Once a woman was feeling horny, and told her young son to go to his grandmother's and borrow the old woman's dildo. The child packed a snack – ring-shaped cakes and bread with oil – and set out, fat little bottom bouncing behind him as he toddled down the path. Before long he came to the Jordan River.

"Jordan River, will you let me pass?"

"Yes, if you give me your ring-shaped cakes."

The Jordan River had a weakness for ring-shaped cakes, which he enjoyed squeezing around his watery cock.

The child tossed the cakes into the river, and the water splashed and swirled as Jordan River slid the cakes, one by one, over his aqueous organ, and pleasured himself so vigorously that a dam burst several miles downstream. However, the ring-shaped cakes soon became so soggy that they broke apart, and Jordan River decided he could do one better. The river swelled up the bank and a man, a very tall man who was solid but at the same time see-through, and looked like he was made all of water, rose out of the surging waves and slopped toward the boy. The tarty tot gazed in wonderment as a long, translucent cock bobbed up from between the riverman's legs, for Jordan River also had a weakness for little boys, especially boys so obviously designed for dick.

"Those cakes didn't do the job, I'm afraid. It'll have to be your ring-shaped cunt!"

And before the little boy could so much as consent, he was tipped over on his back like a turtle. His short trousers were tugged away and his chubby cheeks spread to reveal a rosy little ring, just like a ring-cake, but much prettier and, Jordan River thought, swiping his cold dripping tongue over the rose, and making the boy shriek in surprise, much tastier. He placed the head of his river-rod against the hole in the centre of the ring, which was no bigger than the head of a pin, and, with the force of a raging torrent and the inexorability of an incoming tide, thrust into the boy's virgin hole. The riverman's prick felt enormous as it filled the boy's backdoor, but because it was so wet and slippery it went in with no trouble at all, and came out just as easily.

"Oh! oh!" the hairless harlot squeaked, as the river's cock pounded his childcunt like a waterfall.

"Jesus," Jordan River groaned, "you're tighter than motherfucking Jesus." (Mark 1:9)

So tight was he in fact, that ere long Jordan River was gushing like a geyser, all up the boy's slippery sperm-slide.

"Oo-er," the boy said, as his poor post-virginal bum was blasted, and his belly bulged out so he looked like a woman with child. It got so big it burst clean through the little waistcoat his grandmother had stitched for him and sent the buttons flying in every direction with a pop-pop-pop.

When Jordan River at last pulled out, the boy's tummy deflated, it all came rushing out again, and he was swept quite away. He thought he would be drowned, but when the waters receded, he was lying on the other side of the river, which now flowed placid and gentle between its banks, streaks of white foam floating on the surface.

The little boy got to his feet and watched with dismay as his short trousers sailed merrily down the river. At least he still had his waistcoat, though, lacking buttons, it couldn't be done up. He hoped Grandmother wouldn't be too upset about that. He picked up his bundle and set off once more for Grandmother's, frothy water drip-drip-dripping from his hole and leaving a wet trail behind him.

Eventually he came to the Rape Gate. The Gate was made of black iron, and in the middle of it was a round knob. The boy took hold of it with his little white hand, but the knob, which seemed quite stiff, as if it had not been oiled for centuries, turned only slowly, and as it did the Rape Gate let out a long moan. When he tried turning the knob harder, the Gate moaned even louder. It was difficult work for a small boy who was not very strong, and no matter how hard the boy twisted and no matter how loud the Gate moaned, it would not open. He let go, and reached up to wipe his brow, which was sweaty from the effort.

"Rape Gate, will you let me pass?"

"Yes, if you give me what I want," said the Rape Gate, annoyed that the boy had stopped touching his knob.

"What do you want?"

"I'm literally called 'the Rape Gate'," said the Rape Gate. "What the fuck do you think I want?"

He had to think for a while, for the little whore's bum was bigger than his brain. Finally, he got it. "You want what Jordan River wanted! You want my ring-shaped cunt!"

"Very good, you woolly-headed bitchbaby," the Rape Gate mocked. "Now bend over and fuck yourself on my knob."

The boy blanched as he eyed the knob, which was fatter than his mother's fist, and all dry and flaking with rust.

