Noone Special

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Chapter One

Half listening to her cover story, the manager couldn't help but wonder if this woman thought he'd actually buy it. He'd seen people off the street before, and no amount of fast talking on her part (especially considering half of the words coming out of her mouth were slurred) would convince him that she was really "just in town to see her brother, who forgot she was coming and didn't make arrangements." After she contradicted herself for the fourth time, he cut in.

"Look lady, I really don't give a crap why you need the room, or what you plan to do there. Only thing that matters to me is you pay the bill and don't cause me no trouble. Do that, and we'll get along just fine. It's sixty bucks a night, in advance. You got the cash or not?"

The woman flushed and the child kept humming. Reaching into her worn out plastic purse, she retrieved three crumpled up twenties and passed them over the counter. Swapping the bills for a silver key, the man examined them cautiously. Satisfied they were real, he handed her a set of papers. "Sign at the bottom. You're in room one-sixteen."

Scribbling something where indicated, the woman turned to leave, tugging at her inattentive son to make him follow. She was just opening the door to leave when the manager called out, "There's a dayroom at the end of the row with a TV and a water cooler, if you want to ditch the kid for a while once your John arrives."

Turning around, the woman shot him a glare, but remained silent as she walked out into the blaring sun and the heat of the parking lot. Leading her son quickly to the designated room, she fumbled with the lock and ushered the boy inside. Relocking the door and sliding the chain in place, the woman let go of her son's hand and rushed through the room, locking the window and turning the ancient air conditioner on high before wandering into the bathroom. Dropping the plastic bags on the sink and stared at herself in the mirror. Failing an attempt to fluff her hair, the woman sighed and quickly washed her face. The running water had a gray tint as it flowed down the drain. She reached for a hand towel, then stopped. Her face went pale and she rushed over to the toilet, barely lifting the lid before the first wave of vomit burst forth.

Seemingly unaffected by his mother's sickness, the boy continued humming as he slowly explored the room. There were two twin beds, each with matching comforters and flat, worn out pillows. He leapt onto the one nearest the door, only to find it stiff and uncomfortable. Sitting back up, he noticed the tiny television and searched for the remote. He found it just as the sounds of his mother's illness ended with a loud groan. His tune repeated itself again as the screen flickered on and he began scanning through the channels. He settled on an old Tom and Jerry cartoon and started to turn up the volume when his mother screamed "Would you cut out that fucking noise already? I swear to god, one more sound and I'll beat your ass."

Finding the mute button, the boy sat in silence, his eyes locked onto the screen as Jerry got the best of Tom for the tenth million time. A minute later, he heard his mom filling the tub and decided it was safe to start humming his endless song again.

A few minutes passed and the show ended. He was about to start looking for something else to watch when his mother poked her head through the door.

"Mal, get in here. It's time to get washed up."

Dropping the remote and bounding over to his mother, Mal raised his arms as she stripped his torn and tattered T-shirt from him. The neck got caught around his head, and the swift tug from his mother that finally got it off left his face and ears burning. His mom started to turn back to the tub, but stopped.

"You still have that fucking thing?" She asked, pointing at the thin beaded necklace that had been hidden under the shirt. Confused, the boy looked down and, using one hand to turn the beads so he could see his name spelled out, meekly replied "I like it. Richard gave it to me."

Shaking her head, his mother sighed and pushed him towards the toilet. "That stupid fucking cop. Always so fucking better than us; offering to pay for this and buy that. Sit down and take a shit, I've got to make a phone call."

Left alone, the boy worked on unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, letting them fall to the ground on their own accord once he succeeded. Stepping out of his jeans and his shoes at the same time, Mal took a glance at his reflection. His skin was as filthy as the clothes he had just discarded; what should have been a pale-peach color was instead a sickly grey, with streaks and dark spots where the filth was especially heavy. His underwear had started off white, but were now covered with spots of grey and yellow. They were starting to wear out in the crotch, and he could see bits of his privates through some of the holes. Pushing them down to his ankles, the boy looked at his reflection again and pulled back his foreskin, proud to see that at least his little helmet was its proper red-purplish color.

He heard his mother mumbling into the phone from the other room and remembered her instructions. Kicking his underwear across the floor, he flushed the toilet (his mother's sick was still floating on top of the water) and hopped onto the seat. He started humming again as he sat, calmly emptying his bladder and bowels as he listened to his mother's conversation in the other room.

"Yeah, he's in the bathroom now. I got him some new clothes like you said… no, I haven't told him… I paid sixty bucks for the room, we didn't agree on that… okay. We're in one-sixteen, when is he coming by? Just a sec, Malcolm, I told you to shut the fuck up!" Mal snapped his jaw shut, cutting his song off mid-note. After a brief pause, his mom continued. "How much did you get him up to? Shit, really? Okay, I got to get Mal washed up before he gets here. See you soon Slick."

Mal heard her hang up the phone as he was wiping himself, and his mom returned into the bathroom just as he was flushing the toilet. Quickly moving to the tub, his mom turned off the water and grabbed the showerhead off the wall. "Get in."

Obeying quickly, the boy stepped in the water and shivered. "It's cold."

"Why the fuck are you complaining? It's been a hundred degrees [38°C] outside all week and you bitch when you get to sit in a nice cool tub in an air conditioned bathroom?"

Of course, even with the air conditioner at full blast, the room was still in the eighties, but Mal kept quiet as his mom sprayed his hair and started working in some of the hotel's sample-sized shampoo. He closed his eyes as the grey foam started to slide down his face and he wondered how long they were going to live in this room. They'd stayed in hotel for a couple days after they first moved out of the apartment, but they'd been living in a women's shelter for the last few weeks since it was free. He'd heard his mom arguing with fat black lady a few nights ago, and in the morning she told him they weren't going back there again.

Gasping at the cold water as she leaned him back to rinse his hair out, Mal splashed his face a bit to get the soap away from his eyes. When he opened them again, his mom was working up lather in a washcloth. Soon satisfied, she set down the miniature bar of soap and looked at him. "Stand up."

Splashing his way to his feet, the boy shivered again as she quickly worked the cloth around his body. She was being more thorough than usual, much more so than he was used to, but then again he was also much dirtier than he usually was at bath time. He couldn't suppress a gasp when she moved to his crotch, forcing him to spread his legs as she washed his perineum. She didn't usually do that, and she spent much longer in that area than she did on the rest of his body. When she finally told him to sit down and rinse off, his face was quite red with confusion and embarrassment.

Tossing her son the washcloth, the woman stood and started to leave. "I'm going for a smoke. Finish up quick and don't make a mess. Put on the new clothes when you get out." He started humming again as soon as she was out of the door.

Splashing around for a bit before he realized the water had nearly turned black and there was a thick layer of sediment on the bottom of the tub, Mal finished scrubbing the parts of his body his mom had missed-being extra careful when he pulled back his foreskin again-before getting out of and grabbing a towel off the wall. He stared at the drain for a few minutes as he dried himself, trying to figure out how it worked, before shrugging and moving over to the sink, where he started rummaging through the plastic Wal-mart bags. He found a white "wife-beater" T, which he immediately donned, and he gasped when he saw a package of cartoon underwear. Tearing it open, he sorted through them, trying to decide between Batman and Spiderman until he saw Godzilla in the back. Nearly squealing, he quickly stepped into them and, after carefully adjusting it to fit properly, studied himself in the mirror. Grinning proudly, he let out a fierce roar and burst into giggles before running back into the main room and jumping on the bed. The TV was still on, and Bugs Bunny was getting the best of Daffy again. Mal quickly turned up the volume and resumed humming his song, although he was frequently interrupted buy bursts of laughter.

