Prey Drive

[Bart]

Great start, I hope you'll finish this story

[Nypiss31]

Hot

[dazzasboy]

A man on a mission is such a lovely view

[SlampaBay]

This story deserves more chapters and more fan responses. 

[Guest]

Chapter 2

 

The clerk didn't give it a second thought that me and my "son" were tongue-fucking when we checked in. I carried him into Room 66 bridal-style and got my big, sweaty cock inside him before I'd gotten him on the bed. He was screaming loud. Loud. 

"Dad, fuck! Fuck! DAD! DAD!"

"I'm not your Dad, babyboy," I said. He got an evil smirk and took his phone out from his waistband. He opened FaceTime, pushed a button, and handed it to me.

He was calling his Dad. His actual, real birth father. I didn't stop.

"You okay?" said the fuzzy voice from the phone. He didn't know what was going on. It was dark and late; how would he?

"Dad..." said the boy. "I have a new Dad. He's fucking me. He's fucking my hole so good."

"What the fuck?"

"Look," he said, taking the phone from me. That was the moment I knew this boy was special. He flipped it towards me.

"Private school, SAT tutoring, bribing the Harvard Board of Admissions, bribing Him... Did you know what you were really paying? Why don't you tell him, new Dad?"

"Adoption fee, buddy," I said. I hilted him. I could've sworn I felt a womb in his guts, but it could just as easily have been his windpipe. "You don't have what it takes to be this boy's Dad. You tried your best."

"Ask him what the tattoo means, Dad," he said, pointing it at my biohazard tattoo. I couldn't believe this little slut's audacity.

"What?" He couldn't believe any of what was happening.

"Sorry, dude," I said. "Means I'm HIV-positive. Your son—" 

Even though he was still squealing on my cock, he managed to speak up.

"He's gonna give me the bug, he's gonna give me the bug, he's gonna give me the bug, he's gonna give me FUCKING HIV Dad. Fuck you! Look what it all amounted to, watch New Dad rape my fucking pussy to death, watch, watch, watch..." I heard his Dad crying softly and call him by name before he hung up. I looked down at his tiny body. I'd already done a number on him. The sweat was dripping off the bed and I'd already fucked him so hard one of the slats underneath us had broke. He turned around to look at me.

"We have his consent. Rape me anyway."

As soon as he said that word—rape—I knew.

I knew this would be the one I didn't have to control myself with. The front part of my brain started to feel fuzzy. Here's what I remember:

 

I remember I lifted him up by his wrists and carried him into the bathroom with me. I held him upside down and made him drink the piss out of my cock.

"Poz piss. Yeah, I know how good it tastes," I said, and I meant it. I knew the boy was in Heaven. I carried him back onto our bed by his hole. "Poz cum is a lot tastier," I said. 

"Dad..." he said. The booze might've been kicking in. I didn't care.

"Son," I said, and impaled his hole on my cock.

He didn't know it, but that was it. He'd become an adult 24 hours ago, but that was the very last moment he could've turned back. Before...

 

It goes without saying that I came a few times. I didn't have any illusions about what would happen to his immune system. I was thorough, too. I remember getting a fist in there with my cock. I did a real number on my kid, and I was proud. He was a mumbling, dripping mess by the end. An HIV+ mess. He would wake up in the afternoon and come to his senses. Just like the others. I have that effect on younger men, I suppose.

 

I got a number out of my wallet and called it. Harvey picked up immediately.

 

"How old is this one?" he asked. I only called him for one thing these days.

 

"He's 18, probably. Do your own research, and whatever else." 

 

He showed up in his RV 20 minutes later. The kid was half-conscious at best. Harvey was 5'6", 110 lbs., and the kind of man families switched tables to get away from. He had a biohazard tattoo the size of a dinner plate on his chest. Anyone who looked him up on Google would've thrown up when they read what they charged him with. He couldn't live within two miles of elementary, middle, or high schools.

 

And at 5:30 A.M. he became the kid's legal guardian and drove away with him in his trunk. I didn't gag him, but he was half-asleep. As we lowered him in, tied up to the point of helplessness, used like a fleshlight, he looked up at me with those doe eyes again.

"Dih yuh poz meh?" he said. I may have made him drink a little more.

"Yes, boy," I said, my hand covering his mouth. "Just like you wanted."

I opened Facebook. I wanted to rub in how dumb he was. 

"You thought this was just a dumb little fantasy?" I asked. I went to his twin brother's page. He was visibly questioning his sexuality. He was hot—clearly very shy from the profile. The kid's eyes widened and rolled back. Harvey's hand was on the trunk.

"He's got six months. Drive safe, faggot," I said, and his tiny cock started spurting cum as Harvey slammed the trunk on him.

"Any restrictions on this one?" he asked.

"Hook him on whatever you want, but I wanna see him again. Dump him on the streets after you're done, I don't care how long it takes. He is your son, after all." 

I watched him drive off that morning and filed the "adoption" paperwork that afternoon. Harvey was his legal guardian, now. The family was too embarrassed to ask questions. His friends from the high school GSA and Discord knew I was the last one to see him alive and were too afraid to say anything. And his twin brother? If you were watching the news at all in 2021, you saw how he ended up. What a shame. 

Four Years Later

I didn't see the kid again until after I was promoted. The cops didn't look into his brother much at all, which was disheartening. I was walking to the subway station when I saw him. 

He was twenty pounds leaner, half-naked, and begging for change. He had a dazed, far-away look in his eyes, and he was wasting. He had three biohazard tattoos and a brand on his lower abdomen that said "HARVEY". 

"Got anything to spare?" he asked. His eyes widened when he saw that it was me. I think he was expecting me to have suffered, too. He must've felt so helpless seeing me even more successful despite what he'd been through. And knowing Harvey, he'd been through a lot.

 

A lot.

 

So I took a hundred bucks out of my wallet, but I didn't give it to him. I rolled my sleeve up till he could see the tattoo that changed his life.

 

"You'd be on stage at Harvard right now if not for this tattoo," I said. "Your Dad isn't a very good person. Crawl to me on your knees."

 

He obeyed. I got hard reflexively, despite the new husband. I missed this.

 

"Pucker up and kiss the cock that ruined you. Kiss it like the woman you never got to marry, fag. Kiss this poz cock like it was your prom date." 

 

He came instantly. He scooted his skinny, weak knees toward my suit-pants. I knew I had to avoid embarrassment somehow, so I picked him up and hauled him on my shoulder. I carried him up out of the train station and into the passenger seat of my car.

 

"That was your real last chance, faggot. I hope you know that. You could've gone to rehab and asked birth-Dad for money and written a memoir or some shit." I unzipped my pants. My cock had the effect it always had. "You made your choice."

 

The doors locked. The little fag moaned. He knew he wasn't ever going to have that future, or any future. He was a poz slut, now and forever.

 

"Rape me, sir," he said, three of my fingers already in his gaping hole. Harvey did a number on him. "Please. Rape me like you raped my brother."

 

"How's that?"

 

He grinned. "To death," he said. I put a vial of poppers up to his nose and he huffed it like oxygen.

 

I hit the gas. A man on the radio said the age requirements for unpaid internships had been lowered, and I started formatting a Linkedin post.