Daemon Way

One Hot Parisian Night

The challenge was to write a short story which (1) takes place – at least for a part – in Paris, (2) includes a game of chess and (3) involves a snorkel but not in water.

Baptise moved his king's bishop to d7.

"That's a big mistake," the fat man said to the boy.

Studying the board, Baptiste ignored the fat man. Old Claude didn't take the bait and advanced his queen's pawn instead. If Claude had taken his bishop with his knight, he would have opened up a direct path for Baptiste's rook and he would have been able to put Claude's king in check.

The fat man rolled his eyes. Baptise advanced his queen's bishop. The fat man snorted. "Now I'd never have done that," he said derisively.

Several of the watchers glanced at him in annoyance and a couple glared. One even raised his index finger to his lips. The fat man ignored them. They were peasants, all of them, unworthy of his acknowledgement. Baptise and old Claude ignored the fat man, their focus on the game. He was a stereotypical ugly American, arrogant, conceited and self-centered. It took Baptiste another two dozen moves before he was able to put Claude in checkmate. They had played each other before, many times, and knew each other's strategy. It had been a good game.

"I would have put that blind old fool in checkmate long ago," the fat man told the boy, his jowls wagging. "I've never seen such playing," he added pompously, rolling his little pig eyes again. "Let's go."

"Excusez-moi," Baptiste said. "Perhaps le monsieur would like a game?" The fat man glanced at him in surprise and a smirk curled his fat lips indicating it would be ludicrous for him to play a man of such low ability. He was about to decline when Baptise added, "you appear to be a man of some skill at the game. Perhaps you can teach me something."

The man's pig-like eyes brightened and he puffed up like a blowfish. Indeed he could. He smiled down at the boy, making no effort to conceal his conceit. "Well," he drawled vainly, "perhaps I could."

Old Claude stood and the old chair creaked as the man plopped his great weight down. Claude reached out to hold a white and black pawn behind his back to determine who would begin but Baptiste waved him away. "You may make the opening move if you wish," he offered. The fat man smiled. The bumpkin didn't even know the person who had the lead had the advantage. He advanced his king's pawn two spaces. The small crowd in the little Parisian park, mostly old men, watched the two men intently. Baptise moved his bishop's pawn forward and the fat man captured it, a smile, proud and with a hint of disdain, curling his thick lips.

"Do you mind?" he asked, taking out a thick, black cigar. Baptiste shook his head in the negative.

The fat man made his moves quickly and with little forethought in confidence. Baptise made his just as quickly. There were several times when he could have captured a major piece of the fat man's but he did not, to the surprise of the watchers, all skilled old men who knew his talent, until he caught their eye and they realized he was drawing the game out, toying with the fat man. They smiled knowingly.

"Checkmate," the fat man said at last, proud and smug. He glanced at the boy as if to say, "see how great I am."

"You are as skilled as I thought," Baptise acknowledged, which was the truth but not in the sense that the fat man took it. The watchers caught his meaning and concealed their amusement. The man began to rise. "You are not leaving?" The man nodded his head and gestured as if to say it was regrettable, but he had important places to be. "You must give me chance for a rematch," Baptise pleaded, "to regain my honour."

"I am sorry," the fat man said without a hint of sorrow in his voice or manner. He had no concern for the man's honour. "Do not take this the wrong way, my good fellow, but as they say, a man cannot make a silk purse out of a pig's ear."

There was only one way to take such an insult and several of the watchers bristled, but Baptise smiled and ignored it. "Perhaps we could make it more challenging for you," he offered. "Perhaps… a small wager," he suggested as if the idea had just come to him.

"Well, small is not the way I do things," the fat man said condescendingly.

"Perhaps, say, five hundred Euros."

