Date: Tue, 22 Dec 2020 06:27:08 +0000
From: Vance Von Jungsburg <vereinington@protonmail.com>
Subject: Molestro (Gay/Adult-Youth)

The following story is fictional. None of the events or characters are
real. Please do not read if you are under 18 or if the content is illegal
in your jurisdiction.

If you liked the story or want to comment about it or anything else,
contact me at vereinington@protonmail.com. If you like my writing, check
out my others in the prolific authors section under Vance Von Jungsburg.

Thanks, Vance.

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MOLESTRO

by Vance Von Jungsburg

I looked at myself in the full length mirror and was pleased with what I
saw. The black and violet costume looked almost painted on, displaying
the sculpted body I'd spent the last ten years trying to perfect. The
musculature of my sinewy arms and legs was accented by the slight sheen
of the black Lycra material. The tanned skin of my chest and mid-section
were exposed by a plunging neckline which descended to my lower abdomen
to show off my chiseled pecks and six pack abs. The costume was completed
by black leather ninja boots, dark violet gloves and a black eye mask.

This would be my third convention, but the first where I would be wearing
this outfit which I'd designed and constructed myself.  Last year I'd
dressed as Cyclops from X-Men. Unlike many cosplayers, I didn't need to
wear muscle padding to fill out the costume. The decade I'd spent as a
gymnast, aerialist and parkour practitioner had honed my body to the
point that it looked appropriate in superhero spandex.  And people
noticed - the number of heads that turned, both male and female, and the
number of photo requests I got at the Con confirmed that. I became
convinced that I needed to come up with my own character this year, a
hero that would be sexy and overt and might get me into the pants of a
cute 14 year old boy.  But that hero still needed a name - I couldn't
decide what to call the persona I had concocted,

I covered up with a black cloak and got into my ten year old Camry. It
wasn't the kind of car a superhero would drive, but my part-time jobs at
Starbucks and the aerialist gym didn't allow me an extravagant vehicle.
I hoped that arriving in the early afternoon might alleviate some of the
traffic that the Con generated every year, but I ended up sitting in my
car for an hour after getting off at the Ted Turner exit, barely inching
to my reserved parking place seven blocks from the convention. I cursed
myself for drinking that Pepsi before I left - by the time I parked, my
bladder felt like a water balloon ready to explode.  I glanced around and
decided I'd have to pee right here between my car and the silver Suburban
next to me. I pulled the stretchy material of my bodysuit down past my
dance belt but extricating my cock would be a little tricky. I'd chosen
to wear a ballet dancer's dance belt because it allowed for an appealing
bulge at the front and a smooth ass without panty-lines, but peeing when
wearing one took some maneuvering. Finally I got my cock out and let
loose, taking care not to get liquid on my boots or costume.

The convention was spread out over several hotels and a trade center
which were linked by sky bridges and pedestrian tunnels. Every evening
the event turned into a cosplay parade, with over two thousand costumed
people marching close together on a route through the massive hotel
atriums and walkways for hours. Exceptional, original or accomplished
cosplayers were stopped by spectators who wanted photos with them. Having
a good costume could turn a journey around the parade route into an
hours-long experience.

After entering the hotel atrium closest to my parking structure I had a
look around. Costumed characters were standing about, waiting for the
procession to start. I scoped out the crowd and scouted for attractive
boys. I'd first started noticing kids my own age when I was around 12
years old; over the next 14 years I'd honed my boy-watcher's eye and
could pinpoint the kind of young flesh I admired from within a throng of
all ages and genders.

I saw the short stature and narrow waist of a kid dressed as Robin from
Teen Titans and moved toward him to get a better look. He was about 12 or
13 and had the slim build inherent to fit young teens. I glanced at his
green tights to see if I could make out a bulge - there was a slight
mound there but it wasn't defined. I decided it was time to lose my
cloak, but hadn't prepared for what I should do with it. I didn't want to
carry it over my arm for the rest of the evening so I dropped it to the
floor and lost it in the sea of legs around me, regretting the $25 I'd
wasted on it at Halloween HQ. But I was rewarded by the tone of the
conversations going on around me changing when my alter ego was exposed.
Eyes fixed on me with interest and pleasure, but I wanted to see what
reaction young Robin would have. I moved into his field of view and
watched him look me up and down, then move on to looking at something
else. It was the reaction of someone who had seen something interesting
or unusual, but not the look of someone who wanted to partake in my
sculpted sexuality.

