Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 THIS TRINITY PROTECTS AND SERVES Incest Tales 10

   By DannyR (MMMM/b, t/t, oral, anal, incest, extreme pedo) Copyright
2008. All rights reserved.

   Author's Reminder: Don't forget that inquiring authors want to know --
what did you think?  So when you're done, put your fingers to a dried-off,
cleaned-up keyboard and start by typing: dr_harris_81@hotmail.com.

   DISCLAIMER: Some folks apparently have trouble distinguishing between
fantasy and reality.  This story is a fantasy.  It didn't happen.  Never
will.  And anyone who attempts to do in real life all or any of the things
depicted in the story needs to be hanged, then drawn and quartered, and
then turned over to the cops for the harshest penalties the law allows. 
After that, well, hopefully everything Law and Order and the news say is
true about child molesters in prison, is really true.  Now that we're clear
on what's what, and what's not, read on.

   SPECIAL NOTE TO JOEY (Small "spoiler" too)

   Thanks, Joey!  I mean, damn, man, when you decide you're going to be a
full-on pervert (friction fiction wise, readers, nothing else) you're like
the Energizer cock that keeps on giving and cumming and giving and cumming.
I had no intention of writing any more Trinity stories.  Hadn't even made
the mental connection of trinity/trio/three, shouldn't there logically be
three stories?  <duh> Then Joey wrote to thank me for bringing out his
inner pedo and asked whether there was going to be another Trinity story.
My first response was of course that same "duh" and then I asked him if he
had any ideas.  Did he ever.  Here's part of what he wrote:

   Since I especially love when "str8" dads get turned into hard-core pedo
dads who do their own and other boys (especially cops, firemen, military
ultra masculine "dad next door" types) maybe a hot young cop moves in next
door with his wife and 3 month old son and realizes that he can see into
Davey's room while grandpa(s) and dad are fucking the shit out of him.  At
first he doesn't even realize he is hard and grabbing his thick cock until
his own son starts crying and he snaps out it and understands he wants to
do him....

   Okay, so the title and this paragraph lets you know how the story is
going to start.  But the rest of Joey's paragraph gave me a complete story
idea.  And in my email back to him, I expanded on his idea and unusually
for me, outlined the whole damned (as you may think) thing.  Made Joey cum
again, too.  <snicker> So even if you make it through the story with only
one cum at the end (my goal is to have you mess up earlier than that <s>),
you have Joey to thank for your cum(s).  This story wouldn't have happened
without him.



   THIS TRINITY PROTECTS AND SERVES Part 1.  Who Knew?

   The weirdest shit goes through your mind at the weirdest times.

   There's this earthquake fault line in Missouri.  The New Madrid Fault.
(Missouri really should be called the "Show Me How to Pronounce Things
State." They call this the New MAY-drid Fault.  And they have this town
somewhere named Versailles, like the French city, but they call it
Ver-SALES.  Jesus.) Anyway, a bunch of years ago it was all over the news
about how New Madrid was a 500-year quake site, and it was coming up on the
500th anniversary of the last time it happened, and there was all this
speculation that it was going to happen, and it would be felt for hundreds
of miles, and maybe even there'd be a new lake in the Midwest, or the Gulf
would just run up past St.  Louis when the middle dropped out of the
country.  Of course, Missouri and the rest are still there.

   And I was still there...staring out the window...with "New Madrid" in my
mind, and my own personal 500-year (well, for me, forty-four year) quake
still rocking me and my whole fucking world.  The aftershock was almost as
bad when I lifted my thumb off my cell send key and snapped the lid shut on
the 911 call.  The next aftershock was not quite as bad as I looked down.
Yeah, my fucking cock was still hard, despite what had just happened.  Not
that a man has to see to know his prick is stiff, but sometimes, well,
sometimes you just have to check anyway.