The fat man's Adam's apple bobbed. The little Frenchy had to be joking. From his plain peasant's clothes he didn't look like he had ten Euros, never mind five hundred. As if reading the fat man's mind, Baptiste reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a wad of bills and the fat man looked at it greedily. It was a lot of money, all that he had with him, but it would be an easy win and he'd have double his money. He sat back down. As they played, several of the watchers wandered off. This was not the first time Baptiste had engaged a gullible stranger in a game of chess. They knew what the result would be, and they had no stomach for what would follow. Word quickly spread and others replaced them though, those who knew Baptiste and the real prize he was after, mostly disreputable-looking men and several young boys, street urchins in dirty, tattered clothes from the poor neighbourhood beside the little park. The newcomers glanced at each other with knowing eyes and repressed grins. Several glanced at the boy standing beside the fat man and their thoughts turned to a very different type of game they would like to play with him. The second game was longer than the first and the Frenchman lost many pieces, but in the end he won though narrowly.

"Well, a game each," Baptiste observed as he began replacing the pieces on the board. "But I will give you a chance to win back your money in a tiebreaker."

"I do not have another five hundred Euros," the fat man said as he got to his feet, his voice tinged with a hint of anger at his loss and of regret that he did not have more cash. He was not accustomed to losing, and the Frenchy had been lucky.

The little Frenchman studied him for a moment. "That is a nice watch, and that ring looks like it would be worth something. I will put up the five hundred against them." The fat man repressed a smile. The watch and ring were showy, gaudy some would say, but not really worth that much. Of course the Frenchy did not know that, and if he played things right…

"Well, I don't know," he said as if weighing the matter in his mind. It would not be good to appear too eager.

Baptiste looked over at the boy and studied him as if deep in thought. He had noticed the boy the moment he and the fat man had arrived. He stood about four feet [1.20 m] tall, and probably weighed sixty pounds [27 kg], a bit overweight for his age but not excessively so. Pleasingly plump some men would say. He had a round face and full cheeks, large brown eyes, like a puppy, and shaggy brown hair, a bit on the long side. "And the boy."

"The boy? What do you mean?"

"J'aime les petits garçons," Baptise replied, smiling at the boy. "Suce ma bite avec ses lèvres douces et penchez-vous donc je peux pénétrer son cul vierge tendre, et pour moi le plaisir dans tout ce qui, d'autre moyen que je désire."

The fat man had no idea what he had said, but was too proud to say he did not understand, and it did not matter anyway. These Frenchies were a strange lot.

"The boy is young, though. Perhaps too young."

"He is seven."

"Well, perhaps I am foolish. You are a fine player and it is only by luck I won the last game, but to not give you a chance to win back your money would not be the proper way to treat a visitor to our county." He paused as if hesitant and then sighed. "A tiebreaker then. My thousand Euros against your watch, your ring, and the boy. Unless of course you concede that I am the better player. I am a fair man," he said with a gesture of acceptance and apology.

The fat man sat back down. The better player indeed! The last game had been close, and doubling his money would impress the boy. Why the Frenchy included the boy in the wager did not matter. He was not going to win. "It is my turn to open." Baptise did not object.

The Frenchman played quickly and the fat man found his choices were quickly being narrowed down. The game had barely begun and to the fat man's surprise he found himself in checkmate. He sat there staring dumbly at the board, unable to believe what had happened. Taking a slim cigarette case out of his vest pocket, Baptise took out a long, slender cigarette. Lighting it, he inhaled deeply, and leaning back, he slowly blew the smoke out in rings. He smiled as he reached out and the fat man slowly and reluctantly removed his watch and his ring. He beckoned the boy to come to him, and looking over at the fat man, the boy slowly approached, his eyes wide with apprehension.

Reaching out to him, Baptiste drew him close and kissed him. The fat man began to get to his feet and opened his mouth to protest but two of the men who had been watching roughly pushed back into the chair. Placing a finger under his chin, Baptise raised the boy's head and looked into his eyes. Telling him to open his mouth, he leaned forward again and kissed him a second time, this time slipping his tongue into the boy's mouth. The boy tried to withdraw but Baptiste had slipped his left hand behind the boy's head and held the boy in position. The boy gasped air through his nose. The smell of smoke and the taste of nicotine was nauseating, as was the man's slimy tongue sliding about his. Pulling the boy's shirt out of his trousers with his other hand, Baptiste slipped his hand up inside his shirt and caressed his chest as he continued the deep kiss.

"Now just wait a damn minute," objected the fat man as he began to rise again, his face red with anger. He should have known. These Frenchies were a perverted lot.

