Pathetic is the only way to describe George. He had been that way all his life. Eventually he married a dominant woman and had two sons with her. Those boys never knew what having a strong male role model was. George's wife had pretty much emasculated him and she constantly beat him down.

This pretty much started from the beginning of his life. Forty-some years ago, George was born to an alcoholic father and a neglectful mother. Times were different then; mothers were expected to be faithful housewives and men the sole breadwinners. Things were changing though and having just one income wasn't enough anymore. The family was stressed most of the time, due to finances and the terrible relationship his parents had. Bring into the picture, George, the last of four children. An unplanned pregnancy by a man his mother was sleeping with.

George's so-called father didn't feel the boy was his and kept an arm's length relationship with the boy. Not that fathers of that era were nurturing anyway. Go to work, spend time at the bar with buddies, go home for dinner and sleep, repeat. The wife stayed home, did the shopping, cooking, and cleaning. They cared for the children, most mothers anyway. George's mother spent more time in her bed, on her back with various men from the neighborhood. They were all supposedly repairmen, but neighbors saw through the lies. George didn't until he walked in on his mother, on her back, legs in the air and a man pumping into her. George didn't really know what was going on, but he silently closed the door and walked away.

He never told anyone the sight he'd seen. It affected him, but he kept the emotions buried. It was later in life that they came out. His wife's constant disrespect and disappointment in him built up. George tried his best for her and his children, but it was never good enough.

Finally after one too many beratings from his wife he snapped, yet still managed to keep his emotions contained. He knew he needed to prove to himself his manliness, and he was going to do it. For months he'd been getting up early to drive around the surrounding towns, to think and figure out how to prove to himself that he was strong and manly. On one of these trips, he had lied to his wife about, is when he first saw the boy.

In general George wasn't attracted to boys, he was barely attracted to his wife. But, he felt he could overpower the boy and get what he wanted. He could be a man. The boy was a runner. As time went on George would follow the boy a short distance at a time, eventually figuring out his route.

What age the boy was, George had no idea, nor did it matter. The boy was young, and he was beautiful. That's what George wanted, to destroy, something beautiful. While that wasn't totally the case with what happened, it was his intention at the time.

He watched the boy for many mornings, at least four days a week. He watched for weeks to ensure the boy would be out at the same time and follow the same route, and he did. This made setting up a capture easy.

George was confident in his ability to capture the boy. He told his wife and kids he'd be gone for a week, business trip. Of course she belittled him; thought he was lying, but he made sure to tell the same lie over and over until he was sure she believed him. He went to the hardware store and got rope and duct tape. He left and rented a room in a scummy hotel near the city. One that took cash and asked no questions. George set up some restraints on the bed, running rope under the mattress from corner to corner. He also brought a portable stereo and put it on the nightstand.

There was a road the boy would run along. This one seldom had other traffic, and there were few houses. He decided it was the best place to nab the boy. George had gone over his plan in his head many times, jumping out from behind a tree, tackling the boy, binding him and throwing him into his minivan. George drove a minivan, his wife a sports car. That was how pathetic he was.

On the first morning George parked on a gravel side road, about ten yards in, so the van wasn't noticeable but also not too far. He hid behind the large tree that was always the place for his imagined kidnapping. He waited. In the distance he could hear the boy, his shoes on the pavement. The strides were long and the impact of the shoe light. But George knew it was him. He waited, his own heart pounding. The boy approached, George could hear his regular panting breath, he then passed by not noticing George. He had earbuds in. George let the boy get out of sight.

He pretended to jump out and grab the boy. The imaginary boy surprised, fear automatic on his face. He looks into George's face and sees the malice. The boy struggles, but George is stronger. The boy kicks and misses. George gets the boy onto the ground on his stomach, pulls his arms behind his back and ties them. The boy's legs are kicking and he's screaming for help. George made a mental note to stuff something into the boy's mouth quickly. Last thing he needed was to get caught. He binds the boys legs and then hog ties him so he can no longer struggle. He picks the boy up and takes him to the van.

While this was all imaginary, George's heart was still pounding and sweat poured off him. George sat in his van, alone in the woods and laughed hysterically. The adrenaline from the fake attack that coursed through his veins continued to affect him. He had massive amounts of energy; a feeling he hadn;'t felt in decades. He pounded on the steering wheel and shouted over his mock success. George was excited; a glimmer of happiness.

That evening at the hotel he watched videos on his laptop; how to prepare a knot to easily slip over the boy's hands and feet. A slip knot that he could pull tight quickly then wrap and bind the limbs. This would make the morning's event a little easier. George couldn't sleep; too nervous and excited. It took hours for him to wind down and pass out.

His alarm blares, waking him from a deep sleep, startling him. He showers, eats a small breakfast and drives out to the location he chose. He parked the van and shut it off. He climbs out into the crisp air, his breath creating clouds. George feels the air as though for the first time. His senses are heightened. He's going to do this. He's going to kidnap and dominate another human.

George's excitement increases as he looks at his watch 6:02 AM, the boy should be along anytime now. He grabs the ropes he had prepared, the roll of duct tape and a washcloth from the hotel. It's white, but not the bright white of a nice hotel. It's dingy and a little stained stained. Lord only knew what sort of nasty was caught in its fabric. He slips a ski mask on, stands behind the tree and waits.

In the distance he hears the rhythmic footfalls. He knows the boy is twenty or thirty yards away. His heart pounds in his chest and ears, it matches the gait of the boy approaching. George hears the boy's breath, he's close. Time slows down, the footfalls seem minutes apart. The boy's advance also in slow motion. George can hear the heel of the shoe hit the pavement, the midsole, the ball, the toes. The shoe sliding on the pavement as it's pushing the boy closer. The left, the right, the left… George has his eyes closed, concentrating on the distance, the speed, the plan to grab him and tie him quickly. The plan and the actions quick and simple.

