asslikker

Young John shoots some liquid in my butt. It's cold and, very quickly, I definitely feel different that I did with the mule kick in the head of the T. I'm spinning but what's left of me wants John in me. He's busy slamming Young John in his dick. He's holding onto the kids shaft and pumps the whole vial in him. The kids was leaning next to the bed, suddenly he flops back disappearing under the sling hanging over the bed. I hear him under me moaning fuck, fuck, fuck. "You're okay, kiddo," soothes John. As I hear the kid flopping about underneath me I watch as well as I can Old John shooting up. He's found a vein on his forearm and unloads, starting to breath very rapidly when he pulls the needle out of his arm. He's lifted his arm in the air and pulling on his skin to make the drug flow faster into the rest of his body. And what a body! The veins I hadn't notice much before seem to pop all over his torso, his neck, his biceps, his chest, even his face. He's transformed from a handsome older stud to something most menacing and seductive. I can't imagine how much he's given himself but soon he is hyperventilating, steadying himself on one of the sling's chains. "Fuck, yeah, frat boy, ready to get knocked up with daddy seed." I'm feeling his chest as he straddles between my legs, his huge hose pushing hard into my balls. "Fuck yeah, Sir. I'm ready." "How ready, boy?" "I need you in me so bad. Please load my hole." "Load it with what, boy?" "With your toxic spooge." His dick is dripping in anticipation and he buries it in me without ceremony. Just slips it in up to its hilt. He's on fire and tearing into my chute with his girth and length. There's nothing sensitive or kind in his thrusts. His pupils are dilated and he looks at me with demonic desire. It's incredible and painful and pleasurable all at once. I don't know where Johnny is but I hear Old John tell him, "that's right, boy, lick daddy's balls. Suck 'em up, fucker. Give daddy's hole a little bath while you're there. That's it. Deeper, fucker. Let me feel your tongue..." John makes guttural noises deep in his throat. He's possessed and it makes me bounce on his cock as much as I can in the sling. John reaches between my legs and start beating me off. I'm sweating like a pig and so is he. He's rocking inside me and ever so often cracks my ass hard, and I thank him every time. He pinches my nipples painfully, and it makes my dick drip in his hand. "You ready for daddy's first load, son?" I'm staring into his eyes, which have darkened and reddened. His pupils have fully taken over. His expression is pure lust. Snot drips from his nostrils. He licks his lips, takes some into mouth and spit a gob at me, which hits my lips. I stare in his eyes licking it up. That cues him to begin a rapid fire assault on my ass. I feel him swelling larger then ever. Beneath the sling I hear, "Breed him, daddy. Fuck him up!" He explodes with three enormous thrusts, holds my thighs each time letting me feel the full enormity of his erection. I swear I feel his cock head double in size, lubing my chute deep on each plunge. I cum, too, right in his hand, on his final thrust. I shoot over my head. A second squirts in my face. And with a tight closed fist, he gets a third drool from my cock head, dripping off his fingers. He's polishing my head, not letting my orgasm go. I writhe in pleasure-pain in his callused palm. At the point I can't take any more sensation he says, "Good boy," lifting his fingers up to my mouth. I greedily lick my cum off them and suck on his fingers till they're clean. I still don't see Johnny but seeing John's face I figure his dick being sucked. "That's right, son, clean daddy up." John ducks under the sling and I hear them tenderly making love. "Get College out of the sling, boy, so he can join us." Johnny pops up and unbinds my legs then wrists. He doesn't show any resentment. If he's feeling like I am I only want to get down and roll around with both of them. I slowly get my balance back while Johnny takes the sling off the eye hooks and joins me and Old John on the bed. There bodies are such a contrast. The kid is almost completely smooth, hairless arms, smooth legs, only a tuft of brown pubes that are as soft as mink, whereas the older man is rock solid, coarse hair up to his shoulders with some falling over his back spreading out over his lats. I'm crawling down to where I can suck on John's cock and he plays with mine. Johnny I can feel is playing with my hole, and before I realize it has buried it inside me, humping gently as the three of us tenderly use six hands, three mouths, an assortment of dicks and holes that become indistinguishable in a mash up of sensations that has never been as pleasurable. Far off I hear Gary outside calling to Dwayne to string up the deer, then a chainsaw buzzes a million miles away. It's the camp as background noise. It's comforting and enveloping me in darkness. Johnny finishes fucking me. Nothing earth-shattering, but calm like he's finishing a cup of tea. He shutters a bit, pulls out and I feel empty. His tongue is lapping at my butt and as I turn around he's at my mouth feeding me what he's felched out. We kiss for a long time, the cum going back and forth between us, John petting our heads. We break our kiss and start worshiping the older man's body. Both of us are at his nipple kneading and sucking them, our hands exploring his rich pelt of body hair, rewarded at every turn by a kiss, a slap on the ass, a tweak of our tits, and of course his cock getting harder and harder. We're at his feet, licking the dirt from between his toes, taking several toes at a time in our mouths. I watch Johnny take a slab of grease and slather Old John's foot, then climb on his old man's leg and slide his ass down on the wiggling toes. I want to know the feeling of this, too, so I slather John's other foot and climb over his hairy legs and feel his sharp toenails dig into my hole. It's incredible this rush of feeling once his toes are inside. So different than Johnny's fist. Wide, solid, rough. Completely different in form from a hand. Right after the toes Old John's callused foot falls deep inside me. I'm completely taken in lust and simply hump his foot like a whore. Johnny lost too. He's fallen on his back and his old man's foot is sliding inside the kid's hole. There's no way my ass can take that turn but the sight of it doubles my horniness. I rut like an insatiable bitch on the man's hairy foot. Both Johnny and I are animals gorging on pure pleasure. Old John is enjoying our abandonment, jacking himself off, encouraging us, wiggling his toes inside of us to coax us on. Johnny leans over and holds my head. His tongue slips in my mouth and I reciprocate the passion. Whatever feeling was express earlier have washed away and now we are both gleefully pleasing ourselves, making out, jacking each other off, humping away on an enormous size thirteen foot. There some movement behind Johnny's head. I look past him at the open gingham-curtained window. A breeze is flapping it, and I see a stranger staring in. I stop humping Old John's foot. Johnny turns and follows my gaze, and then also stops. John looks at the window, kicks us off his feet and murmurs, mother fucker. He jumps off the bed. There's a commotion outside as we hear Dwayne and Gary tackle the man at the window. There's a boom as bodies are hitting the trailer. John is out of the room, naked, then the screen door slams as he flies outside. Johnny and I scramble around for underwear and then follow him. The man they've caught is exceptionally tall. I guess he would have to be if he were peering in the trailer window. Dwayne has his arms