Date: Fri, 16 Jun 2023 01:00:00 -0700
From: John Henry <niftyjhenry1988@gmail.com>
Subject: Growing Up Ry Chapter 6 (Gay/Incest)

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DISCLAIMER:  This story is a work of fiction, and contains explicit,
sexual content involving adults over the age of 21 and minors under the
age of 18, with scenes of incest involving step-parents/step-children,
and sibilings.  If viewing this material is illegal where you live, OR
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Chapter 6


It had been over a decade since he was on a plane, and now, he was on his
way to his new home; Washington. He wasn't sure that day would ever come.
Everything went to shit a couple years prior, and his cover was almost
blown; he had the stab wounds to prove it, too. However, getting jumped
was probably the best thing to happen to him during his entire set. It
guaranteed his placement in the Protective Custody Unit (PCU), which then
gave him better access to his ATF handler.


Agent Michaels was a pain in his ass, though. Getting the Interstate
Compact out of Nebraska would've been easy if it hadn't been for the
federal agent trying to stop it. For some reason, Agent Michaels felt it
was better for him to stay in Nebraska, which was stupid, since the
Aerian Brotherhood there wanted him dead. Maybe that's what the fed
wanted, he reasoned several times.


Thankfully, his lawyer got the FBI involved. The FBI, however, wanted to
put him in witness protection, through the US Marshals This wasn't going
to work with his plans. He needed to go to Washington. He had business to
take care of there, and witness protection would've put him at the whim
of the Marshals and placed wherever they wanted to put him. True, he'd
have a whole new life, but it would be difficult for him to travel, let
alone explain where he came up with the millions he felt he was owed.


During his time in PCU, he was in a single cell and had limited
privileges, but he did get a visit from his lawyer about once a month. He
hated the little faggot, but he came highly recommended by the asshole,
who ended up ripping him off. The lawyer did make sure that he was
released with new clothes, a cell phone, some cash and placement in a
halfway house. He wanted a car, but had never had a license. That never
stopped him from driving before, though.


"Can I get you anything?" A flight attendant asked.


"How about a membership in the Mile High Club?" He couldn't help
himself. It had been a long time since he had pussy.


The flight attendant walked off, and a couple minutes later, the captain
had a conversation with him about proper conduct. He pretended that he
was the victim and that she came onto him; however, the nosy bitch across
from him had been recording the whole thing. His prison instincts told
him to punch the captain and stab the bitch in the neck. However, he
remained calm. He had watched enough movies to know there was usually a
federal air marshal on all planes since 9/11, and he didn't want his
compact revoked before he could even land.


For the rest of the trip, he was ignored by the service staff, and the
bitch kept eye fucking him. Once the nosy bitch turned her focus away
from him, he made sure to remember the bitch's face. He thought about
taking a picture, but didn't want to be too obvious. The plane landed in
Washington without further incidents. He hung back and followed the bitch
to her car, held in long term parking. He took a picture of her license
plate and walked away without being noticed.


It was cold and looked like it was going to snow. He checked the weather
on his phone, which still surprised him. When he first fell, they didn't
have smartphones. Computers were pretty basic and the internet was for
nerds. Now, it seemed that everyone was on their phone doing something
other than talking. He had seen enough of this on TV and in movies to not
be shocked, but to see it in person was something vastly different.


His lawyer had set up the phone with various apps and sent a letter
explaining how it all worked. He had time to toy with it on the plane,
and managed to get himself a ride share to the halfway house. He went to
the office and checked himself in. The process took a lot longer than
expected because there was a winter storm coming in, so most of the staff
refused to come in. The front desk assistant seemed as frustrated as he
was, so he decided to give the guy a break instead of busting the man's
balls.


"The card key opens the doors to your building, the door to your floor
and to your room," the man said. "You are expected to be in every night
by 10pm, 11 on the weekend, unless you have permission from your floor
counselor. You will be sharing a room, as everyone else does, and your
orientation will be held once there's the staff for it."


"Thanks," he said, as he grabbed his belonging and information packet.


The halfway house consisted of three dormitory buildings. His was
Building B. It took a few tries, but he managed to get into the building.
He was on the 3rd and topmost floor. He had to climb the stairs, as there
was no elevator. Cheap bastards, he thought. Once he opened the door to
his floor, he heard noise coming from the common room/kitchen area. There
were eight men. Six of whom were sitting round a large, flat screen TV,
while two sat by themselves in a corner.


It didn't take long to recognize the two were rape-o's. If you've been in
prison as long as he had, you could spot them a mile away. There was
always a certain, unkempt look about them. The other men looked like good
dudes, some with gang tats, notably the double lightning bolts on the
neck, indicating their Neo-Nazi affiliation. Luckily, he was from out of
state; otherwise, he'd be concerned about the shot callers.


One of the six nodded his way and asked, "Where'd you come from?"


"Morgantown," he replied. All six men looked confused. Clearly, they
weren't very experienced. "It's a federal prison in West Virginia."


"Oh," the gang banger said. "What were you in on?"


He raised an eyebrow and replied, "None of your fucking business."


"It is my business if you're a fucking cho-mo," the man replied,
getting to his feet.


"I don't know what kind of fucked up bullshit you boys do here in your
little kiddy camps, but where I did time, you'll get your ass shanked for
getting in someone else's business. Now, I'm not afraid to go back. Are
you?"