The boy passed. George realized he missed the proper moment. He sprang from behind the tree and ran after the boy. The boy didn't hear him, his music must have been too loud. George came up behind the boy and wrapped his arms around him. They fell to the ground, George on top at first, then rolled into the ditch next to the road. The boy screamed as the air was knocked out of him. George held tight until they came to a stop. They were side by side, George still clutching him from behind, arms wrapped around. The boy was gasping for air, unaware of what was happening. George let go and rolled the boy onto his stomach. He grabbed the boy's wrists, pulled each arm behind his back, and slipped the rope over them. George wrapped it a few times around and then tied it tight.

The boy became aware of the situation and started to struggle, started to fight. Most of his fight was needed to breathe, but his body also knew that it needed to defend itself against the crazy person on top of him. George tried to find the washcloth, it had fallen out of his pocket and lay a few feet away. Too far to reach at the moment. He turned around to bind the boy's legs, but the boy fought. His legs were strong, stronger than George had thought they would be.

The boy brought his foot back and up, a solid hit to George's face. He fell off the boy and grabbed his nose, blood was running out of it, soaking the mask. The boy got to his feet and started to run. George pursued and caught the boy again, bringing him back to the ground. George sat on his legs and got them bound. The boy found enough air to scream. George was pretty sure no one would hear, but why take the risk? He dragged the boy back to where they originally fell and stuffed the washcloth into the boy's mouth, then wrapped a few layers of duct tape around his head.

The boy was bound; arms, legs, and a hogtie. George lifted him, with a struggle and got him to the back of the van. George climbed into the driver seat and sat silently for a few seconds before letting his excitement and pain out. He screamed and cheered himself. The pain in his face was temporarily gone, the blood still dripping. The boy was in back crying, large full body sobs. George knew he'd hurt the boy, but the boy also hurt him. They were even, but the table wasn't done turning.

He drove around waiting for the cover of night to bring the boy into the hotel. George made several stops to check the ropes, making sure the boy couldn't escape. He stopped for gas and to clean his face. In the mirror he saw the boy had done a number on his nose. More than likely broken. He carefully cleaned the blood away finding a large gash on the bridge of his nose. He wondered how he was going to explain it to his wife. His hatred for her grew in that moment. The pain was growing, he purchased and took some painkillers.

He went into a fast-food joint and bought a burger and fries to eat. He never offered anything to the boy. He treated him like a piece of meat from the very beginning. Close to dinner George checked on the boy. He pissed and shit himself. He was also asleep, knocked out from exhaustion maybe.

Night came and George returned to the hotel. He went into his room and then stood in the door looking out over the parking lot. It was mostly dark with only a few lights. He scanned the other windows for movement, found nothing. With the van backed into the parking spot, he opened the hatch and carried the boy into the room quickly. Once hidden in his room he closed the back of the van and returned to the room.

He put the boy into the bathtub and cut his clothes off. He removed the hogtie and rebound the boy's hands in front. The smell from the boy's defecation was strong and almost made George puke. He held it and showered the boy. The boy woke, startled by his surroundings. He quickly looked around at the unfamiliar and the man who had him naked in the tub, still bound and gagged. He automatically tried to fight. When the boy knew he couldn't escape he stopped and cried. He closed his eyes and turned his face into the corner.

George let him cry, the boy had every right. He was kidnapped by an obviously deranged man who was going to do god knows what to him. All the bad things went thought the boy's head, he sobbed hard, heaving, and moaning through the washcloth taped in his mouth.

George continued to bathe the boy. He noticed the boy had no body hair, no pubic hair. He must be younger than George originally thought. Eleven maybe. His cock was uncut and a nice size for his age. It was limp, but George estimated it was at least a couple inches [five cm], lying there between the boy's legs. The foreskin much longer, more than likely it would cover the boy's length while he was erect. He admired the cock and couldn't wait for the next phase of his plan.

He grabbed the boy's face and turned it so they were facing each other. The boy looked into his eyes, tears flowed once again. The boy's eyes were beautiful. Green emeralds, right now surrounded by reddened flesh from all the crying. The boy looked away, not wanting eye contact with the deranged man. The boy has still not seem George's face, he'd been careful to keep it covered around the boy.

George spoke in a whisper, "I am going to hurt you," he told the boy. "I am going to use you, rape you and drop you off somewhere far away from your home. In the woods, naked."

He wasn't sure if the whispering was necessary, but he saw it in a movie. The bad guy claimed that the victim couldn't identify your voice if you whispered. George believed it and used the tactic as though he were some mastermind criminal. He may have gotten away with this so far, but that's because, more than likely, the boy's parents hadn't noticed him missing yet. When they do, they will call around to friends' parents.

When the panic sets in they will call the police. If television shows hold true, the police will tell the parents their son more than likely ran away or is hiding from them. To give it a couple of days then they will start looking. Of course, the boy won't be a high priority, and even if he is, they will be looking around his town. And neighboring towns. They are far from there. George believes he has at least a few days to keep the boy and do whatever comes to mind. For now though, it's to clean the soiled boy, appreciate his young body and then get him ready for the unimaginable.

The boy lay silent and still while George rubbed his hands and soap all over him. George was not really attracted to boys, but this one had grabbed his attention from the first time he saw him. George knew, this was going to be his victim, the one he would use to become more manly. The boy was slim and toned. Maybe he was also a swimmer, George speculated. He had the length and legs of a runner, but the fit upper body of a swimmer. George enjoyed the feel of the smooth skin and muscle definition just under.