After Daffy had his beak blown off for the umpteenth time and the credits came up, Mal realized that his mom wasn't back yet. Hopping to his feet, he walked over to the window and looked out to see his mother talking to a very tall black man in a purple suit and another man in a fancy suite. Satisfied that his mom was okay and realizing that he might get scolded for staring at mom while she was talking to her friends, Mal went over to the TV and got lost in another cartoon.

A few minutes into it, the door opened and his mom and the fancy suite guy came in. Mal stopped humming again and looked up.

"I'm going out for a while sweetie; this man is going to watch you for me. Be sure to do everything he says and don't give him no trouble, okay."

"Okay."

And the door closed, and Mal went back to his cartoon, humming his song. He was laying on the bed on his belly with his legs up in the air-they bounced a bit as the man sat down next to him and put his large hand on the boy's shoulder. "What's your name, Champ?"

"Mal."

"That's an unusual name. Is it short for something?"

"Uh-huh. Malcolm, but mom's the only one who ever calls me that, and only when she's mad."

"Well Mal, my name is James. It's a pleasure to meet you." The man extended the hand not on the boy's shoulder, and Mal giggled and reached over to give an awkward handshake. Mal returned his attention to the TV, and they sat in as much silence as the roadrunner and Wil E. Coyote would allow. In his distraction, Mal barely noticed the man massaging the bare skin on his shoulder, the hand slowly working its way over his shirt.

"Well Mal, how old are you?"

"Seven and a half."

"No, really?" The man gasped in mock surprise. Grabbing the boy's arm, he squeezed gently. "You've got some pretty big guns for a seven and a half year old. Are you sure you're not pulling my leg?"

The boy giggled a bit and shook his head. "Nope."

The cartoon was going to commercial, so the man grabbed the boy by the underarms and lifted him into his lap. "Flex for me, I want to see just how big these python's actually are." Raising his arm and clenching his muscles, the boy giggled. "Boy, I bet the girls are just all over you, aren't they? You ever kiss one?"

Shaking his head furiously with a very articulate "Eww" accompanying it, both the man and boy laughed a bit.

"Well that's good. You know that girls have Cooties, right? If you catch them, then you spend the rest of your life giggling uncontrollably in your underpants."

"You do not!"

"Wanna bet?" And with that, the man began tickling the boy ferociously. Kicking and laughing, Mal tried to escape, but to no avail. "Uh oh, you lied to me. You kissed a girl, and now you have Cooties, isn't that right?"

"No… Stop… Please!" the boy managed to gasp between laughs as his belly and armpits were mercilessly assaulted. Finally, after a few minutes of torture, the man stopped, one hand on the boy's upper thigh, the other clutching him tightly to his chest. The boy struggled to catch his breath and looked up at the man and smiled. His mom usually just left him by himself when she went somewhere, and even when she did get someone to watch him, they would usually just sleep or make him keep quiet while they did whatever they wanted. Lately she'd just been dropping him off at a local park and he'd wait for her by the swings. Needless to say, the boy was relishing in the adult attention he was getting from James.

The commercial ended, and Mal turned his attention back to the flickering screen. He snuggled back into the man a little bit, resting his head against a fairly broad chest and sighing deeply. Before very long he was humming again. The man kissed his hair and began rubbing his thigh gently.

"I like that song; does it have a name?"

The boy shook his head and kept humming, the antics on the screen keeping all of is attention, distracting him from the hand that was slowly making its way onto the front of his Godzilla underpants. Finally realizing what James was up to when the man gave him a gentle squeeze, the boy stopped humming and looked up, his expression a mix of surprise, confusion, and curiosity.

"Keep singing that song for me, I want to hear the rest of it."

Resuming where he left off, the boy tried to turn his attention back to the TV, but ended up watching the show the man's hand was putting on instead.

"Has anyone ever touched you there before? And taking a bath doesn't count"

Shaking his head, Mal scooted back a bit and opened his legs a bit. He felt something poking against his butt, and so he wiggled around a bit, finally setting with the big thing in the man's lap resting in his crease.

"Do you like it?" James asked, his other hand slowly working its way up the boy's shirt, rubbing his belly in a slow, circular motion around the boy's naval. Mal nodded his head slowly, and James realized his breathing was changing. Kissing the boy's damp hair again and inhaling deeply the scent of the hotel's shampoo, the man slid his hand under the boy's elastic waistband and grasped his slowly hardening penis. Mal gasped a bit, but kept humming.

"I'm going to show you something real special that only grownups are supposed to know about. Would you like that, Mal?"

Nodding again, the boy was a bit disappointed when the man removed his hands and set him on the floor. Spinning him around, James grasped the boy by the neck and pulled him close, shocking the boy with a passionate kiss. The boy had been opening his mouth to question what was happening, and he found his mouth filled for the first time by someone else's tongue. Unsure what to do, the boy pulled back at first, but finding that the man held him firmly, he surrendered and closed his eyes. James had closed his, so Mal was pretty sure he was doing the right thing.

The man spent minutes exploring the inside of the boy's mouth, gently prodding and probing and attempting to provoke the boy's tongue to reciprocate. Eventually, Mal worked up the courage and found his tongue responding to the invader a bit, but never leaving his mouth. He started giggling and opened his eyes again, and the man soon broke the kiss.

"You taste great," James complemented, "but there's something missing." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a butterscotch hard candy, and grinned as Mal's eyes lit up. "Boys should taste sweeter."

Mal grabbed for the treat, but James held it out of reach. Popping it out of the wrapper, he tossed it in his own mouth and grinned wickedly at the disappointed child. Mal's face was just forming the beginnings of a pout when James whispered "You want it, come and get it."

Blushing pink as he realized what James meant, Mal swallowed deeply and closed his eyes, leaning forward with his lips puckered. Their mouths touched, and Mal nervously pushed his tongue through their parted lips to explore the man's mouth. He felt the tip slide across a hard, sweet surface, and he tried to retrieve it, but the man slid it back, swirling it around, hiding and taunting the boy's tongue deeper and deeper. Mal wrapped his arms around the man's neck and held tight, and after a few minutes he emerged victorious.

Smiling ear to ear, the boy stuck his tongue out, proudly displaying his trophy. James smiled and cupped the boy's bottom, pulling him back into another kiss, although this one was much shorter. The man moved his lips to the boy's neck, and slipped his hands inside the boy's underwear. Exploring the boy's porcelain skin with both his hands and his lips, he dug ever deeper, finally finding his finger resting against the child's hidden orifice. Mal gasped and squirmed as the man rhythmically pressed against his back entrance, but James didn't try to force his way in.

Instead, he stripped the boy's shirt and threw it across the room. Lifting the boy into the air and spinning, the man pinned the child to the bed and slowly worked his way down the boy's body with his tongue. Mal started moaning, and James stopped nibbling at his captive's nipples long enough to notice the black and silver bead necklace. Lifting it up with a finger, he made eye contact with the boy and whispered "what's this?"

