You fuckin' really stink now, dude," Sam said to him.

Waylon was licking cum off his fingers, after having wiped as much as he
could from his face.

"Mmm-hmm," he said, "I know.  I smell."

"Go take a fuckin' shower.  You stink like a nasty little boy who's been
doin' dirty stuff," I ordered.  "Get your ass in the tub and clean all that
filth off.  Now!"

Waylon wasn't sure if I was still playing, or if I was serious.  I scowled
at him and jerked my thumb in the direction of the bathroom.

"Right now!  Go," I barked.  "I mean it."

He giggled and got up from the sofa, cum dripping off him in rivulets onto
the floor and carpet.

"Go on, ya little shit, get the fuck in there!" I said with a sneering
laugh.

"Yeah, go!  You're a hella naughty, dirty boy," Sam added, "You stink like
a dirty asshole."

We cackled like banshees and started throwing the sofa cushions at him.

Waylon high-tailed it into the bathroom and turned on the shower, closing
the door behind him as if he were shy.

Sam and I looked at each other and laughed at the bizarre scene we'd just
played out.

"That was fuckin' wild, dude," he said.

"Yeah, crazy, huh?  He's one kinky perv, that's for sure."

"But, like, what's wrong with him?  I mean, he seems sort of slow or
retarded or something.  Or is it just an act he's puttin' on?"

"I dunno, bro.  I think he really is a bit slow, but maybe not.  He seemed
normal the other night, didn't he?"

"Hmmm.  Yeah, I didn't notice anything weird about him," Sam replied after
a moment.  "But, dude, it's kinda hot if he IS slow...you know what I
mean?" he laughed lasciviously.

Snickering, I said softly.  "Hell yeah it is, you sick bastard!"

We picked up the cushions and replaced them on the sofa.

Sam plopped down onto it and gazed up at me, a sexy, dreamy smile on his
lips.

"I need to get fucked, bro," I said, sitting next to him.

Chuckling, he answered, "That's what I was hopin'!"

As I started getting into position, we were interrupted by the sound of a
vehicle pulling into the driveway.

Sam popped up and went to the window, pulling back the curtain to take a
look.

"Oh fuck, dude, it's Jesse!" he hissed.

"Take it easy, babe.  I'll take care of him.  I wonder what he wants,
though," I replied.

"Fuck if I know, but I don't wanna see him, dude, what if he's fuckin'
drunk or somethin'?"

A heavy knock at the door silenced Sam immediately.

We shot each other a glance, and I went to open the door.  Sam moved
himself to the kitchen.  I remember hearing the shower running and thinking
how funny it was that Waylon was here, too.

Jesse was just turning to leave when I opened our front door.  He turned to
face me, a frown on his handsome-but-hungover mug.

In an ice-cold voice, I said, "Hey.  What?"

"Oh, hey, J. J., how ya doin'? he said, distractedly.  "Is Sam around?  I
need to talk to him."

I stared at him for a few seconds before answering.  His eyes were glassy
and bloodshot.

I spoke to him like he was a moron.

"Jesse -- it's a weekday.  What the fuck?  Sam's in school.  Jesus...  Why?
What do you want?"

"I just gotta talk to him, right away.  What time's he get home?"

I was starting to get irritated.

"Fuck, dude...I don't know, later in the afternoon.  Why?"

"There's just something I gotta tell him...something I wanna say to both of
you..."

I guffawed.

"I'm right here, dude, wha'da'ya wanna tell me?"

I had crossed my arms against my chest and widened my stance.  I could feel
my nostrils starting to flair and I sensed that I was looking at him all
bug-eyed.

Warning signs to myself, if not to Jesse.

"Look, man, I --" He broke off, gave the front door a pleading look, and
then said, "Can we talk inside?"

I wasn't sure.  I continued standing there defensively, trying to decide
whether to knock him down or invite him in.

I relaxed my posture, let out a deep breath, and motioned him inside with a
nod of my head.

Sam, I knew, had been listening to everything.  I was glad he'd had time to
decide what to do -- hide in another room, or confront Jesse head-on.

As we started up the front steps, the door opened, and Sam came out onto
the porch.  We both froze on the bottom step.

He had pulled his jeans on, but not his shirt.  His hands were buried in
his pockets, forcing the waistband of the jeans so low I could see the tops
of his pubes.  I was still naked.

"What do you want, what are you doin' here?  I don't wanna talk to you,"
Sam said flatly.  He looked bold and righteous.

Jesse was speechless for a moment, then he looked at me and said, "You said
he was at school.  You lied."