pinned and Gary is pummeling the guy mercilessly. "Hang on, Gare," says John. He grabs the guys hair and pulls up his face. "Where you from stranger? What're you doin' here?" The guys spits a bloody wad on the ground, smiles a sneer back at John. John takes his face in his hand, says, "I don't ask twice. You from round here?" The man gives John a hard stare and spits at John. "You fuckin' piece of shit. String up this mother fucker." John throws a hard gut punch and knocks the wind out of the guy. Where Dwayne had strung up the buck killed on their hunting trip, guts freshly spilled lie over the ground. Gary cuts the deer carcass loose and throws it over to the side. He and Dwayne pull the guy backwards. He's still reeling from the stomach punch and they easily loop his wrists and splay his arms apart anchored to two trees. "Tie his legs, too," orders John. The tall man kicks Dwayne in the head. Bad mistake. Dwayne takes the guy in a head lock and administers blow after blow to his head until the guy would have fallen to the ground, but stays upright tied by his arms. "I think I seen him at the river once," says Johnny. "I don't think he's from around here. He was talking to a couple of guys from the Grunewald camp." Gary and Dwayne have secured the guy's legs, while Johnny checks his pockets. "Ain't no wallet, but look." The kid holds out a plastic baggie filled with a hefty amount of large chunks of crystal. It sparkles like shards of glass. "That ain't mine," he says. "Jus' hopped in yer pocket, did it?" says Gary. "Skin him," says John. Gary and Dwayne bring out their hunting blades and slice the guy's checkered shirt off him, and then his jeans one leg at a time, till he's standing their stung up in just his underwear and boots. He's a skinny guy, thin arms and legs, flat nose and a receding hairline. "Who you work for?" John is up in his face. He's real quiet, almost whispering. "You best start talking while you still can talk." "Fuck you, faggot. I saw what you was doing to those hopped up boys. That little one don't look even legal." "I am too! Ain't I daddy," Johnny yells. John smiles the most chilling smile I've ever seen. "Johnny, get the garden clippers." The kid sprints over to a bench that has some scrawny pot plants on them, and grabs some garden clippers. "Can I?" Johnny begs. John nods. Johnny cuts one side of the man's underwear off, and then the other. The white underwear falls in the puddle of deer blood. I watch the blood seep into the white fabric. The man stands there naked, shriveled up, trying not to quake in his boots. Johnny puts the clippers in the guys face. Snip, snip, he says gesturing to the guy's puny dick. "Wait, hold on. I can pay, pay lots." Whatever bravado he was trying to maintain is long gone. I think he's willing to take a beating, at least I think he's hoping that's what he'll get from these guys. "I heard you had good shit. I can make you tons of coin. I have connections in New York. I've got cash back in the car. Just let me get it. You can go with me, take it all." There's a long pause. It's a frightening scene and I don't know where it's headed. Gary and Dwayne are fully dressed in camouflaged hunting gear holding their hunting knives, Old John is stark naked from head to foot, Johnny and I are barefoot in our underwear. There is a small trickle of pee running down the guy's leg into his sock and boot. His white sock turns yellow. I look over at John's feet. The grease has caked them with dirt. I don't know why but in the silence I'm locked onto his feet. I can't look at the guy's face. I can hear him crying and scared, and I think he thinks they're going to kill him. The silence is too intense. I look up. "Please," I see the guy mouths. A bubble of spit bursts over his bleeding lip. A little bloody drool hangs from his teeth. It jiggles as he shakes. The spittle catches on his chin. "Who told you we have good shit," says John, breaking the silence. "Shit you walked in n' stole." He doesn't sound like he's looking for answers but is laying out the crime. "And watched me foot fuck these two knuckleheads, probably tugging at your pud as you watched." He almost sounds friendly, joking, forgiving, like he'll let him go this one time. I don't know where in my fucked up brain it comes from, but I suddenly feel personally aggrieved by this stranger, and don't want him off the hook. I hear myself saying, "And he used a homophobic slur at you, daddy." "Fuckin' A, son," says John giving me a quick look married to a conspiratorial smile. He gives a very slight nod to Johnny. Johnny pulls the guy's dick out an inch and slices it off with the clippers. Fuck, I say under my breath. The tall man screams a bloody high-pitched cry. Elongated. Shrill. Inhales, and lets out an even louder bale as he looks down and see blood and piss running down his legs mixing into the deer entrails. He face is a mask of pain. I can't watch it. "He'll bleed out," I manage to say looking anywhere but at him. "The fuck cares," Gary spits. He goes over to a pile of logs and picks up the chainsaw. Pulls the cord and revs it up a couple of times. He walks behind the guy. The guy whips around to see what Gary's doing and screams out, NO! but Gary is already literally ripping the guy a new asshole. He revs the chainsaw and brings it up between the guy's legs. Flesh and a red spray flies from the guy and coats John with a thin red mist. The guy looks completely surprised and is suspended only for a few seconds in horror as, like the deer before him, his intestines, liver, pancreas, stomach and a sea of blood wash out between his legs. I shut my eyes but the image is still there. And I can't shut out the sound of all of his viscera falling to the ground. It sounds like pounds of jello slapping into the dirt. I take a quick peak at the carnage puddled around him. Deer entrails, his entrails mix together. I think the guy's dead but for a horrifying second he's fully conscious, staring at the ground beneath him, trying to understand what just happened. Part of his colon, a pale pink shred of tissue, is dangling out of his cavity. I see a shudder go through him, then his head falls with all his weight hanging by his arms. His knees buckle beneath him. Old John has a massive boner. It's bobbing up and down with a long string of pre-cum hanging off the tip. It drips and is absorbed into the dry earth. He looks at me and Johnny. "You two clowns get back inside. And get that fucking underwear off before I rip you both two new assholes!" He doesn't have to tell us twice. Dust flies from under our feet as we jet back inside the trailer. As we race down the hallway, Johnny's still holding the guy's dickhead between his fingers.

Sorry boys. (I'm assuming this is all boys just like my college-level "Porn as Art" writing class who I've been stealing from.) I've been grading the class's final papers and, I have to say, the class has excelled at their assignment. (Taking each segment to its next logical level.) Their best "chapters" will be forthcoming shortly and I'll post them as soon as I proofread them. I'll avoid the "artsy" ones and give you just the nastiest of the bunch. If you're averse to violence I'd advise you stop reading now. This remedial class age average is nineteen, and maybe its video games or Game of Thrones, but their imaginations are astonishingly violent. I was shock but also left hornier then hell. The next installment, "Mike's" entry, was one I hardly got through. This little (gorgeous, 5'6" car mechanic) deviant left me somewhere between Tums sick-to-my-stomach and jacking off in my office, shades drawn. Hope you enjoy as much as I did!

People are free to have opinions.