I knew there would be other boys in the crowd and moved toward the center
of the atrium.

"Hey, can I get a photo with you?" a flabby older teenager wearing a
Deadpool t-shirt yelled over the crowd.  I obliged and posed for a selfie
with the kid, hoping he got my ample crotch in the shot for his later
masturbatory benefits.

The next half hour became an extended photo shoot as spectators asked to
take my picture or be in the photo with me. It became apparent that I was
attracting three types of admirers: nerds, gay guys and females. But so
far, no boys in that delicious age range between 12 and 16 years. Despite
that, I was enjoying the attention. The first few times I was asked "Who
are you?" or "Who are you supposed to be?" left me unable to answer, but
I began replying with "You'll know soon." That seemed to be a
satisfactory response that derailed further questioning.

"Can I get a picture with you?" I heard coming from my left. The voice
cut through the waterfalls of conversation around me because it had that
quality that only a young teen boy's voice can have, creaky and lispy as
it teetered on the fence that separated boyhood from manhood. I turned to
see a kid dressed as a Neko Cat and was stunned by his appearance: pointy
black cat ears projected from a short, silvery white anime wig that
covered his forehead and ears. His black outfit was cropped in the middle
to expose his bare midriff, revealing a flat creamy stomach and innie
belly button. Long socks, striped in black and magenta, started just
above his knees and descended to white leather shoes with tall black
soles. The boy noticed me gawking and arched his back slightly to better
show his bare mid-section.

"Do you have a tail?" I asked, wanting to see his backside.

The boy obliged, turning his rear toward me and swinging his furry black
tail. I felt my lower regions swelling in my dance belt.

"Come on," I beckoned, motioning for the boy to stand next to me. I put
my arm around his narrow, square shoulders. His head came to just below
my chin. From his size and shape, I'd guess he was 13. The boy took out
his iPhone and started fiddling with it.

"Some people are dog people, and some are cat people," I said to the boy
with just enough volume that he could hear me over the crowd. "I like
cats."

The boy turned toward me and grinned, revealing silver braces on his top
teeth. I sensed a twinge of embarrassment from him. "I like... what are
you anyway?" He asked.

"You'll know soon." I gave him my standard answer.

"I hope so," the boy replied. He started snapping selfies. When he'd
taken what seemed like 30 pictures he put his phone away.

"Hey," I said. "I want some pictures, too." I got out my phone and
decided I wanted a full body shot with the gorgeous character standing
next to me. I got the attention of a middle aged man in the crowd and
asked him to take a few photos of us with my phone.

"I really do like your costume," I told the boy while the man shot
photos.

"I really like yours," the boy said.

The man handed me back my phone and I turned to the boy, standing just a
few inches from him. I noticed this face was smooth and flawless. It was
the kind of perfect skin that women wished for.

I didn't want our encounter to end. "Maybe we can hang out and work on
our costumes for next year?" I said. Damn! That sounded desperate and
needy.

"I'd like that," the boy said. By this time our bodies were almost
touching, pressed from every direction by the growing crowds in the hotel
atrium. Our closeness forced the boy to look up at me when we talked. His
eyes were a deep hazel color. I wanted to lean in and kiss him. In
another time and place, that would have been possible, but not in the
middle of 2000 strangers.  Instead, I put my hand on his hip and felt the
smooth fabric of his tight costume. The boy didn't flinch or move away. I
felt his hand on my hip, separated from skin on skin contact by a few
micrometers of stretchy fabric. I could see desire in his expression, but
was unsure what to do next.