"You agreed," said Baptise coldly as the two men pushed the fat man back into his chair. As he tried to get up again, one of the men pulled out an ugly-looking dagger and held it to his throat. "We do not take kindly to men who welch on their bets," Baptise said calmly. "My friend would not hesitate to use his toad stabber, and I am sure you would not wish to frighten the boy." The fat man ceased struggling. These Frenchies were mad, and he did not doubt the little Frenchman's word.

Baptise unbuckled the boy's belt and slipped his hands into the back of the boy's pants and cupped the cheeks of his plump, compact butt and caressed them, keeping his eyes on the fat man who stared at him helplessly, his eyes now white with fright and filled with embarrassment. Keeping his eyes on the man's face, he slipped his right hand around in front of the boy's pants. The boy instinctively tried to draw back as he felt the man's hand on what nobody should touch but the man's left hand still on his butt held him firmly in place.

"I misunderstood what you said. I do not understand French that well. I would never agree-."

"But you did agree," Baptise said simply, "and we played. Fair and square as you Americans say. Now do not speak again or the gentleman at your side has my permission to slit your throat if that is what it will take to silence you."

The fat man had no doubt that he would. They were mad, all of them. And filthy perverts. The night had come on and the little park, lit with a single lamp down the street, was in darkness, but not that dark that he could not see what the little Frenchman was doing. Baptise slowly unbuttoned the boy's shirt and removed it. His breasts were flabby, like a young girl's, and a roll of fat hung over his belt. A plump little chicken, just right for plucking. Baptiste took out a bottle of wine from the brown bag at his feet and pulled out the cork with his teeth. He took a long swing, and then handed it to the boy. The boy hesitated and then glanced at his father.

"You answer to me now, not him," Baptiste said gently. "Now drink."

The boy raised the bottle to his mouth and took a little sip. He made a sour face as he swallowed. Grabbing the boy by the neck suddenly and roughly, Baptise twisted him back and poured the wine into his mouth causing the boy sputter and choke. He stood the boy up and slapped his face hard, leaving a red mark on his cheek but careful not to bruise those delicious fat lips. Baptise knew how to handle reluctant, spoiled little boys.

"Next time you take a long swig, like a man."

The boy had never been struck before and stood there in shock, tears beginning to well up in his eyes. Baptise handed him the bottle and he raised it to his lips and took a long drink in fear. The wine burned down inside his chest to his stomach. Baptise unsnapped the boy's trousers and pulled down his fly and yanked his pants down to his ankles. The boy's cheeks crimsoned as he stood there in his blue and white striped boxers in front of the small group of men and boys. Baptise pulled the boy's underwear down, revealing his little tiddler and marble-sized balls, looking all the smaller hanging under his fat belly. The boy automatically began to slip his hands in front of him but Baptise batted them away. He handed the bottle to the boy again and the boy raised it to his lips and drank, this time a longer swig. He did not want to anger the man. His face contorted with the taste as he stood there, trousers and boxers about his ankles, his butt and privates exposed for all to see.

"Drop to your knees." The boy obeyed. Baptiste pulled down his fly and remaining sitting, he pulled out his cock. It was still limp. Baptiste held it up at the base. "Now slip your mouth over it and begin sucking."

The boy hesitated and glanced over at his father. He was sitting there, his eyes wide with disbelief and fear, his lips contorted with fear and revulsion, the man beside him with his knife at his throat below his double chins. The boy felt a strong hand grasp him by the back of the head and Baptiste turned his head and pushed it down toward his cock still held in his other hand. The boy opened his lips ever so slightly and Baptise guided his cock between them. "Slip your lips over the bulb and begin to suck, and breath slowly through your nose," he whispered in the boy's ear.