Early morning light is streaming in. Flecks of dust are in the air and their smoke swirls in complicated spirals tumbling over each other in the still room. “Old John” is such a misnomer. He’s not old at all. Maybe the beard could make you think he’s older than he is from far away, but if you look at his skin you can see he’s not wrinkled until he frowns or smiles, and only then it's just around his eyes. His blue eyes. Piercing they are. It’s probably the contrast with his black brows with eyes the color of robin eggs. Deep set they are. Shadowy and mesmerizing. As he sits there with his arm around his boy, he studies me with a resolve that either says he’s going to kill me or give me the hardest fuck of my life. He chomps on his cigar freeing his left hand. He runs that hand over his pumped chest for my benefit. Each black hair is drawn back and springs forward once his hand passes. His nipple are large and Young John reaches up and plays with one, softly, until it engorges to an even plumper size. He’s a Tom of Finland drawing made flesh. His sneering smile is definitely of the bad boy variety but I have to believe he's not evil. He asks me how I'm feeling. “Great,” I say. Immediately he tells me puppies don’t speak. I bark a happy reply and pant with my tongue hanging out at him. “Good boy,” he says, patting the couch next to him. “Git up here you mangy mutt.” I bound over on all fours and jump up next to him. “Hoo-wee, you got the worst doggy breath I ever smelled. You like having your wiener play with like that?” I bark a positive reply. “Young John does not like that, do you Young John?” “Nope. Hate it," he says. "But it lets me do this now.” He takes his father's hand and put his index finger into his piss slit, drilling half-way down his shaft, wiggling it about. “I love when daddy does that. But wait’ll uncle Gary gets out his catheter. See if’n you like that when he’ll fill your bladder so full of everybody's piss till you cain’t take no more.” “Now, Young John, he’s hasn’t done that to you for weeks. You’re worrying you mutt all to hell.” Young John puts out his cigarette. He focuses in on Old John. “Daddy, can me and him go to your room and play in the sling? I was showing College how to take my fist and I want to learn him how to take it deep like I do." He leans in to me to tell me confidentially, "Daddy says I’m about ready to get my first prolapse, didn’t ya daddy?” “You’re getting’ there, boy. Someday, and that might be soon, you’re lil butt’s gonna start hanging out your hole like a little pig’s tail. And once it does, I’m gonna fuck the stars out of you and eat your ass like it were a delicious pork tenderloin. You’re gonna howl and spit and just cum like a love starved alley cat. Yeah, sure, why don’t you take your mutt and git him ready in the sling. Daddy’s gonna put on a little leather and then see how good you trained him.” “C’mon, College,” says Young John reattaching my leash. I trot on all fours trying to keep up with him racing down the hall. Old John’s bedroom is at the end of the trailer and is much larger than Young John’s room. There’s a large king size bed covered in black sheets, and above it hands a sling whose four chained corners reach up to eyelets screwed into the trailer’s ceiling. Old John has followed us in and is at his closet going through it, selectively putting on a leather vest, chaps with a sharply studded cod piece, and snapping on studded wrist bands. Young John excitedly is boosting my ass up into the sling which is quite high. He helps me put my legs in the leather straps, locking ankle restraints and securing them to each of the chains. He picks up an off-brand shortening and lubes his fist greasing them up to his elbow. “I ain’t gonna chain your arms yet till he get more used to taking a fist. Now remember, you don’t fight me, you hear? You just lie back and relax your hole. Sniff this here bottle when you want,” Young John says, handing me a small popper bottle. “Any time you want me to go in deeper you just take a whiff. Watch this daddy. I’m gonna start me goin' in him with a fist.” And he does. I feel his knuckles lined up at my exposed ass, and he begins pushing while I’m trying to get the greasy cap off the bottle. I take a deep hit and right away he’s popping my ass open with his small fist. I had forgotten what his fist feels like in me, and the poppers are making it a pleasant sensation, one that makes me want him in me deep, one that allows my sphincter to easily accept him. “See, daddy,” he says, pulling his fully clenched fist out slowly and then pressing it in again, “I trained him good, didn’t I?” Old John comes over next to me, feeling me up. His large hand runs over my pecs, down my belly, and then begin stroking my cock. It’s hard in no time looking up into his handsome face. I reach a hand up and do what I’ve wanted to do since I first laid eyes on him: I run my hand over his black pelt, feeling his protruding nipples, and laying my hand under his pits. I take away the smell of sweat from his moist pits on my hands. It’s stronger then the poppers and makes me want him desperately. He smiles amused. I feel Johnny pushing his small arm forcefully up my hole, deeper and with more force that when we were playing earlier. “Let him do you, College," the man says. "Let him go deep inside.” He's leaning down almost in my face. “The more you let him in you now, the easier it’ll be when I take over. I’m gonna rip the living shit out of your insides, cocksucker. That I guarantee.” He squeezes the tip of my cock and licks the pearl of precum off it. He lets it ride on his tongue and dips down and places it on my lips. He builds up some spit and lets it drool off his tongue. I open my mouth and let it flow into me. “Did you ask College if he has the bug in him?” He looks between my legs at his boy concentrating on my hole. I feel his small arm deep inside me. His hand is starting to veer to the left. So far his small hand and thin arm feel good, getting into places I’ve never felt before. This suddenly turning left, however, is starting to hurt. I take a couple of hits from the bottle and it eases the pain slightly and lets him go in a little deeper. “He let me bareback him right away so I guessed he's got the bug. Daddy, I think I’m at his turning point. Damn, College, I’m gonna take you past my elbow yet. You ready for that?” “I'm neg and want to stay—“ Old John put a hand over my mouth. “What I say about talk?” He pulls a gag from his nightstand and quickly straps it over me. I try to say I’m sorry but there’s a mouth bit within the gag that doesn’t allow any words to form. “You don't got the bug, pup?” he asks. “Just nod your head yes or no.” I shake my head no, and now that I think back on Gary's biohazard and scorpion tattoos it’s clear to me the Tina let down my usual cautiousness. I’m dealing with poz guys that take pride in being unsafe. Old John is reading my face, which is full of concern. He places a powerful hand on my chest sensing I might be trying to get up. But besides his pushing me deeper into the sling, there’s Young John’s hand way inside me with his full forearm pumping away. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. Old John takes my arm and puts it in a leather restrain above my head. He bends down and licks my pit until it’s sopping wet. Then he reaches over and binds my other arm. He’s bent over me as he does and I get a brush of his hairy chest. I raise my head and push my face onto his nipple and start sucking. “You say you're neg but you just might be conflicted. You sure as hell act like you're ready to be knocked up." He holds my chin and talks to me seriously. "If you’re kindly, I might could.” He’s now smiling, flashing his yellowed teeth. I shake my head again no, emphatically. “Nah, don’t you worry none. I won’t if’n you don’t want me to. But why don’t we give you a lil’ fortification and then see how you feel about it. Son,” he says to Young John. He wanders over to stand in back of the boy running his big hairy mitts over Young John’s chest. “You keep up the good Lord's work. Your daddy’s so proud of you. Looks like he’s just about ready to take a man-size fist thanks to you, studded wrists and all. Pull out for a sec, lemme see that hole.” He does, and Old John slips in several of his sausage fingers. He slips in another finger from his other hand and pulls my hole painfully apart. “Hoo-wee, he’s a tight one, ain’t he? You best start usin’ two fists and see if he cain’t take that before I come back. I’ll be two shakes with works for the three of us.” “Yes, daddy,” Johnny says. He greases up both hands like he’s washing them. He’s still folding one hand over another as he slips one hand in, pulls it out and right away puts in the other. He keeps this up and I feel my hole starting to melt against all resistance. He’s not letting my hole clamp shut for a second, but has both hands so close to my stretched out hole that, without warning, he’s pulled apart my hole and has both hands inside still folding over each other inside me. He’s good. It causing all sorts of distress yet it feels like an incredible massage. I can’t help making sounds of pleasure but still beg him to stop. It's too much. “You like my daddy, don’t ya?” I can’t communicate anything to him, but only feel how he’s working my hole into an over-the-top erotic frenzy. “Best be not liking him too much. He’s my daddy. You got that?” He pulls both fists out simultaneous. I yell into the gag. I’m sure from the force and width of his extraction he’s torn some of my hole. With a cruel smile he shows me a bit of blood on his right hand. “He ain’t your daddy,” and he punches his right fist deep into my gut. He’s trying to hurt me now so I try clamping shut my hole, but it’s not working. He’s going for deep thrusts, pausing occasionally at his deepest point of penetration, giving me most of his forearm, before he slips a couple of fingers from his free hand, stretching me out, trading arms, eventually slipping in a hand, and again stretching my hole to the extreme. With an arm and a hand deeply buried, he violently pulls out. “I seen the way you look at him.” He slaps my balls, and my dick jumps straight up. “I seen the way he looks at you. Seen the way he looks at your big gooch.” He punches me in the balls. Again I jerk in pain. “He ain’t yours to look at that way.” He throws a hard right punch, smashing my balls, then a left, connecting again in the same spot. He alternates like a boxers, head down, my balls are his punching bag. In pain I’m flinging myself back and forth. I'm starting to feel sick, afraid if I throw up I’m going to choke in my own puke. Old John walks in and Young John abruptly stops. Old John holds three syringes and eyes Young John disapprovingly. “You boys playing nice?” he asks. “Yes, daddy. I got two hands in him just like you said. He bled a little, but I bet you’re gonna make him bleed a lot more, won’t ya daddy?” “More’n likely. How else he gonna learn to take a man’s whole arm. Right boyo? How else did I learn you to take what a man's got to give.” He tapping the edge of each vial getting air bubbles out. “Member how much you liked it when you first took daddy’s arm all the way? How I’d make a muscle and make you squeal?” “Yeah, an’ how, when you got all the way, I could