Date: Sat, 13 Jun 2020 21:59:45 -0400 From: Moon Store LLC Subject: Back Seat Angel Back Seat Angel Part Two - Hi folks! Here is the second installment of my little tale. It is complete fiction, and if you shouldn't be reading this sort of stuff, don't. However, please donate to Nifty for allowing us to share with each other. Help make the world a little more colorful, and keep the forces of drudgery and conformity at bay. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html Moonstore Back Seat Angel Part Two - "I'm not Lorenzo," he mumbles. "That's what the app says," I counter. "I answered a ping from the rec center to pick up Lorenzo, and, when I stopped, you jumped into the car. I'm supposed to take Lorenzo to the bus depot and the airport. Did you get into my car by mistake?" He squirms and looks away uncomfortably. "No." "Then who is Lorenzo?" "I don't know." "What do you mean you don't know? How in the hell did you end up in the back of an Uber, headed to the airport? I mean, you know that we're supposed to be headed to the airport, right? Did you call an Uber?" "No! I mean, yes. I mean, er, wait, okay. Um, yes, I called the Uber. But we can't go to the airport, we'll get caught. We gotta find someplace to hide. If we don't, the men from The Center will catch us. They don't know I've left yet, I don't think. I hid in the back of the van when it left there to pick somebody up, and when it parked at the rec, I snuck in the back door of the locker room to put on some clothes, and stole this phone in there to call you." Caught? Center? Hide? A van? Put on clothes? Stolen phone? I'm lost here. I took a deep breath. "So you took Lorenzo's phone. Is he from this 'Center' you're talking about?" "No, I got the phone from a locker at the rec." "Where you also stole clothes from because you were hiding in a van. Naked." "Yes." "And you're heading to the bus depot and the airport to escape from these men?" "No. I put that into the app so that that is where they will look for me. So we can't go there." "Well, if you don't want to go to the airport or the bus depot, just go on the app and change the destination to where you want to go now." "I can't." "Why not?" "Because I threw the phone away when I got in your car, so they wouldn't track us." "What, you threw the phone out?" "Yeah. I mean, yessir." The bag of trash that was tossed curbside right before he slammed the door closed. I remember now. Huh. Wait. I am driving around with this cute, apparently over-sexed teen, who escaped naked from someplace that is chasing after him, or would chase him if they knew he was missing, who is wearing somebody else's shorts and hoodie, and used yet someone else's stolen phone to dial an app to take him to a destination that, apparently, is not where he wants to go to now, because 'they' will catch him there, and, and do what? And there's that 'us' again. How am I mixed up in this? Okay, well, simple forensics has gotten me thoroughly mixed up into this both literal and figurative mess. So at least he's right about that. This poor kid's DNA is sprayed all over the inside of my car and all over my face and clothes. I'm going to have a tough time explaining how innocent a bystander I was in all this, to whatever authorities care to ask questions about the last ten minutes of my life. And, honestly, that part of my brain that thinks about these kinds of things got a huge charge out of what just happened. It's not every day that adolescent guys shoot huge loads off on me, inadvertent or not. Hell, it never happens. Although I've wanted it to happen for a long time. I just didn't know of any good way of making it reality. And I certainly thought that these sorts of things needed a bit more prep time than what just went down in the last couple of minutes. I'll be dreaming about this for weeks. "And the massive cum facial? I mean, it was impressive, if you're into that sort of thing. But what was that all about? Does this mean that the two of us are a thing?" I stifled a giggle. Not this again. Open mouth, insert foot. Shut up, brain. The teen blushed furiously, opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, his mouth working soundlessly, trying to form some sort of coherent sound. Tears again formed in the corner of his eyes. Oh, gads, here we go again, Jason. Saying the first stupid thing that pops into your twisted mind. Just stop it. "Look, I didn't mean to freak you out by saying that we are, more than already, I just, well, look..." I stopped talking. I wasn't making sense. The boy voiced, in a near-whisper, "Uh, the medicine they give me is wearing off. I stopped taking it a couple days ago." "They give you medicine to make you shoot like that? Holy crap!" "No, the medicine is to make it stop. Semen is the Devil's seed. It makes you impure. You have to take the medicine or the The Unholy One will take you. And then this is what happens." The tears were flowing freely now. "But the medicine was making me feel sick, so I stopped. But, if they found out that I stopped taking the medicine, they would have scourged me. So I ran from