George was never athletic. He was more a nerd, but not even a good one of those. In his youth he never liked other kids his age. He always hung out with adults, who pretty much ignored him anyway. At least with adults, he wasn't getting made fun of for being lanky and uncoordinated. For having thick pop-bottle glasses and acne. He was smart, but not in a way that ever helped him avoid being picked on and feeling pathetic. This boy, however, was the ticket to leaving that behind once and for all.

He had the boy turn over, on his hands and knees. George used another dirty washcloth to clean the boy's backside. It was sticky and gross, but eventually came clean. George then rubbed his bare hand over the buttocks and through the crack. He slid slowly feeling the wrinkle of the boy's anus. George's groin came to life knowing that he was going to put himself in there. He washed the boy's back and then his hair. It was brown and undercut. Thick hair that the boy undoubtedly had to flip away from his eyes constantly. Right now, it was slicked back with water, some of it stuck under the tape around his mouth.

George dried the boy and brought him to the bed. He laid him down, still naked. The boy's clothes were destroyed, cut away by George. He'd have to remain naked.

George whispered again, "I am going to remove the tape and rag. You scream I will hurt you."

He brought out a big knife to show he was serious. The boy's eyes went wide with fear.

"Do you understand?" George whispered.

The boy nodded. George slowly removed the tape. When he got to the last layer, he knew it was going to hurt. He pulled slow and the boy squealed a muffled cry because of it. The boy brought his hands up and rubbed his cheeks to relieve the sting. They sat in silence for some time.

George turned on the television and watched whatever was on. He really didn't want to hurt the boy, but he knew he had to. He had to do this to make himself a man. He had to do this as a stepping stone to standing up to his wife.

"Why are you doing this?" The boy broke the silence.

"Doing what?" George whispered.

"This, to me." The boy didn't really know what to ask. He knew he'd been kidnapped, but not why. It seemed important at the time.

"It's a long story, and it doesn't matter why. Fact is, it's going to happen," George explained.

The boy broke down again. He sobbed calling out for his mother. Wishing she was there to help him. Prior to this morning he was struggling for his independence. He was defying and acting like a teenager. Just yesterday he yelled at her, telling her he hated her, because she wanted him to clean his room. Right now, at this very moment, he was regretting saying such a thing.

While the boy hadn't hit puberty yet, his body was changing. He was starting to smell, a smell he didn't really notice. He would leave dirty underwear and socks in his room for weeks. The smell was escaping; down the hall, invading the rest of the house. Now, all the frustrations he had with his mother seemed trivial. His wish was to get home and apologize to her and tell her how much he loved her.

George was hungry and for the first time wondered if the boy was hungry. He asked the boy if he wanted something to eat. The boy said nothing. George bound him to the bed and put a gag back into his mouth. He also cut the phone cord so the boy couldn't somehow call the front desk or the police. While the hotel was sketchy, he was sure they would call the police if the boy claimed to be kidnapped and possibly raped.

George went to another fast-food joint just up the street and brought two value meals back to the room. While he was gone the boy hadn't moved. He was still tied, arms and legs to the corners of the bed, rag stuffed in his mouth. George stared at the beautiful sight and couldn't believe he had kidnapped the boy and tied him to the bed. The naked body, stretched to the corners, so innocent and vulnerable. The innocence was about to be taken though, replaced with whatever comes after forced sex. But that body, not an ounce of fat anywhere. Again, looking at that defined muscle under the milky white skin. The boy had a slight tan, on the lower legs and arms and the neck up. Tan around his apparent shorts and short sleeve shirts. While it was fall now, giving a nice crisp to the outside air, the tan remained.

He sat on the bed and untied the boy's arms, allowing him to feed himself. George ate, the boy didn't.

"What's your name?" George whispered.

"Kyle," he answered.

"You scared of me Kyle?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you are going to hurt me."

George let that hang in the air. The boy, Kyle, was right. He was indeed going to hurt the boy.

"Why don't you just let me go?" Kyle asked.

"Because Kyle, I have to do this," George explained.

"Why?" Kyle asked.

"Just because," George answered.

Kyle left it at that. He was about to cry again. He was indeed hungry but didn't want to accept the food from his captor. Silent tears ran down his cheeks. George noticed and pretended not to. The boy was slowly cracking George's faulty armor. His façade of being tough and mean and manly.

George had to work up his courage. The first part of his plan was complete. To him it was the much easier part. While the boy would already be scarred for life, it was nothing compared to what was to come. In silence they continued to watch television. Neither was really captivated by the screen. Both were deep in their own thoughts.

Kyle was still internally wishing for his mother, his father even. Although he felt that he was going to be blamed for this when he returned home. Then it dawned on him, if; IF he returned home. He thought about his friends. What were they going to think when this all came out? That he was out for a run, kidnapped and raped, then killed or left to die. Would he be the strong hero that fought until the end? Or is he going to be remembered as the weak stupid boy who got himself into this mess. Because he was too hardheaded, he wanted to grow up too fast and argued with his parents until they let him go out and run on his own.

What about if he survived? What then? Could he face his friends and family knowing they will know what had happened to him? That some stranger nabbed him and stuck his dick up his ass and force fucked him? Is this going to make him gay? Or a homophobe? Or is he going to hate sex altogether?

More tears. Kyle couldn't stop crying, but had every reason not to.