   I knew if I put my hand on my dick, and squeezed like I normally
would...not that there was any fucking thing normal at the moment...and
clenched my asshole tight almost automatically like you do when you're
horny and your meat's aching and your balls are churning and you really,
really, really fucking wish you had a hole to plug your dong in right then,
that I'd be admitting something that never in, well, however the fuck many
years it's been since the Big Bang, I'd have thought about myself or
admitted about myself.

   I put my hand on my cock.  Squeezed.  Clenched.  Admitted it.

   I was a pedophile.

   Ex-Marine, police captain, chief of detectives, once widowed, twice
married, grown son, year old grandson Jimmy, my own new son Sammy just
three months old in a crib somewhere off in the haze that was this room at
the moment.  A fucking pedophile.

   Who knew?

   I squeezed my cock again, and all of a sudden I was cumming again, no
stroking, no warning, just that over-and-over-and-over replay of what I'd
just seen, just like I hadn't sprayed the window a few...what...seconds,
minutes, hours ago, with one of the hardest cums I'd ever had in my
goddamned life.  I came out of the fog, grabbed the curtain (fortunately
with the hand holding the cell, not the hand with all that spooge) and
yanked it across the window, praying I hadn't been seen.  But knowing, with
the instincts and excellent peripheral vision of a damned good cop, that I
had.  Just one of them?  A number from one to four?  How much had they seen
of me?  Did he/they know how much I'd seen?  It didn't matter.  I'd deal
with it later.

   I made my way over to the chair the way you do when your shorts and
boxer briefs have been shoved down to free your dick and balls for jacking,
and one hand is a cummy mess you don't want to transfer to your clothes:
you stretch down with your cell phone hand to grab the waistbands to keep
them from sliding further, you hold your cummy hand away from your body and
hope you aren't going to drip on the carpet, and then you stagger-waddle
until you can plop your hairy ass down.  Ass down, I realized I had nothing
to clean myself with, and I was in no mood to struggle up and waddle
elsewhere.  I did what I hadn't done in fucking decades--ate my own cum off
my hand, licked the bastard clean.  Luckily, I looked down between my legs
and realized my cock was still oozing, and I really didn't need to have a
stain to explain on the big, comfortable armchair in Tommy's bedroom.  So
with my no-longer-cell-phoned right hand, I squeezed the last drops of cum
out onto my left palm, and licked that up, too.

   You have to understand...well, fuck, you don't have to do anything, you
could just decide I'm such a depraved pervert (oxymoron?) (What?  You
thought cops were stupid, with balls for brains and doughnuts on their
breath?) you need to try to track me down and kill me if you find me.  Not
that I'm going to tell you where any of this really happened.  So, whether
you fucking understand or not, until Revelation Day (the 12th of July,
2008, forever honored in my memory...or not) I'd been a queer virgin.  No
boys-will-be-boys experiments when I was younger.  No sticking my dick
through a gloryhole in the library john in college.  No getting a freebie
blowjob like some of my buddies did when we were arresting fags...well,
hell, does this mean I have to go all p.c.  now and call them gay men?...in
the parks for cornholing and cocksucking and hand jobs in the bushes, out
on the fucking trails, in the toilets in two of the city parks.  No
watching other dicks with secret yearnings in high school and college
football locker room showers, or in basic training or the barracks, or the
police academy.  No wondering what, say, Rico's Latin cock might have
looked like hard when we were pissing next to each other on an
almost-demolished wall during a short piss break on a rescue mission
in...well...somewhere.

   None of that.  Just me.  Eric Harman.  Renowned, if I say so myself,
pussy-hound, and pussy-magnet.  And trust me, size really doesn't fucking
matter when you have five and a half really fucking fat inches, and you
know what to do with every inch, and what to do with your hands, your mouth
and the whole fucking rest of your body to turn a woman on and make sure
she cums at least once before you do.  I'm guessing my brother Dan is built
the same way.  I once saw our dad hard, entirely by accident, just morning
wood, and only a flash, but I'm sure he wasn't any bigger than that, so I
guess it's part of our genes.  Not that I've ever seen Dan with a hardon or
vice versa.  Ditto my boy Jake, a grown-up twenty-two with, like I said, my
year-old grandson Jimmy.

