Date: Sat, 24 Feb 2018 13:35:26 -0500
From: Milford Slabaugh <tommyhawk1@aol.com>
Subject: Mothman and Sparrow, Part 1 of 2

                       MOTHMAN AND SPARROW
                 THE PUPPETEER RISES, PART 1 OF 2
                      By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
                  WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM

     Bryce Wagner rolled over in bed and stared at the silken tapestries
hung on the opposite wall.  Normally these tapestries, bearing as they did
images of knights fighting dragons and ogres, would stir him to rise ready
to fight crime once again as Mothman. Today, though, they merely depressed
him. Those knights, every one, had a maiden faire standing nearby, and
Bryce, well, there was only Ms. Rosy Palm to greet his morning erection.
     He pushed the covers down over his nude and well-muscled body. As
Mothman, he had to stay in top physical form and soon there would come the
long hours of working out, followed by his duties as a well-known
entrepeneur and philanthropist around the town of Gath City, followed his
other duties as a crime-fighting hero. But first things first, the hard-on
jutting up into the morning air, demanded his attentions.
     His arm moved in steady rhythm, he knew just how fast to work it for
maximum pleasure in minimum time. He had to act fast, because if he was too
late in the morning with this, he risked....
     The door to his bedroom opened and Bryce squawked and hastily reached
to cover himself.
     "Terribly sorry, sir." Hilfred said as he brought in Bryce's morning
paper and coffee. "Shall I come back in a few minutes?"
     "Don't bother." Bryce sighed. Such a coitus interruptus as this was
enough to make the easy climax he'd had in mind impossible, the best he'd
manage now was a painfully drawn out and ultimately unsatisfactory flow of
jism at a moment when his prick wasn't quite at full climax, a "short
circuit" of orgasm. Which wasn't worth the effort.
     "Very well, sir." Hilfred set his tray down by the bedside and handed
Bryce his cup of coffee.  After Bryce had taken a sip, he turned over the
newspaper and Bryce read the headline, then grinned. "Better tell Rick to
get up here." he said to Hilfred.
     "At once, sir."
     Rick joined him a few minutes later, and Bryce grinned at his young
face. "Hey there, young ward, get a load of this!" He showed the headline.
     "Mothman and Sparrow Named for Nobel Peace Prize!"
     Rick looked puzzled. "Holy gold medals, Bryce! The Nobel Prize! That's
great, but why?"  Rick sat on the edge of the bed, a lithe young athlete of
a man, with jet-black hair close-cut to his scalp, a face that was now cute
but would become handsome when he aged another ten years, and an easy,
ready smile that charmed all who knew him.
     "Our work in San Obrisco, remember? We sort of overthrew a
dictatorship down there on our summer vacation."
     "Cool." Rick read over the article while Bryce considered his young
protege. He'd taken in Rick as a foster child when Rick, formerly a circus
acrobat as part of a family of acrobats, had been orphaned by an enemy of
the Mothman. The nemesis had struck during the circus and only quick action
by the acrobats had saved the lives of many people present, including
Bryce. But in doing so, all but young Rick had perished. Bryce had taken in
Rick and inducted him into his secret, only Rick and Hilfred knew
millionaire Bryce Wagner was really Mothman. Rick agreed to keep the
secret...if he could fight by Mothman's side as the Sparrow, and so Mothman
had taken on a crimefighting partner.
     Rick was eighteen now and legally emancipated, but this was his home
and even Bryce couldn't imagine him living anywhere else, nor in fighting
without a partner any longer. And when Bryce was getting too old to fight
crime any longer, not that far in the future, Rick would be the optimum age
to take over as the new Mothman.
     Hilfred's voice spoke over the speaker next to the bed, a circuit
between him and Bryce's bedroom when he didn't want to interrupt
anything. "Breakfast is ready, Mr. Wagner, young Mr.  Gretzin."
     "When is he going to drop the 'young' on my name?" complained
Rick. "It makes me sound like I'm twelve!"
     "He's called you that for six years now, I doubt if he's thought about
it." Bryce commiserated.  "I'll mention it to him if you'd like."