"That will hurt very much," he said, lower lip a-quivering.

"Rub my knob all over with your oily bread," the Rape Gate said, "and it'll go into your wee ring-a-rosy lickety-split."

"It will lickety-split me in half!" the boy said, but did as the Rape Gate instructed and rubbed the knob with the bread until it glistened and gleamed. Then, taking a deep breath and chanting softly to himself I'm-a-brave-boy-I'm-a-brave-boy, he turned around, bent over to touch his toes and backed onto the knob.

When the iron handle popped past his keyhole, tears started to his eyes, for even though it was not nearly as long as Jordan River's cock, it was wider, and little boy's bottoms are, after all, not built to take such batterings (Just kidding! That's exactly what boys' bums were built for: to be battered and buggered and bred and, if one is too rough (as one should be), bled. Y'all heard what I said: bash them in bed, dick them till they're dead!). But the boy was determined to get through the Gate. Clenching his teeth and his bumhole, he wriggled his arse from side to side to loosen the knob. At first, all it did was hurt — hurt like nothing had ever hurt before. The boy persevered. Blinking away tears and clamping down on the knob as tightly as he could, he shook his hips in a sort of shimmy, like he was trying to unscrew the knob, or screw himself onto it. Finally, when he felt the lump of metal rotating smoothly with each twist of his hips, he pulled himself off with a small sob of pain, and face-planted in the dirt.

When he had recovered somewhat, he got to his feet, tried to brush the dirt off his face, but only smudged it further, and limped up to the gate. He gingerly touched the knob, which was sticky with oil, his ass-juices and a little blood, and found that it turned quite easily. However, the gate itself would not budge.

"It still won't open," the boy whimpered.

"That's because the latch is down, cum-for-brains," the Rape Gate said, with a nasty chuckle.

Blushing at his own stupidity, the dopey slutchild lifted the latch and went through.

At long last, he reached his grandmother's house, but the door was shut tight–as tight as the little boy's ring, or rather, as tight as it had been before he left home that morning.

"Grandmother, Grandmother, let me come in."

"I'm in bed sick. Come through the window."

The boy jumped up and down, trying to pull himself through the window, but he was too short for his stubby fingers to reach the sill.

"I can't make it."

"Come through the cat door."

The boy obediently got on his knees and stuck his head through the catflap. His narrow shoulders went through without a hitch, and his slender middle followed just as quickly–until it came to his hips, which is where the boy had a problem.

The problem was that his bum was too big. Much, much too big, in fact. Too big to fit through the cat door (and too big by far for a boy, and a boy his age! his mother had often lamented, rather unfairly, since it was from her that he had inherited this striking attribute). It was horribly embarrassing, the sweetfaced slutchild thought, blushing as he huffed and puffed and tried to squeeze through the small opening. His buttocks bulged obscenely against the doorframe as he continued to huff and heave, and with each heave the two glabrous globes jiggled like they were being slapped by some enormous, invisible hand or fucked by some enormous, invisible cock (like that of an ogre, though his was very much visible–but we're getting ahead of ourselves). It was a bewitching, transfixing, dick-twitching sight, the boy's seemingly disembodied bottom bare for anyone to see, presented so elegantly within the square frame like a picture in a gallery, gleaming iridescent white in the late afternoon sunshine and looking so cute and plump and rapable that if you had been there, dear reader, you would have been up that little boy's bumhole faster than he could say huh-what-are-you-doing-aaaaahhhhh!

Finally, the boy gave up and shuffled his butt back out the cat door, emerging with hair mussed and cheeks flushed so they looked like two red apples.

"I can't squeeze through."

"Well, wait a minute," the voice from inside the house said.

He waited, and then yelped when the end of a rope fell out of the window and slapped him across the face like a wet dick. He tied it around his middle, and was hoisted up through the window. The room was dark. In bed was the ogre, not the Grandmother, for the ogre, finding the Grandmother too old and ugly for raping, had gobbled her up piece by piece from head to toe, all except her teeth, which he had put on to stew in a small stew pan, and her wrinkly tits, which he had put on to fry in a frying pan.