   So I guess here's where I tell you about the Harman men.  We're big men.
Jake and I are six-three, Dan's six-four.  Dan and I pretty much have the
same stocky, squarish build.  He's about 210, I'm 240.  A pair of dark,
hairy sonsabitches.  Dark brown hair, cut short and sharp.  Brown eyes,
deep set.  Thick eyebrows.  Sharp bone lines in cheek and jaw.  A fucking
dimple in my chin, inherited from some unknown ancestor since I'm the only
one in the family with one.  Both us clean shaven, although sometimes that
requires a second shave if there's action planned for the evening.  Below
the neck, not gorilla-hairy, covered in fur, just, well, hairy.  Thick hair
on our pecs and curling up to the hollow at the base of the throat, a wide,
wide trail down to the navel and beyond, hairy arms and legs, not much on
the back, moderately hairy ass.  Well, that's me, though there's some
definite gray showing up here and there from head to chest to belly to
pubes.  When we play touch football, skins versus shirts, I've seen Dan and
Jake on the skins team, so I know Dan follows the same pattern up top; I'm
assuming down below is the same as for me, but for the grey.  Jake has a
definite six-pack.  Last time I saw Dan two years ago, he still had one. 
Me, well, I'm not as active as those two, and I have a definite belly and a
starter-set of love handles.  I refuse to use age and "settling" as an
explanation.

   Jake...well, Jake must've got some of his granddad's genes all mixed up
with his mother's side of the family.  Tall, like I said.  But only in the
180-190 range, so he looks almost skinny.  But like I can see when we're
playing football, he's fucking wiry muscle.  A fairly thick bunch of hair
across his pecs, big-ass nipples, more hair a couple of inches wide
straight down into his jeans.  He wears his hair long enough that I expect
the other firemen may rag him about it.  On the other hand, I wouldn't want
to piss Jake off, whether I outweigh him by 50 or so pounds or not.  He
insisted on all these martial arts things growing up and apparently still
finds the time to keep up with it.  Fucking embarrassing at times, though.
Like when he was sixteen, almost seventeen, and we're walking back to the
car from having a couple of burgers and beers (me with the beer, him with
two strawberry malts...I had to take out a bank loan to increase the food
budget), and a big son of a bitch mugger comes up to us with a knife.  Two
seconds or so later, he's face down on the ground squealing like the good
old stuck pig, and my boy's got his arm twisted up and around and hovering
at the move-and-I'll-break-it point.  All that was left for me to do was
call it in.  And put up with the wise-ass smirks and remarks about letting
my little boy protect his big-ass cop daddy.  So, yeah, embarrassing, but
fucking proud-making, too.

   Back to the mental New Madrid.

   When Alicia and I were house-hunting after the promotion, which was
right after Sammy was born, we met our next door neighbor and some of his
family.  They were on the way out while we were on the way in for a
viewing. The neighbors are John and Jenny MacKenzie, and David, their
fourteen-month-old son.  We still haven't actually met Jenny yet.  It was
John, his father Harry, and his father-in-law Ben who were on their way out
with little Davey.  Taking him for an outing in the park, they said.  An
outing they obviously thought was going to be a lot of fun from the huge
smiles on all their faces.

   John was home the Saturday we moved in, two weeks ago.  Jenny and the
boy were visiting her mother, and John even helped us with some of the
lifting and hauling.  A nice, neighborly thing to do.  He even admired our
handsome young son, commenting how big he was for his age when I changed
Sammy's diaper, and put him back in his carrier in the shade.

   The fucking pervert.

   Not that I knew it then.  But I sure the fuck know it now.  I didn't
even need a post-Miranda warning confession.  I got to see all the proof I
could ever want.