George wondered if he could go through with this. The longer he sat with the boy the more he lost his nerve. He was feeling bad for what he'd done already. Then his wife popped in his head and told him how pathetic he was. How much of a loser, he got angry. He wanted to destroy something beautiful. He looked over at the boy, and he was indeed beautiful. George believed that destroying this boy had to be done. This was his gateway to being able to stand up for himself. Stand up against that controlling wife that humiliated him every chance she got. He thought about their marriage; she married him for the money he was going to inherit one day. Why had they had kids? He figured they probably weren't his anyway. She cheated and he knew it. With anyone really. She would spread her legs for him once in awhile, meaning once or twice a year. The rest of the time he spent jerking himself off and imagining anyone else but her. Even though his kids probably weren't his, he cared for them like they were. But even they didn't have any respect for him.

This boy, Kyle, was to be the catalyst to create a new George that would demand respect from his family. While he might just feel like a victim, this boy was a valuable tool for George. It's unfortunate, but someone had to be chosen. Like many of the kids in the post-apocalyptic stories, a tribute for the government or supernatural being that needed to be appeased by a child's death. Kyle, while he wasn't going to be killed, not in the practical sense, was that tribute. Chosen because of his physical beauty. His strong muscular body, his young innocence.

George knew that more than likely the boy would give up running. He might give up being fit in general. Maybe if he lied to the boy. If he told him the opposite as to why he picked him. That the boy was just picked by happenstance. Because he was alone in a remote area. That the truth was, the boy was just a tool in the desire to be able to stand up and be less pathetic. More than likely the boy would also tell him how pathetic he was, because he was using a child to pretend to be a man. If you really want to be a man, maybe you should just stand up to your wife.

The internal dialogue annoyed George. He yelled and stood and looked at the boy. Kyle looked back at him in fear. He had no idea what was going on, why George was angry. He untied the boy and turned him around so his feet were toward the wall. His legs were bound, then arms in the four directions once again. Kyle was on his stomach, naked, ass exposed to the room, limp dick pressed into the sheets.

"What are you doing?" Kyle knew the answer.

"Shut up," George whispered.

George shoved another towel into the boy's mouth. He got a bottle of lube from his luggage and put it on the bed. George spanked the boy and hard. Kyle screamed through the towel in his mouth. The handprint showed almost immediately, an angry red. George took his clothes off and turned the portable stereo on. He tuned it to a station that didn't play anything, white noise coming from the speakers. He turned it up as loud as it would go. The white noise would help drown any other noise from the room, from Kyle.

George pulled the towel from Kyle's mouth and whispered in his ear. "You will suck me. If you try to bite, you will die." He showed the boy the knife for dramatic effect. Kyle's eyes widened with fear.

George placed his limp dick in front of the boy's face. At first, he refused and turned his head away. George slapped his ass again and got Kyle's full attention. He turned his head back but still didn't open. He was reluctant, but who wouldn't be?

Standing at the end of the bed, George got in closer and put his dick on the boy's cheek. Still hesitant, the boy turned as far as he could allowing the dick into his mouth. He left it there for a moment before closing and sucking. George got hard, faster than he ever did with his wife. This was an unusual situation. He had never been domineering nor had he been attracted to males, much less boys. But here he was with a boy tied to the bed, and his dick in the boy's mouth, a fully erect 6" [15.25cm]. Kyle gagged a few times when George pushed too far in, thankfully he didn't have anything to throw up. George reached down to Kyle's crack and started to caress it. Kyle pulled off George's cock and squirmed. He really didn't want George to do that. He had convinced himself that sucking the man's dick would be okay, but he certainly didn't want it up his butt.

Another smack, Kyle screamed but no one heard. The motel was desolate and those that were staying there were doing their own illegal things. He started to cry more. George grabbed the boy's jaw and pulled his face toward his erection. This was painful, Kyle complied and let the dick back into his mouth. George went to Kyle's tender ass again. He ran his hands over the reddened flesh and through the crack. He used the fingers on one hand and pulled the cheeks apart to see the tiny pucker. Small and pink like tight kissing lips contrasting with the white flesh. So smooth, so young.

George pulled out of the boy's mouth. He was fully committed and wouldn't go soft now. He climbed onto the bed between the boy's legs. He opened the crack again and looked with curiosity. He leaned in, the scent was strong. Soap, but also boy smell. Pheromones that were intoxicating for girls and strangely so for George. He leaned in and inhaled deeply, the source of that smell all locker-rooms have, minus the dirty feet. He gave it a tentative lick, nothing appalling. He dug his tongue in deeper and gave it some effort. He swore he heard Kyle moan. With the white noise it was hard to tell. Even if he did, more than likely it wasn't a moan of pleasure, but of disgust.

The voice inside George's head picked that up; See George, even this boy thinks you're pathetic and disgusting. He doesn't want you touching him. He probably gets fucked by his daddy every night and loves it. But you? Gross. Teach him a lesson George.

George ate the boy's ass for a while and really enjoyed it. He now wished he could go home and do this to his own sons. Kyle still squirmed a little. Was it to get George's tongue in the right spot or away from his hole? Either way George didn't care to speculate. He cared to get his erection into the boy.

George grabbed the bottle of lube and coated his still erect 6" [15.25cm]. It felt good having his hand glide over his flesh and couldn't wait to feel the boy wrapped around him. George had never had anal sex before; he had no idea how it worked. He had watched numerous pornos where men butt-fucked women. He knew it was possible, that many women liked it. He got the basics; lube was necessary and going slow. He lubed and aimed and pushed. It was hard, the boy's asshole was tight. George used a little more pressure. Kyle screamed out in pain. As much as George wanted to dominate and rape this boy, he couldn't endure the pain and screaming. It was even hurting his dick trying to push so hard.