     "Don't bother, I will." Rick said. "Now, come on, get up and let's
have breakfast!" Playfully, Rick snatched away Bryce's bedcovers, and
gawked at the naked man in the bed. "Holy Adam and Eve, Bryce!"
     Bryce pulled the covers back over his crotch, far, far too late. "I
should know better than to skip my pajamas even for one night." He
agreed. "Now, let's get the day started."
     Rick got up to leave. The young ward was wearing only a pair of
briefs, and Bryce was amused to see that the youngster's front of the
briefs was jutting out enough to reveal that he was sporting a significant
chunk of morning wood. He didn't say anything, but when Rick was gone, he
chuckled and made his way to his wardrobe.
     After a light breakfast, Bryce and Rick worked out in tandem, a
routine that let them exchange workout machines and spot each other almost
without words. Which was good, because their workout routine would have
broken a man who wasn't paying attention! Then they got a good cardio set
of handball done, by then, it was pushing eight-thirty in the morning. Just
time for a quick shower and Bryce set out for his office, arriving at
nine-fifteen on the dot as always.
     The trouble with Bryce's job wasn't the job itself, but that he never
knew when his hot-line phone would signal. Today, he had to walk out of a
fairly important meeting with only a quick excuse-me, and made it to his
office (his hot-line phone had sent a signal to his cell phone) and
answered the phone. "Mothman here." he said. His office was swept daily for
bugs or other listening devices, he felt safe enough inside these four
walls. "What is it, Chief?"
     "Chief" was the Chief of Police, and the possessor of the other
hot-line phone in Gath City.
     "Trouble, Mothman." the Chief told him bleakly. "We got a message
arrived at Central Station just now. A package, it says unless Mothman and
Sparrow both arrive and open it before twelve noon, it'll blow."
     "I'm on my way." Bryce said and hit the button on his cell phone that
signaled Rick to join him.  Rick would have to cut out on his class to make
it, but he attended a local preparatory school that was well paid to ignore
such frequent absences on Rick's part and tolerated as long as he kept his
homework and grades up.
     The box turned out to be decorated in a fashion that Mothman (for
Bryce had dressed on his way to the station) recognized. And so did
Sparrow.
     Mothman was now dressed as the Moth, which a deep black hood topped
with small antennas for its "ears." His main costume was a pale gray, with
a cape of powdery white to simulate a moth's wings. Sparrow wore a simpler
suit, with a yellow armless tunic, mottled brown trunks and cape. Both wore
their "function" belts, lined with compartments that held all sorts of
advanced equipment useful in their crimefighting careers.
     "The Puppeteer!" Sparrow blurted out.
     "Looks like it." Mothman conceded.
     "Well, we know what's inside the box." Sparrow said. "A puppet."
     "A clue." Mothman agreed.
     Inside was indeed a puppet, this one dressed in military
fatigues. With it was a short poem, a riddle.
     "First in goes the powder,
 Then in goes the ball.
 Then in goes the wadding,
 Which holds tight to all."
     "Not a very good poem." mused Sparrow. "Not to mention the wrong way
to do it."
     "Puppeteer isn't worried about that sort of thing." Mothman pointed
out. "Have you guessed the answer?"
     "Of course. A musket. Given the soldier puppet as a hint, it's the
easiest riddle in the world. So what does it mean?"
     "We're supposed to think it's the old Army base south of Gath
City. But a musket hasn't been used by the Army since before the Civil
War. What sort of military man does use a musket in the present day?"
     Sparrow puzzled, then got it. "A military re-enacter!"
     "The Revolutionary Society lost its lease on its compound north of
town. I think we'll find the Puppeteer there!"
     "Let's go make him hang up his string-set!" Sparrow agreed.
     "To the Mothmobile!"
     And off they went.
     It was strange. No henchmen were about. No guards. No security at
all. Mothman and Sparrow used a window, but from the way things ended up,
they could have strolled in the front door.