Fighting back his tears and his disgust, the boy did as he was told and he felt the man's cock slowly begin to swell. Baptiste began to force his mouth father down and the boy began to gag. Baptiste let him slip his lips back up. "Breathe though your nose slowly, and bob your head up and down," he whispered, guiding the boy's head as he spoke, "and each time slip your lips further down my cock. Do it or I will have my friend slit your father's throat." Fear overcoming his revulsion, the boy performed the filthy act as he had been instructed, slipping his lips up and down the man's cock and sucking on it, bobbing further and further until his lips touched the coarse hairs at the base of the man's cock and the end was pressed against the back of his throat. His jaw began to ache but he did not want to anger the man. It did not taste as bad as he thought it might, but still it was a filthy thing to do, and it was embarrassing doing it there in front of his father and the other men and boys.

The fat man watched helplessly even more embarrassed than the boy. His son, kneeling there bare chested with his trousers and underwear about his ankles sucking the man's filthy organ was repugnant and there was nothing he could do about it. The Frenchy began to squirm and his breath was becoming louder and faster and the filthy pervert closed his eyes and threw back his head in delight. He couldn't possibly be planning-he grasped the boy's head and groaned and the boy struggled but his head was held firmly in place and the man wrapped his legs about his body so he was pinned there on his knees.

The boy swallowed rapidly and desperately, drinking the man's thick, foul slime. He gagged and the man's cum spurted out of his nose and oozed from the corners of his mouth and down and around his chin. It was hot and slimy and foul-tasting. The boy snorted for breath, sucking the man's slime and his snot back up his nose and he choked again, snorting more slime and snot out his nostrils. Baptise sat back, his blood-engorged cock dripping with his slime and the boy's spittle, a smile on his face, and the boy gulped and swallowed the slime in his mouth and gasped for air through his mouth, cum and snot dripping from his nose and into his gaping mouth, cum hanging from his chin. The watchers glanced at each other and leered and reached down to squeeze the bulges that had developed in their trousers.

Baptise handed the boy the bottle of wine and he took it and took a long swig, the sour alcohol better than the bitter taste of the man's slime clinging to his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Baptiste motioned toward the boy and then beckoned to those watching. A man eagerly stepped forward, his hand in his open fly.

"No! No!" the fat man cried out and tried again to stand despite the knife. "Please, I will do anything! I'll pay you anything. I have money in the bank!" Somewhere someone found a rope and tied him to the chair. They ignored his pleas as the boy knelt before the man who had stepped forward and took his stiff cock in his mouth. He knew what to do and he knew that resisting was futile. His cheeks burning with shame and tears trickling down his face, he bobbed his head up and down the man's shaft and sucked on his cock. The man was aroused from watching the boy do Baptise and he was soon filling the boy's mouth with his slime and the boy was eagerly drinking it to avoid choking and snorting the foul slime out his nose. He was rewarded with another swig of wine as the next man stepped forward.

When all the men who had so desired had their need satisfied, the street urchins who had been watching and waiting stepped forward, lead by a dirty-faced youngster of thirteen by the name of Caspére. He had long, greasy hair and patched and tattered clothes and appeared to be the leader of the gang of ruffians and pickpockets. He dropped his trousers, revealing he was wearing no underwear and was sporting a long, slender erection. He took the bottle of wine from the boy and took a long swig as the boy slipped his lips over the urchin's cock and began to suck. Everything spun dizzily around him and sucking cock had become so routine that he no longer cared who was watching or what they were thinking. The sooner and faster he did it the sooner and faster it would be over. Baptise commented on how he had become a hungry little cocksucker and the boys standing waiting their turn laughed and the fat boy's ears burned with embarrassment. The thirteen-year-old boy's thin, watery cum was soon filling the younger boy's mouth. He no sooner withdrew his still stiff cock than another boy took his place. One by one they stepped forward until all were satisfied.

He was allowed to rest then and he sat there in the dirt and stared straight forward, seeing nothing. His father sat there staring at him, hoping the ordeal was at last over and going over in his mind how he would report this to the police. He could provide them the details, the physical appearance of every man and boy. Their images were burned into his mind and his pig-like eyes narrowed with anger. They would pay for this indignation, every last one of the filthy perverts.