Shit, I thought to myself. I came here to see if I could get some boy
action. My mild mannered alter ego wouldn't have done it, but the black
and violet persona that inhabited this costume had to. I reached down
with my free hand and caressed the boy's groin. His cock was hard. I felt
him reciprocate, tracing the length of my erection through my costume
with his thin fingers.

"Daniel!" someone shrieked in a high pitched voice. I turned toward the
sound and saw a heavy teenage girl dressed as a Neko Cat. "Don't let that
man do that!" I had been so captivated by the boy that I hadn't noticed
he was with a companion. "That guy is molesting my friend!" The girl's
soprano screams cut through the noisy crowd and halted conversations
mid-sentence. Her plump gloved hand pointed directly at me. Some people
moved away. Some people moved toward me. Some people pulled out their
phones.

I stood and stared at the crowd, suspended in place for a few seconds by
shock and surprise. My fight-or-flight instinct kicked in and I propelled
myself through the crowd, but I felt it closing in on me as do-gooders
attempted to block my passage. To my right I noticed a rough, striated
concrete pillar, one of many holding up the multiple tiers of balconies
that encircled the huge atrium space. I plunged toward the concrete
pillar and grabbed hold of it.  The rough vertical stripes of raw
concrete created a firm hold for my hands and feet. Climbing the pillar
using the parkour skills I'd gained through years of practice, I scaled
the thirty foot height to the lowest balcony in a few seconds. I felt
like I needed to go higher so I continued upward until I passed seven or
eight floors. I vaulted a decorative planter and high railing and landed
on the carpeted hotel hallway that encircled the massive space. Glancing
over the railing I noticed a sea of faces looking in my direction.

I had to keep moving, but where? I knew the elevators were not an option
- the bank of glass lifts was visible to the atrium and the wait for an
elevator car could take fifteen minutes during the Con. I thought about
the stairs but felt that could be an easy trap. Maybe I could take them
to the roof? I remembered reading that unlike what you saw in the movies,
the rooftops of large buildings were usually inaccessible to those
without keys. I moved briskly down the balcony length, passing hotel room
doors while I tried to figure out an escape route.  One door was slightly
ajar, casting a pillar of light across the deep maroon hotel carpet.  I
stepped into the room and shut the door behind me. A young couple, in the
middle of applying zombie makeup at the floor length mirror, gasped as I
passed them.

"Sorry," I said. "Just passing through." I unlatched the sliding glass
door, stepped onto the balcony and looked over the edge. It would be easy
to hang-drop from balcony to balcony, and then I'd figure what to do from
there. Stepping over the balcony railing, I looked toward the hotel room
and saw the half-made-up-zombies staring at me with mouths agape. I
dropped to the railing below and continued my descent.

Reaching the sidewalk outside the hotel using a combination of wall
slides and cat leaps wasn't difficult, but it was still light out and
people had noticed.  I moved with purpose and velocity in the direction
of the parking garage. I was aware that security cameras in the lobby of
the office building where I had parked could capture me, so I entered the
garage through the vehicle ramp and reached my car.

Inside my Camry I pulled off my mask and tried to compose myself. Was
there a manhunt going on? Or had people moved on and decided the cat girl
was being hysterical? I grabbed a red hoodie from my back seat, pulled it
over my costume and drove home.

My angst-filled evening was spent monitoring Google News to see if my
deeds had made it into the media.

Then I saw the headline:

AJC: Costumed Man Assaults Teenager at Dragon Con, Climbs Walls to Escape

Dread stabbed at my stomach like a rusty knife as I clicked on the link.
Below the headline was a large photo of a black and violet clad figure
clinging to a pillar sixty or seventy feet above the crowd. Despite my
jittery apprehension the thought entered my head: I look pretty damn
good. It's like the page of a comic book come to life.