them. But, then, this overtook me. The eruption of Satan. They were right. The Devil made my seed erupt, and tainted both of us. We have tasted the pleasures of the flesh, and been corrupted! Oh sweet Jesus up in heaven, please help us! I don't want to end up in hell! I don't want to be punished for my transgression! Please, I'm so sorry! God, please save me!" He curled up again, whimpering. Wow, just wow. This kid is either mentally deranged, seriously kinky in ways I can't possibly comprehend, or in need of some serious deprogramming. Maybe all three. During his rant, I again became acutely aware of the gobs of spooge that were now getting uncomfortably cold, still hanging from my face and arm, and for that matter coating the entire inside of the car with pungent goo. So I resolved at least, 'tainted by the Unholy One' or not, to try and make some headway on getting this mess cleaned up. So, hesitantly, I opened the car door, intending to go around to the trunk and look for a towel, or maybe that can of disinfectant spray, and possibly a blanket to cover up 'Lorenzo' and his rampant tool, while I figure out what to do. But this just sends him into another spiral of panic. "No! You can't leave me here! Please, don't go out there! Don't get out and go away!" He flails his arms and legs, and leaning forward, grips my shoulder. "Please mister, I mean sir, you can't go. Don't leave me exposed to scourge like this!" He has a surprisingly strong grasp, and, I realize, he's got a point, although he's probably not aware of why. I have an absolutely painfully-hard erection in my pants, and I can tell that at least one wet spot on my pants is being produced by something other than his copious shot. I can't just get out of the car and stand there rummaging in my trunk with an erection like this tenting out, ready to explode at the slightest stimulation. And, honestly, I am transfixed by the still-evident sight of his tumescent boyhood, now pulsing stickily against his leg. What I really want to do is get back there next to him, and take that tool into my mouth, and coax some 'Devil's seed' out of him for myself. And maybe add to the mix with some 'impurities' of my own. Right here in this strip-mall parking lot. It's been a while, maybe forever, since I gave a cutie like this some much-needed relief, or them me, and, crazy talk or not, I am majorly aroused by the sight of this little satyr in my back seat right now. 'God please save me' indeed. I shake my head to clear my thoughts. Brain, don't go there just yet. We are still sitting in a public lot next to a busy highway, and, for that matter, the Uber app is still turned on, prompting us towards our now-pointless destination. Regular, everyday society has some 'scourge' of its own, that we would both be subjected to, should we be caught, together, in public, in this compromised position. That won't do. So, I reach over to my phone, and cancel the ride, thankful for once for the absolutely miserable GPS capabilities of the Uber app. More than once, I've been directed to some blind alley, or some dumpster, or backwards down a one-way street, in an attempt to navigate my fare. Now, it works in my favor. I hit 'don't charge passenger' on the list of cancellation choices. With any luck, old Lorenzo won't even notice that the app was activated while his phone was 'borrowed' until the next time he opens it up. I turn around to chat. I need, I think, to be as soothing and conciliatory as possible. The kid is already freaked. Me too. I'm not sure who needs the soothing talk more. Another deep breath. "Okay. I won't leave. Here's what we're going to do. I'm gonna pull the car around out from this spot next to the highway, and find a place where we can start to clean up a bit. Just around the corner. Not the airport. Just a few yards away. So we can talk. We'll figure this out together, You and I. Okay?" He nods. I turn back to the steering wheel and start the engine. His grip, if possible, tightens even further, and his hand is trembling. This is going to need to be a short move. Luckily, the back end of this lot opens to another, rear parking lot behind the strip of cement buildings, and so I pull around out of line of sight from the highway, and kill the motor. "Look, we need to remove the, um, signs of transgression away, so I'm going to open the door and get out, and move around to the back seat so we can clean up, and talk. So let go of my shoulder, okay?" Reluctantly, he does so, and I quickly open the front car door, and then the back one, using the movement to quickly readjust my own aching meat to a more comfortable position. Man, when this is over I'm going to bust a nut at least as strong as his was, and well-deserved at that. But right now I've got to take care of a terrified, mixed-up kid. Or, at least, I think that is my motivation for clambering into the back seat with him. Hell, at this point things are so mixed up I don't know. I slide into the back drivers-side seat, and the first thing I notice is that the smell of boy cum back here is overpowering. Obviously, the option of simply letting