"Grandmother, Mamma wants the–um–th-the…the you-know," the boy stammered because, incredible as it may seem in light of all that had befallen him, he was still innocent enough that he couldn't bring himself to say the word dildo to his grandmother.

"It's late now. I'll give it to you tomorrow. Come to bed, my dear grandslu–erm, grandson." Come to bed, the ogre thought hungrily, and I'll give it to you now.

"Grandmother, I'm hungry, I want my supper first." I'll give you your supper all right, the ogre thought. A main course of cock with a salt and sticky pudding.

But he said, "Eat the beans boiling in the boiler."

In the pot were the teeth. The child, who was so stupid he honestly deserved to be raped, stirred them around and said, "Grandmother, they're too hard."

Not as hard as my cock will be pulverising your tiny cunt, thought the ogre.

"Well, eat the fritters in the frying pan."

In the frying pan were the tits. The child, who was very, very stupid, and was honestly good for nothing but raping, felt them with the fork and said, "Grandmother, they're not crisp."

"Well, come to bed, my darling bi–I mean, boy. You can eat tomorrow." And the day after that, and the day after that, and every day for the rest of your life–however long that is, and I'll make no guarantees, the ogre thought happily, squeezing his cudgel.

And the little boy, who was so colossally, astoundingly stupid that it was honestly a crime that he hadn't been raped the moment he first opened his dumb whore mouth, got into bed beside Grandmother.

He felt one of the ogre's hands and said, "Why are your hands so rough, Grandmother?"

From choking the ones who made too much noise, thought the ogre.

"From giving too many tummy-rubs to puppies."

He felt his belly. "Why is your belly so hairy, Grandmother?"

From crushing the ones who couldn't take my weight, thought the ogre.

"From eating too much sugar and spice."

He felt his thighs. "Why are your thighs so muscly, Grandmother?"

From chasing down the ones who tried to run away, thought the ogre.

"From dandling too many beautiful young babes on them."

He then felt between his legs, where he encountered a long, fat, warm thing, like a freshly-made sausage. This gave the little boy pause, and he thought for a while, while the sausage grew hotter and thicker in his little hand, so thick that his fingers couldn't fit round even half its girth. Eventually the retarded sissyfaggot came to the conclusion that, hairy or not, Grandmother had never had a sausage between her legs. Therefore, it had to be the ogre and nobody else.

So he said, "Grandmother, I can't go to sleep unless I first go and take care of a little business."

The ogre's calloused fingers came snaking down the boy's body to fondle his wee willy. "Do it in the bed, my sweet."

The boy squirmed in discomfort. "Oh, no, Grandmother, I meant the other thing. I have to do it or I wet the bed."

The ogre reluctantly withdrew his hand and said, with a grunt, "Go do it in the barn below. I'll let you down through the trapdoor and then draw you back up."

He tied a rope around the boy's waist and lowered him into the barn. The minute the little boy was down he untied the rope and in her place attached a nanny goat.

"Are you done?" asked the ogre.

"Just a minute." He finished tying the rope around the nanny goat. "There, I've finished. Pull me back up."

The ogre pulled and pulled, and while he was pulling the boy threw open the barn door and fled. The ogre kept pulling, and up came the nanny goat. So eager to fuck the child was he, the ogre pounced on the animal and in the dark failed to notice that it wasn't the little boy. As the child ran out of the barn, he heard the goat bleating loud enough to raise all the devils in hell (fortunately the devils were all too busy wanking as they watched the little boy run naked down the lane).

When the ogre, who by this point was in full swing, went to pull the boy's hair, he felt horns instead, and realised he'd been tricked. Howling with fury, he jumped out of bed and bounded after the little boy, his huge hard cock slapping against his belly with each stride.

Boing-boing-boing went the little boy's bottom as he ran. Thwack-thwack-thwack went the ogre's big cock as he followed.

When the child reached the Rape Gate, the ogre yelled from a distance: "Rape Gate, don't let him pass!"

But the Rape Gate replied, "Sorry mate, he knows to lift the latch, so I can't actually stop him. Good luck catching the brat–give him a good raping from me!"