"My necklace," the boy answered, still breathing heavily. "Richard gave it to me."

"Who's Richard?" James returned his attention to the boy's nipples, slowly provoking them.

"I used to live next door to him," Mal whispered, followed by a gasp. "He was nice to me and used to watch me when mom was busy."

Tracing his tongue on the boy's sternum as he slowly moved south, James paused and nipped at the boy's ribcage.

"Did you ever see his pee-pee?"

"Uh-huh. We went to the bathroom at the same time once. It was Huge!"

"Did he ever touch you or do things like this with you?"

"Nuh-uh."

James was lapping at Mal's naval now, slowly making his way down and tracing along the 'V' that formed at his premature pelvis. He looked down to see the boy's small organ stretching against his Godzilla underwear, and the man couldn't help but chuckle 'free the beast' as he lived the boy's hips up and pulled the garment down to the boy's knee's. The hard little member swung upward and strained, its little helmet just barely poking its way through the foreskin.

"Get ready Mal, you're really going to like this," James warned as he exposed the boy's glands with his fingertips. The boy propped himself up on his elbows and looked down curiously. "Try to keep quiet though.

With no further ado, the Mal's erection vanished into a warm, wet tunnel. A loud, long gasp escaped his throat, and his eyes rolled back into his skull. The boy moaned in pleasure, and then disappointment as the man once again moved down, suckling at his two tiny testicles for a few seconds before going even lower.

Trying to squirm both away from and towards the invader at the same time, Mal moaned loudly as his anus was penetrated for the first time by a warm, wet, slimy object. James swirled and probed and bathed the boy's entrance for a few minutes before replacing his tongue with his middle finger and returning his focus to the boy's pulsing erection.

Mal's elbows collapsed and he fell to his back, his hands finding refuge in his lover's hair. His eyes closed and he started humping the man's face unconsciously, each thrust timed with a high-pitched grunt. The boy barely even noticed when James inserted a second finger.

A few minutes passed, and James lifted his head up, letting the boy's penis drop from his mouth. "Noooo…" Mal whined, propping himself back up to meet the man's eyes. "Please don't stop."

"Don't worry Mal, I'm not done." Reaching into his jacket pocket with his free hand, James removed a small digital camera, being careful not to remove the fingers he had deeply imbedded the boy. "I just wanted to take some pictures to remember this by."

Mal would have blushed, had his face not already been beet read from the previous activities. "But…" the boy started to protest as the first series of flashes half blinded him as James captured images of the boy's beauty. "I'm naked; you're not supposed to take pictures of someone who doesn't have their clothes on."

Prompted by the protests, the man zoomed in on the boy's soggy erection and continued snapping pictures. "I've never heard that rule. Don't worry, I promise I'm not going to show them to anyone. They're just for me to remember how beautiful you are."

Not completely satisfied by the man's explanation, Mal frowned, but remained silent as the man captured dozens of images, including close-ups of the boy's anus, still stretched around the intruding fingers.

Finally appearing satisfied, the man examined the camera screen. Mal squirmed a bit, his anus clamping down on the man's fingers momentarily. "You promise you're not going to show them to anyone?"

James grinned and pointed the camera back at the boy's face just as he twisted and spread his fingers inside the boy. "Yeah, I promise."

Snapping a few last pictures of the boy's grimacing face, the man removed his fingers. After he'd taken a few shots of the boy's hole without anything inside, he set the camera down and removed his jacket, his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"What are you doing?" The boy asked, cocking his head curiously.

"Getting ready for the second part of the game," the man answered as he threw his shirt onto the other bed. "There's more to it than just me sucking on your cock."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see in a bit." Undoing his fly, the man reached into his pocket and removed a small tube before dropping his drawers and kicking off his shoes. His massive erection slapped against his belly, leaving a small dab of pre-cum just below his naval. He looked up to see Mal's eyes wide and focused intently on his tool. Laughing, James spun the cap off the tube in his hands and squeezed some of the contents onto the fingers that had been impaled in the boy not long before. "Ever seen one this big before?"

"Nuh-UH!" The latter part of the boy's response was much louder, primarily in response to the man's fingers having forced their way back into his rectum, spreading slippery goop all the way inside. The boy gasped and grunted as the man spun and spread the assaulting fingers for a few seconds before once again devouring the boy's tiny cock. A few minutes passed with the man swirling and suckling and probing before he decided to up the ante.

The boy sighed a bit as James removed most of his fingers, leaving just the tip inside. He was not, however, as pleased when he realized the next step James had planed.

"No-Uh!-Wait, three is too many!"

"No it's not Mal," James responded, letting the boy's boner slip from his lips. "Just relax and loosen up, stop clamping down on me."

Writhing and grunting, Mal clamped his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, making fists on the sheets as the fingers finished making their way inside. Once they had, James lowered his head back down to finish his meal, rapidly working the straining boy closer and closer to the edge of the precipice Mal wasn't even expecting.

The first wave struck Mal like lightning. All at once, his eyes flashed open, his pupils dilated, his mouth dropped, his breath caught in his throat, and every muscle in his young body clenched, including his sphincter. He bucked and squirmed and fought. He wanted to scream, but only a choked gasp escaped his lips. He almost broke James's nose with his thrusting.

Mal's first orgasm seemed to last forever, and when it finally ended, he collapsed, exhausted in every sense of the word. He fought to catch his breaths as he realized his cheeks were soaked with tears. The comforter beneath him was damp from sweat. When he found the strength, he raised his head to find James leering at him.

"It's really something, isn't it?"

Not responding, he set his head back down. He closed his eyes, barely conscious of the man removing his fingers.

"Don't fall asleep on me, sweetheart. We're not finished yet. It's my turn now."

"I can't move," the boy protested. James chuckled as he lifted the boy's ankles onto his shoulders. "That's okay, you don't have to." Confused, but too exhausted to question, the boy felt a large, blunt, slimy object pressing against his hole, and in a flash, he realized what the man had planned. His eyes flipped open and for the first time in the encounter, fear crossed the boy's face. "No, Don't," the boy exclaimed, but a large hand muffled him and pinned him helplessly to the bed. "I'm sorry Mal, I'm not going to tell you this isn't going to hurt," James whispered, ignoring the child's inaudible protest at the rhythmically thrusts giant erection against the boy's puckered lips. "It's just like before, with my finger," – Mal realized that said finger was now covering his mouth, smearing its slimy goop over his lips – "it doesn't seem like it can fit, but it will, whether you want it to or not. If you fight it, it's going to hurt a lot more than it has to, and I don't want that any more than you do. If you lie still and try to relax and accept it, it will still hurt, but not nearly as much. After a while, you'll get used to it, and you might even start to like it."

Mal started crying, and James cooed softly and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't be scared, it will all be over soon."

And with that, he pushed. Mal made an incomprehensible protest as his anus began to give way, slowly being stretched apart by James's invading cockhead. The pressure slowly built up until, ignoring James's warning, Mal tried to expel the invader, only to find the first inch or so slide past his gate. His eyes glazed over and his breath caught for a second before his screams exploded like a dam-burst, loud despite being gagged. He thrashed about helplessly, but couldn't escape; his hands were pinned to the mattress above his head and his legs trapped in the air.

A minute passed, and the boy finally calmed down. He continued sobbing, his eyes pleading with his assailant, but James just cooed and whispered, "That was the toughest part, baby. It gets easier from here on out, I promise."