him out at some unobtrusive location, wiping off the seats, and searching for another fare to make up for this debacle is impossible. Besides, I have absolutely no idea where to let him go, even if he and I weren't drenched in nut juice. My mind is spinning. This is just crazy. Right now, I have the chance to get an actual good look at my passenger, so I do. He is really not that tall, maybe 5 and a half feet, although it's difficult to tell with his legs pulled up onto the seat. Thin, maybe even skinny; he has that underfed, feral look that waifs and juvenile delinquents tend towards. Absolutely not a turn-off at all. Hungry boys tend to be hungry for lots of things besides food, in my own limited experience. In my past, I've been both happily propositioned, and also ripped off by a few young teens in similar straits, and I have no regrets about either. Some folks are givers and some folks are takers, and I'm okay with both. His mop of hair is messy, curly, and untrimmed, but at least looks like he has washed it in the last day or two. It actually frames his angular face nicely. Brown eyes, still red with tears, peer at me, blinking, hesitant. The hoodie, I note, is about three sizes too large for him, dark grey and shapeless, with some off-brand sportswear logo emblazoned on it. It won't be missed. It hangs well past his butt. He is, in fact, sitting on the back end of it. The nylon shorts are hard to see at the moment, covered as they are with the hoodie, but nondescript in size and color as well. His dick, I note, is not especially oversized at all, it just looks gigantic on his small frame. If I had to measure it, (Oh yeah, let's do that -- hush, brain, I'm trying to think with my big head right now) I'd put it at six inches plus -- certainly man-sized on a boy's frame. That, and it is still poking obscenely from the bottom of his shorts. It must feel my eyes on it right now, because it takes this opportunity to roll over and flex a bit; typical teenage refractory period of about five minutes here. Balls are obscured by a pubic hair patch, curly like the head hair, but more so. The legs are his better feature -- slim, lightly furry, and tapering down to feet which are definitely, like the penis, destined for a much larger full-grown frame. And yeah, the tufts of black hair on the tops. Little Hobbit feet. Long toes, sticky still with remnants of his discharge of a few minutes ago. So cute and inviting. Yeah, I'm staring at his feet, watching him curl and uncurl his toes. I'll bet nobody has kissed his feet before. My breathing is getting labored. The smell of cum is intoxicating. I feel the urge to pick them up and run my tongue up that fur-patch. My dumb, animal brain is conjuring up some really lurid thoughts right now, new, and honestly, a bit disturbing. It's winning here. Damn. A sniffle brings me back to the moment and I glance back up at his face. I reach over and grab the BK-logo stack of paper napkins from its cubbyhole on the console, grab the stack of Taco Bell ones for me, and put them into his limp hand. I'm supposed to be cleaning up, not perving on his body back here. He is looking at me with an odd expression, and I can tell I'm blushing from being caught staring. I wipe at my face, as much from perspiration as cleaning up spunk. I give my shirt a swipe, too, and glance over to see what progress he has made. None. In fact, he is leaning back against the door, and his hands have gone down into his lap, again. His cock is back at full mast; turgid, throbbing, and he has one hand over his glans, and his other is cradling his nut sack, which he has pulled out from the left leg of his shorts. He is staring right at my crotch, which, despite my efforts at cleanup, is still tented obscenely with my straining hard on. I mean, I'm sitting next to a hot teenage boy with his dick hanging out of his pants, and the air around me reeks of spunk. My brains stem is going to react, despite every effort of my cortex to keep a sane lid on the situation. He whispers, "You've been tainted too. I can see it. You're of the Devil." Okay, that was the worst pick up line in human history. Except the worst pick up lines don't work. This one did. If it was a pick up line at all. Or just a statement of the obvious, in a rather unorthodox way. Because I'm ready to burst here. My prick is ready to break my zipper, my breathing is harsh, and I can't stop staring at him. I want nothing else right now but to tear our clothes off, grab him, and mash our bodies together in carnal ways that will send us to the moon and back. He knows it; I know that he knows it, too. Pleasures of the flesh, indeed. Taint? Just a taste, yes please. Fuck it. My brain snaps. I can't sit here and deny my thoughts to myself any longer, or pretend that I'm here in the back seat to fix things up. Damn. Either this is going to be exactly what we both need, or this is going to fuck us both up in ways that neither of us can possibly imagine. Groaning, I paw at my belt and undo it, and the zipper, and pull my aching cock out of my pants in one swift motion. I can smell the odor