feel your armpit hair tickling all the way up to my second ring. Will you do me like that after we get our shots?” “First daddy’s got to attend to your friend.” I see Johnny throw me a real angry look. I would reassure him if I could that I’m not after a permanent position, but I’m not sure myself if I’m not at least partially hook on his daddy. I’ve never really thought about the whole daddy thing—I think of myself more in the brother-on-brother lane. But if I were to want a daddy I doubt I could do better than this dark haired, blue eyes muscle god that’s holding up a needle to my neck. “Hold still, boy. You don’t want me to miss. It’s not as strong as your first one, just a sort of pick-me-up.” He stabs my neck and floods it into me. It goes straight to my brain and he wrong: it’s just as strong; it kicks me in the head and in the nuts. With the gag in my mouth I suddenly feel I can't breathe. I'm panicking and Old John is holding my face in his hand. He's telling me to just ride it out, that I'm okay, he's got me. I melt into his hand. I want him to never let me go. All I want is his dick in me, bug or no. And as the drug takes hold of my mind, I amend that desire: I want his bug; I want it to be his DNA to infect me. “You happy now, boy?” he asks me seeing that the panic has passed and pure lust taking over. I still can’t focus on him, my eyes are so crossed, but I feel safe in his care. “Young John, fetch me that bottle of G and my plunger. I want him to be out of his mind horned up when I fuck him." Johnny is out of the room in a flash and it’s just me and him. I feel like I'm in a vast cave in this dark room. I can’t tell time anymore. It simply stretches out without meaning. All I know is I want this man’s dick, and instinctively he knows it. He undoes my gag. We both know I want his cock in my mouth and he gives it to me, stroking my head, feeding it down my throat. He looks down the hallway and says quietly to me, “I'll tell you what. I think maybe Young John has passed his expiration date. I’m thinkin’ you might be a better 'Young John' than him. He's always been a little on the scrawny side, but he was always so dang cute. But he's getting older now, and he ain't as cute as he was, and he don't look like he's gonna fill out much more. The 'Young John' afore him was more your build. And you are right good eye candy and, ah, sweet Jesus, a mighty good cock sucker. All the way, boy, take it all the way down. Would you like that? Would you like to be my next 'Young John'?” I hear his words, but I can't piece together what he’s telling me. All I know is I just want to please him, take his cock down to his pubes. I mutter an uh-huh affirmation for him to keep feeding me his hard cock. "You gonna do everything I say, ain't ya? There's nothing you won't do. Ain't that right?" I nod within this dark cave of incomprehension. I hear Young John's footfalls trotting down the hall coming into the bedroom. “Boy," he tells Young John, "fill that plunger half full and stick that up his ass. No, not so much. I don’t want him passing out, just enough to make him want his hole to be a bloody mess and beggin' me to knock him up with my dirty cum.” He looks me squarely in the eye. "Ain't that right, son?"

Lol. Guess if this get into dad/son fisting I should warn #nsfw

With that much crystal meth running through my veins it's hard to keep track of those first few hours. I remember initially going down on a cock as big as a trout attached to a body who rolling belly had FEED ME tattooed on it. I don't want to give bullet-head credit, but the nostril piss created a mucous in reaction to the acidity that coated my throat, in particular the back of my throat that took the brunt of oral abuse, allowing me to swallow Dwayne's carp halfway down my gullet with little trouble. Truth be told I was also into it. I'd never been one for deep throating but my coated throat on top of the threat and (again, truth be told) the excitement of possible castration, got me to service Dwayne like I'd never orally serviced any of the normal-sized boys I'd blown. Dwayne got the royal treatment: a hands-free blow job that took in every inch of his tool. I was lost for what seemed hours inhaling his cock, feeling how good it was to tickle not just the back of my throat but a sizable amount of it going down my esophagus. I think Dwayne was amazed too. He kept pushing my head down in disbelief so my lips collided continually with his hairy bush. Loose hairs that any other time I would have spent minutes trying to pick off my tongue got swallowed up in each thrust down his giant cock. As high as I was I expect he was too, and no one had given him head like I was giving him head. He came fairly quickly but after he came didn't want me to stop. It was only after I start polishing his knob with my fist that he begged me. Judging by the looks on the other's faces, I had done what others hadn't, that is, gone beyond pleasuring this massive beast to the point where he wanted no more of it. That didn't mean by any mean I was finished. Only just beginning. In overwhelming waves of T that weren't subsiding, I blacked out for a while during and after working on Dwayne. I was tripping heavily outside of the reality I was in. For a while I thought I was in a grocery store, that I was the meat being sold and parceled out to various customers. These customers, whenever I could focus, kept coming back to Dwayne, Gary, Old John and the kid. For the most part Old John and Young were wrapped up in each other to the exclusion of whatever was going on in the living room, the boy glued to the father's anus. Gary, after Dwayne hit me up the side of my head telling me to stop polishing his knob, took over and ordered me to lie on the floor. Because of the absolute jumble in my brain, moving from kneeling in front of Dwayne to getting to a prone position on the floor was a major endeavor. Not only could I not understand what a floor was, the position of kneeling was all I could remember ever having done from conception to now. It sounds ridiculous, but I had no idea who "I" was when Gary looked at me, nor could I remember ever having not been in front of Dwayne sucking him off. It's as if I had no life before, only this one, kneeling, having a cock sliding into and out of my gullet. Physical reality, however, took over any lack of brain activity on my part. Gary snatched the reins of abuse once Dwayne had finished. I was continually smacked, my hair pulled, my body punched, until I was on the floor exactly how Gary wanted me positioned. I take it at some point Dwayne was assisting but I never saw him actually slide off the couch and hold down my legs. I do recall, once on the floor, Gary kneeling on my arms, pinning them at my side, hovering his butt over my face. But once his face, specifically his hairy hole went over my mouth and his cheeks covered my eyes, I don't remember much after that, at least not in a linear "this happened next" sense; only a various list of events in random order. The crystal flooded my will, making me pliable to whatever was told to me, moment by moment. If I heard lick, I licked. If I heard eat, I ate. If I was told suck that's what I did. I remember at one point in the darkness a foul taste enter my mouth at the same time a wet ejaculate spurted on my chest, but the memory was quickly replaced with only a residual fetid paste remaining on my lips after I heard an order to swallow. I heard Gary someplace far away saying something long, complicated, yet vaguely family, but all I truly caught was "next time you shit" muffled beneath Gary's soft buns I was worshiping. While this was an intense undertaking that should have made an indelible mark on my psyche, abridging my character to include things I thought I'd never do, actions taken which I vaguely have some memory of but clouded by a quasi-dream state so I would barely know if they happened or I imagined, or even—dare I say—wished they would happen, an even stronger sensation, one that remained in my sense memory from then till now, was occurring within the shaft of my cock. In the darkness of Gary's furry ass, I felt at first a tip of a cold wedge entering me. It was hard and painful as it traveled down my shaft, an unfamiliar sensation as it was unpleasant. Someone was holding my semi-rigid dick in place, while the weight of this object invaded me slowly, tormentingly slow, inch by inch. At some point, maybe halfway down my shaft, four inches now that my cock was fully erect, it occurred to me that it had to be the screwdriver Gary had held while he was on a kitchen stool, previously masturbating himself with. Now he was using it on me. While it travel the length of my cock it finally rested too close to my prostate to feel good. I felt its blade twirl with someone at the top twisting the handle. I howled at the internal gyration it inflicted on my prostate, a exceedingly painful but at the same time arousing sensation that I could barely stand. Barely. My cries of torture were muffled between Gary's cheeks as my head rocked back and forth in denial that this was happening. Then the blade was dragged up and out of my piss slit only to fall back inside with even more violence. There was nothing I could do to stop it. No pleas, or cries abated the abuse. In fact, the more noise I made, the more extreme the invasion became. I felt as my stifled begging surrendered to the abuse, my meat as hard as its ever been, bent up ninety degrees skyward, the screwdriver resting at its furthest depth, it was soon followed by a second intrusion going down my shaft. The two screwdrivers were being manipulated by an expert who know how much a body could take and then pushed to take even more. A third was added between the two already piercing me. I felt the manipulator spread the three of them apart, ripping my urethra to a stretch that was breaking me. I thrashed as the three at once were masturbating me from the inside to the point where, not that it felt good, quite the opposite, but to the point where I felt deep within my balls I was getting close to cumming. The last thing I wanted was the cause of such violence to be the trigger for an orgasm, but when the bullet-headed bastard twisted the flathead blades for a final time and pulled them out all together, I shot like a pubescent's first time. Streams of dick snot erupted long after the tools were withdrawn. My body shook with tremors and after shocks, volcanic eruptions that never seemed to end. In the hours of blackness beneath my captor to this moment of release was an eternity, and in the aftermath of eternity my body collapsed in on itself like a blackhole pulling in everything around it. An emptiness of conscious the void will never fill. When Gary finally crawls off my face it's light outside. Without a word, he and Dwayne leave the trailer with me laying on the floor in a puddle of my own sweat, drool and copious cum. The screen door slams behind them, and I look up to see, almost as a surprise, a very hot naked father and son team grinning down at me, Young John smoking a cigarette, Old John smoking a cigar. I'm primed. As I lay there catching my breath, I can't wait to get between this illicit duo. I feel that at this point there's nothing I won't do. I'll be disabused of that notion soon enough.