   Another Saturday.  Alicia had a hair and whatever-women-do-to-themselves
salon/spa appointment, which left me with Sammy.  Which was just fine.  I
took him upstairs for his nap, put him in the crib, and then decided the
room was too bright, so I should go over and pull the drapes closed.  (The
new Levelor blinds hadn't arrived yet.) And if I hadn't walked to the
window, reached for the drape and looked straight across at the MacKenzie
house, I probably would have gone the rest of my life without knowing my
inner pedo.

   But I didn't.  And now I do.

   I don't know why they didn't have the blinds down, or curtains drawn, or
whatever.  Maybe this house had been vacant so long they forgot we'd moved
in, forgot that if the blinds were up, the curtains open, we could each
look directly across into the other's bedroom.  Or here, into Davey's
nursery and Sammy's nursery.  Granted, there were other things definitely
on their minds that could have distracted them.  That was fairly clear from
seeing a naked John with a hardon that looked about my size though nowhere
as thick, holding a shirtless Davey up in the air, while an equally naked
Ben, equally hard, I guess about six inches, was unbuttoning, unzipping
Davey's shorts and pulling them over his bare, chubby feet, and then doing
the same with his baby boy underwear.  Getting the little guy naked.

   Suspicious, yeah, definitely.  But maybe they were just easily excited
nudists.  Three easily excited nudists, because I could see that little
Davey was as hard as his father and grandfather.  And well, fuck, as hard
as his other naked grandfather, who walked into view with another six
inches on display.  Definitely not what the moviemakers had in mind about
three men and a baby.  Definitely not what anyone should have in mind for
three men and a baby boy.  I didn't know boys that young could get hardons.
I'd never seen Jake with one, and although I'd watched Mom change Dan a
bunch of times, I never saw him with one either.  But this was a definitely
stiff tiny dick, with tiny balls in a tight little sack.

   Seventeen or so inches of rigid man cock, and an inch or two of stiff
boy cock on display; perverted in my mind, but nothing I could do anything
about.  Except grab the drape again, somewhere in those first few moments
I'd let it go, and pull it shut and walk away.  Nudity and hardons inside
your own home are not a crime.  But I watched instead.  Until suspicious
perversion became almost criminal perversion.

   John turned his naked boy around, and Davey spread his legs around his
daddy's sides.  Supporting the boy's bare butt on his right forearm, father
and son kissed.  Not the quick peck on the lips that was all my dad ever
did with me, all I ever did with Jake, even though we are a family where
the men have no problem with hugging each other and the occasional peck on
the cheek.  This was a sex kiss, with plenty of tongue, and John's left
hand was playing with Davey's right nipple, and stroking his side and
squeezing his ass.  And Davey was enjoying it!  He was kissing his daddy
right back and squirming, not to get free, but the kind of squirming that
means you're fucking turned on.  And still nothing to do since they could
have claimed I misunderstood, didn't see what I thought I saw.

   Then at last, after a little while of French kissing, full-on criminal
perversion.  John stopped the kiss, and suddenly stepped out of sight.  Ben
and Harry brought this odd padded table into view, the length parallel to
the window.  Ben did something below and the end to my left folded down,
like a drop-leaf dining table.  John came back in sight, his back to the
window, laid Davey on the table and stepped away.  Davey was on his back,
his chubby legs hanging off the left end, his stiff penis pointing toward
the ceiling, his head resting near the right end.  A baby sized table.  Ben
to my left; Harry to my right, and then John walked around the table so
that he was facing me, could have seen me if he looked up and paid
attention, only all his focus was down on the table.