"STOP," Kyle pleaded through sobs. "Please stop." Thereafter he kept repeating pleas in a hushed and defeated voice.

George stuck the towel back into the boy's mouth to muffle his cries. He pushed one more time with no success. Angrily he climbed off the boy and grabbed his laptop. George searched online, articles pertaining to anal sex. He read and read, picking up on an important step, the need to get the receiver ready with toys or fingers.

He returned to the bed, back between Kyle's legs. The boy was sobbing heavily, snot running from his nose. Being tied he couldn't wipe it away; it ran down the side of his face and dripped on the bed. George lubed a finger and pushed. Kyle felt it and inhaled, letting out another big sob. George's finger slipped in. He could feel the boy's tight rings, the outer and inner. They barely let his finger in, much less his thicker dick. He played with the boy's hole for several minutes before sliding a second in. Again, it was tight. Over time the sphincter gave up the fight and loosened to accommodate the two fingers.

Then a third. The boy yelped. And fought against the ropes holding him in place. The struggle was pointless, the ropes held tight. Once satisfied with the preparation, George re-lubed his cock and laid over the boy. He worked his dick up and down the crack. It felt great, better than his wife for some reason. The boy's buns were soft and squeezed George's erection just right. He felt the boy's pucker, still slightly open as he slid back and forth. With the right angle and a little more effort, he got lined up and pushed into the boy.

Kyle let out another yelp. He knew this was it. He was going to have this man inside him now. There was a great deal of reluctance and pain, however he had no choice but to allow the intrusion. The man sank down, Kyle could feel him laying on top of him. This hairy chest against his back. The man's face was next to his. He could smell his breath and hear his breathing. Kyle was disgusted by both. The man kissed his cheek, Kyle pulled away as far as he could. He knew his escape couldn't be far and would be overcome, but he still moved as much as he could. The man thrust into him. Short jabs in and out. Kyle's ass burned with pain, the man continued. His pubic hair was against Kyle's cheeks, then away, then back on it again. Coarse wiry hair that tickled and scraped at the same time.

Kyle tried to think of anyone else but the man on top of him. He wished it was his friend Robert who was the one on top of him. While it didn't make the pain any better, the thought of being butt fucked by a friend was a better replacement for the reality. His father would have been a better alternative. Almost anyone else would have taken more care not to hurt him so.

George was lost in the tight ring around his cock. Tighter than anything he'd ever felt, mostly pleasure with a side of discomfort. Regardless he continued on, using the boy for pleasure. He concentrated on that, the pleasure. Maybe the boy would start liking this. He kept the rhythm, kept fucking the boy, sliding his dick deep in and pulling out the boy's innocence.

The pleasure surmounted and George unleashed into the boy. He grunted and shuttered with his orgasm. He did it. He had used the boy, forced him. Kyle hated the weight of the man on him. He knew what had just happened. That the man put his seed in him. Kyle was thankful he was male and couldn't get pregnant. He couldn't imagine life with a bastard rape child.

George climbed off and went to shower. The boy laid still bound to the bed, his hole still uncomfortable, fluids slowly leaking out. He felt the warmth flowing down his taint and over his scrotum. He sobbed silently into the mattress.

Once clean George returned to the room in his old man white underwear. It was old and stained and tattered. Typical of a man who is put down by everyone around him. No respect from others, therefore no self-respect. He untied the boy and let him use the bathroom and shower. George sat outside the door ready for the boy to try and make a run for it.

Kyle didn't. He'd already been defeated and used like a whore. George could see the change in the boy's face. He was no longer a boy inside. He was a broken human. He will always be stuck between child and adulthood. George took a normal life away from him and replaced it with who knows what.

George wasn't done though. He was going to do more, take more from the boy. He just had to wait and recharge. His refractory period was much longer than it used to be. The stereo was turned off and the television back on. They sat and watched. Kyle ate the cold food on the nightstand. He hated it but needed to eat something. His ass still hurt, but not as much. He sat naked and ashamed. The man sat next to him on the opposite side of the bed. There was distance between them.

Kyle was tired but too afraid to fall asleep. The fear was irrational, he'd already been kidnapped and raped. How much worse could this get? Yet he was still awake, staring at the television, occasionally stealing glances at the man. His face was still covered, Kyle would never be able to identify him. He has the typical dad bod, nothing special. Pasty white with a smattering of chest and belly hair. His skin looked aged, almost sagging. Seemed like the guy was his father's age.

Kyle thought about his parents again. He was sad that he may never see them again. The sorrow filled him until the tears flowed again. The boy had become a cry baby. There was a time when he had broken his arm, it was a hell of a break, so much so that the arm bent at the break. Kyle didn't even cry from that. Setting the bone was the worst pain he'd ever felt. But physical pain didn't compare to what he was feeling now. What he'd probably feel the rest of his life.

"Why are you doing this?" Kyle asked through the tears.

"Because I have to," George replied.

"But why?" Kyle needed more, wanted more.

"Why does it matter? What's done is done, reason has nothing to do with it." George explained.

Truth is the 'why' didn't really matter. George knew why, but the boy would never understand.

George was ready for another round. He turned the stereo back on and told the boy to lay down, this time no ropes. The boy was already broken, and George felt he was going to comply easily. Although, seeing the boy tied to the bed had some deep eroticism. The boy laid on his stomach expecting the man to use his ass again.

"Turn over." George demanded.

Confused the boy submitted. George found Kyle's small penis attractive. He wondered what it would be like to suck, so he did. He lowered to the boy's crotch, the boy turned his face away and closed his eyes. George took the little piece of flesh into his mouth. Tasted like any other flesh really, nothing special. The foreskin was soft, very pliable. The penis was soft as well, but George could feel more inside. The erectile tissue, the glands just under the foreskin.

Reluctantly the boy got hard. George focused on the changes. The soft penis became bigger and rigid. Stiff, but not hard. Much like his own, but he'd never felt the changes with his mouth. It was like measuring with a more sensitive instrument. Kyle kept his eyes closed, and wished he didn't get hard. The body does what the body does.

Kyle wondered if he was hard because he liked it. Did he like a dirty old man putting his mouth on his most intimate and secret parts? He was at the age that sex had become something a little intriguing. But he never had the desire to do anything with any of his friends. He would idly listen to conversations about girls and boobs and boys and penises and how sex worked. All from other naive boys, all hearsay. Like many generations ago when nothing was written, all information was passed through stories and anecdotes.

Preteen boys were just the same. They told stories of other people's stories about how sex works, what girls look like under their clothes, what homos are, and the like. Stories about stories. How much was factual, how much was real? Some of these boys were bold enough to experiment with each other, some would discover on their own, some would just let nature take its course when they got older. Kyle had no interest in sex or his penis.

On occasion he played with his erection. Pulled the foreskin back and looked at himself with intrigue. But he'd get bored, never brought himself to an orgasm, never even knew he could. He'd heard of older boys doing it, something called whacking or jerking off. He'd heard dozens of different names for it, but still never had an interest. He liked to run, swim, study and play video games with his friends.

The man continued to suck. Even though Kyle was repulsed at the action, something felt good. The man's tongue played with his erect penis. Occasionally his foreskin was pulled back, his exposed glands… so sensitive. Kyle kept his eyes closed. He liked the feeling but didn't want to. No one ever wants their first sexual experience to be rape. Nor their second or third, or any. Consensual is a word for a reason, even though Kyle didn't know the word yet.

The man continued and Kyle squeaked. He felt like he was going to pee but didn't care. If the man got a mouth full of urine he deserved it. Kyle held back as much as he could, but eventually the inevitable. He relaxed and felt an explosion from his groin. He'd never felt anything like this, it was almost amazing. Could have been under the right circumstances. Kyle held his breath while the sensations radiated from his groin to the far reaches of his body.

The man pulled off the boy and moved away. Kyle laid; eyes still closed breathing heavily. The man sat with his back to Kyle. What had he just done? He gave the boy pleasure. Deep down he wanted to, but knew that action went against everything he was trying to accomplish here. He was to take the boy and dominate the boy and throw him away. Then go home and be a man, stand up to his verbally abusive wife and children.

Reacting to this , George knew he had to 'use' the boy again. He still allowed the boy to remain untied. He felt that with the previous abuse, compliance would be given.

"Get on all fours," George demanded in his whisper. Kyle did. He knew that he was going to be fucked again. He wasn't happy, but couldn't see an alternative.

"Please don't," Kyle begged. "I won't tell anyone. Just please don't do it again."

George listened but had no intention of letting the boy off easy. He got onto the bed with the lube and got the boy ready; fingering, one, two, three. He was hard again, no oral needed. George lined up and pushed in. The boy sighed in pain, burying his face in the pillows. He convulsed with sobs, Kyle couldn't stop crying. George did his thing, used the boy. After some time he pulled out.

"On your back," George demanded.

Kyle slowly rolled over, legs closed and laid on his back staring at the ceiling. He had hoped it was over, that the man had had a silent orgasm. George grabbed his legs and pulled them apart and up. Like a woman on her back ready to take a man, Kyle laid now knowing that the man was not done.

George slid between Kyle's legs and reentered the boy. One after the other, he put Kyle's legs over his shoulders. He pumped into the boy, now in the traditional position of the masculine over the feminine. He looked down at the boy's face, who stared to the side, not wanting to look at the man. George grabbed his face and turned it toward his own. Kyle's eyes stared away from the man's face and eyes.

"Look at me," George demanded.

Kyle hesitated for a few more strokes and then reluctantly obeyed. He didn't want to look at or into the man mistreating him. He did not want a connection negative or positive. He wanted a rewind button to take him back 24 hours. He wanted to restart the day and choose not to take his run.

Kyle stared at the man; his face covered with the ski mask. Only his mouth, nose, and eyes showed. Kyle glanced at the man's eyes then focused on his nose. The pores were large and filed with grease and dirt; blackheads. The man was gross and dirty in many ways; Kyle hated him.

"Tell me you enjoy this," George told him. "Look into my eyes and tell me you like being fucked like a little whore."

Kyle looked into his eyes and said nothing. Rather, tears fell down the sides of his face. He could not tell the man. He couldn't even lie to the man. George requested again, nothing. He arched his back and put his weight on one arm, swung with the other. Kyle's head snapped to the side, the trailing cheek stung from a strong backhand. He closed his eyes and pinched out more tears. Snot ran from his nose, but he didn't care.

Clenched jaw, George lowered to the boy's ear and growled, "Tell me."

Head still turned Kyle whispered he liked it.

"Look into my eyes and tell me you love me fucking your tight whore ass."

Kyle built his courage and turned his head. Their eyes met, "I love you fucking my whore ass," he barely managed.

"Louder," George demanded.

Kyle repeated the line a little louder. George continued to demand the line from Kyle, louder each time until he was screaming it into George's face. Kyle was out of control and continued to scream it over and over. George fucked the boy furiously, with anger now. The bed was rocking, the headboard hitting the wall. Kyle was screaming, the white noise from the stereo couldn't drown the noise.

A pounding came from the other side of the wall, the next room with a muffled yell, "Keep it down over there!"

George pulled out of the boy and dragged the bed away from the wall. Kyle rolled onto his side and curled into a ball, fetal position. George climbed back up and behind the boy. His cock found the target, still stretched open and slid in with ease. George continued until he seeded in the boy once again. This time George was sweaty. This one took it out of him. He felt satisfied now. Probably the best orgasm since his first. He was done with the boy but couldn't get rid of him until the next nightfall. He had to ensure his DNA was flushed before disposing of the boy.

He tied the boy back to the bed and showered the sweat and cum and shit and blood off. He had fucked the boy ruthlessly enough to make him bleed. George didn't care. After he was clean he dried and returned to the bed. He cuddled up to the boy like they were lovers and turned the white noise off.

"Make a peep and I will kill you," he warned the boy and drifted off to sleep.

Kyle remained awake, disgusted with the man behind him. He had never hated anyone in his life until today. This hate he knew would remain, forever. The man's arm, was a prison, draped over the naked boy. He laid on his right side staring at the wall. Faux wood paneling. Cheaply manufactured wood to resemble authentic and expensive. Just below the surface, a tiny scratch revealed just how cheap and fake it really was. Much like this entire event, cheap and fake. The man holding him like they were lovers, as though they had just had sex in the most intimate way. Often referred to as 'making love.' Just under that thin veil was the truth. The cheap overerlay of rape and one-hundred percent animal lust.

The ropes were starting to hurt, hurt more anyway. They were tight on his ankles and wrists. For the last however many hours he has been bound for the most part. Bound and forced to do things no one should be forced to do. He could feel his bottom. Still raw from the penetration. He felt fluid leaking, drip by drip from his insides. Rolling down his cheek and onto the bed. He didn't care. He was okay with the man's fluids escaping him, he felt that not having them in him was better. The smell indicated that it wasn't just the man escaping, but natural things too. Again, Kyle didn't care. Maybe a soiled backside would prevent any further intrusion. He laid awake. He stared at the wall.

Kyle didn't realize, but he eventually fell asleep. He jerked awake; the man was still wrapped around him snoring into the back of his neck. Kyle tried loosening the ropes that bound him. They were burning, they were wrapped so tight. He gently manipulated the ends and the knots with his fingers. Occasionally he would stop and listen. The man's breathing was slow, rhythmic, and deep. He was still asleep. He tugged and fought more. Slowly the knots slipped, and he gained a little freedom. He continued to work the knots, they continued to slip. Soon he had his hands free, he pulled the ropes off and moved to the binding on his ankles. These were easier and soon he was free from the ropes.

Getting away from the man, off the bed and out the room was a more difficult issue. Then there was the matter of clothes, he didn't have any. Kyle moved a bit to see if the man would notice; he didn't. Kyle slipped the arm from around him and rolled away. The man moved, he rolled away from Kyle and seemed to remain asleep. Kyle slid off the bed, quietly listening to the man's breathing. The only indication he'd have of the man waking. He carefully snuck to the bathroom and grabbed a towel to wrap around his waist. He was almost free.

He crept to the door. The deadbolt, the doorknob, and the safety chain hung in place. Three things that could arouse the man. Kyle carefully and silently slid the chain then looked at the man, no movement. He unlocked the doorknob and looked at the man, still no movement. He turned the deadbolt last, which clicked loudly. Kyle's head turned with a snap. The man's eyes were open in a flash. Kyle saw the knife on the table, between him and the man. The man also saw the knife. They both sprang for it, Kyle was closer and faster. Kyle now had the upper hand. He was closer to the door. He ran for it and tried to twist the knob. It was locked. Unbeknownst to Kyle, the man did not lock it. Kyle did while trying to unlock the door.

The man was on Kyle quickly. They wrestled, the man stronger and larger, but Kyle still had the knife. The boy swung, and the knife found flesh. The man yelped in pain and moved away from the boy. The knife pulled out of Kyle's hand, stuck in the man's leg.

Kyle saw the knife sticking out of the man's leg, but there was no blood. The man sat on the bed staring at his leg in surprise. This was an opportune time for Kyle to escape, open the door and make a run for it. But he stared at the leg in disbelief. He couldn't believe that he was the one that thrust the knife into the man. Under the circumstances this should have been a normal response, Kyle was still in disbelief.

The man grabbed the handle and pulled. Blood shot from the wound as the blade was removed. The flow was massive. Kyle's instinct kicked in. He unlocked the door and opened it. He stood, a towel around his waist, in the doorway. Freedom was one step away, but he couldn't move. If he left, the man could die. While this was probably the best for everyone, Kyle's conscience wouldn't allow that. He stepped back and closed the door.

Kyle found the roll of duct tape, put it in the bathroom. He collected the man and brought him in and helped wash the wound. The blood kept flowing. Kyle washed; the man was silent. Kyle removed the towel from his waist and held it tightly over the wound.

"Press hard," he told the man.

George pressed, the pain was immense. Probably what I deserve he thought to himself. He couldn't believe that the boy didn't run. That he was here helping him.

Kyle pulled a couple strips of duct tape and hung them from the sink.

"We have to be fast," Kyle said. "Move the towel on three. And, this is going to hurt."

As if George thought there could be more pain.

"One. Two. Three."

George removed the towel, the blood kept flowing. Kyle placed the pieces of tape over the wound, pulling it tight. The blood didn't stop. Kyle then wrapped more over the two pieces and around the man's leg. The blood slowed, but without stiches it was not going to stop.

"How did you know to do that?" George asked. "Why did you do that?"

"My dad is a hunter, he's woods smart." Kyle told him. "And I did it, because even though you raped me, I couldn't bear knowing I let someone die. That I hurt them and didn't care, no matter how terrible they are."