     The Puppeteer was at his work table, puppets in various stages of work
were about, while others hung from a rack nearby. He held in his hands a
small device much like the ones used to operate radio-controlled toy
cars. He didn't look nearly as dangerous as he was, he seemed a kindly old
man, in fact, his puppets were sophisticated enough with electronic
circuitry to perform any amount of felonious mischief on Gath City.
     "Well, Puppeteer, we're here." Mothman said. "And unless you are
hiding an army in your desk there, it's time for you to return to prison
and finish your sentence."
     "With five years added for escaping." Sparrow added.
     "Quite the contrary." the Puppeteer told them. "I think it's time to
show you my latest puppets."
     "And which ones are that?" Sparrow sneered. "The ballerinas on your
desk?"
     "No." the Puppeteer smiled, a genial soft smile. "My puppets are
called Mothman and Sparrow." And then he aimed his device at the pair of
crimefighting heroes.
     Mothman felt his entire body twitch at once, and while that sensation
passed, along with it was all control his own mind had over his body. "What
sort of perfidy is this?" he struggled to say; he was just able to say the
words.
     "You will see." the Puppeteer said, and his smile was no longer
genial. "Dance, my puppets.  Dance for me."
     And to his horror, Mothman found his body obeying the Puppeteer. He
began to move up and down, jerky movements like a puppet on a string. At
his side, Sparrow was doing the same. "You malicious mischief-maker!"
Mothman's young protege declared to the Puppeteer. "Why are you doing this
to us?"
     "Why, you ask?" the Puppeteer said to them, dark tones permeating his
voice. "You two are the ones who sent me to prison. Do you know what
happens to an old man who plays with dolls in prison? Well, you're about to
find out just what it was like."
     Mothman's body stopped dancing, which was a relief, but in its place,
he found something worse happening. He turned toward Sparrow (was turned,
rather, for his body's movements were not his own) and Sparrow turned
toward him. He fought the motions, but all he managed was to make his
movements slow and jerky. Like a puppet, just like a puppet.
     His hands went to the Sparrow's body. "Sparrow, I, I...."
     "I know, Mothman." Sparrow hissed between clenched teeth. "It's all
right."
     Mothman's hands went to Sparrow's function belt and unfastened it, it
clanked uselessly onto the floor. The many tools there were useless to a
man who didn't have the use of his hands!
     His hands, moving like small animals foreign to Mothman, peeled the
trunks down Sparrow's strong, white legs, shuddering as he revealed the
youth's genitals to this lecherous old man. "I'm sorry." he murmured to
Sparrow. "So sorry."
     His hand came up and fondled Sparrow's cock, and the prong stiffened
quickly under such attentions.
     "I can't help it." Sparrow grunted out.
     "I know, buddy, I know." Mothman said and he knelt and his hand lifted
that hard pud to his mouth and his mouth opened and sucked it inside.
     Mothman moaned as his body proceeded to suck on his ward's cock. This
was not right, this was not proper! He wouldn't do this to someone under
his care, he just wouldn't! But he was, and the old madman watching them
chuckled in glee.
     "Mothman, I!" Sparrow gasped. "I can't help it!" The pleasure in his
voice was there, and Mothman didn't think that was the Puppeteer's
work. Poor Sparrow was getting his cock sucked, and his young body didn't
care that it was forced upon him, it simply accepted the attention and
responded as it would, by increased sexual excitement.
     Mothman couldn't answer, but he made a kindly grunt in response. He
couldn't blame Sparrow for his reactions, at his age, the sexual tension
was almost palpable, witness the quick erection he'd had that very morning.
     "I'm, I'm coming, I'm coming!" Sparrow gasped out and Mothman's mouth
didn't pull away at all. Sparrow gave out a long, low moan and Mothman's
mouth filled with hot teen spunk which was shooting out of the athletic
young crimefighter into his throat in quick, sharp splashes.
     "That's nice, that's very nice." the Puppeteer murmured as Mothman's
body forced him to swallow the entirety of the hot young jizz. "Now it's
your turn."