After waiting another minute or two to let the boy adjust, James began pressing forward again, although he was much gentler than before. He slowly and calmly thrust a half inch [12 mm] in, then pulled a centimeter out. Another half inch in, another centimeter out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

Mal grunted and cried with every movement as James slowly fucked his way into his ass. After what seemed like hours of torment to the child, Mal finally felt James's pubic hair scratching his bottom and heard the man release a loud, long sigh. After a still, silent moment, James whispered "I'm going to take my hand off your mouth, but only if you promise not to scream, okay?"

The boy nodded and, once the hand was gone, took in a deep gasp of breath. James realized that the boy's tears had been accompanied by a runny nose, and that for the last five minutes the boy had barely been able to breathe. Cursing himself, he reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a box of tissues and quickly began cleaning up the boy's face.

"Please take it out," the boy pleaded, his voice changing a bit when the man pinched his nose, trying to force some of the excess mucus out. "Please, it hurts!"

"I know it does, angel, but it will start to feel better, I promise. It's like when you get a cramp; at first it hurts a lot and you don't think it will ever get better, but then someone helps you stretch the muscle, and the pain starts to go away. Just hang in there for a few minutes okay?"

"Why?" The boy's voice cracked. "I didn't do anything bad! Why…"

"Oh sweetheart…" James almost started tearing up himself. "This isn't a punishment. It's hard to explain – especially to someone as young as you – and even if I could, I don't think you'd understand. I love you and I don't want to hurt you, but I have to do this. If I don't do this first, someone else will, and they might be rough and make it hurt a lot more than it has to. I know you'll hate me forever and you'll never want to see or hear from me again, but I've still got to do it or the next John…"

James trailed off, then shook his head. Running his hands through the boy's hair, he smiled. "How is it? Is it getting better?"

The boy's lip quivered and he reluctantly nodded slowly.

"I'm going to give it another couple minutes, and then I'm going to start fucking you. It might start hurting again, but I want you to just be a big boy and try not to fight it, okay? I'm so proud of you, you're doing so good."

True to his word, several minutes later, James slowly removed about half his length and thrust it in again. Mal whimpered both ways, and he whimpered again the next time, and the next and the next and the time after that. Minutes passed, and James began to pick up the speed as Mal's whimpers turned into cries of "Ah! Ah! Ah!"

Reaching down between the boy's legs, James was a bit surprised to find the boy's penis at half-mast. Using two fingers, he started masturbating the child in time with his thrusts by pulling the boy's foreskin back and forth, gradually coaxing the boy into another erection.

"How are you doing, Mal?" James asked, panting heavily as he bumped his hips against the boy's. "Getting into it?"

The boy didn't respond; he simply closed his eyes and clenched his fists around the fabric beneath him, still moaning with each thrust.

"I'm almost done," James announced, leaning forward to whisper in the boy's ear. "In a little bit, I'm going to be shooting my hot, steamy cum up your tight, hot, steamy little chute." The new angle forced Mal's bottom off the bed and into the air. The skin on the boy's stomach formed folds, and the boy was now being entered from an almost vertical angle. "You're one of the best fucking cherries I've ever popped. Don't tell Slick, but I would have paid double – 'course, he would have let me fuck you for half. He always says you have to stretch them out right before you start parading them around the street."

Cupping the boys cheek, James gave the boy a peck on the lips, and then another.

"Oh god, here it comes!" The man began pulling out farther and thrusting harder, causing the boy's moans to be louder and sharper. With one last, solid thrust, the man grunted and squirted, coating the boy's innards with sperm, and then he collapsed.

Pinned beneath a man who weighed four times more, the boy grunted and whined and struggled, finally succeeding in rolling the dead weight to the side, dislodging the man's softening cock with a loud "pop!" in the process. This caused the boy to grimace again as he rolled the other way, his back to the man, and hugged his knees. He started sobbing softly; his eyes were red and his face was puffy from tears. A minute passed and he felt James move beside him.

A hand touched his arm reassuringly. The hand felt so different from what it had just a little while ago, transformed from harsh to gentle, from coarse to smooth, from cruel to loving. James gently cooed in the boy's ear, softly whispering "Shhh… it's okay now. It's over. You did great, Mal; I'm so proud of you. You're the best cherry I've ever popped. I love you Mal; I love everything about you. Your face, your voice, your body. You're so perfect; you're an angel who's misplaced his wings."

Mal allowed the man to slowly bring him closer. They laid in silence for a few minutes as the boy's tears slowed, and before long, Mal found himself drawn by the man's attempts to comfort him. His eyes grew heavy, and he slowly drifted asleep; the television still blaring in the background.

Chapter Two

Mal buried his face in the pillow in his arms, hugging the over-sized cushion as tight as he could as he writhed beneath the covers. The man's embrace would have been comforting were it not for the massive erection stretching his hidden orifice to its newfound limit. James waited a few minutes, his hands massaging the boy's skin. Thinking he'd waited long enough, the man began to withdraw.

"Wait!" the boy called, and the man froze in place. "Please, just a little longer before you start."

"Okay, angel. Just let me know when you're ready." The man remained as still as possible, waiting patiently as his young lover continued to writhe in front of him. "I've always loved fucking a boy on his side. I was so worried you wouldn't let me do this again before I had to leave. I know you're probably still a little worn out from last night, so just let me know if I start going too fast."

Nodding but keeping his misgivings and regrets about how he got into this situation to himself, the boy whimpered a bit when he realigned his hips. "Okay," the boy whispered, barely loud enough for the man to hear, "but not too hard."

Wrapping his arms around the boy's quivering body, the man kissed Mal's delicious smelling hair as he began a slow paced series of gentle thrusts. Every movement producing a whimper, the man began timing himself with the boy's shallow breaths. Almost acting on its own, his hand traveled to the child's nethers, gripping a tiny, pulsing erection.

"How is it feeling, Mal? Kinda good?"

"A little," the boy admitted, somehow managing the words between gasps of "Ah!" and "Uh!" The man smiled, slowly increasing the tempo. His strokes got longer and more rapid, grunting little moans of his own into the boy's ear.

"Just let me know if I start to go too fast," The man ordered. The boy nodded, burying his tormented face in the pillow again. The knock on the door startled them both, a bit unfortunate for young Mal, whose breath caught in his throat when his surprise caused him to push back a bit too much on a thrust that was a little more forceful than the man had intended.

"Is that you, Slick? I'm kinda in the middle of…something."

There was a click and the door opened and closed. Mal managed to open his eyes wide enough to see the super-tall back man in the purple suit standing over him. He blushed and started to struggle a bit, but James held him still, never loosing his beat. The purple-suit man seemed more surprised by what he saw in front of him than James was over the intrusion. "Didn't you fuck the kid last night?"

"Yeah," the man panted in the boy's ear. "This is his second time. Took some doing, but I talked him into it." The boy's began squirming away from the man, his whimpers intensifying alongside the sensations tormenting his frail body.

"One day you're going to have to tell me how you do it." The purple-suit man grinned wickedly as he walked to the bedside, squatting till his face was inches from the boy's. "He's loving it; got a good feeling about this one."