"I'm protecting my son, Jesse.  He told you he doesn't wanna talk to you!"

"It's OK, Dad, I'm fine," Sam said firmly.

Jesse stood there, looking from me to Sam, clearly uncomfortable but not
knowing where to begin.

"Can we go inside?  Please?  I got something I need to say to you," he
said, this time addressing Sam.

Sam didn't answer, just stood there looking at Jesse for a few seconds.
Silently, he turned and walked back into the house, leaving the door wide
open.

Waylon looked at me, and I motioned him inside.

"C'mon," I muttered as I passed him on the steps, waiting for him to cross
the threshold.

Sam was already on the sofa, and Waylon stood beside him, naked and
toweling off his hair.

"Oh hey, Jesse!" Waylon drawled casually, a friendly smile on his face.

The sight shocked Jesse, unsettling him even further.

"S'up, bro," he replied.  "What're you doin' here?"

Waylon laughed quietly.

"We were playin' a game," he said.  "It's really awesome.  You'd like it."

Jesse looked at me and Sam, but neither of us said a word.

"Oh, yeah?  That's cool," was all he could think to say.

I decided to rescue him.

"Hey, Waylon.  Look, kid, Jesse wants to talk to me and Sam alone.  Go make
us some lunch in the kitchen, will ya?  We'll be there in a few minutes."

Waylon shrugged, and, moving to the kitchen, said, "OK.  Jesse, too?"

Over my shoulder, I half-snarled, "Nah.  He'll be leaving."

Once we were alone, I sat next to Sam on the sofa, leaving Jesse the option
of standing or sitting on the floor.

He looked around for a chair, and, seeing none, sat himself heavily on the
floor.

"OK, so look," he started, "I wanna apologize for bein' so wasted last
night.  I shouldn't have been drinking, but I figured what the hell? it'd
be fun, so....  Plus, I think I might've been acting like a dick.  Was I?"

Sam shrugged, but still wouldn't speak to Jesse, much less look at him.

"And then I lost track of you, cuz you took off, I guess.  I drove around
looking for you, but I was startin' to see double, so I parked on a quiet
street before I passed out.  Didn't wake up until after dawn this morning,"
he continued.

He was looking hopefully as us, but neither Sam nor I were yet ready to
talk.

"Anyway..."  He cleared his throat before going on.  "And I shoulda called
you when I couldn't find him, man, but like I said, I was too wasted.  I
really thought about it, though.  I want you to know that."

I couldn't believe it.  The more he talked, the angrier I was getting.  I
tried to calm down by taking some slow, deep breaths, but it wasn't
helping.

"So, Sam, sorry, buddy.  I shoulda warned you what we were gonna be doin',
I guess, but I thought you'd just roll with it and have some fun.  Sorry
you got so spooked, bro.  For serious."

And then, apparently, he was done.

He sat up straight and smiled at us.

"Wow..." I said, then stopped.

Sam sensed right away that I was furious.  Maybe he heard something in the
way I spoke that one word, but his body tensed-up and his eyes started
darting nervously from me to Jesse.

"So, basically what you're telling us is that you're sorry only that Sam
didn't enjoy watching you beat up women, sorry that he didn't join in?  Or
that you were wasted, driving him around, risking his life, or that you
lost him (thank god!) because you were too fuckin' wasted to notice how
freaked-out he was??"

I had a lot more in me.  It was like a long-dormant inner "dad" suddenly
revealed himself and surged through me.  I was enraged, but I needed to
catch my breath.

Jesse looked stunned, but he tried to defend himself by justifying his
behavior.

"Bro, those bitches are just whores!  Who cares?  Nobody gives a shit about
`em, what happens to `em; I sure as fuck don't.  They're just street
whores, they're garbage, dude!"

He gave a half-laugh, like he was incredulous at my reactions.

I let him have it.

"Fuck off, Jesse.  That's just fucked-up.  They're human, do you get that?
I don't give a shit what they are, whores or princesses, it doesn't matter!
You don't fuckin' go around beating on people, especially women, just
because it gets you off, you fuckin' nit-wit!"

He was slowly shaking his head, a crooked grin on his lips.

"Dude, you just don't get it," he said.  "Whatever."

Sam looked at me and rolled his eyes in resigned disgust.

"Look, man.  Me and Sam, we don't fuckin' beat and rape women, get it?  We
play pretty rough sometimes, but that's it.  Don't ever try to get Sam to
do anything like that ever again, you got that?  You do as you like but
leave him completely out of it.  You understand me?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, avoiding my eyes.  "OK, yeah, sure."