     Mothman's hands now went to his own belt and he found himself undoing
his own trunk's relief flap, installed to let him relieve himself while in
costume without disrobing, he now found he was pulling out his own
cock. And Sparrow, he saw, had gone down onto his back in front of Mothman
and Sparrow groaned in fear as his legs rose up and splayed out to make way
for Mothman's body waddling toward him on his knees.
     "That's it, Moth-brain, time to pop young Sparrow's cherry for
him. I'll bet it's a rich, ripe cherry, isn't it? That's what happened to
me, my first night in the prison, but it wasn't just one man on me, it was
a whole line of them, did you know that?"
     "Puppeteer, I'm sorry that happened." Mothman groaned as his body
aimed his hard cock toward Sparrow's tender, virginal anus. "I'll make sure
they don't put you into the general population this time...."
     "Shut up and get to work. I want you to ram that little Sparrow-butt
hard, you hear me! That's an order, my puppet Mothman. Now get to it!"
     And Mothman struggled mightily, he managed to slow it down, but he
could not stop himself.  He carried in his trunks a man's cock, nine solid
inches of thick prod, and Sparrow's eyes widened in fear as he saw what was
about to impale him.
     And Mothman's prick touched the small puckerhole and he felt like
crying, but his body wouldn't even let him do this much.
     Sparrow groaned as the huge organ slid into him, and Mothman winced
inside as he felt the tender flesh tearing as he forced it inside. Not a
bit of lubrication to assist, it was a dry dick being shoved into his ward
and he could not stop it. His body pushed and kept on pushing until the
entire massive length was shoved inside, and his testicles were pressed
against Sparrow's young, pert buttocks. He'd noticed that so long before,
what a beautiful ass Sparrow had, and his dreams had, more than once, been
troubled by images of that ass presenting itself for him to plunder. And
now, that dream was real and he wished more than anything that he could
wake up now, wake up, wake up!
     Instead, he began to move back and forth, moving his cock in and out
of the savaged ass, and Sparrow cried out. It was like this much freedom
had been given him, to cry out in pain and sorrow as his best friend, his
savior, his fellow warrior, impaled him over and over again.
     The speed of Mothman's motions as he fucked Sparrow increased, and he
caught one of Sparrow's legs in his arms (again, the motions were forced
upon him) and he lifted that leg up high and that pulled Sparrow's ass off
the ground and turned his lower body sideways and he plunge-fucked Sparrow
in that position. When he'd done that a while, his cock was throbbing like
mad, his climax was boiling in his brain and he grunted, "Not much longer
now, buddy!"
     "It's all right, Mothman, it's all right." Sparrow whispered.
     He lowered Sparrow and leaned down and Sparrow's arms went around him
and they were now face to face, he was watching Sparrow's eyes from close
up and they looked into him and there was pain and fear, yes, but there was
love in them, too, and he kissed the young lips tenderly and hoped beyond
any logic that this, at least, came from him.
     And then his orgasm wracked him. "I'm coming, I'm coming,
uh-HUH-UH-UH-UH-HUHHH-UHHH!"
     Mothman shoved his cock in deep as it would go and his body revenged
itself for the aborted jerkoff session of the morning by unloading a huge
load into Sparrow's poor fucked ass, his face burned from what was
undoubtedly a bright red flush of passion's making, and he cried out the
remainder of his lust into Sparrow's face and Sparrow watched him coming,
watched him closely as his face revealed every bit of his ecstasy as he
shot his load, and then it was done.
     He collapsed onto Sparrow, exhausted and as he did, darkness stole
upon him.
     When he awakened, it was nearly dark, and he and Sparrow were in a
warehouse, unused and empty. There was nothing for them to do but struggle
to their feet and find out where they were.  He had in his function belt
(the Puppeteer hadn't bothered to rob them of any of their clothing, it was
all there with them) a small device that would summon the Mothmobile to
self-drive itself to where they were.
     The Puppeteer had won this first round. But Mothman swore a mighty
oath that he would not win the next round. Though how he was going to
manage that, he didn't yet know. For now, he had to get Sparrow to a
doctor, see how badly he'd been damaged by Mothman himself.

                             THE END
               Comments, complaints or suggestions?
             E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
                  WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM