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Thief
By Anonymous (address withheld)

***

A man catches a tough teenage boy stealing from him and 
decides to teach him a lesson he won't soon forget. 
(M/m-teen, nc, v, mast, oral, 1st-gay-expr, spank)

***

I was digging a posthole down in the pasture and 
thought I saw something moving out of the corner of my 
eye up by my tool shed.

I had been ripped off many times. I thought I knew who 
was doing it... the kid who lived several miles down 
the road, but I could never prove it.

This kid was skinhead trash. Rode an unmuffled 
motorcycle, had a Mohawk haircut, bullied younger kids, 
and went out and shot up the wildlife in the area, 
killing squirrels, birds and anything else just for the 
hell of it. He usually wore a tank-top shirt and had a 
tattoo of a knife dripping blood on his right bicep. I 
am tolerant of most people, but hate prevailed whenever 
I saw this kid.

Someone was definitely on my property. The only way 
they could have gotten in was up the back trail through 
the forest area. I worked my way around to the back 
trail, hid in the undergrowth, and waited. It wasn't 
long before a figure appeared. It was the kid alright, 
carrying away my power drill, a coil of new 
clothesline, my pour spout oil can, a length of siphon 
hose and various other things which I had on my work 
bench.

I waited till he passed then jumped out and collared 
him. "Whatcha got, boy?"

The kid was surprised. He turned and tried to punch me 
in the stomach and get away. I tripped him, sending him 
spilling on the dirt. He uprighted himself looking at 
me in a springing position. "You son-of-a-bitch," he 
growled. He had a knife in his hand.

Automatically I took a defensive stance and awaited his 
attack. Being attacked by a knife bearing person wasn't 
exactly new to me. I had spent four years in the Army 
Special Services with hours of training on how to fend 
off attackers. I also wish to mention when discharged 
from the service, I earned a few bucks in semi-
professional wrestling. I awaited the boys attack.

The boy sprung wielding the knife in the air. Really, 
this was the most amateurish way to effectively use a 
knife. My arm shot up, caught the knife hand and 
twisted until the boy cried out in pain and the fingers 
let go. I could have easily broken his wrist. I didn't. 
The boy struggled furiously and tried to kick me in the 
nuts. I started to get pissed. I picked him up over my 
head and gave him a body slam to the ground, something 
I hadn't done since I was in the ring. I had knocked 
out his wind. The boy was stunned. 

Retrieving his knife, I cut a piece of the clothesline 
and tied his hands in front of him. There was an oak 
tree nearby with a protruding limb. I tossed the rest 
of the rope over the limb, dragged him over and 
attached the new rope to his already bound hands. 
Hauling on the rope, the boy was brought to his feet. 
His shaky legs supported some of him and the tree rope 
that had his arms stretched over his head was 
supporting the rest. I have never been so angry. The 
little bastard had tried to kill me. I glared at his 
stunned body.

I went to the well which was just alongside the tool 
shed and drew a large bucket of cold water. I don't 
know why I went in the tool shed but I did. I looked 
around. On the workbench was a can of axle grease and a 
half can of black paint. A paint brush hung from a 
pegboard hook. I took all three, gathered the bucket of 
water and returned to the tree.

The boy was still groggy. I took the bucket and pitched 
a portion of the cold water on his face. The boy 
sputtered and shook his head. Getting his senses back, 
there was fire in his eyes. "YOU BIG TURD! YOU SLIMEY 
HUNK OF HORSE SHIT! I'M GOING TO GET YOU FOR THIS!"

The more I looked at this yelling little weasel, the 
angrier I got. I laid a quick moving hand across his 
face returning with a hard backhand. The boy shook his 
head only slightly phased screaming, "YOU MOTHER-
FUCKING, BUTT FUCKING, COCKSUCKER!"

Something snapped inside of me. This kid had to be 
taught some respect and manners and I was going to be 
the teacher. Helplessly bound, he still continued to 
scream every obscenity. I was going to break this wild 
mustang so he showed some politeness.

I approached him and undid his belt. Unbuttoning his 
fly, his pants dropped to his ankles. I rolled his tank 
top shirt above his tits. I left his shorts in place. I 
stepped back and walked a slow circle, looking at his 
body. The boy, sensing he was going to be stripped 
nude, interjected with, "DON'T YOU DARE PULL MY SHORTS 
DOWN!" Behind his macho punk facade, I think he was 
very modest. I felt he could take quite a bit of 
roughing up, but the thought of someone stripping him 
naked was something he couldn't handle.

"Now, Mister Little Tough Guy, you're going to give me 
a list of everything you've ripped off at my place, 
aren't you?"

"GO TO HELL, YOU SON-OF-A-BITCH!"

I grabbed the jock elastic on either side of hips and 
yanked down his shorts exposing a limp uncut dick. 
Getting my hand in his crotch, I squeezed his balls. 
The boy let out a yelp. "STOP IT!"

"You going to tell me now?"

"YOU GODDAM PERVERT, NO!"

I did a second take at this little scummy son-of-a-
bitch and my hatred of him increased. I was going to 
close that garbage mouth of his. I struck him across 
the face again and again until his cheeks glowed. The 
boy caved in and started to bawl. I found myself 
hyperventilating from my anger.

I took the water bucket and dashed a splash in his face 
to wash away his tears and the snot which was running 
from his nose. "You smart assed little bastard," I 
said. "I know you and your gang have gone to town to 
beat up black people and break Jews windows and now I 
know you've ripped me off. No telling how many other 
neighbors." I slapped him again.

"You've never obeyed anyone, you little fart. All 
you've done is hurt. Right now you're going to get a 
cram course in respect." I laid another hard hand 
across his cheek. "How does it feel to have someone 
pick on you for a change?"

The boy hung his head and sobbed.

I stood behind him, taking a hold of his balls and 
prick. "NO!" said the boy with a whimper and a squirm.

"Yes," I replied, fondling and squeezing.

I slipped back his foreskin. An aroma of smegma filled 
the air. I looked at his tip. It was white and cheesy. 
The little pig didn't bathe either. The aroma was too 
much. I soaked a rag in the bucket of water and roughly 
washed his tip, using pressure to wipe the smegma away. 
His peter started to rise, growing to full mast. It was 
a little on the short side but very hard.

"Well, it's macho-man with a small dick," I chided.

I've seen mice with larger peckers than yours.

 His face reddened with embarrassment. He kept 
squirming as I bore the rag in and around his piss 
hole.

"Please! Stop! Oh, please stop."

"I'm just getting started," I said. And you're going to 
learn to say that word "please" a lot more before I'm 
finished with you. Want that face slapped some more?"

I dipped the rag, walked behind him and spread his 
butt. I pushed the cold wet rag into his crack 
scrubbing furiously, goosing him as deep as I could. He 
squirmed and flexed tightly.

"Now you have some clean play parts, boy."

My anger still hadn't subsided. I reflected on the 
knife incident. I could have been killed. If it had 
been anyone else there was a good change they WOULD 
have been killed by this little sewer rat. I had this 
little bastard where I wanted him. I was going to 
violate him every way I could.

I fondled his balls then grabbed his hard dick and 
started pumping. "You're gonna lag boy."

"Lag?"

"Gonna see how far you can shoot your filthy load. I 
really should cut off your balls so you can't come any 
more. We don't need a bunch of new little sewer rats 
running around. Maybe that tiny dick of yours only has 
a puff of air. I'm going to pump your peter raw in 
finding out. Now, Goddammit, show me some cum."

I pumped him furiously; the boy squirmed, struggling 
with his bonds. His dick grew harder and started to 
throb. The head turned purple and looked like it was 
going to split. Spewed by a mighty contraction, his wad 
blew forth, landing six feet away. He looked about 
confused and bewildered. What had I done to him? I had 
played with his most personal private parts and forced 
him to give his sperm. He cried in humiliation. I 
smiled with satisfaction.

"Well Mr. Skinhead has had his peter pulled. What did 
that garbage mouth of yours call me earlier... a 
cocksucker? Right! Let's see if you've got a few drops 
still left in you."

I put his cock into my mouth and rapidly tongued the 
tip. It again rose to explosive tightness. The kid was 
wiggling his hips attempting to draw away, trying to 
expel my fast flicking tongue to no avail. I grabbed 
his balls. An involuntary cry came from his lips as 
another load slowly worked up his dick spurting into my 
mouth. I stood up, spit it on his chest, and watched it 
run down his bare skin. I looked at his weasel face and 
Mohawk haircut. I was full of hate.

His pants were still around his ankles. I stooped to 
get them off. He tried to kick me.

"That does it! Seems you're forgetting who is in 
charge. Well, you're going to start remembering real 
quick."

I removed my leather belt, doubled it, dipped it in the 
pail of water and went to his back side. I whacked the 
wet leather against his bare cheeks. I kept whacking 
him till his butt was red and he was yelling real loud.

"What's that nice word you learned earlier?"

"PLEASE! PLEASE! Please stop. I'll do anything-
Anything-ANYTHING."

I had hit him pretty hard. Bet I even popped a few of 
those pimples he had on his butt. I dashed his red 
cheeks with cool well water. I don't know why I cooled 
him. It was too humanitarian for this little jerk.

"So you White Supremist, how does it feel to have 
someone else in control? How do you like it Mr. 
Skinhead?"

The punk hung his head, then docily lifted one leg, 
then the other, allowing me to remove his shoes, pants 
and shorts. Except for his pulled up tank-top shirt he 
was naked.

I hobbed tied his ankles. "I'm going to cut you down. 
If you fail to follow my instructions I'll hoist you up 
and start all over again. Now you repeat to me what 
I'll do.

"You'll play with my balls, pull my peter and whip me," 
he sobbed.

"Right, and I'm going to keep punishing you until you 
learn your lesson in obedience."

My anger was returning. "You little..."

I loosened the overhang rope and the boys arms lowered 
to his sides. His hands were still tied in front of 
him. "Now face me and drop to your knees."

The boy followed my command. I dropped my pants and 
aimed my erected cock at his face. "Suck it!." The 
skinhead started to sniffle. "Suck it," I said. "Hurry 
up! You want your butt to start stinging again."

Tears were in his eyes as he opened his mouth and I 
slid my dick inside.

"Now you keep running your tongue around and around my 
tip and don't stop."

I felt his tongues pleasures as he obeyed.

"When I come, you swallow every drop."

I grasped his head when I felt my cum rising. I rammed 
my dick back into his throat and shot my wad. The boy 
pushed me away swallowing and gagging rolling on the 
ground trying to vomit.

Long from being a tough, smart-assed skinhead, he now 
begged for me to stop.

"Let me go," he pleaded. "I'll be a good boy."

A good boy? This was one tough kid who was broken down 
to saying he would be a "good boy." He was trembling, 
but I was not done.

"So, you hate Jews. Moses parted the ocean. I can't do 
that but I can part your butt. Now get down on your 
knees and put your head on the ground. The skinhead, 
shaking with fear, meekly obeyed. I put my fingers in 
the axle grease I had brought and lubed his asshole. I 
dropped my pants and greased my own hard dick. 
Unceremoniously I put it against its mark and pushed. 
His asshole stayed shut. I tried again. I slipped in 
enough to get a lock-in, then I shoved harder. My dick 
slid all of the way. The boy screamed and clawed the 
ground.

I had probably stretched him so far that I had created 
a fissure or two. This would smart for awhile. Might be 
good for him. Every time he took a shit his memory 
would be refreshed. I blew my wad and withdrew. I 
ordered him to stay on all fours and not move. I stood 
back and just stared at his ugly pimply butt.

I reclaimed the pour spot can and the rubber hose he 
had swiped. I filled the pour spout can with well water 
and greased up one end of the hose. "I'm going to give 
you a hosing, boy."

"Oh please. Oh please don't. Don't do anything more to 
me. Don't give me an enema. I promise to be good. I 
won't steal from you any more."

"You're getting one anyway. While I'm running water up 
your ass, you're going to tell me all you swiped and 
you're going to return it all to me. I know what's 
missing and the water is going to keep running 'til all 
is accounted for.

I shoved the tube up his bent over butt, held the pour 
can. Tipping it, I started pouring water down the tube. 
The punk was soon babbling out a large inventory as the 
water ran up his ass filling his gut. He even mentioned 
some things I hadn't missed.

"I'm full. I have to shit. I can't hold it any longer. 
Oh, God, Please!"

I figured he could hold more. I topped him off with 
another half a can.

"Shit here and I'll rub your face in it."

When I was satisfied, I removed the tube. The kid stood 
up and started dancing around. His cheeks were really 
flexed tight. He really had to shit. He was crying 
again. I scooped up his clothes and handed them to him 
and cut the tether rope from his ankles.

"Now run!"

He sped down the pathway, didn't get very far before he 
let out a big spray. He ran a little further, squatted 
and sprayed again. I guess he shit all of the way home.

The next day I found all of my missing tools on my 
porch. Shortly after, I heard he had moved to the city 
to live with his sister. Heard he had grown a regular 
head of hair and was back in school getting good 
grades. Maybe one day I'll get a thank you letter from 
him for teaching him right.

The black paint and paint brush I brought down from the 
took shed? Well, he was such a radical against blacks, 
I was going to paint his balls and pecker black, but I 
think he had learned enough of a lesson.

THE END

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 53