The boy let out a cry, his hands latching onto James' wrist and trying to remove it from his groin. His body spasmed and convulsed, his rectum constricting on its invader painfully. James started laughing, never slowing his ever-consistent thrusts. And then almost as suddenly the boy collapsed, barely moving except for his rapid breathing and the ever present bouncing caused by the man's hips slamming into his.

"Holy shit, did he just…"

"Yeah," James gasped, speeding up just a bit. "Not going to be far behind him.

Grabbing the corner of the bedspread, the purple-suit man threw the covers back, exposing the boy's young body. The boy's mind somehow regained enough of its sanity to feel self-conscious, trying to cover his still-stiff little pecker with the pillow he'd been clutching, only to have the purple-suit man snatch it away. He attempted to deflect the man's gaze with his hands instead; although ironically in doing so he lifted his little scrotum up and out of the way just enough for the purple-suit man to see the shaft as it slid threw the child's swollen gate.

"Gunna have to up the price for him," the purple-suit man stated. "He gunna be an even better bitch than his momma was."

The boy shut his eyes tight, trying to ignore the purple-suit man's eyes on his skin while he waited for James to finish. Fortunately for him, the wait was short. The man sped up, letting out a loud "Uh! Uh! Uhn!" as he filled the young boy with white goo, the harsh accompanying thrusts eliciting a whimpering "Oh! Oh! Oh!" from the boy.

After his pleasure-fit subsided, the man rolled away, wiping his slimy cock on the questionably clean sheets. Getting to his feet, James went about collecting his scattered clothing from the ground. "You should wait at least two days before his next John, unless you know someone who'd be satisfied with a blow job."

The boy opened his misty eyes, relieved to see the purple suit man's attention was no longer focused so intently on him. James tossed him his Godzilla underpants, which the boy quickly slid his legs into, grimacing a bit when the movement aggravated his backside. He hadn't been modest around James, but something about the purple-suit man made him uncomfortable.

"For this kid, I know more than a few," the purple-suit man laughed, grabbing the boy's face and squeezing his jaw open. "He good at that?"

Buttoning his fancy white undershirt, the man considered the question. "Only had him try it once, but I think he'll be good with a bit of experience." Sliding back into his pants, James kinda motioned towards the door. "Hey Slick, you mind giving me a few minutes alone with the kid again? Just want to say goodbye."

The purple-suit man shrugged, releasing the aggravated boy and walking towards the exit. Turning his confused gaze to James, Mal waited patiently as the man sat next to him, lifting the boy into a sitting position and hugging him. "How about it? Did you like getting fucked that time?"

"A-a little," the boy blushed and frowned, shifting his weight to try to relieve the pressure on his sore spot. "But it hurts more now."

James nodded, patting the boy's shoulder comfortingly. "It'll get better, and I'll make sure Slick gives you something to relieve it a bit."

Mal started leaning his body into the Man's embrace, a content, if somewhat pained, expression on his face as the first few notes of his endless song escaped him. The man noticed, his own expression saddening a bit in response. "I have to go soon, Mal."

The boy's music stopped as he looked up at the man, sad, disappointed, and even a bit afraid. "Please don't."

James just frowned. "I wish I could stay, but I can't."

The boy's arms wrapped around the man, squeezing into a tight hug as tears escaped his eyes. "Will I see you again?"

James chuckled, whispering something along the lines of "if I can afford it" under his breath, just too quiet for the boy to hear. Pulling back a bit, the boy began to ask the question so apparent on his face, but James interrupted him with a kiss.

Breaking off and commencing to search the room without explanation, James dug into the abandoned Wal-Mart bags once he found them, retrieving a brand new child-sized pair of sneakers, the sides ornamented with flashing lights. Mal's face brightened; he hadn't seen it when his mom had slipped them into the cart the day before.

The man grabbed a piece of paper and a marker from the bedside table. Scribbling something on it, he pulled at the insole of the shoe, showing Mal as he slipped the piece of paper inside. "If you ever get into really bad trouble, Mal, you can call me with this number, and I'll come and try to help you, okay?"

Mal's swift movement made him grimace, but James couldn't see that when the boy buried his head in the man's stomach, wrapping his hands around the man's disheveled waist. A knock at the door interrupted their happy moment, and James pushed the boy away, squatting to eye level. "You can't let Slick or your mom or anyone else know about this, okay? It's a big secret between me and you, and you can only use the number if you're in really big trouble, okay?"

The boy nodded, grinning and holding his finger to his lip in the "Shh!" gesture to accentuate his understanding. At that moment, the door opened again, with the purple-suit man leading the boy's stumbling mother into the room. Her eyes were glazed and her face showed the familiar vacant expression Mal had come to know meant she had just had one of her shots. The woman collapsed on the bed. Mal tried to hug her, but she pushed him away absently.

The purple-suit man led the finally dressed James to the door. His adult friend turned back and offered one last wave of goodbye, which the boy returned with a sad face, and then the door closed behind them. Acting instinctively, the boy slipped into the wrinkled wife-beater T before searching through the forgotten Wal-Mart bags while humming his endless tune.

Finding a pair of blue basketball shorts and immediately slipping into them, the boy continued his search just a bit longer before abandoning it. Finding the television remote again, the boy hit the power button, adjusting the volume when his mother stirred and mumbled something in her drug induced slumber. He tried sitting on the carpet, but soon decided laying on his stomach would be a more comfortable solution to his aching backside.

He was not left to his amusement very long. The door opened, and the man in the purple suit returned. Mal looked up at the man and smiled, but found himself afraid of the glare he received in exchange.

"Get over here, kid," he ordered, snatching the boy by his upper arm and dragging him to his feet, then into the bathroom, where he pulled the boy's shorts down and bent him over the toilet.

"No! Please don't!" the boy cried, but the man slapped him and twisted his arm to force him to comply.

"Relax kid, I ain't in to boy fuckin' 'less I'm desperate," the man snapped. The boy continued his struggles, intensifying them when he felt the man's finger at his abused exit, rubbing a cool, soothing gel first on, then inside the boy. Mal finally calmed a bit when he realized that the man's actions were medicinal. The man continued his 'deep tissue massage' for another minute or so, finally allowing the boy to cover himself again while he washed his hands. "You really are hot shit, for a little kid. Might have take a dip in that little swimmin' hole of yours one of these days after all."

Straightening himself out, Mal looked up at the man, his face a mixture of anger, fear and confusion. "Who-who are you?"

A little taken aback, the man looked down at the boy and laughed. "Call me Slick."

Grabbing the boy by his arm again, Slick dragged him into the main room, smacking the semi-unconscious woman's upper leg with his cane. "Hey bitch, I'm taking your kid for a few hours. Consider this your day off."

Mumbling something of an affirmation of misunderstanding, the woman waved them away. Mal looked back and forth between his mother and 'Slick' as the man pulled him out of the room impatiently. The boy was surprised by the brazen cruelty of the man's actions, and that his mother would allow such a man into her life, let alone his as well.

Still, he knew better to protest as the man slung him into his old Cadillac, the inside of which smelled heavily of smoke…both tobacco and other varieties…and stale sweat. The windows were tinted and both the inside and out were fancifully and expensively decorated.

"James said you sucked his dick. That true?" the man asked as he turned the ignition. Mal looked up at him, a bit surprised and embarrassed at the bluntness of the question, but nodding all the same. "You ever suck a dick before that?"