It's the most painful minutes of my life! I coughed up the initial stream before the bullet-headed bastard smacks my head and tells me to take the rest in my mouth and warns me to not loose a drop. "You let any spill on the bed," he threatens, "the rest is going up your nose." I take him at his word, and lock my lips around his long uncut cock and just swallow and swallow and swallow and swallow. While I'm gulping I hear him say: "You know my piss is going straight to you stomach now, pig." I remember Young John's exact words as bullet-head is talking. This must be Young John's daily life, what he hears every day serving these men. "You got my piss in you. Next time you piss that's going to be my piss coming out of your dick. Just remember that." I almost feel sorry for Young John until: "Can we keep him, daddy?" Young John asks, while bullet-head finishes peeing down my throat. "Can we, huh?" "Did you show him the lab?" Johnny's father asks concerned, "Or talk to him about it?" "No, sir," says Young John. "All we did was smoke a little bit. I didn't say we made it." "Well, he knows now, don't he, Young John?" I see Young John's puzzled face nodding. He's not stupid but I wonder about his father. Did he mean to trip him up? Bullet-heads squeezing out a last few squirts. "So now we either have to put him down out yonder with the other, or you're gonna have to train him good. I mean real, real good, son." "Wait!" I blurt out. Bullet-head smacks me again. The fat one leaps on my head and puts a rubber ball in my mouth, and then fits a muzzle under my chin and around my cheeks buckling it in the back. I'm trying to get out words, which is now impossible, so I resort to negative pleas. Mmm-mm, I'm getting out through the muzzle. Mmm-mm. Snots from the earlier piss irrigation is running down my face over the muzzle, and I feel tears welling up in my eyes. All I can see is Johnny looking scared, which fills me with terror. "I'll train him, daddy," he pleads. "I'll train him real, real good. He ain't gonna be no problem. He can have table scraps and live in the wood shed and I'll train him to do all the things you like. Y'all can have a lot of fun with him. He likes tina, and he likes it dirty, and I bet if you slam him he'll do whatever else you can think of, like you do me." "He sure looks purdy from what I can see, Old John," the fat one says. "If he can take my gooch meat maybe he might be worth keepin'. Least for a time." "We'll see," Old John says. "Put your collar on him, boy, and lead him into the living room. We got some relaxing to do, and we'll see if he can help you with your chores. Could be nice t'have another one of you around. That is, if he can be housebroke." "Thank you, daddy!" he says excitedly, while the men pile out of his room. He holds a finger up to me. "Shush," he whispers. "You wanna stay alive to mornin' you'll do exactly as I say, you hear me." All I can do is nod. "Okay then, you put this leather collar round your neck. Here, lemme fasten it." It's several inches thick and make me hold him neck up high. Once he locks it, he attaches a chain with a leather lead to it. "Now you just be a dog, you got that? A dog is what you are. And you do whatever anyone says. You gonna walk on all fours unless someone pulls you up. And you can cry and whine but you ain't never gonna say no, and you ain't never gonna say nothin'. You let them do whatever they want or you gonna end up dead like the others. You got me?" He's emphatic. Like the others. It's the second time "others" have been eluded to, and it's reverberating in my messed up brain as he leads me out to the join the men. The candle's still flickering as I crawl on all fours behind Johnny into the living room. "Sit!" he commands holding up a hand. I sit back on my haunches. "See, daddy. He's gonna be real easy to train. He's purdy too, ain't he, daddy? He's got real nice hair, nice new fur growin' on his chest, and nice hangin' balls I KNOW Gary's gonna like to hurt." "Don't matter if'n he's purdy," says bullet-head. "It matters if'n he's fun and can take what's dished out." Bullet-head is skinny with thin slits for eyes. He got a pointed goatee and tattoos poking out his plaid collar around his neck. If I were a dog I'd be growling at him. "Well, I think he is purdy," the fat one who wanted me to suck his gooch meat says. I wonder for a second before I push it out of my mind how big that gooch meat is going to be. "He might fit nicely at the foot of my bed when all y'all done havin' fun with him. What'cha call him, Young John?" "His names College. He got his car all crashed up by ol' Jonesy, I recon, and got lost looking for the main road. I toll him it weren't the way he was goin' even though it was, and he followed me home. I took him the long was so he don't know where he is no more." "That was right smart of you, Young John," says his daddy. "You sure you wanna call him College after he got so easily fooled? What about Dumbshit?" "Nah, we already had a Dumbshit, 'member? He was that curly headed feller. Besides, he talks real smart and I bet we can muscle him up. He's a good fucker and fister, and afore you came I was teaching him to take a fist. I betcha you'd get a good rosebud outta him in no time." There are a lot of alarms tripping during this conversation, but none as loudly as the way Old John is looking at me. He's a large man with very big, solid hands. He's cracking his knuckles looking me over. Hard to believe he's Johnny's father. They don't look anything alike. Where Young John has sandy brown hair, Old John is jet back. He's got a furrowed unibrow arching over deep blue eyes. His beard is thick and black with no grey in it, so I'm guessing he's somewhere in his thirties, which would make him very young for being Johnny's father. He is a daddy type, of that there's no doubt. His neck is thick and shoulder's wide. He's kicking off his boots. They fall near me and the stink that comes out of them could easily make me wretch if I was any nearer. His teeth are yellow but he has all of them, not like bullet-head who's missing all four front teeth. Old John keeps flexing his hands as he's eyeballing me, and I have a feeling I know where he's imagining planting those big, hairy fists. I stare at his fingers, which each have trails of hair running down them. It take me a second to realize he's talking to me: "Looks like you got nice meat on you. What's that, eight inches I recon?" I look at Johnny who nods his head once. I look back at Old John and nod. "You slam him, Young John?" "No, sir, we just blew some clouds, but look at those arms. He got some nice juicy veins on him, don't he daddy? Bet you could turn him into a slam whore real easy. Maybe makes some money at Shady Acres trailer park." "Dwayne," Old John says to the fat one, "why don't you introduce our new house pet who would do well to git his first slam." I'm ready to protest when Young John subtly tugs my chain. I look over at him and, almost invisibly, shakes his head. "Me, too, Dwayne," he says holding out his arm as way of distraction. He stares at me very pointedly. "Sure, boy. Why don't we all get to know one another," Dwayne says taking off his dingy grey sweater. Underneath are rolls of fat, boobs that droop over his hefty belly, and pits that I can smell over here. He gets up and goes to the kitchen area and from a drawer takes out a handful of used needles with orange caps. He counts out five and brings over a glass of water and starts dolling out power into each of them. I see bullet-head spot something on the counter and goes over to pick it up. It's Johnny's cage. "Young John, you take off your cage, boy?" "No, sir. College done that." "Git