His whole face was flushed now, in embarrassment, shame, or rage, I
couldn't tell.

But my new-found "Dad" voice wasn't through talking yet.

"Something else: lots of your tatts are fascist symbols, man.  Is that what
you believe, are you a fascist?  Or a Nazi, a fuckin' neo-Nazi?"

Coming from left-field, my question threw him off-balance for a moment.

"What?  Nah!  No, I'm not a fascist or a Nazi!  My tatts, it's a long
story, but nah, I don't believe that shit," he said defensively.

I believed him; his voice and face were telling me the truth.

Suddenly, I felt tired.  I gave a short grunt of acknowledgment, then
leaned back into the sofa and felt by body begin to relax.

"Sam?  You got anything to say?" I asked.

Sam wasn't about to cower in his corner of the sofa; rather, his body was
open and alert, and he spoke in a clear, firm voice.

"Nah.  But, never again, bro.  I'm not into that shit.  You got it?"

"Yeah, bro; hell yeah, no problem," Jesse answered, sounding contrite and
relieved.

He held out his fist for Sam to bump, and after a moment's thought, Sam
responded.  Then Jesse turned to me and we did the same.

Sam adjourned our meeting by saying, "I'm hungry; let's have lunch."

"You want me to go?" Jesse asked me.

As we stood up to move into the kitchen, I shrugged and said, "Nah; stick
around and eat, if you want."

I expected to find Waylon waiting for us, but he was gone.  A note on the
table read: `You were yelling so I left.  There's soup on the stove and
sandwiches in the `fridge.  That was fun.  See you tomorrow.  XXX W.'

I read the note out loud, and we all had a friendly laugh.

"He's weird, but Waylon's a good guy," Jesse said.

"Is he retarded, or what?" Sam asked.

"Retarded?!  No, bro, he's not retarded.  That's hella funny!  Nah,
Waylon's like a, what do they call `em?, a chameleon.  Like a shape-shifter
or somethin'.  He's like a different person every time I see him.
Sometimes he's like he is today, goofy and sorta out of it; other times
he's smart and sharp as hell; funny, too," Jesse said.  "Strange.  But,
he's one of the nicest, gentlest guys I ever met."

Sam helped me get our lunch on the table, and we sat around shooting the
shit while we ate.

Afterwards, I moved the three of us into the living room and hauled out the
bong.

When we were nicely baked, Jesse stretched like a cat where he sat on the
floor.

"There's one more thing I wanna tell you guys, somethin' funny," he said.

"OK, so long as it's funny.  Nothin' that's gonna piss me off again though,
is it?" I asked like I was kidding, which I wasn't.

"Nah, nah, not at all, man," he replied, almost giggling.

"So, go on.  What is it?" Sam had caught Jesse's giggle.

He looked at us with a twinkle in his eyes and a knowing smile on his lips,
like he was about to tell us something juicy.

"So...I been in the joint twice, right?"

"Right," we agreed.

"OK.  So, believe it or not...I got a virgin ass.  No shit.  Nobody's ever
tapped this ass, not once in alla my 34 years.  Never been touched," he
said, eyes aglow.

Sam snickered and glanced at me.  I cocked an eyebrow at him and sat up
straight before turning back to Jesse.

"Dude, how'd you get though prison twice without getting fucked?" I asked,
genuinely curious.

"The skins had my back and watched out for me, man.  That's why I got the
tatts, to keep `em happy and on my side," he explained.  "Protection.
Otherwise, I woulda got raped my first day in."

"So, you were just pretending to be a fascist or a Nazi or whatever?" I
asked.

"Nahhh," he drawled, "not really, bro.  Like, while I was in, I was
definitely one of `em, no pretendin' about it.  But once I was out, I knew
it was all bullshit."

Sam laughed, and said, "Yeah, dude, I totally get it.  It's like most
college bitches -- lesbian `til graduation."

That made us laugh, but I wasn't so sure I completely believed that he
thought it was `all bullshit' now.

But he was saying all the right words, so I decided not to trip and just
listen to his story.

"Anyway.  I was only gonna offer this to you, bro," he said to Sam, "but
nah, it's for you both..."

He paused for a beat.  His face had flushed bright red again, and he was
smiling sheepishly, almost embarrassed.

"Oh, man....  OK!  If you wanna explore some uncharted territory..." he
muttered, "I'll let you tap my ass.  Both of you -- you can have it.  Fuck
the shit outta me.  If you want to, that is."

Sam and I had both broken into broad, shit-eating grins, and when he looked
up at our faces he laughed loudly.

"Oh-oh, I got a feelin' I'm gettin' my cherry popped!" he snickered.  "My
ass is toast!"

Sam said, "Dude, I'm down!"

"Same here," I immediately added.

We all just stared at each other with expectant smiles, as if daring one
another to make the first move.

Jesse was an imposing-looking guy: Big and beefy, muscular and hard as
marble.  His intense, steely-blue eyes and fair skin stood out dramatically
from his short, reddish-blonde beard and the swatch of hair on his head
that he left unshaved.

His clothes hugged his body so closely that I could see the contours of his
powerful physique plainly, including the round globes of his ass and the
mounded bulge of his crotch.

Altogether, it didn't surprise me that he'd been able to preserve his anal
integrity all these years.  His sheer size and snarly, unpredictable affect
would deter most men from even considering making an overture, much less an
actual attempt at fucking him.

Sam, of course, didn't seem to feel any trepidation at all.

He tugged his jeans off and tossed them aside, flaunting his already-stiff
cock by slapping it against his stomach until streaks of webby pre-cum
slimed his treasure trail.

We were all softly snickering at ourselves and each other.  The sound of
our breathing was punctuated only by occasional sighs and grunts and hums
as we casually moved ourselves into better positions.

Jesse immediately began taking his clothes off, starting with his black
steel-toed boots before proceeding with the rest.

I just watched, since I was already naked.  Things had moved so quickly
since Jesse arrived that I hadn't even thought to put any clothes on.

As he undressed, Sam and I hovered, ogling him and muttering approving
comments as he revealed more and more of his body.

The way we devoured him with our eyes and the remarks we made unnerved him
a bit, at first, but soon he relaxed and began to enjoy it.  What remained
of his clothes he removed as a taunting come-on.

Sam and I were casually stroking our cocks, first our own and then each
other's.  Jesse's gaze shifted back-and-forth between us as he pulled his
jeans down over his meaty ass and thighs.

He was wearing underwear -- plain, dingy white briefs, packed to bursting.

Things were looking good.

At last he removed the clothes from his upper body.  First went his derby
jacket, then a faded camouflage t-shirt.  Under his t-shirt, he wore a
long-sleeved thermal top, ratty at the collar and cuffs.  When he whipped
it off over his head, his hairy pits were wet and revealed thick,
reddish-blonde hair.

This was my first good look at his tattoos.

While Waylon had a larger number of tatts, crudely drawn, Jesse's were of
excellent workmanship.

On both sides of his neck were double lightning bolts, the dreaded SS
insignia.  A large Iron Cross covered most of his upper back, and on the
interior of each forearm were crosshairs in a circle.

"Your tatts symbolize everything I'm against, but they're nicely done," I
told him.  "No swastika," I added, more an observation than a question.

He laughed and said, "Bro, I'm not that fuckin' stupid."

He made a big show about pulling his underwear off, teasing us with partial
glimpses of his thick pubes and smooth, muscular ass, before finally
yanking them off completely.

A thick, ruddy cock squashed against big, purplish balls, all surmounted by
a dense forest of golden blonde pubic hair shot through with fiery red,
unfurled quickly as he freed the mound from its fabric jail.

We just stood there for a bit, smiling like idiots and chortling
mindlessly, appreciatively gawking and commenting on what we saw.

Sam and I knew that Jesse was hot for him, so I knew Sam would take his
turn first.

I was excited by the idea of watching it happen -- hearing Jesse's screams
drowned-out by Sam's nasty cackles; the steaming scent of freshly-fucked
ass, made all the headier because it was virgin; all the lewd sights,
sounds, and smells of man-to-man fucking were about to be unleashed.  The
thought sent spasms through my stiff prick, and pre-cum began dripping in
long strands, catching on the hair of my leg.

"How do you want me?" Jesse asked Sam.

"On all fours," he quickly answered.  My boy didn't waste any time when it
came to sex.

Jesse started to get up on the sofa, but Sam told him to stay on the floor.
He got on his hands and knees and stuck his ass out, wriggling it back and
forth, snickering and enjoying himself.

"Come and get it, dinner's served!" he laughed.

Sam and I were laughing, too, but it was malicious.  Jesse wouldn't be
laughing soon, not once my boy got to work.

Sam knelt behind Jesse and ran his hands over his damp, meaty ass.  When
Sam touched his asshole, Jesse squirmed and gave a sharp yelp.

"Go slow, dude; take it easy on me, OK?" he said to Sam.

"I will," Sam reassured him, though I had my doubts.

Jesse's ass was a marvel.  Pale and creamy, virtually hairless except for
the crack and hole, a big, muscular, man's ass.  His asshole was bright
pink, tight and healthy, a little starfish waiting to be speared.

Sam's eyes flashed when he got a good look at it.

"Damn...," he muttered, a low growl in his throat.

He hocked a wad of spit into his hand and stroked his cock, then repeated
the action and smeared it over Jesse's asshole.

"You ready?" Sam asked.

"No," Jesse laughed nervously, then sighed.  "I guess; do it," he said,
resignedly.

Sam motioned me with a nod of his head, indicating that I should kneel in
front of Jesse.

As I moved to take my position, Jesse yipped, "What are you doin'?"

I snickered at him, "Dude, chill!  Grab onto me if you want; I'll support
you."

He looked at me with the first vestige of fear I'd seen in his eyes,
finally admitting to himself that he was about to undergo something intense
and painful.  I just gave him a reassuring nod as I knelt directly in front
of him.

Sam bent down, his face disappearing behind Jesse's rump.  Seconds later,
Jesse gave a sharp gasp and nearly levitated.

"Ooooo!" he squealed, as Sam deep-rimmed his shitter.

His back instinctively arched and he giggled like a child, apparently
unused to the exquisite sensation of a wet, squirmy tongue gliding
in-and-out of his anus.

I couldn't believe it and looked at him in wonder and awe.

"Don't tell me you've never been rimmed before," I said, truly incredulous.

Still squirming and giggling, he said, "Nope, never!"

"Jesus, unbelievable..."

Sam's head popped up and he licked his lips, then asked, "Don't you ever
play with your ass when you jerk-off?"

"Nope. Dirty, dirty, dirty!" he laughed.  "I've always hated touchin' my
asshole.  The only time it happens is when I take a shower," he snickered.
"I know it's supposed to feel fuckin' amazing, but...nah.  But, this?!
Damn, bro, this feels fuckin' AWESOME!"

We all laughed, and Sam went back to eating ass, relaxing and gently
loosening Jesse's fuckhole.

Jesse hummed with pleasure, gasping when Sam went deep, all ticklish
giggling gone now.

I kept my eyes on his face, watching every fleeting expression, each lewder
and more agitated than the last.  My dick was so hard it ached, and I could
feel a perpetual flow of pre-cum oozing down the shaft, spilling over onto
my hairy nuts.

When Sam was satisfied that Jesse was ready, he adjusted his position and
slapped Jesse's ass with his spit-slimed cock.

Jesse took a deep breath, and Sam slowly pushed his dick in.  Jesse got a
horribly surprised look on his face and then squeezed his eyes shut,
grimacing in discomfort.

When Sam leaned in a bit more, Jesse roared.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, pull out, pull out dude, pull out!"

Sam cracked a huge gloating smile, and paused his pushing, but he didn't
pull out.

"Don't be a pussy," he sneered.

"Relax your muscles, breathe and relax" I said.

"You're just hella tight, dude.  Push out like you're takin' a shit.  I'll
shove in a bit and then wait `til you get used to it," Sam quietly coached.

He pushed in further, and Jesse shrieked, pounding the floor with his fist.

When Sam paused again, Jesse whimpered like a little bitch, panting from
pain, his face beet red from the strain.

It took several more screaming, pleading-for-mercy attempts before Sam was
finally able to sink in and start to grind.

But once it got underway, it was beautiful -- primal, raw, and brutal.

Jesse gradually began to enjoy the painful/pleasurable ecstasy of having a
stiff cock stuffed up his ass, pumping, thrusting, digging.

"You like it?" I growled at him.

It took him a second to answer, as if my voice roused him from a reverie.

Between grunts, he gasped, "Aw fuck, dude...I feel so full...it's fuckin'
incredible..."

With his ass thrust upward, his chest and head were at a lower plane, just
about even with my dick.  His hot, panting breath beat against my crotch,
and all it took was my adjusting his head a few inches and I was soon
rubbing my dripping dickhead all around his mouth.

He tried to turn his face away a few times to avoid it, not being a
cocksucker himself up to that moment, so I grabbed the swatch of hair on
his head and gave it a hard yank.

"Take it in your mouth, bitch..." I barked.

As if on cue, Sam started thunder-fucking him, propelling him forward until
his face was pressed against my groin.

"It stinks like ass!" he complained, while I rubbed my prick all over his
face.

"Yeah it does, so lap it up, ya stupid fuck!  It's got Waylon's ass all
over it!"

He tried to pull away again, so I smacked him hard across the head, then
seized his jaw in one hand and shoved my cock into his mouth.

He gagged and tears sprang to his eyes.  I was choking him on my dick,
holding his head firmly in place until he almost suffocated.

When I let go, he pulled back and gasped, then gagged a few times.

I thrust my dick in his face again, and this time he gingerly took it in
his fist and started sucking.

"Fuck yeah, suck his dirty cock!" Sam laughed.  "You're gonna be tastin'
your own ass, too, as soon as I nut."

Giving Jesse's ass a couple of sharp slaps, Sam picked up his pace and
really slammed into him.

There was no way Jesse could satisfactorily suck my dick now, because of
the force of Sam's fucking.  He was in another world, shouting, keening,
crying out in an agony of bliss.

Sam suddenly started huffing and grunting, the vein in his forehead
bulging, his face and chest flushing scarlet.

He crossed his arms behind his head and gave his pits a few deep sniffs
before frantically lapping at them, fucking like a demon all the while.  He
looked amazingly lewd.

"I'm gonna fuckin' blow!" he roared, and delivered a series of mighty,
earth-shaking heaves into Jesse's guts.

I knew, just from the blur of his hips, that Sam was pumping Jesse's ass
full of sweet sperm.  Each time Sam bucked, Jesse howled for more.

When he was drained, Sam collapsed like a tent on top of Jesse, his ass
still slowly pumping as he cooled down.

Finally peeling himself off his prey, Sam stood up, stretched, scratched
his nuts, farted, and then flopped onto the sofa.

Jesse just laid there, exhausted and softly moaning, his limbs slowly
moving back and forth.  A dreamy, satisfied smile spread across his face.

"My first fuck..." he moaned, sounding pleased with himself.  "Damn...I had
no idea..."

As Jesse sat up slowly, Sam reached out and grabbed his shoulder, pulling
him closer.

"You gotta suck my dick off, bro; gotta get it nice and clean," he said
nonchalantly.

Still a bit hesitant, Jesse sighed but made the effort, and got his first
taste of his own ass.

"That's it," Sam murmured.  "You got a sweet, tasty ass, dude, huh?"

It was gratifying to see Jesse go from being disgusted at the idea of
sucking dirty dick, to eagerly lapping and licking every vestige of his ass
from Sam's cock.

When my boy had had enough, he shoved Jesse slightly and said, " J.J. gets
to go now."

Jesse turned to look at me, and I could tell from his expression that he
was leery about getting fucked again so soon.

"C'mon, I need to blow this load," I said.  "You guys got me so fuckin'
horny!  That ass is still full of Sam's load and I wanna fuck in it."

Jesse started to get on all fours again, but I redirected him.

"Nah, dude, I want you on your back so I can see your face."

Sam tossed the sofa cushions onto the floor and Jesse arranged them before
laying down.

As I got between his legs, he knew enough to hike them up and expose his
asshole.

"Don't be as rough as Sam," he said, a hint of worry in his tone.

Sam and I laughed.

"Nah, I'll be gentle as a lamb."

I slid two fingers into his shitter, just to get a feel of Sam's load.  It
was like sticking my fingers into a bowl of warm pudding.

Jesse winced, but I ignored it.  The second I felt the warm, slippery goop
enrobe my fingers, my cock lurched drunkenly and stiffened like a flagpole.

Ready to take him, I pulled my fingers out of his ass and wiped them all
over my dick, getting it foully lubricated with used sperm.

I was in my element, and a huge surge of adrenaline rushed through me.

I gave his balls a few hard slaps with my cock, and he moaned.  Laughing, I
clamped one hand over his throat, virtually holding him down, then, without
warning, plunged my prick up to its hairy hilt all the way into his guts.

If we'd had neighbors within hearing distance, I'm sure they would've
called the cops to report a murder in-progress.

Jesse shrieked in prolonged, agonized screams, alternating with tortured
shouts and gut-punch grunts, that only added to the righteous thrill of
raping him.

I didn't hold back at all.  Sam had leaned forward in excitement, cackling
and making filthy comments, urging me to go full berserker.

Jesse was rocking his head back and forth so hard I thought he'd give
himself whiplash.  Aching sobs and cries came non-stop, but they only made
me fuck harder with frenzied determination.

I laid on top of him and held his head in place so I could maul his throat
and mouth, sucking on his neck leaving multiple bruises, snapping and
sucking and biting at his cheeks and chin and lips, finally forcing my
tongue down his rasping throat.

He squealed into my mouth and squirmed beneath me, driving my furious lust
higher and hotter.

As he writhed, his hands traveled up and down my sweaty back, smacking,
punching, his fingers periodically digging into my bucking ass cheeks,
clasping me firmly.  It wasn't all pain.

I forced his arms over his head and held them there.  Musky sweat streamed
from his pits, and the sight of all that wet, golden hair made me crazy.
Burying my nose in each one, I started ripping hairs out with my teeth.

I had a sudden letch to suck his cock, so I pulled out and went down on
him.

Once I took this momentary break from destroying his asshole, he calmed
down and laid still, though his cock was only half-erect.  My wet, ravenous
mouth got him hard as iron in seconds.

Once I'd sucked him erect, I jerked him off until he was close to spurting.
When his breathing got ragged and the grunting began, I let go of his cock,
gave it a sharp smack, and forcibly shoved my prick back up his tortured
ass.

As he yelped like a dog, I let loose with a stream of nasty fuck-talk.

"You're finally gettin' your fuckin' ass raped, you cocksuckin' bitch!  How
ya like it, faggot?  You like gettin' raped?  Huh??  Raped like the little
prison bitch you are?  Fuck yeah, you do!  Yeah, scream!  SCREAM,
motherfucker!  Beg me for it!  I oughta fuckin' bash your face in, ya
worthless piece `a shit!"

He shrieked like a bitch, genuine terror widening his eyes.

I stopped thunder-fucking for a moment and rotated my hips, sending fresh
paroxysms of pleasure-pain through his body as my cock lolled in his guts.

"Ohhh, Christ...you're killin' me..." he moaned.

"Nahhh...not yet.  I'll let you know," I sneered in his face.

As I resumed my punishing, relentless thrusting, I said to Sam, "Let's both
fuck him, bro!"

Sam let out a loud whoop and sprang from the sofa to my side.

We rolled Jesse over onto his stomach and hauled him up by his hips.  He
was now on all fours again.  Sam scrambled to get under him, and when he
was in position, I forced Jesse down so that his asshole was in line with
Sam's cock.

Sam slid in with comparative ease.  From behind Jesse, I began to shove
myself back inside, but it was difficult.

The second the tip of my prick touched his shithole, Jesse began to wildly
squirm, yelping and screaming in sheer horror.

"No!  I can't take two!  Stop, don't!!  No, stop, oh fuck, stop!!" he
shrieked.

I shoved in hard.  It was nearly impossible to get inside him, but with one
more huge push, I squeezed in.

Jesse's mouth opened in a shocked, silent `O'.  He gave a huge gasp, his
eyes rolled back in his head, and he fainted.

Sam and I both grunted a surprised laugh, then moaned with pleasure,
basking in the heavenly sensation of having our cocks squeezed tight
together in a virgin ass.

We were too deep in our fuck to care what shape he was in.  The only
imperative was that we get our nut, whether he was conscious or not.

Holding Jesse upright in my arms, we started fucking slow, not out of
consideration, but simply because his ass was too tight to go any faster.

But it worked to our advantage.  With our cocks pressed so tightly
together, every move we made sent waves of unimaginable bliss through us.
Our slow fuck was like a dance, a massage, and a seduction, all rolled into
one.

Jesse came-to just as I was getting ready to blow.  He tossed his head once
and slumped against me, the fight having gone out of him.  He didn't even
react to being stuffed full of our two big dicks, pile-driving away in his
guts.

My balls were ready to unload.  I could feel them churning and building to
a boil.  My fingernails dug into his nipples and drew blood.  Clamping onto
his throat with my teeth, I bit down hard as the first geyser of sperm
rocketed out of my dick and smothered Sam's shaft.

Sam moaned as loud as I did as I continued firing cum-volleys into Jesse's
guts.

Jesse didn't say a word, and I thought he might have passed out again.
But, no; he was just exhausted from how rough we'd been playing with him.

Midway through my orgasm, Sam got his, flooding what little space there was
inside Jesse.  My prick swelled as it drowned in his massive load, causing
our mingled sperm to squirt out of Jesse's shithole, like snot from the
sneeze of a severely congested nose.

As we finished filling his ass, Jesse slumped down and would have collapsed
on top of Sam if he hadn't reached up in time and rolled Jesse off to his
side.

Fucked nearly senseless, Jesse slowly rolled over onto his stomach.

Sam sat up and stroked Jesse's sweaty, defiled ass before running his
fingers through the slimy crack, coating his fingertips with fuck-froth.