   Christ, it looked like some heathen altar with a sacrifice waiting to
happen.  And then it did happen.  John leaned over the table and started
sucking on his son!  The fucking pervert was blowing his own baby son!  I'd
never worked sex crimes cases; never heard of anything like this in the
department.  I was so damned shocked my cop reflexes...the
able-to-leap-small-yards-in-a-single-bound instinct to crash through my
window and then theirs to rescue the kid...just froze.  And didn't unfreeze
until I'd absorbed all the rest of the information my eyes were shooting to
my brain, information I didn't really want to process.

   Like the fact the table had to be specially designed, because the top
was right at balls level for these three men.  Like the fact that Harry was
slightly leaning over, his cock on Davey's face, with Davey licking it and
acting like he was trying to get it into his mouth.  Like the fact Ben was
holding those chubby little boy legs in the air with his left hand and he
was putting his right forefinger in his mouth, sucking and slobbering on
it, and then reaching down and...Jesus fucking Christ, he was sliding his
finger inside his little grandson's rectum!  Those bastards!  I pulled the
cell out of my pocket, flipped it open, looked down to be sure I hit 911
properly, looked back up with my thumb on send, and stopped again.

   Two things stopped me.  One was the fact that Ben had half his cock
buried in his grandson's ass.  I'd fucked ass before.  Knew how tight it
could be.  Had to believe such a young boy's ass would be tighter than
anything I'd ever imagined.  Wondered how he could possibly get even half
of that prick inside Davey.

   The other was my hardon.  I had a goddamned fucking hardon from watching
a father and two grandfathers start sexually molesting their
fourteen-month-old son/grandson.  Watching Ben slide his meat all the way
inside the little boy, and Davey wasn't objecting, was still concentrating
on his other grandfather's dick.  Watching Harry support the boy's head
while John did something at the right end of the table and that edge
lowered.  Watching while Harry bent his legs a little, let Davey's head
fall back, but still supporting it with both hands, and then slid his prick
all the way into Davey's throat.

   At the time I didn't realize I'd unbuttoned and unzipped my shorts with
one hand, used the curled fingers of my cell phone hand, and my full hand
to wrestle my shorts and briefs down to my thighs so my dick was free and I
could get my hand on it.  Some defendant's shrink would probably get on the
stand to testify I was in some sort of fugue state or dissociative state,
unaware of what I was doing, not knowing right from wrong or appreciating
the consequences of my actions, as I stumbled toward the window, jacking my
precum spilling cock.

   They couldn't be going to fuck this baby boy at both ends.  At the same
fucking time.  They were.  Gentle strokes in and out at first, full-length,
not in sync or anything, just enjoying their own pedophile fuck fest world.
But gradually starting to speed up.  John joined in, but not in any way I
expected.  He knelt behind Harry, his own goddamned father, spread his ass
cheeks and obviously started eating him out.  I'd heard of it, seen it in
porn, but never had a woman willing to do it, even if I'd considered
asking. And had to wonder what Harry's asshole felt like, being rimmed. 
Then John stood up, grabbed his father by the waist, and slid his cock with
no trouble at all, balls deep into Harry's ass.  Harry threw his head back
and even across the way I could tell his expression was a horny,
oh-fucking-yes!  John fucked his dad, while his dad face fucked his
grandson, and after a while, John slid out and moved behind his
father-in-law and repeated the process, with Ben equally happy, even
ecstatic to be taking dick up his ass.  And somehow Ben managed to brace
himself and spare a hand to play with Davey's still-hard dick, and the
nipples that were sharply pointed.

   A couple of seconds later all the fucking stopped as Davey suddenly went
into violent shaking and shivering.  Fuck.  They'd forced a seizure on the
kid!  My thumb went back to send, but my mind stopped it when it became
clear a split second later that the kid was having a dry cum.  He was
cumming from being fucked at both ends!  I couldn't believe it.  I did
believe it when the fucking resumed and he had another one, and then
another one as the two granddads upped the pace of their dicks in and out
of the boy's holes.  John pulled out of Ben and went back to the high
(pedo) priest's place, frantically jacking his own dick, before bending
over to start sucking his baby boy.  The kid started another violent dry
cum which was apparently enough to send both grandfathers into a fuck
frenzy and start shooting cum deep inside little Davey's throat and ass. 
The fucked out men slumped a bit and then straightened.  Harry slid his
dick out of Davey's mouth and throat, while John put the table back in
place again.