"No," the boy whispered, hoping that the man would change the subject. Instead, the man shoved the head of his cane into the boy's face, dividing his attention between the road and his passenger.

"Suck on that like it was a dick." Slick instructed. "Show me how you'd do it."

When his pleading look didn't soothe the man's impatient glare, the boy followed instructions, taking it in hand and wrapping his mouth around the bulbous tip the best he could. He tried his best to remember and duplicate his performance the night before, and after a few minutes Slick jerked the cane back, nearly knocking out one of the boy's teeth.

"Good enough for now." Slick pulled his Cellphone out of his pocket and disappeared into a conversation with an unknown entity while the boy kicked his feet nervously, nervously contemplating his fate. He had a pretty good idea what he'd be expected to do when they arrived at their destination, whatever it was, and he wasn't terribly enthused.

The car pulled over on a desolate corner, a handful of similarly and scantily clad women…one of which didn't look too terribly feminine…standing together. Giving the boy a glare that communicated a very clear 'stay in the car,' the man slid out. The women gathered around him, and the boy crawled a little closer to watch him.

Most of the women started handing over stacks of bills. The man said something, and most of the women laughed. Mal noticed that one of the women seemed very nervous, and realized why when it was her turn to give the man money.

The boy heard the 'smack' even with the door closed. The woman fell the floor, clutching her temple and crying. The other women all looked away, taking a step back as Slick kicked the prone prostitute in the gut. Once, twice, three times. And then he walked away, collecting his due from the last two women.

Mal rushed to his proper side of the car, afraid to look at the man when he got back in the car. They drove away, neither saying a word. The boy was trying very hard not to quiver in fear. The man smirked, cheerful his little display had worked exactly as planned.

The car stopped again a few minutes later, and Slick grabbed Mal's arm again, dragging him out of the car and into a dark, empty alley. A nervous looking middle aged man stood waiting there, glancing at his watch just before he saw them. He wrung his sweaty hands, wiping them on his pants and extending one in greeting. He withdrew it to wipe it again, then extended it only to withdraw once more when he saw that Slick wasn't interested in making nice.

"You have the money?" the pimp asked impatiently, stopping but slinging Mal in front of him. The man nodded nervously, reaching for his wallet and pulling a handful of twenties from it.

"I-it's three hundred, just like you said," the man stuttered. He started to take a step towards the boy, but stopped, looking back to the purple-suit man who was leisurely counting the bills.

"You have thirty minutes," Slick stated, grabbing a stopwatch from his pocket and hitting the button as he walked back to his car. Mal watched him go for a moment, but the man tapped his shoulder. He kept looking around nervously, even as he extended his hand for the boy to shake.

"My-uh-my name is-uh-call me Steve," the man sputtered.

"I'm Mal," the boy replied quietly, watching the man with cautious optimism.

"I-uh-come over here," the man ordered, pulling the boy into a little alcove in the building behind them. Once inside, they were out of sight from the street, and the man relaxed considerably. "S-sorry, I just don't do this very often, and… and this is the first time with a-a…"

Without warning, the man locked his lips over the boy. Mal snapped back, mostly out of surprise, but the strong, unwashed taste from the man's tongue had something to do with his response as well. The man pulled the boy into a tight embrace, slipping his hands down the boy's shorts and up his shirt.

After feeling the boy up for a few minutes, the man stood again, holding onto the boy firmly by his upper arm. Mal frowned as the man unzipped himself with his free hand, pulling his stubby cock free. Mal looked over his shoulder to the street, in Slick's direction, wondering if the pimp was still sitting in his car, waiting. 'Steve' did the same as the boy, though his concern was more focused on the more law abiding denizens who could potentially walk by at any moment.

"Come on, Mal, suck it."

Taking a step forward, Mal closed his eyes and opened wide. The man let out a loud moan, holding the boy's head in his mouth. "God that feels good."

Mal held the base with his hand, resisting and gagging a bit when the man pulled on him, forcing more into his mouth than he was used to. The man didn't seem to mind…or even notice…the boy's struggles. He kept on like that, bucking his short endowment as far into the boy's oral cavity as he could. The head just barely hit the back of his throat on each in-thrust, Mal was definitely thankful that his hand stopped it from going any further, even though his chin was bumping into his wrist.

The man didn't last long. The first spurt caught Mal by surprise and, unfortunately, went down the wrong pipe. Managing to break the man's grip just long enough to have the member slip out of his lips, the boy shut his eyes and mouth tight as the man spilled the rest of his seed on the boy's face.

Slipping himself back into his pants, the man zipped up and looked around, his face flustered from the afterglow and the concern that someone may have seen, as well as the embarrassment for his poor stamina. Without another word, he walked-jogged away, not even bothering to look back at the boy.

Still coughing and a bit peach-faced, Mal squatted, wiping the goo off his face and then onto the ground. He'd gotten about as much as he could by the time his throat had finally cleared, although there was a small glob he'd missed in his hair. He wiped the final sheen onto his shirt.

"Shit, kid, haven't seen anything like that in a while," an unknown voice stated from nearby…too close. Mal looked over his shoulder just in time to see the filthy homeless man before he slammed the boy into the cement, the boy's head hitting the cement with a dull 'thud.'

The boy's world was spinning. He loosed a weak groan of pain, not even aware enough to struggle as his shorts were jerked down to expose his recently deflowered behind. A finger jammed into him…that signal sure got through to the boy's brain.

"You been fucked, haven't yah boy? Not long ago either." the voice called over Mal's yowling. He tried to escape, but the man twisted his arm behind his back and held it firmly in place. "Good news for us both."

"Please no," the boy whimpered, his head throbbing as he heard the man adjusting himself, careful to never release his grip the boy's wrist. A bit of blood trickled down his forehead, and Mal thought he was going to pass out when suddenly his attacker released him.

Falling to his side, Mal saw Slick. The tall man was furiously kicking and stomping on a pile of old rags, pausing once in a while to jab and whack it with his cane as well. His eyes closed. He was vaguely aware of the continued thuds and grunts. They continued for a pretty long time, and then he was being lifted.

Mal's eyes opened just a crease to see Slick carrying him. His grip was firm and uncomfortable, but the boy was in no condition to complain, even as the man slung him a little more bodily than he would have liked onto the soft cushions of the Cadillac's back seat. Mal heard the sound of doors opening and closing, and could tell when the car started moving. Slick was talking angrily, but not to Mal and not to himself, and the boy was puzzled by this until he remembered the man's cellphone.

Shortly after that realization, Mal passed into a fitful, dreamless, fevered sleep.

Chapter Three

"Settle the fuck down you little shit." Mal's eyes followed his mother's voice to see his mother and Slick standing a few feet away. He realized he was back in the hotel room. The oddly dressed dark man leaned casually against his cane, watching the scene with impassioned distance, while the child's mother seemed more annoyed than concerned. "He's a doctor. Sit still and let him do his shit."

The boy whimpered, but allowed his arms to fall to his side as the doctor of questionable quality resumed his examination. He winced and whimpered as the man wiped the crusted blood away with an alcohol soaked cloth. "It's nothing serious. A small cut, a bruise, and perhaps a minor concussion. I don't think it needs stitches, just keep the wound clean and let him rest for the next few days."