The ordeal however was far from over. Baptiste had the boy remove his trousers and underwear and his shoes and socks, and then had him stand before them with his mouth wide open. Scratching a line in the grass, he had the street urchins line up behind the line and he offered a Euro to anyone who could spit in the boy's mouth. Caspére was first and working up a mouth of spit, he placed his hands on his hips, pursed his lips, threw back his head, and let fly a gob of spit. The aim was off center and struck the boy's left cheek. It oozed down to his jawline and on down his neck. The next boy fell short and his gob struck the grass to the jeers of his companions. The third was low and his thick gob hit the boy's chest and oozed down and over his right nipple. When the five were done, they were allowed a step forward and each took a turn again. One ragamuffin's thick gob hit the boy in the forehead and the slime oozed down and over his eyebrow and into his right eye, blinding him and his eye began to tear. More spit spattered his flabby chest and oozed over his nipples, causing them to become firm

Spittle spattered his fat stomach and oozed down over his hairless pubes and around and over his tiny balls. His cocklet began to swell and the boys laughed and commented on how the little pervert was getting turned on, causing the boy to grow crimson with shame and his little cocklet to swell all the faster and for the fat man to ache with pain for the boy. The lure of the Euro forgotten, the urchins aimed lower and laughed and shouted with triumph as gob after gob struck the swelling little wiener until it was standing straight up and the tip dripped with slime, like a snotty, runny nose one of the boys joked. They returned to their first objective as the boy stood there shamefully with his little pecker standing at attention and jerking uncontrollably. The leader of the boys finally scored a thick gob in the boy's mouth and as the boy swallowed Caspére's slime Caspére's cock twitched with arousal. He was rewarded with a long swig of another bottle of wine being passed around, the Euro, and the opportunity to step forward and gob in the boy's mouth. Several more were invited to step forward and the group drooled their spit into the gaping mouth of the slime-streaked and dripping boy who was forced to wait until all the boys were done and then to swallow the mouthful of slime.

For his achievement, Caspére received another prize. Seeing the boy's erection, Baptiste offered him the opportunity to be the first to take the fat boy's prune. The thirteen-year-old boy did so eagerly and proudly, having the boy first lick his cock and coat it with his spittle, and then having him bend over and pull apart the cheeks of his fat ass. The boy stepped up behind him and placing the tip of his spit-soaked cock against the boy's anus, he pressed forward, his rock-hard and slender cock easily penetrating the seven-year-old's virgin ass. He grasped the boy's hips and began to thrust his own to and fro, driving his young teenage cock in and out of the boy's ass with the gusto only a horny thirteen-year-old boy could muster. It was not long before he was filling the boy's rectum with his cum.

He was followed by the other boys, some older with longer and thicker cocks, some younger who could experience only a dry orgasm. The naked fat boy stood there bent over and docile, too weary and ashamed to object, painfully aware that his father was sitting there helplessly watching him being gang-raped.

When the boys were done, Baptiste had the boy approach him, and turning him around, had him sit on his lap, impaling himself on the man's stiff cock. The boy grunted and strained as he forced himself backward, slowly easing his hips back and gritting his teeth as he felt the man's stiff cock spreading open his asshole and then finally popping inside his body and easing up his rectum. Planting his feet on the ground, he began to ride the man, to the man's delight and that of those watching. They commented on his eagerness and how he evidently enjoyed having a man's cock up his ass. Despite his shame and embarrassment, riding the man's stiff cock sent waves of stimulation and pleasure through his rectum and up his cocklet, which was once again erect. Confused by his feelings of shame and arousal and befuddled by the wine he had consumed, the boy flexed his legs and rode the man's throbbing cock numbly.

Baptiste had the boy reach down and stroke himself as he rode the Frenchman's cock, and he gasped and panted with the exertion of riding the man's cock and with the strange pleasure pulsating up his little jigger. Sweat began to trickle down his body, following the creases and folds of fat. When at last the Frenchman spurted his cum up the boy's rectum he trembled and gasped and jerked with his own dry orgasm, the physical stimulation and pleasure overriding all feelings of shame. It was his first orgasm and he sat there in confusion with the Frenchman's cock buried up his ass, the burning pleasure of his asshole remarkably like the burning pleasure ringing the swollen bulb of his little pecker.