up, son," says Old John. "It's been ages since I seen what your wiener looks like. Lemme me see you." The boy stands up. His father is in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a pelt of black chest hair and pecs that any body builder would be proud of. "Well, look at you, boy!" He slips off his pants and underwear. I'd say my jaw dropped but of course it' s being held in place by my muzzle. Still, I'm sure my eyes are boinging out of my face as I look at Johnny's daddy's anaconda hanging down. Out of his huge black bush is a semi-erect monster cock. The black hair from his chest continues non-stop to his crotch and continues spilling down the hairiest, most muscled legs I've seen. I feel my dick at the most inopportune time start getting aroused. "My boy done grown up. Look at that, Gary," he says to bullet-head. "Sprouting a little bush of weeds and everything. Course we gonna have to clip that hedge and get that cage back on you. Cain't let you become queer and the like. But I tell you what, I gotta have me some of that before we do. Dwayne, you almost ready?" Dwayne's sucking up water into the syringes and, with the flats of his hands, whipping them back and forth, dissolving the white powder in the tubes. "Almost." "Young John, you done left this flathead screwdriver out. What I tell you 'bout always puttin' back tools?" Gary scolds Johnny, like a nagging older brother. "You know what I gotta do to you now so you'll remember?" He's taking off his top, too. I'm not surprised to see how many tattoos he has. Praying hands, two kids faces on both sides of his rib cage, a broken open heart on his chest, all kinds of cliched religious images, a cross, prayer beads, wings on his back; also a scorpion tattoo on his shoulder and a biohazard on his treasure trail of thin brown hair. "Weren't me. Was College left it there," protests Johnny. The kid's sporting his curved hard on, maybe out of the praise from his father, maybe from, for once, not having a cage on him in front of these men, especially his daddy who's now monstrously erect. He's thick as a beer can, black pubic hair growing an inch up his shaft. He has to be a foot long, maybe more. I'm sitting on the floor trying to hide my erection by angling a raised leg. It seems, however, Old John is more interested in his boy than me at the moment. "Gimme you arm, College," says Dwayne quietly. My hearts thumping so loud in my chest I'm sure the others can hear it. I get on my knees and stretch out my arm. Dwayne puts it on a greasy yellow pillow. "Looks like College is all excited 'bout doing his first slam." Dwayne points to my cock standing straight up. The others laugh. "Let's see if he can keep that up after you done him," Old John says, taking three syringes off the coffee table. He tosses one to Gary at the counter who pops off the orange cap with his thumb and plunges it into one of his bruised veins. Old John point to the floor in front of him for Johnny to come and kneel. Johnny comes over as Old John settles in. They seems to have a ritual for his. Johnny holds out his arm. His daddy licks the crook and feels for a vein. Finds one, says "Stick," then, when he's pulled some of the blood into the syringe, asks if Johnny is ready. Yes, daddy, please slam me so that I' might be your obedient slave, he recites. Old John pushes in the plunger and Johnny falls to the ground and immediately begins licking his father's detestable feet. The boy looks lost in rapture on the floor holding up his father's foot, bathing it with his tongue, sucking and cleaning up between each of his toes. His father is searching his own arm, pumping his fist. Satisfied he's found one, he empties the content and falls back on the couch while his son caresses each nook and cranny between his father's toes. "Suck 'em good," he says, and Johnny does, one toe at a time looking up through foggy eyes at his dad. "Good boy. That's nice, boy. Take your time. Make sure you git all the smell off 'em. You ready to clean daddy's ass when you done?" Johnny nods enthusiastically. "Hadn't been cleaned since we went off hunting, and you know what that means?" He looks off in his own fog. "You sure you're ready for it?" he asks falling back deeper on the couch and spreading his hairy legs. I can smell his asshole from here. I don't envy Johnny's task. "College can help me," he churps, "cain't you College? He likes dirty buttholes," Johnny tells the group. I start counting my regrets wondering which one over the last day is the one I regret the most. Rimming Johnny's ass might be the worst, but there's so much completion. Gary at the counter is trying to get off his pants. I can see he's clumsily working on his belt and having a lot of trouble. "First College has GOT to learn to put away his tools. Boy, you ever git sounded?" he asks me finally getting his buckle open. His pants fall off his revealing a long, thin dick. He starts playing with it while he searching through one of the cabinets. He brings out some cooking oil and coats the screwdriver's tip and blade. He perches on a counter stool watching Dwayne feeling my forearm. Casually he puts the tip of the screwdriver in his piss slit and lets the handle go. It slowly slides into his hardening shaft. "This'll learn ya to put tools away, I guarantee. Oh, fuck, yes it will!" It's almost down to the handle when he grabs it and start pumping it in and out of his dick. "Stick," Dwayne says, and I feel a pinch where he's inserted the needle. "You ready for this?" "How much you give him?" Old John asks, relishing his son's tongue as it makes its way up the back of his furry leg. "Go for the balls first, son," he says softly to his son. "Three-quarters a gram," Dwayne says while I see my red blood swirling within the vial. Johnny lifts his head as he looks at me with concern. "Seven five's too much for his first time, Dwayne." "Too late now," he says. When I look down the vial is empty and I feel a rush of adrenaline like I've never felt before. I can't breath it's so intense. I feel my body locked down, incapable of any movement. There's a swelling in my lungs, which after a few moments of absolute panic, explodes with a cough that knocks me on my side. All my motor functions are useless. I'm glued to the floor feeling a red rush coursing through me. Blood behind my blind eyes. Then, like a tidal wave that picks me up without effort on my part, I bounce to my feet like a puppet, dick exploding cum right into Dwayne's beard. He's laughing and I feel insanely good, happy to be here in this dark den of meth heads. I feel like a demon of sex, hard, dripping cum. Looking over Old John who looks incredibly hot, who's cock I can't wait to get in me; over at Gary and want him to plunge that screwdriver right down my shaft like he's doing to his; at Johnny, wanting to join him on Old John's other leg and meet him in the middle at Old John's shit-smelling anus; but first getting down on Dwayne's gooch, as he's getting his last leg out of his dirty underwear, kicking it off his plump leg, and fluffing up a very fat and veiny cock. He's plunged his needle in his arm and is emptying the contents. "Okay, pig. Time to earn your keep," he says as he presses his finger where the syringe has come out. I kneel in front of him and he unbuckles my muzzle. I hungrily chomp down and start sucking his semi-hard cock until it fulfills it's promise, fully engorged, as the biggest cock I've ever seen in my life! "All the way down." I choke once at the attempt. "You puke or choke again, we're gonna go outside and snip those purdy balls right off. I guarantee." I don't choke again, but take his shaft down all the way down to his foul-smelling bush.