Everyone else, including the two freaks in the corner, looked at the gang
banger. He measured his opponent up and said, "No man, we're cool."


"Good." He looked at the others and said, "the next motherfucker who
wants to check my paperwork can meet me in my room, got it?" Nobody
replied.


The rooms surrounded the common area, and his was the furthest from the
kitchen. It was a single room with two beds, and a small bathroom.
Wardrobes stood at the foot of each bed and a window overlooking the
nearby street sat between each bunk.


He didn't have much on him: an extra set of clothes he bought while
waiting for the bus to the airport, a few journals from prison, and other
miscellaneous items. The bed was crap but better than what he had slept
on over the prior 10 years. The shower was better, and he took a long
one, almost until the hot water ran out. He didn't give a fuck if his
roommate wanted any or not.


He wiped the mirror clean and checked himself out. He had a few tattoos
he was hoping to get removed, including his gang tats. In order for his
plan to work, he needed to not be identifiable, and with a short caller
on the unit, he didn't want people talking. He also saw his scars more
clearly. Getting stabbed fucking sucked, but the scars were worse;
constant reminders of what had happened the prices he paid to get where
he was.


He walked out of the bathroom, only in a town, and stopped cold. On the
bunk opposite his was one of the freaks. He was a young kid, in his
early-to-mid 20s. The boy was slender and nerdy looking, with short brown
hair and hazel eyes hidden behind prison-issued glasses. The boy looked
like he was ready to piss himself, but the kid was also brave enough to
come into the room early. He admired the young man's bravery...or
stupidity.


Without saying a word, he dropped his towel and slowly got dressed. He
caught the kid sneaking peaks at his cock and ass, as he pulled on his
new boxer briefs. Once he got his underwear on, he sat across from the
boy, making sure to spread his legs just enough for his long, thick cock
to fall forward over his huge balls. He leaned forward, his elbows on his
bare knees and looked the kid in the face.


"Boys or girls?" He asked in a low voice.


"Boys," the kid whispered, his voice quivering.


"How old?"


"25."


He reached out and slapped the boy. "Not you, freak. Your victims."


"18," the boy replied, almost in a squeal.


The boy was slapped again. "Tell me the truth. I know you're lying."


"I'm not lying," the boy insisted. "I got my paperwork."


"I'm not talking about the ones you were convicted of. Freaks like you
always have more than their paperwork says. I'm gonna ask you one last
time, or you're finding somewhere else to sleep tonight: How old are your
victims?"


Tears fell down the young man's face. "As young as five." The boy
flinched, waiting to get struck, but the blow never came.


"Juvie record?"


"Yes."


"Any kids after you turned 18?"


The boy paused and said, "One."


He sat, contemplating what his next step would be. "Wasn't me or mine,
so I don't care." A look of relief fell across the boy's face.
"However," he said, letting fear come back, "You're gonna have to pay
rent while we're living together." "Rent" was prison slang for
extortion in most prisons, and he was glad to see the look of recognition
on the boy's face.


"I don't have a job yet. I only got out yesterday." It sounded like the
boy was about to cry.


"I'm not looking for money," he said, standing up. He pulled down his
underwear, letting them fall to the floor. "When was the last time you
sucked a cock?"


"Before I was arrested."


"Good. You should be clean then. As long as you live with me, you're my
bitch. You do whatever I tell you, when I tell you to do it.
Understand?"


"Yes, Sir," the boy said, unable to believe his luck.


"If any of those fucks out there give you shit, you let me know. If
you're a good bitch, you'll get to have as much of this as you want. Got
it?"


"Yes, Sir."


He grabbed the boy under the arms and pulled him into a standing
position. He leaned in and spit in the boy's face. "Now, be a good bitch
and drain my balls."


"Yes, Sir."


The boy fell to his knees and began to work his roommate's cock. The man
was uncircumcised, which normally turned the boy off, but he hadn't had
sex in years and in cock would do him, especially one as big as the one
in his mouth.


"What's your name, kid?"


The boy pulled away and said, "Toby."


"You have a great mouth, Toby. Is that why you went to prison? Sucking
little boys' dicks?" Toby mumbled and affirmative around the giant,
swollen dick in his mouth. "Shit, those boys should've considered
themselves lucky."


He had Toby get completely undressed and lay on his back on his own bed.
He lifted Toby's legs and, without lube, shoved his cock in the tight
hole. Toby held his scream and put a pillow over his own face. "What a
good boy you are, Toby." He fucked Toby hard, making sure to get as much
of his 9-inch cock in as he could. It had been a very long time since he
topped, and he wanted to make it count.


"I'm gonna cum," he said, just before unloading his very full nut sack.
When he pulled out, his cock was covered in blood but not one sign of
shit. Apparently, Toby was well prepared for his release.


Toby laid still, awash in pleasure from his orgasm. He felt between his
legs, scooped some of his roommate's leaking cum and ate it. Despite the
coppery taste of his anal blood, the cum tasted good. The roommate took
another shower, this time with Toby, making sure to wash away any
evidence. He was annoyed that Toby wanted to cuddle and kiss, but he
needed to be sure the faggot wasn't clinging on to any DNA. They got into
their own beds and slept naked.


Just before Toby fell asleep, he asked, "What's your name, by the way."


"Orlando," he replied, giving the alias he lawyer created. He quickly
decided to test his new pet, however, "But you can call me Rollo."


***Coming Soon, Chapter 7***