Sniffing his fingers like a fine wine, Sam considered for a brief moment,
then smiled before offering them to me to smell.

The swampy stink was heavenly.

"Awww, bro...!  That's probably the best ever.  You think?" I said.

Sam gave his fingers another appraising sniff.

"Dude.  We could fuckin' bottle this as perfume.  Yeah, this is definitely
the best ever," he agreed, and we chuckled.

Both of us were anxious for a taste from the tap, so I let Sam go first.

When Sam spread his cheeks, Jesse groaned in alarm, but Sam shushed him and
said, "You'll like this, it feels good."

Jesse let out a relieved sigh when he felt Sam's mouth seal over his
battered asshole and gently suck.  Sam was almost purring as the filthy
elixir flowed into his hungry mouth, making mine begin to water in
anticipation.

After each swallow, Sam gave Jesse's raw hole a slow, soothing tongue-lap
before gluing his lips to it again for another sample.  Jesse sighed and
groaned with pleasure, pushing his ass up and back for Sam's ease.

"How is it?" I asked Sam, my voice sounding shaky.  I could almost taste
it.

He pulled his face away from Jesse's ass and looked at me with shining eyes
and a huge smile, his mouth and chin glossy with fuck-slime.

"Dude, it's amazing!  Here --" he said, scrambling to the side and making
room for me to take my turn, "Have a taste!"

I don't know how it all worked out so perfectly, but the combination of
Jesse's ass with our sperm in the exact right proportions...it was simply
the headiest, seediest, earthiest, most redolent of ass-fucking sex-elixir
imaginable.

Sam thought so, too, so of course we wanted a third opinion -- Jesse's.

We took turns transferring mouthfuls of ass-cum to his tongue, something he
surprisingly accepted and swallowed, though his face screwed-up in
revulsion at his first taste.  By the time we'd cleaned him out and fed
him, he was eagerly sucking it off our tongues.

Jesse still hadn't cum, so Sam asked him about it.

"Don't you wanna blow your load, dude?"

Jesse shrugged and said, "I'm too fuckin' wiped-out.  You guys fucked me
up."

"Sam'll jerk you off," I offered.

Rolling over onto his back, Jesse sat up with effort, as though he had
taken a beating, and leaned against the wall.  Sam squatted on his haunches
beside him and grasped Jesse's half-hard cock in his fist and started
stroking it firmly.

In less than 30 seconds, Jesse was bucking his hips as Sam got him off.

"Here it comes..." he grunted, and thick ropes of semen came hurtling out,
one after another.  Sam purposely put his face in the line of fire and took
a few direct hits on his cheek.

The three of us were spent.  It was now close to 4 pm, and afternoon sun
beamed through the windows, bathing us in warmth.  I got up and went to
take a piss.

When I came back into the room, Sam was stretched out on the sofa, watching
Jesse get dressed.

"Thanks for the fuck," I said.

"Yeah, that was fun," Sam added.

Jesse looked at Sam and then me, his expression unreadable.

After a moment, he said, "You guys are fuckin' pricks."  Giving his boot
laces a sharp yank, he added, "You fuckin' raped me.  I didn't want that."

"Yes, you did," I said, not missing a beat.

"Yeah," Sam agreed.  "You said we could fuck the shit outta you, so..."

Jesse just shook his head and continued lacing up his boots.

"Yeah, right.  Whatever.  You're fuckin' maniacs."

With that, he stood up and headed to the door, walking with evident
discomfort.  Sam and I just stared at him, surprised by his anger.

"Atonement, brother," I said.

He stopped and turned around to face us.  A strange, half-smile spread
across his face.

"I'm gonna fuck both of you.  I'll come back and fuck you both," he said, a
mean leer twisting his smile.

Sam couldn't stifle a laugh, and I said, "You better, dude.  Return the
favor!"

Jesse looked stunned for a second, then actually laughed, though he tried
not to.

"You guys are...you're nuts!  Look, don't say anything about this.  I got
my pride," he said quietly.

"No prob, bro," Sam called from the sofa.  I seconded.

As soon as Jesse pulled out of the driveway, Sam and I showered.  We'd had
two pretty wild encounters, back-to-back, and as we washed away the traces
from our bodies, we traded our opinions on each.

At last, clean and refreshed, we stepped out of the shower and dried off.

"Well, that's two down in one day," I mused.  "Four to go."

"Who's up next?" Sam laughed.

"We'll figure it out while we make dinner.  C'mon."