As the evening progressed more media outlets covered the story.  WSB was
the first to post footage of the episode. My rapid ascent up the concrete
column had been captured on several cell phones. As I watched the video I
felt growing pride edging out the gnawing fear in my chest. The dark
figure moved like an apparition, scaling the tall pillar with a graceful
speed and power. By the 11:00 news the story and visuals had expanded.
Footage of my climb up the pillar led the broadcast, followed by still
photos of me posing with spectators, and then an interview with the plump
cat girl who had called me out.

"My friend was taking pictures with him, then he just started fondling my
friend," she relayed, panting as if she'd just run a mile.

From the reports I learned my unnamed "victim" was indeed 13 years old.
The perpetrator was described as muscular, blonde and over six feet tall.
The newscaster described his outfit as if people needed to keep an eye
out for someone wearing this manner of dress: black skintight suit with
open chest, black mask and purple gloves.

I stayed awake all night waiting for my apartment door to be busted down
by the cops and fell asleep just as the sun came up.

I was awakened by my phone buzzing.

"Mark? You're supposed to come in today, right?"

Shit! It was Gina, who ran the aerialist gym.

"Sorry!" i gasped. "I had a little plumbing emergency this morning. I'll
be there in 20."

When I got to the gym the TV was parked on CNN, which seemed to be
running the footage of my pillar climb every fifteen minutes.

"Mark? You went to Dragon Con. Did you see that guy?" Gina asked.

"No. I wish I had. That's really..." I didn't know what to say.

"Yeah, he has incredible skills," Gina replied.

I began to feel more relaxed about my exploits the night before. Even the
people who were closest to me had no idea the black and purple climber
was me.

When I got home from work I perused the news sites and social media
again.  The New York Post and Daily Mail had huge front page headlines
with multiple photos and videos about the masked groper. A Reddit link
led me to a Youtube video that was a compilation of videos and photos of
the night before, including footage of me descending the outside of the
hotel. The compilation had over 2 million views. I scrolled down to look
at the comments, expecting a fusillade of negativity aimed at the
boy-toucher. But I was surprised to see the top rated comments were about
the skill and dexterity of the escape. The original crime seemed to be a
footnote that was buried by the impressive feats of the costumed persona.

The number one comment read: Damn! It's a real life supervillain! He
can't be from Earth!!! He must come from the planet MoLestro!!!

As I read further down the thread I noticed more people calling the black
climber "MoLestro," with many ending their comments using #molestro.
Several commenters expressed an admiration for the perpetrator's physique
and a wish that he'd molest them.

I checked the hashtag on Twitter - over 70,000 uses and trending.
Clicking through I found several new accounts pretending to be the real
Molestro.  Retweets and comments were mostly positive, with a number of
people again saying they wished to be molested by Earth's newest
supervillain.

Instagram was more of the same, with fan art and fake accounts, and more
comments expressing a wish to be molested.

I felt a sense of resentful pride. The character I'd lovingly created
using a sewing machine and fabric glue had grown to legendary proportions
and left me behind.

Full of frustrated energy, I logged onto 4chan through a VPN and created
a post on the random board:  I'M THE REAL MOLESTRO. ASK ME ANYTHING

I was met with mocking replies and demands to prove it, but a few
commenters took me seriously, asking me about my training and skills or
requesting pictures of my body.

I posted a photo of my bare midsection. The shirtless photo revealed my
toned pecs and abs. On my hands I wore the violet gloves.

The next comment read "Ho Lee SHIT! It's him! Hail Molestro!"

The change of tone in the thread was immediate.

"Are you a real faggot?" - Yes.

"Do you get off on touching boy's" - Yes

"Will you touch my weenie" - No

"I'm a 12 yr old boy Will you touch my weenie?" - Yes

"Will you be my god?" - Yes

"Can I be your henchman?" - Only if you like touching boys

After two and half hours I left the thread with a final message:

"Farewell from Molestro. I am going underground. I may or may not be
reached by emailing molestro at protonmail dot com"

Over the next week the Molestro email inbox filled up with messages. Much
of it was fan mail, some of it was hate mail, plus a few media inquiries
and quite a number of requests to hook up or be molested.

One e-mail subject stood out: "You know me and I know you." I clicked on
the message.