There was silence. Kyle's words struck George deep. He questioned his motives, but he knew all along what he planned to do was wrong. He just hadn't known how else to stand up to his wife, to the other people that constantly put him down. Even after raping the boy, he thought about his wife and she scared him. His children scared him.

"You're going to have to go to the hospital," Kyle told him. "You are going to need stitches or you will bleed to death."

"I'm going to leave now," Kyle told the man, matter of factly. "You better get to the hospital."

Kyle took the soiled sheet from the bed and wrapped it around himself and walked out the door. George knew he had to get the hell out of there. It was only a matter of time until the boy called the police, and they came crashing through the door. George tried to stand, the pain was immense, his leg gave, and he fell. He crawled, it still hurt like nothing he'd ever felt. He did his best to clean all his blood from the bathroom. He removed the ropes from the bed and stuffed them into his overnight bag. He crawled everywhere, to his van and back into the room; taking one or two items at a time. He surveyed the room. It looked just as scummy as when he arrived. He crawled out and into the van and drove away.

He looked for the boy, he looked for the flashing police lights. He saw neither. He drove until morning, had no clue where he was. He found a clinic and entered. He told the staff he was out camping; he fell down a hill, broke his nose and landed on his knife. "That's what you get for drinking too much,"; he told them with a half-smile. The nurse cleaned him up, the doctor stitched the leg. The staff didn't buy the story, but it was easier to get the man cleaned up and out. Calling the police meant paperwork, possibly going to court. No one wanted that.

Epilogue

Kyle walked. He didn't know where he was, so he just walked. In his head the day and night's events played on repeat. He couldn't get it to go away. He recalled being on his run in the morning. He was thinking about his stride, his breathing, about his destination. He focused on those things to distract him from the run. From the discomfort of his working muscles. The breath, in deep, out slow and long. He regulated his breathing as a way to help focus on something other than…

He was on the ground. Someone was on top of him. What the hell? Was it a friend being funny? No, he was on his stomach; arms tied behind his back. He was taken to a hotel and…

Kyle stopped there. He hated thinking about all of it. He was glad it was over, and glad he was alive. But now he had to live with this. He couldn't wait to see his mother, and hold onto her and apologize for acting out.

Kyle was eventually picked up by the police. The officer saw a young boy wandering wrapped in a stained sheet walking along the highway. The officer stopped and talked to the boy. The boy fell into the officer's arms and cried. Kyle was put into the back of the cruiser and brought to the local precinct. His parents were called, but it took them over four hours to arrive. Kyle was a couple of hundred miles away from home, in a small town just outside the city.

The questioning took the rest of the day and into the next. Kyle was not allowed to stay with his parent that evening. Instead, he had to stay in a hospital, under constant observation. Psychiatric, because he had just experienced a trauma few ever have to endure. After the police gathered as much information as they could. And a doctor examined, and a psychologist probed they allowed the boy to return home.

This was just the beginning for Kyle. He was home. In the familiar, yet things looked different. His house was the same house he knew a few days ago, except it wasn't. Kyle noticed but couldn't quite explain. A waffle is just a waffle unless it's a waffle after a near death experience. Then it's the best waffle one has ever tasted. While Kyle may not have really been near death, at the time he had had no clue if he'd survive. He was ripped from the normal and now had to recreate something new.

It started with the days, get through each day. Those turned into weeks, get through each week. Then months, then years. Kyle grew into a young man, but not without problems. He didn't give up running. He still ran and ran the same route. He was determined to not let the man control the rest of his life after the one incident.

While Kyle had trust issues with many adults, nightmares that would wake him and his parents; he normalized fairly well. Kyle grew up too fast. Was practically an adult before the anniversary of the event. Yet, he would probably never grow past the young age his innocence was taken from him.

George returned home. He knew that his lie was going to be exposed by the condition of his face and the wound causing the limp. He went from coward to 'man' mode. He stopped at the car dealership on his way home. He figured he was going to go to prison in the near future. The boy would tell the police and they would eventually find him. George had nothing to lose.

He traded the minivan for that model year Mustang. He knew this would piss his wife off, but he felt ready. He parked in the driveway and limped into the house.

"What the hell happened to your face, you get your ass kicked?" she asked in a mocking voice.

"I want a divorce, and a DNA test for both kids," he told her and walked through he family room into the bathroom.

He closed the door and looked at himself in the mirror. He was shocked at what he saw looking back at him. It wasn't the him he could remember, it was a different version. He felt he looked better with that gash across his nose. He felt better inside. He smiled at himself happy that he stood up against that bitch.

George returned to the family room. His wife was staring out the window at the car in the driveway.

"What the hell is that?" she asked, still with her mocking tone.

"My new car," he told her.

"How do you think you can afford that?" she mockeded.

"Because my dear, I have been hiding money from you for years. And because my dear, when it's proven that you cheated on me and those bastard children aren't mine, you will be paying for it."

George felt guilty calling his children 'bastards'. He did love them like they were his own, but he was standing up against all the people that treated him like crap all his life.

Time passed and it was proven that George was not the father of either child. He went to a lawyer and had their marriage annulled and is collecting alimony. George felt great about the change he had made in his life, but not about how he did it. The money he got from his ex-wife… Well, with an annulment she was never his wife. But the money she had to give him he started a non-profit charity for abused children. George's life went from pathetic to the opposite. The man that abused a child, was now doing what he could to prevent that from happening to others.

Every day though there was a bit of guilt and the thought that at any moment the police would crash through his door with an arrest warrant. While the guilt remained, but the police never showed up.

The End