of man funk hit my nose, mixing with the smell of boy here in the tight confines of the back seat of my car. Memories of the back seat fumblings of my misspent youth come flooding into my head, along with the awareness of hurtling into the dangers of the future, of diving into the depths of the unknown. I need to cum, and cum now, and doing so will seal our deal, intertwine our fates, in ways we cannot fathom. I can feel it, an almost unnatural pull. Yes. The Devil's bargain, and decided in a split second, as most intemperate decisions are. I reach out with one hand, and grab hold of the nearest part of his teen body, which happen to be his feet. I spit into my other hand, and smear it around my cock head. I place his two feet, still smeared with his own spunk, on either side of my rigid pole. I clamp down on his feet with my hands, forming a tight, slippery spot for me to stroke my blood-engorged member between his soles. I push, I gasp. It feels like soaring into heaven. It feels like I'm sliding down into hell. I am gasping for breath at the wonderful sensations shooting from my cock through the rest of my body, as I rock back and forth against his tightly-held feet. I lock eyes with him, and he appears to be shocked by my actions. Apparently, he has never considered anything below his knees to be an erogenous zone. But he whimpers as I continue to stroke, and now, as I strain towards my impending orgasm, my balls boiling, he reaches down to his own tool and starts to match my rhythm, squeezing his shaft in time with my own movements up and down between his feet. The feeling of his smooth soles along my shaft, the feeling of the soft downy teen fuzz on the top of his feet, and up his legs, as I hold and stroke them, the curling and flexing of his toes, the soft moans coming from him as I watch him massage his own throbbing erection in time with my own, send me up and over the top, and I completely lose control. Savagely gripping his toes and clamping them tightly around my cock, I ram my dick in between his feet faster and faster, until, gasping, heaving, I push upwards, my body locked, every muscle straining, let loose a guttural groan of sheer pleasure and release, and let fly with huge gobs of semen that shoot out of me like flames from a Roman candle. My eyes roll to the back of my head, my brain feels like every synapse is trying to fire at once, and my soul feels like it is being consumed by the heat of the sun. I think I might have blacked out for a moment, because, the next thing that I remember is opening my eyes a bit, stars still swimming in my vision, and seeing the look of concern on the boy's face as he peers at me. I looked down at my hands still tightly gripping his feet, which were now absolutely covered in drools of cum. I let go, a bit aghast and astonished, to which he flexed and rubbed them together against my softening member, not seductively, but like someone might do when releasing their feet from shoes that were too tight. I slowly came to my senses, and looked up, first, at his eyes, which were moist, then at the rest of him, and realized that he, too had cum when I had, glistening pearls of his seed coating the insides of his thighs, clinging to the wisps of hairs there, and dripping down onto the seat below him, and the tail end of his hoodie. His red dick twitched and a final dollop of jism pushed itself out of the head, forming a strand that oozed slowly down the shaft. I reached over, and, with the tip of my finger, caught it, sliding it up the still-hot shaft, until it wound itself around my finger, and I pulled my hand back to my nose. I smelled it, pure teen boy protein, and popped the end of my finger in my mouth, the taste of honey and bleach flooding my tongue. I groaned again, this time in satisfaction. "I'll be damned," I sighed. "Yes," he replied. Damned. Yes, indeed. I think at that point we were both temporarily spent. After a moment of silence, punctuated only by an occasional heave of breath from one of us, gathering the strength to move, I then realized that we were sitting in a car, in broad daylight, in the middle of town, covered in each others' loads. Wow. Looking around outside the car, I could see that we were relatively unnoticed, sitting slightly obscured by tall weeds, a dumpster, and the cinder block side of the building we were parked behind. But we were still surrounded by traffic on the nearby street, and people could easily see us if they bothered to look our way. Fortunately, we were, at this point, just another couple of loiterers behind a seedy strip mall, probably on a lunch break, not worthy of investigation. But not for long. We needed to move, and move now. I turned to him again, this time more businesslike, ready to talk. He stared back, blushing, still uncertain, but the look of panic in his eyes was gone. He could sense, and rightly so, that I was no longer an enemy to be distrusted. I was not going to just throw him out of the car and take off. That, for whatever reason, we had decided to bind ourselves to each other in some kind of common peril. Whatever happened next, we were going to see this little escapade through to its conclusion, however long that took. I cleared my throat, and, trying my best to be both concerned and soothing, said, "We need to get out of here and go somewhere safer. Unless you got a better idea, I'm going to take you to my place, where we can at least get cleaned up, and give us some time to decide what to do next. I can't make any promises, but can you at least promise me that you won't rip me off, or try to hurt me?" Okay, yet again, one of the worst pickup lines in human history. Whatever. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, considering this. "Is this an unholy place we are going? Are we going to be in danger from the Devil there?" Oh crap, we're back to the devil talk again. Well, hopefully at least, we can get down to the bottom of all this crazy stuff about the Devil and the Center and getting scourged or whatever, and I can determine if this guy needs help, or what kind of help he needs, if we can regroup someplace quiet. "Well, the landlady wouldn't appreciate it if you called it unholy, although it is a bit of a dump, if you ask me. But the rent is cheap. We will have a little privacy, and figure out what to do next. Last time I checked, you were on the run from some folks in a van, wearing borrowed clothes and stealing cell phones. It's not completely safe from, um, the Devil, but it's the best I can do right now. (Unless, of course, you actually are hoping the Devil will catch us there. - Shut up, brain.) You got any better ideas?" He looked glum. Actually, he looked very cute when he was glum, sitting there with eyes downcast, brown curls falling over into his eyes, red lips pouty and drooping, red penis also drooping and looking a little pouty at being ignored right now as well. "Okay, I'm good, I promise." "Alright then, I'm going to get up in the driver's seat and we'll go. Let me know if you are going to, you know, um, if the medicine is going to wear off again, before we get there. I need to get there safely and without any surprises." Okay, I'm good, really." "Well, I'm not asking for you to be good, just be mellow. Good is overrated, dude, I really liked what just happened, not gonna lie to you. I hope that doesn't freak you out." He glances up sharply at that one, and, oops, I can tell that, yes, he is, in fact, a little freaked out right now. Oh well. I suppose that he has a right to be on edge. He is on the run, unsure of where he is going next, or how. And I'm a little unsure, too. He's not the only one worried about corruption of the flesh and being caught by the devil, although I suspect his ideas about that are a bit more literal than mine. Again, whatever. Like I said, we need to get through this escapade, and it is either going to heal us, or fuck us up in irreparable ways. I glance around outside, and, seeing that nobody is paying us any attention at all, I quickly open the door and jump into the driver's seat, and hastily wipe some of the cum off my face and hands before starting the engine. Placing the car in drive, I ease out of the location of our assignation, and out into traffic, heading towards my place, careful to not attract any attention. I steal one more glance in the rear view mirror to confirm that what just happened is real. I've always been a loner, and, while I've always admired teen boys, I rarely pursue the chance to interact with them, much less sex. There are just too many X factors involved. I've spent my life hiding from others, and maybe hiding from my own self. It just seemed easier, but I've gotten tired of it. The boredom, really. It will kill you just as fast as stress. And here, in my back seat, is a real, live, hopefully willing, specimen of teen sexiness, that has already nutted twice, and gotten me off once too. And crazy in ways that I can't yet understand, but feel compelled to find out. I am going to invite him, and whatever trouble he is in, into my home, my only sanctuary from this world. And, though it feels right, it may be the worst mistake of my life. I am not a man of many resources. I can't save people from themselves, or even myself. But, whatever happens, even if I get my heart torn out by Jesus, or my head torn off by the Devil, I won't be bored. Sensing that I am looking at him in the mirror, he turns, looks at me directly through the mirror as well, and, for the first time, smiles. His brown curls frame what I now see is a quite handsome face, caught as it is between boyhood and the visage of an adult. With his one hand now reaches up and grasps me by the shoulder, and squeezing it, gently this time, he silently reassures me that he is okay. His other hand appears to still be occupied below his hoodie. He then says, "I'm going to say a prayer. That we are going to come together." Gawd, does he even realize what he is saying? (Yeah! I hope so. Shut up, brain.) Angel and Devil. Scourge and salvation. Pleasure and punishment. Culmination of a dream, and captivity in a nightmare. I don't know which. Or maybe both. I'm dizzy with possibilities. And I don't even know his name.