"How much rest?" Slick asked, digging in his pocket for a cigarette as Mal sobbed softly, his attempts to escape from the doctor's stinging astringent ineffective. The doctor glanced at the pimp, confused.

"Why does that… OH!" Understanding struck the man. "You want to know when you can…" The doctor turned his attention back to his struggling charge. He didn't seem too concerned by this new knowledge. "I'd give him at least a day. Preferably two, but if they're, um, if they're gentle…"

Slick nodded, rubbing his half-finished smoke out on the sole of his boot before walking out the door. The mother followed him, and Mal could hear the faint echoes of them arguing outside. The doctor finished his work and gave the boy a sympathetic and apologetic smile. He stepped back, taking a swig from a hip flask, his face coming to a decision as he replaced it at his belt. Digging through a suitcase filled with medical supplies, the syringe he produced only further frightened the already terrified, sobbing boy.

"Don't worry, little boy," the man comforted, filling the syringe and carefully measuring and removing the few bubbles. "This shot will make everything better… for about six hours."

The boy struggled when the doctor grabbed his arm and yelped when the sharp metal tip punched through his skin. The effect was almost instantaneous. The boy's pupils dilated and his skirmish ended within seconds. The quack sighed, returning the dirty syringe to his bag and packing the rest of his materials. Snapping it shut, he left the semi-comatose boy, the door slamming behind him.

Richard stood over the battered corpse, its rancid stench preventing him from giving it the attentive examination he otherwise might have. He'd had too many years at his job to think that he'd be able to solve the beating-death of a homeless man in the middle of an empty alley with no lead. Hell, he'd be lucky to identify the poor bastard, and even luckier to find a witness or usable piece of evidence. Even if he did figure out who-dun-it, he'd never make it stick.

The only thing separating this from the dozen or so other nearly-identical unsolved cases in his file cabinet was the fact that the man was found with his meat hanging out of his drawers. Which he found amusing, but not terribly concerning or upsetting. Most likely meant the man was jumped while pissing or jerking off.

Figuring he had enough to fill out his report, the middle-aged man crossed the police tape, brushing off a few questioning rookies on his way back to his car. Slamming the door on the faint chatter, the man lit a smoke.

"Let's get out of here, Bobby. We'll let the crime scene guys finish up."

His partner nodded, extinguishing his own cigarette in the ashtray before shifting gears. They were stopped at a light about two blocks away when Richard realized Bobby had been saying something. Trying too late to pull himself back into the conversation, the seasoned detective heard only the last three words.

"I drifted off, what are you bitching about now?"

Bobby shot his friend a worried glance. "What's wrong with you, Dick? You've had a stick up your ass for a while now."

Taking a long drag and shaking the spent ash out the window, the man frowned. "Remember that neighbor kid I told you about?"

"The bitch's kid?" Bobby replied, hitting the gas and doing a less-than-legal lane change. "Yeah, what about him?"

"I'm worried about him. They moved out, and from what I can tell they just disappeared."

"What the fuck does that have to do with you?"

Richard sighed, flicking the spent butt out the window and rolling it back up. "I never got it tested or anything, but he could be mine. His mom was starting to look pretty bad before they left, and I just can't get it out of my head. What if he's out in the streets? You and I both know the kind of shit kids can get into out there."

Bobby shrugged. "I'm sure he'll be fine. Try to put it out of your mind. I don't plan on carrying your ass."

Richard grinned at that. "Says the fat fuck who only gets out of the car half the time."

"And exactly what does this have to do with me?" the teen asked incredulously. Slick frowned, glancing impatiently at his son through his sunglasses as he parked the old Cadillac.

"He ain't like a normal bitch. Almost lost him on his first trick. He needs someone to watch him and make sure he doesn't get his head smashed in again, and make sure no John gets the bright idea to run off with him, and I don't have the fucking time."

Not impressed, the dark-skinned lad actually seemed a little pale at how callously his father was talking about the subject. "I don't have time for baby-sitting."

Slick snorted at that, smacking his son as he opened the door. "And exactly what is it that you do with your time? You dropped out. You'll make a lot more taking your cut than you will peddling pot outside the fucking playgrounds."

"How much?" The boy inquired, his interest finally peaked.

The elaborately dressed man smirked, tossing the teen an expensive new-model phone across the hood. "We'll start with that and go from there."

His eyes opened wide as he caught the small device, glancing between the gift and its giver a few times as following through the recently unlocked, rundown numbered door. Pausing in the frame, the teen surveyed the rundown room.

He could smell the unwashed woman from where he stood. She was crumpled up and collapsed on the floor between a bed and the wall. Her battered old purse lie at her feet, its contents scattered across the carpeted floor. It wasn't the old junkie hag that caught his attention, however. It was the little kid laying on the bed, looking at his visitor's like a deer in the headlights.

"Jerod, this is the kid I was talking about. I gotta go. I'll call you when I need you to bring him somewhere."

The man brushed passed him, knocking the boy off balance a bit with his shoulder. Jerod let the door slam behind him. He started examining his new phone, unconsciously making his way to the unoccupied bed as he explored the features.

"Are you…" Jerod looked over at the boy, who had been watching cartoons until the teen had arrived. His voice was small, barely audible. "Are you going to fuck me?"

A little taken aback, Jerod grimaced and forced his attention back to his phone. "I'm no queer."

After staring at the older boy for a while, Mal started humming to himself. The teen was so engrossed in programming his gift he was surprised when it finally rang. Recognizing the number, he frowned and answered. "Yeah dad."

Mal tuned out the one side of the conversation he was privy to, focusing entirely on the television, singing his song louder to drown out the noise. His teen visitor got a little flustered, his voice rising an octave as he argued with the inanimate object in his hand.

Angrily shoving the phone in his pocket, the teen shut the television off, responding to the boy's upset glare by grabbing his wrist and dragging him outside. Mal struggled a bit.

"Where are we going?" the boy asked, struggling to keep up with the teen's rapid pace.

"You'll see when we get there."

Jerod's face was stern and almost pained, and although he looked like he might be sick, he followed his father's instructions, patting the bulge created by his new phone every now and then for reassurance.

Mal could only do his best to follow. They passed few other pedestrians on their short trip. The buildings around him were mostly in serious disrepair, with many showing signs of abandonment. It was one of the more downtrodden ones that Jerod finally dragged him into, slamming the door behind him and leading him down a flight of stairs. The building had been unoccupied for a number of years, and a fine layer of dust covered the floor.

The dark teen knocked on the solid wood door. It swung open, disturbing a fine cloud that aggravated the boys' noses. The man who answered seemed surprised, and perhaps even a little disappointed. Any hint of dissatisfaction vanished when a high-pitched sneeze revealed Mal; the little boy had been hiding behind his guard.

"This must be Mal," the man leered. Jerod pushed the reluctant boy forward, and the man clasped the child by his shoulders. Mal tensed, but allowed the man to pull him inside the room. "But who are you?"

"Jerod. Slick just sent me to make sure the kid got to the ball and makes it home by midnight."

The man nodded. "This door is the only way in or out of this room," he informed, "although your welcome to come in and join the party, if you'd like."

The teen sneered in disgust. He poked his head in the room to confirm the client's description and slammed the door shut, sulking his way back to the stairs, where he sat and played with his phone while absently watching the door.