"Dear Molestro. I'm Daniel. We met at Dragon Con. I'm sorry my friend
Kayleigh ruined things, She's a hysterical jealous bitch. I think about
you all the time. I wish things could have turned out different.

Your friend, Daniel."

A glowing ember of joy and possibility began to  build in my chest. I
wrote the boy back.

"Dear Daniel. I'm sorry how things turned out, too. I hope what happened
hasn't been traumatizing. I felt a real connection with you. How have
your family and the authorities been treating you? I think about you all
the time, too.

Your friend, Molestro."

Daniel came back a few hours later with a reply:

"Dear Molestro. I've been telling everyone it's no big deal. The cops
asked me a lot of questions for a long time but I said nothing happened
and that Kayleigh was just being hysterical and imagining things. I don't
think they believed me but they have left me alone. Do you think we could
ever meet again sometime?

Your friend, Daniel."

I wrote him back immediately.

"Dear Daniel, I am but a phantom. Are you sure you want to be with a
supervillain? Maybe you will leave your window open one night and I will
come in to finish what we started. Then I will disappear by climbing down
the side of your house.

Your friend, Molestro."

30 seconds later I got an e-mail from Daneil:

"Haha my room is on the first floor. I am jerking my dick right now
thinking about you sneaking into my room. I will leave my window open
tonight.

Love, Daniel
1071 Oakwood Lane, Alpharetta."

Attached to the e-mail was a photo from the neck down of a naked young
teen sitting on a bed. Between his spread legs an erect cock pointed
toward the ceiling. I examined the picture closely. A few sparse pubes
crowned the root of the boy's cut cock and his ball sack was taut and
full looking.

I sent the boy a cryptic message:

"Dark is the hour and long is the night. Be prepared when today turns
into tomorrow."

I Google-mapped the address Daniel had given me. It looked like an
average suburban neighborhood, not the kind of place that might be a
trap.

Five hours later I drove to Alpharetta wearing my slightly-modified
Molesto outfit and parked one street over from Daniel's house. I checked
my watch: 5 minutes to midnight. I climbed to the roof of the house
behind Daniel's place and scouted my target. All seemed quiet. The house
was dark except for one window which glowed with a faint light. I
descended the roof and hopped over the back fence, landing on a small
patch of lawn. From there I crept to the dimly lit window and peered
inside.

The boy lay on his side in bed looking at his phone. He was wearing the
silvery white wig and black cat ears. He appeared to be shirtless, but
his lower body was covered by his bed sheet. I noticed the sliding window
was completely open, it's rectangular screen resting against the exterior
wall below. I felt my mouth go dry. "What would Molestro do?" I asked
myself.

Taking six paces back, I visualized my path, then pulsed into action,
propelling myself across the back garden and through the window without
touching the window frame. I tuck rolled and landed in a crouching
position at the foot of the boy's bed.

The boy looked startled and then smiled, revealing the silver braces on
his top teeth.  "I knew you'd come," he said in a loud whisper. His eyes
moved toward my crotch and widened.  I'd reworked the groin area of the
Molestro suit to fully expose my cock, which was now hard and pointing
directly at him.

I stood over the boy's bed and pulled off his sheet revealing the slender
boy's outfit: a black string-bikini bottom and the magenta and black
striped socks pulled up just above his knees.

"I like what I see, Daniel," I said just loud enough to be heard.

Falling onto the bed between the boy's legs, I put my gloved hand over
the pouch of his bikini bottom and felt the stiff cock underneath. I had
to have it in my mouth, so I released it from the confines of its tight
enclosure and took it down my throat. I savored the warm, wet fullness in
my mouth as I grasped the boys buttocks and pulled him deeper. Keeping my
mouth firmly clamped on the boy's member, I removed my right glove, then
my left glove, and began to probe his ass while I blew him. Tiny grunts
escaped from Daniel's lips as he ran his fingers through my hair. When I
sensed the boy reaching his crescendo I pulled off his cock and guided
him to turn over so he was lying on his stomach. I pulled the single
string of his bikini bottom out of his ass crack and replaced it with my
tongue.

Daniel began gently humping the bed as my tongue worked on his hole,
poking, exploring and tasting his young teen glory.  My own cock felt
impossibly hard; it hungered with a desire to bury itself somewhere warm,
sweet and moist. I got onto my knees and straddled the boy's backside.
The visual of my hard straight cock aligned with his ass crack confirmed
that the two things were meant to unite. I rubbed my cock along the
length of his bottom and luxuriated in the feeling as the boy's soft
buttocks caressed my erection.

Then, the boy surprised me by reaching back and grasping my cock. Daniel
gave it a tug and positioned it so it was pressing against his hole. I
got the message. His crack was moist with my saliva, so with one firm
push I entered his bowels and experienced the warm tight territory of his
ass.

"Have you been fucked before?" I whispered.

"Not by a dick," the boy answered, causing me to let out a surprised
laugh. Daniel turned his head toward me and tried to look over his
shoulder at what was happening to his bottom. I pulled out and turned him
over so he could experience the fuck with his eyes. His black string
bikini, which had been a sexy garnish to his boyish physique, was now
just in the way, so I pulled it off and pushed his legs up toward his
shoulders.

I looked down and felt a small shiver as I saw the delicious composition:
my muscled chest and abdomen were exposed by my costume but my sides and
legs were clad in black Lycra. My erect cock, shiny and wet, protruded
from the opening in my outfit, ready to reenter the thin youth whose
stocking-clad legs were pushed up towards his shoulders. The boy appeared
even smaller in comparison to my physique. His own cock was at full mast,
pointing toward his cute boyish face which was crowned with the mop of
white hair and black cat ears.

I pushed into the boy and he winced, then relaxed as I resumed a gentle,
rhythmic pace. His eyes were fixed on my body. I appreciated that he was
looking at it because I'd spent so much time working on this physique.

Daniel's hard cock and taut ball sack enticed me. I reached down to
stroke him but it was just too much for the kid - the feel of my hand on
his cock pushed him over the edge and he erupted, spraying his stomach
with jets of thin boy semen.

Seeing him cum caused me to quicken my pace. I knew I wouldn't last long
and after half a minute I felt the avalanche of pleasure approaching. A
few quick thrusts brought on the finale - I unloaded my seed deep in the
boy's insides.

Daniel looked at me with a small grin, as if he'd just been caught doing
something naughty.

I pulled out and slumped next to the boy in bed. "You now have the seed
of Molestro in you," I said in a hushed tone. "Draw on its power when you
need it."

The boy turned to me as if to determine if I was serious. I rolled my
eyes and we both laughed.

Our faces were close enough to bring on the urge I'd felt when I first
looked in Daniel's eyes at the Con - I needed to kiss this boy.  I leaned
in and Daniel opened his mouth to accept a long, passionate kiss.

When we broke off Daniel continued to look into my eyes, then whispered,
"Hey. What's your real name?"

I returned the boy's gaze for a moment then stood up. "My real name is
Molestro, but I was once known as Mark."

I propelled myself toward the open window and leapt through it, landing
in a cat stance on the lawn below. As I ran toward the back fence I heard
Daniel's adolescent voice call out in a hushed yell, "Mark, you forgot
your gloves!"

Shit, I couldn't turn around now - that would be uncool. I vaulted the
fence and didn't look back.

***

Over the following weeks, messages from admirers, hookup requests and
fan-art continued to pour into my anonymous e-mail account. I loved the
amature anime-style drawings of Molestro mounting young boys with his
enormous veiny cock.

More and more 13 and 14-year-old boys began sending poignant invitations
for me to visit their bedrooms and take their virginity.  After
researching, reconnoitering and scouting out potential young partners I'd
arrange a midnight visit and fulfill their fantasies. I left each boy
with a pair of purple gloves and disappeared into the night.

But, finally, dear reader, I have one question, one riddle, one
conundrum. Am I a villain? Or am I a hero?

END