And then came the pièce de résistance. The fat boy was not the first boy to provide Baptiste and his little gang of followers amusement, and although there were several ways they culminated their evening of perverted fun, there was one way that they found especially entertaining. A clear plastic L-shaped bowl roughly the size of the bowl of a toilet was brought forward and placed on the table and the boy was helped onto the table and rolled over on his back. His head was slipped into the bottom arm of the L which was fitted with a rubber sphincter that fit snugly about the boy's neck. A pair of goggles was slipped over his head and a snorkel affixed over his nose, the opening of the two tubes extending about halfway up the vertical arm of the bowl. Lastly, a clear plastic tube was affixed to the boy's cocklet, the other end leading to the top opening of the bowl.

The boy, dizzy and fuzzy-headed from wine, was perplexed by what was going on as Baptiste began to massage his stomach and apply pressure to his sides, but while the mind was innocent and numbed, the body was not. The pressure on his kidneys and full bladder had almost instant results and his piss suddenly began to flow up his cock and up the tube and into the bowl, which quickly began to fill, submerging the bewildered boy's head. The level rapidly approached the top of the snorkel tubes, and it was evident even to the befuddled boy there was only one way to prevent his imminent drowning. The boy opened his mouth and began to drink desperately as he tried futilely to stem his flow, fear overriding his revulsion to the bitter taste of his urine.

At first it appeared he would not be able to drink fast enough, his bladder filled to capacity after all the wine he had drank, but to his relief the flow finally slowed and finally stopped. His relief was short-lived as Garçon stepped up to the bowl and extracting his cock began to piss. As he once again began to desperately gulp down the rapidly rising, putrid-tasting piss, he felt someone run a hand up along his thigh and begin to fondle his balls and dicklet still attached to the tube. The boy stared up through the yellow-tinted fluid at the blurred image of the grinning thirteen-year-old with a mixture of hatred, fear, humiliation, revulsion and sexual arousal. He swallowed the boy's warm, putrid piss desperately, the level rising dangerously close to the opening of the snorkel tubes as the boy leered down at him, his belly filling with the boy's piss as his little cocklet began to swell and itch with the strange new pleasure of sexual stimulation. As Garcon finished, another boy took his place and then another while hands caressed the hapless boy's chest and brushed against his nipples, causing them to become hard and to burn with the same sweet pain as his stiff little cocklet. His father, numbed by the filthiness and perversion, sat there listlessly and watched the boy's struggle.

The boy's plump belly began to swell and bulge out like the stomach of those malnourished black boys from Africa you see in ads seeking your money, and he felt so bloated his eyes ached but still he gulped down the warm, foul urine, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he sucked in the air through the snorkel, air tainted with the nitrogenous stink of fresh urine. It filled his aching lungs and he blew it back out and sucked in more, snorting like a little steam engine. His swollen little dick became numb and then tingly like it had fallen asleep and he felt a desperate need to piss and he could not help opening and closing his peehole as he felt a sharp stab pierce the knob of his dick and his body began to spasm uncontrollably with his bewildering dry orgasm, the second that night, to the laugher of those around him.

Baptiste replaced the man who had been fiddling with the boy and drawing the boy across the table so his butt was at the edge, he raised the boy's legs, causing the boy to arch his back in agony with the pressure placed on his swollen belly. The boy inhaled deeply with a familiar sensation as he felt Baptiste's cock press against his butthole and slowly enter his body. Gulping down a mouthful of warm piss, the boy closed his eyes as he felt the man's swollen cock penetrate deep up his rectum and then begin easing in and out of his asshole and the pressure built even more in his bladder until the pressure exerted up his rectum caused him to begin pissing once again, emptying his bladder of the piss he had swallowed.

Glancing over at the fat man, Baptiste smiled at the sight of the man's horror, disgust and embarrassment for his boy as he began to fill the boy's ass with his gism. The boy groaned as he felt his rectum being filled as he pissed into the bowl about his head and he swallowed the putrid recycled piss once again, the burning pleasure of releasing his piss not unlike the burning pleasure of his dry orgasm and the burning pleasure of having his asshole stretched open by a man's throbbing cock. This was going to be a night he and his father would long remember, a night that would ignite needs and perverted desires that until then the boy had never known existed thanks to Baptise, and thanks to his father.

The End