"Don't fight me," Young John says severely. "Relax. Dude, just relax." His second finger feels a lot like his first finger but he's twisting it around in my butt and it's making me tense. "Damn, college, you sure don't want me gittin' in you." "Nah, it's just it feels weird." He pulls both fingers out. "Reach in that drawer, right there. Take out that little bottle and take a big smell of it." I reach in the nightstand drawer and take out a small brown bottle. Unscrew the cap and take a sniff. I get a warm rush and I feel Young John push several fingers in my hole. "Take two more hits," he orders. I do and immediately feel a large object start pushing at my ass. It's growing bigger fast, and the poppers, which I'm not a big fan, but it's turning the corner on me wanting to take whatever Young John is pushing into me. In fact, I'm pushing down on whatever that object is that's spreading my hole. It gets to its widest point making me raise my hips until it's in, and then it narrows considerably, however, the large part he started with is now traveling within my hole. "That's it, college, take it all, suck me in." "Ah, fuck, man! Is that you in me?" I cry, suddenly taking in what just happened. My sphincter is clamping Young John's thin wrist but the rest of his hand is in my hole. Not only in it but traveling swiftly up it. "Stop, wait!" I beg him, holding up my hands. "It's too much." "I ain't doing nothin'," he says laughing. "You the one pullin' me in. You sure got one hungry hole. Tell me you ain't been fisted before. Look at you drippin' precum. You as hard as a choir boy in a porn shop." And I am as turned on as hell. Fuck, the more I try to stop his hand from going in deeper the deeper it goes. I'm clamping down hard but that only keeps pushes him in, so I force myself to relax. I just lay there, still, trying not to move, feeling how deep he already is in me, but then he starts twisting his wrist before I can absorb what's happening. "Don't push me out," he demands. "You trying to get me out and I won't have it." I feel him pushing in further the more I push my guts against him. "Shit, man! Don't. Wait. Let me try to take it." I open my eyes, the first time since I've take a hit of the poppers. Young John is leaning over me wild eyed. His crazed look is frightening. He looks half angry and half like a lunatic. It doesn't help there's so little light in the room. I feel my ass contracting around his hand, but now he's doing something internally. It's such a new sensation all I know is there's movement, not deeper penetration, not him pulling out, just something swelling where I think the end of his hand is. "You like that?" I ask what's he doing? "I'm making a fist and unmaking it. I'm doin' it right on your prostate glan. Feel that? I love when daddy does this. Feel that? I'm holding you like a hammock swing. Feel me holding you like that?" "Ah, shit, yeah. That's incredible. Oh, fuck!" I inhale spasmodically, closing my eyes. The sensation's too intense. He's squeezing me then flipping his wrist so knuckles are flying across my prostate. He's merciless even though I'm begging him to stop. He hits my bladder when he rocks a little farther in. I can't help it and piss uncontrollably. "Shit, yeah, that's what I'm talking. Just let it go. Make a pig of yourself. Let it go." It's not like I have a choice. I'm pissing wildly over my chest. He's dipping down occasionally, taking a gulp, then spitting it over me trying to hit my face. When I start petering out he bangs his fist in again searching for my piss "on" switch and I start pissing again. He holds his fist in that spot and I feel I'm never going to stop. I also feel I'm starting to get close to cumming. I tell him I think I'm about to nut and he pulls back. "Oh, no. Not yet. We only got started." He's pulling back even more, and suddenly I'm regretting loosing him. His fist is at the entrance to my hole. I look up again at him and he's got this devilish look in his eyes. His small fist leaves my hole, but only for a second. I gasp as he leaves, and as he immediately pushes back in, I gasp harder. I swear I see his eyes turn red as he's now fixated on exactly that spot: taking his knuckles pushing in and out of my fully stretched hole. "Take another hit, quick!" he says. I do, and feel my resistance melting away. "You like it, don't you." I nod feeling him rock right at the point of my widest stretched. "Nah, tell me you like me doing this." "I like you doing this," I respond. "...doing this, Sir. Say it!" "I like you doing this to me, Sir! Open me up, Sir!" With that he starts increasing the depth he's going into me. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want him doing this. I honestly don't know if it's him that I want punching my hole, or if I simply want my hole punched by anyone at this point. I feel my eyes roll back in my head and just wallow in enjoyment in how good it feels, how it hurts and feels intensely good at the same time, how I've never felt this sensation before, how I don't want it to stop. And he doesn't, but keeps increasing his depth and the force of his punch. He's trading hands, back and forth, right at the entrance to my hole. His frenzy becomes my frenzy. I'm sure I'm babbling something, how good it feels, how great he is, do it harder, how much I want him, more, deeper, harder, until I feel I'm about to explode, and then he pulls his fist out hard all the way. "Push," he says. I push my hole, and immediately he plunges his fist right back in when I've pushed it open as far as I can. Somehow we're in sync. He pulls out forcefully, yells Push, I open up, spreading my asshole wide, and he's back in with his fist. We're repeating this pattern even though I've lost track of how the pattern goes, but it's in my muscle memory without me having to think anymore, written by him or in coordination with him. But I give him credit for teaching me this dance. I would go all night, and maybe I have gone on for hours with him in this dance, but then abruptly I hear the screen door slam against the trailer, and hear men talking. One yells above the others, "I'm hornier than six dick dawg in a kennel full 'o bitches! Young John, git your punk ass in here." "You c'mere," Young John replies, still fist punching me only a little slower now. Before I have time to even try and make an effort to hide, or cover myself, or whatever it is I think I can do in the seconds after I heard the screen door bang, three men crowd into Young John's small bedroom. I sense them around me more than I can see them. There's nothing like introductions, just three men vying to get closer for a better look. There's nothing I can do but freeze, legs in the air, as Young John takes his fist out of me. There's nothing anyone says until the one who's bald head shines in the dark breaks the silence. "He drink piss, Young John, cuz I have GOT to unload right now." "Yes, Sir," responds Young John. "College, take a hit. It'll go down easier." I must be insanely high, because after taking a hit of poppers, I open my mouth for a guy I can't even see. He unzips his fly while I roll over on my side to take his dick. But instead of slipping his dick into my mouth, he holds the back of my head with one hand, and takes his dick and presses his piss slit up against my nose with the other. He then lets go his spray up my nostril while I choke on the stinging stream flowing through my sinuses and down my throat. I can even feel his piss sting behind my eye.

I don't want to lie to him but I feel I can't say that, no, I won't be coming back, and this was all a lark, an anecdote I'll tell a couple of times before I forget the details, but will have a bit of a recollection that there was this cute kid I fucked in the back woods of the Glastenbury Mountains. I just look at him. Cute, with a smooth, narrow chest, furry legs, sweet angelic face that can change in an instant. Before I can answer he's scrambling off the bed, going out the door. "Yeah, that's what I thought," he says going down the hall. I follow him to the living room feeling like a douche bag. He plops on the couch and grabs a small glass pipe. He fills it with some white shards that's sitting in plastic zip bag on the coffee table. With a torch lighter he puts a flame to the bottom of the bowl, waits for some smoke to rise and then inhales the swirling smoke. I sit next to him and put a hand on his bare knee. He passes the pipe over to me. I hold it for a second before I ask him what it is? "What do you think, college?" He's bitter and sarcastic. I know that's on me. "Tina?" I hazard a guess. "Give the man a diploma." "I don't really do Tina, Johnny." "Then give it back," he says scornfully. He reaches out his fingers like a little boy who wants a toy back. I feel like I've dissed him and I don't mean to. There's still a little smoke swirling in the pipe and I inhale it. I hold it for just a second before I puff it out. He's looking at me out of the corner of his eye. He comments, "Fuck sake, college, smoke it if you're going to smoke it. Here." He lights the torch and holds it under the bowl. I see the bowl cloud up and I take a hit. "Now hold it. That's it. Keep holding it." I'm about to choke so I blow out the contents. "Well, that was a waste. Shotgun it to me. Do you know what that is?" I feel defensive and not liking the note of condescension I'm hearing. "Yes, I've shotgunned before. Pot." "Gimme, I'll show you." He lights it, holds in the smoke, then exhales it to me. I'm sucking it in and he surprises me by sticking his tongue in my mouth. I'm taken aback for about a second before I see he's conflicted, acting out petulantly, not knowing his endgame. He holds my head with his palm. He's mad, but horny. I guess I am too. My analytical brain turns off, and the kiss suddenly turns passionate. It's incongruous because part of my brain is thinking he's being a little shit, but suddenly I'm really into this little shit, more than I thought. Part of me likes him being a little shit. I have