   I was still jacking, somehow knowing there was more, since John hadn't
cum, and he was still playing with his cock.  There was.  John leaned over
the table, sucked his dad's cock easily into his mouth to clean it, then
bent to tongue-fuck his baby boy's mouth again, obviously relishing
whatever dad-cum was still there.  Then it was Ben's turn to pull his
slimy, shiny, cum covered cock out of the fourteen-month-old ass and get it
licked and slurped clean.  John took Ben's place, although Ben still held
the boy's legs in the air, keeping his little butt right at the edge of the
table.  Now it was Davey's turn to get his ass eaten.  Christ, not just
eaten but his own father was sucking his grandpa's cum out.  It must have
been a great cum because I could see the large glob of it that John dropped
onto his palm and then used it to cover his own dick before thrusting it
hard into his little boy's shitter.  The kid didn't blink, didn't
struggle...just obviously enjoyed the hell out of his father using his
clearly well used, fuck, what else could it be called but a kiddy cunt.

   It didn't take John very long to add his own cum to whatever was left
inside that baby boy cunt from his first fuck.  Zombie like I'd moved close
to the window, my bent knees resting on the window ledge, my knob end close
to the glass, and I came right with John, widely spraying the glass in
spurts of thick cum far greater than any I could ever remember having, even
from the best fuck I'd ever had with any woman.

   New Madrid time.  And I was still hard, still horny, my balls still
churning like I hadn't just cum my guts out.  And I flipped off the phone,
and squeezed my cock and clenched my asshole and fucking came again.  Not
as big, but Christ it felt good.  I braced myself against the window, my
jackoff hand smearing a bunch of blobs of cooling spooge, and stood up. 
Had my "quake" moment, grabbed the drape with my cell phone hand, and as I
pulled it shut, had a fleeting look across again and thought I saw John
staring right back at my window, wide-eyed in shock.

   Christ, I hope not.  Or yeah, maybe I do hope so...if he didn't see my
dick or my jacking, and just remembers he and two grandpas had just royally
fucked his little baby boy and that they were, or might have been seen, by
the father who lived next door.  The father who was a fucking captain in
the police force.  I put the phone down, waited a little and then nudged
the drapes open to check the house next door.  Yeah, the nursery was now
hidden from sight by their curtains.  I quickly grabbed a couple of baby
wipes and after checking again, held the drape open just long enough to
clean my spunk off the glass.

   Then on oddly-shaking legs crossed over to the crib and looked down at
my adorable baby boy, sleeping soundly.  He was so contented, with a faint
smile on his lips.  So beautiful.  And so fucking hot.  Just like I was
again.  I didn't intend to do it, but somehow my back bent, my arms
stretched out, and my hands undid the edges of his diaper, and then peeled
it back so he was naked.  I was stunned by the images passing through my
head.  That adorable tiny mouth with the plump red boy lips sucking on my
piss-slit and coughing as I jacked my meat and pumped his little mouth full
of hot, reeking daddy juice.  Of rolling him on his belly and sliding my
greasy dick between those fat ass cheeks.  Of holding the wide head of my
cock against that incredibly tiny, tight asshole, no way I could get my
dick in it, but just holding it there, spurting out ropes of cop-daddy cum,
hoping some would work its way inside.  I reached out and with the tip of
thumb and forefinger fondled my baby son's dicklet.  And he got hard. 
Christ.  Are all little babies that big at three months?

   I panicked and quickly covered him up again.  Practically ran out of the
nursery, too, though I didn't forget to make sure the monitor was on so I
could hear him if he needed me.

   I needed to think.