When the child reached the Jordan River, the ogre shouted, "Jordan River, don't you let him pass!"

But Jordan River answered, "Of course I'll let him pass; he gave me his ring-shaped cakes. And his ring-shaped cunt. Well, when I say 'gave,' it's more like I took it without asking. What are boys for, after all? But I'm not letting you get at him–that thing'd turn him inside out!"

So, when the ogre tried to get through, the Jordan River did not lower his waters, and the ogre was swept back to the far side. On the other bank, the little boy did a dance of victory, while the ogre panted and cursed, monstrous member slick and straining, as if it yearned to leap across the river and bury itself in the boy's bum.

"You vixen! You trollop! You wench! I'll rape you so red you'll be dead before I'm done! I'll hammer you so hard I'll turn all your insides to mincemeat! I'll dick you so deep I'll be coming out your cocksucking mouth!"

"Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah!" the boy teased, turning around to taunt his would-be ravisher with the twin moons of his delectable, mouth-watering arse. He stamped his feet and clapped his cheeks, and waggled his behind fit to blind the angels (or make them fall–on him!). And there, winking pink-eyed between the wibbling buttocks, the tiny boycherry, though cherry no longer, though no longer pure and undefiled, was lovely and fuckable–and alas! utterly, utterly unattainable to the ogre, stranded across a river from the prettiest prey he had ever laid eyes or hands or dick on.

It was too much. A maddening mixture of lust and rage boiled up inside the beast, churning inside his onion-sized, low-hanging bollocks.

"Hrnnnnggghhh!"

The ogre bellowed as his footlong fuckstick spasmed and jerked and fired off a veritable volley of sperm. His load shot so far and so high that it soared clean over the river and splattered onto the boy, drenching him from head to foot in a blanket of thick ogre milk.

"Ugh!" the little boy said, and decided he'd better get home so he could have a bath.

But when he got through the door, he realised that in his haste to get away from the ogre and his big boy-raping cock, he'd forgotten all about granny's dildo. His mother, even hornier than when he'd left, (almost as horny as the ogre, in fact), was not happy.

"What the fuck happened to your clothes?" she shouted, beating the boy about the ears until his head was whirling like a spinning top. "And why are you all slimy and stinky? Why, you dirty, disgusting wee thing–that's jism you're wearing all over yer; I'd know the smell a mile away. You been out tarting? How many men've had you? You look like you've been swimming in it, you filthy little faggot. And at your age! For shame! Oh, and to think how I raised you to be a good Christian boy–not a spunk-swallowing spawn of Satan!"

The boy tried to explain to her about the ogre, but listening to such nonsense only made his mother box his ears even harder. "You stupid slut of a boy–there's no such thing as ogres! Now off you go, and this time try to not to flaunt your fat fanny at every hairy tom and dick, you devil-child. If you're not back with that dildo by sundown, it'll be your arse that gets it, not mine!"

So the poor little bumboy had no choice but to leave home once again, and return to the river where the ogre was waiting for him on the other side, ginormous dick red and rampant and ready for raping. And I'm sorry to say that the woman saw neither the grandmother, nor the dildo, nor her son, ever again. The ogre, for his part, lived very happily ever after and the little boy also lived happily–well, actually, I'm not sure if he would have been all that happy. Ogres, as we've established, are very well-endowed. But he lived–well, I can't say if that's true either. Ogres are very well-endowed. At any rate, we've reached the end–of the Grandmother, and probably of the little boy too (definitely of his cute lil ass lmao). The ogre, I am happy to say, went on to rape many more little boy (and girl) sluts, and as is usual for ogres, his big, hard childraping dick got bigger and harder and rapey-er with each kiddycunt it destroyed, until the mere sight of it was enough to make most children drop dead from fright, and the ogre had to resort to necrophilia.

But those are stories for another time.

The moral of this story

is that little boys

who are sluttish enough

to fuck rivers and gates

(what the fuck)

and stupid enough

that they can't tell beans from teeth

fritters from tits

or their own grandmother from an ogre

(what the actual fuck)

deserve to be raped

good and hard and long

and probably will be

because some boys' bums

are bigger than their brains

and not all ogres

live in fairytales.

The End