to let out the cloud but right after we're back in a lip lock. I feel his lap and he's got a nice hard on. He's not big but it's harder than most other cocks I've gripped. It's solid, like I could literally pick him up by it. I can't help but smile at him, and for an honest second he smiles back. He puts out his hand and let's me know I got a big hard on too. If this is from the tina I think I want more. He puts down the pipe on the coffee table and we make out, jacking each other for a while. The trailer's dark with moonlight' spilling in through the screen door. It's casting the living room with a pale blue light. I like that we're half-lit, it makes my sense of touch more sensitive, both feeling him up, and his hand running up and down my ribs and over my pecs. I tweak his small nipples and start chewing on his smooth neck. He's responding in kind, pinching my tits, his hand running down, grabbing my balls and squeezing them hard. Then he runs some fingers between my legs but before he gets to my asshole I shut him down. I tell him I don't really like my ass played with. It comes out a little more breathless than I had meant it to. I don't like being coy, but I get rattled if someone's playing with my ass when I want to play with his. "Okay," he responds. He doesn't seem upset, just sits up and lights a candle on the table. "Want another hit?" he asks, knowing he's ensnared me. His smile looks calculated and not really friendly. "Yeah. That was intense." He scoffs. "Just wait," he says filling up the bowl again and handing it to me. "You shotgun me." I do and we go another round, shotgunning each other, taking turns being the instigator, blowing into the other's lungs. I feel super horned up in a matter of minutes, and bend to suck his dick. He lets me but I feel his hand running down my back looking for my hole again. This time I'm thinking it isn't such a bad idea. I'm not hard core against getting my hole played with and I'm beginning to think I want him to touch my asshole. He's leaking precum and it's getting me even more aroused. He lifts one leg up and throws it over the back of the couch. "Eat my shit hole." I do and with my tongue feel how open his hole is. So young and so softly gaping. His asslips are extremely loose. I can stretch them about easily with two fingers, and do. He's straining, pushing open his hole even more for me, and it's spreading wide, showing a beautiful young pink rose in the candlelight. It looks so hot and I start playing within it, flicking what I know is his colon lining with my tongue, hearing him let out guttural moans. He's pushing out harder giving me more to eat, and it's turning me on enormously. I encourage him, "Open it, boy. Show me your cunt." "You like that, college? You want me to open your hole like that?" I'm nodding, wanting him to find my hole. "Nah, you tell me out loud how much you want it." "I want it. I want you to open my hole." I spread my legs to let him find me. He does. "Let's go back to my room and I'll show you how daddy works on me." We both get up and I follow him down the hall, and for the second time tonight we flop on his bed. I jump on his cock and start sucking his slender dick. He's whispering how good it feels. We're in the dark and suddenly my mouth is flooded with piss. I back off him and he's now pissing all over me, aiming his hard dick over my body. The idea of what he's doing detaches itself from how good it feels. It's warm, the most intimate thing anyone's ever done to me. "You like that, don't you?" I agree by putting my mouth back on his dick while he's still pissing. It's running, spilling out over my teeth. It's like bending over a drinking fountain. "Swallow it, pig. Show me you like drinking my piss." I take a small swallow at first. It's salty and hot. I like the idea of drinking down this boy's piss and start taking larger and larger gulps. "Wrap your mouth around my cock, pig, and keep drinking it." I'd never done anything like this before but feel very susceptible to his suggestion, and let him drain himself in my mouth. I let it run freely down my gullet. I gulp loudly. "You know my piss is going straight to you stomach now, pig. You got my pee in you. Next time you piss that's going to be my piss coming out of your dick. Remember that." I start wanking myself, know he's right, enjoying his vulgarity. This little backwoods boy is turning me into a piss hound. He's finishes pissing and pushes me on my back. "Hold you legs, pisspig." He hovers his small body over mine and spit on my ass. He bends down and wets my hole with his tongue. He then puts his dick right on top of my hole and pushes his head into my sphincter until his dick pops in. I'd been fuck only once before tonight, about a month ago by Zack. It was our first night together and we spent the entire night flipping back and forth. But now, with this nasty kid, he's taking a much more dominant approach. It doesn't feel like he wants to flip when we were done, that we're on a much different trajectory. I feel his extremely hard dick going in deep and doing it fast, much quicker than I'm able to take comfortably. I ask him to go slow, but he doesn't care if I'm liking it. This wasn't about us making love, but about him getting his rocks off. His dick's all the way in and he's humping me like an animal. I'll tell you the truth, I like it. I like that he doesn't give a shit if I'm enjoying it. He isn't even looking at me. He's staring straight ahead into space, just humping away inside my hole. His pace is slow until it isn't. He's going in for maximum stimulation of his dick however which way it strikes him at the moment. There's no looking to see how I'm doing. I have the sense this is how men fuck him. He slaps my ass hard, then switches up to rapidly drilling my hole. He slaps my ass again and slows to a hard, steady rutting, where he gets as deep inside me as his small body allows, pulls out almost all the way, then plunge back in again, hard. He's trying to hurt my fuckhole as others must hurt his. He's not big enough to really hurt, but the force makes me grunt, which brings a sneer to his face. He tucks my head under his arm wanting me to lick the sparse hair in his pit. I do with abandon. It's a small bush but I get off on his smell and the smoothness of his skin around the hair. He holds me in a headlock as he continues to fuck me until he locks into a steady rhythm for what seems like hours but is probably only a quarter of one. His grunting grows deeper and I feel his cockhead grow to a bulbous mushroom inside me, and then I feel him spill his seed with several deep thrusts. Without touching myself, only feeling his skinny six-pack abs slide over my wet cock, I feel his head swell as he's cumming, and with his last humps, I shoot between our chests. The slick juice lubricates our torsos and I slide a hand between us and caress the skin gliding over me. Inside I feel my prostate being ridden over and over as I erupt after he's cum. He's still pumping away, looking at me now, knowing that with each thrust, he's making me cum a little more. He's enjoying it in a torturous way, feeling in control of my orgasm, until he loses interest. He withdraws immediately, which I take to mean he's done and would like if I left. Well, it's not like I have an alternative place to go, so I roll to my side. I feel him draw me back to him. We spoon in the dark for a while before I feel, again, what he was after and it's not cuddling. Between my crack, where his dick lays spent, not in me, just pressed up against my hole, I feel a flow of warmth. He's pissing over me again. "Hold on, let me get some of this inside you. It'd be better if you just let me slam you, dude, but a little chem piss should help." He's fiddling with his dick taking a thumb to press it in my hole. It's difficult since he's soft but I relax my hole. "C'mon, open up. Let me get my gooch in you. Promise you'll like it." I feel his limp dick head pop inside. I clamped down on it, which cut off his stream for a moment. Then, sitting there quiet for a while, I feel him start leaking inside me. Some piss is going in, which is another first, but some of it is also trickling down my butt. "Your bed," I try to warn him. "It's sopping." "I'm used to it. You'll get use to it too." We lie there while he drains into me. "Tell me if you have to whiz and then do it over me, or you can do it inside me too if you want. We don't like have nothin' go to waste." By we, I'm getting this is what they do in their camp. I'm plenty high and the warm sensuality and feeling of normalizing this weird crap with him is going against every taboo I have, but also makes me ratchet up how much I like being with this little perv. I don't know if anyone else could have done what he's done, especially since it doesn't seem like it's a big deal, but I have to say that someone so much younger than me is pushing me like I'd never been pushed. I lay there feeling his piss filling me up and the trail that trickles down is growing cold. But his warm body holds me there with his small arms wrapped over my shoulders. With every passing second his piss is encouraging me to want to break whatever taboos are left. I'm coming to realize there might be a lot that I haven't even thought of. But I think he has. And not just thought of, but experienced. "Now let's see," he says, lifting my top leg slightly to get his small fingers rubbing against my bunghole. "About getting you open. You're tight as hell, man. I recon Daddy and the boys would hurt you mighty bad if they were to try to git in you, but my hands are little. Ain't gonna be no trouble gittin' you to take a fist from me. I'll take you pretty deep too, I imagine. You ready?" Knowing my ass is filled with his piss, feeling even hornier than I was two minutes ago, I recon I am. I pull up my leg thinking I might as well try something I'd never thought I'd do. In the distance, I think I hear the sputter of a far off engine as he slips his first finger in my cum-slick hole. ***