Inside, Mal stared quietly at the floor, humming to himself as he tried the man buzzing around the room. The man had just finished fiddling with an old oak table, and then, without warning, the man's burly palm impacted with the boy's face shocking the boy and flinging his frail body to the dirty floor. Holding his stinging face and looking up at the adult in terror, Mal scurried away until he was pressed against the wall.

"Please don't hurt me, mister," he whimpered, the first pair of tears welling up. "I'll do anything you want, just please don't hurt me."

"Call me Sir," the man ordered, looking down at his captive with an amused grin. "Strip."

Mal got back to his feet, playing with the hem of his shirt. 'Sir' took a step forward, his hand raised menacingly, and the boy quickly slid the fabric over his head. The white garment dropped onto the ground and the boy hooked his thumbs in his shorts, chancing a begging glance before sliding them to his ankles and almost tripping out of them, his flashing shoes getting tangled in the fabric as he kicked them off as well. The boy covered himself with his hands nervously, his eyes on the man's feet as he pressed his back against the wall.

"Please Sir," the boy pleaded again as the man crossed the distance. "Just don't hurt me."

Mal had barely finished his plea when the man made a fist in the boy's hair, forcing another yelp. The boy was forced onto his tippy-toes when the man bent forward to shove his putrid-tasting tongue down the boy's throat. Mal squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could, but the tears fell anyway. He didn't open his eyes when the man finally broke the kiss, nor when he heard the zipper, nor when he felt the slimy head pressing against his lips.

"Open wide," 'Sir' ordered. Mal chanced a pleading glance up at the man before he obeyed, and to his relief once the tube of flesh was trying to work its way down his young throat, the man loosened his grip to a nearly painless hold. The boy employed all the oral tricks he'd learned in his brief career to please the man, inwardly praying that if he did well enough the man would take mercy on him. He worked until his jaw felt as though it would fall off, and his plan seemed to be working.

'Sir' moaned in pleasure as he thrust his hips slowly. Between the man's grip and the wall, Mal had little control to prevent the man from from entering too far into his oral cavity, and the child gagged on more than one occasion. The crying slowed and stopped as the boy had to focus and struggle more and more to breathe. The tempo continued to build with the man's volume. And then the song stopped; 'Sir' pulled out of the boy's mouth and flung him onto the table.

"We're not done yet," the man lavished, his palm pinning the boy to the cold wooden surface as he suddenly and cruelly forced his finger inside the boy's anus. Mal squealed as he thrashed, unable to escape or defend himself.

"No, please, make it wet first," he pleaded. He reached back to try to cover himself, but the man only grabbed his wrist and twisted.

"If you say one more word, I really will fuck you dry," the man stated evenly.

Mal continued to whine and writhe, but said nothing as 'Sir' bound him to the table. A pair of leather straps connected his wrists to the opposite corner, and another pair tied his ankles to the table legs. The man spent a few minutes tightening the bindings until they bordered on painful, far too tight for the boy to do anything more than wiggle.

There were sounds coming from the room as the man rummaged around. The boy could hear objects being rearranged, and then the room was silent. Mal tried to look behind him without much luck. He saw a camera on a tripod, but couldn't find his captor. And then a deafening 'thwack' filled the confined area.

Mal's eyes went wide and an ear-piercing yelp escaped his throat, only to be cut off then amplified by a second, and third, and forth 'thwack.' Unable to do anything in his own defense, the boy could only squeal and cry as the man carried out a brutal punishment for a crime that had never occurred.

Long after the boy had lost count, the blunt rod finally stopped its abuse. The boy sobbed pathetically, resting his face on the uncomfortable wooden surface as he lamented the throbbing welts that criss-crossed his backside, more than a few trailing down his thighs. Once again clueless to the position of his tormentor, the boy attempted to quiet himself as he again waited in dread for what was in store for him next.

Mal recoiled when the hand cupped his burning cheek, he likely would have embedded himself in the ceiling had it not been for his restraints. Looking over his shoulder, the boy could only get brief glimpses of the man's lustful face. Two fingers entered him and Mal squealed, his only solace the fact that they were coated with a cold gel. Even in his misery, the boy felt a small ping of gratitude for that.

However, his relief was very short lived. The fingers withdrew, and something much thicker took up their place at his gate. "Please wait!" the boy sobbed, feeling his sphincter giving way even as he pleaded. "Please no! Please, stretch it first! Please Sir!"

With one last forceful shove, the man entered the boy. Mal screamed and thrashed, unable to do anything else as the man continued the conquest inside him, not even letting the boy adjust to the massive presence inside of him. Poor Mal's vocal cords were approaching their breaking point when he finally felt the man's hips pressing against his.

The man doubled over him, panting and moaning in the boy's ear. Mal desperately tried to speed his accustomization. The man wasn't much larger than James had been, yet the lack of preparation left the boy in more pain than even his first time. His hands explored the boy's restrained body as he gave the boy a few minutes to adjust.

The man said nothing as he waited only a few minutes before beginning the rape in earnest. The boy had settled only a little. The pain of the initial insertion had passed, but the man was rough, even brutal. Each thrust in, he slammed into the boy's hips so hard that it even moved the heavy oak table. Mal held his eyes tightly shut, repeating little cries and whimpers of "please not so hard" and "it hurts" and "why?"

The man stood straight again, holding onto the narrow waist and observing his writhing captive. From time to time he had to step forward to keep up with the table as it slowly slid towards the wall. About the third time, he noticed a little bit of blood among the slime that coated his shaft. He smiled as he rammed it back in.

The door creaked, and 'Sir' looked over his shoulder to see Jerod watching with a mix of apprehension, disgust and arousal. The man grinned and decided to put on an even better show. Pulling out just for a second, he grabbed something from the floor and realigned himself, pausing before shoving his entire length inside at once. Mal had been expecting it, and bit his lip to keep from screaming; he could taste a hint of copper.

Readjusting his wrist, 'Sir' brought down the crop with a fervent and unjustified cruelness. Mal squeaked at the loud 'thwack,' and the one that followed, and the one that followed that. He began struggling at his bindings again, yelping and arching his back every time the whip came down. Even with the addition of the crop into his little play, 'Sir' never slowed down his pounding hips.

"That's enough. Ease up on him, he's just a kid," the teen finally spoke up, his hand clutching at the handle of an old revolver tucked into his waistband.

The man looked over his shoulder again, pausing and giving the boy one last smack before throwing the torturous implement aside. Returning his hands to the boy's hips, he grunted a final few thrusts, filling the sobbing boy's rectum with copious amounts of semen, moaning in pleasure as the already moist hole overflowed. Finished, he remained inside for a moment, relishing the afterglow and the boys weak sobs, then pulled out all at once and dressed himself. He brushed past Jerod and left without a look back.

"I'll be back tonight to pick up my stuff," the man called as the door slammed behind him, leaving Jerod and Mal alone.

Horrified at what he'd just witnessed, the teen stared at the captive. With his vantage point, he couldn't help but notice the line of gelatinous fluid leaking out of the boy's anus, which had still not closed, and he was faced with the unsolvable dilemma of being both unable to accept and unable to deny his arousal.

He stepped forward, unconsciously reaching out to caress the boy's battered behind, amazed at the softness and heat it generated and reveling in the gentle rises caused by the boy's innumerable welts. The boy recoiled when they initially touched, then lay still as he allowed the teen to do as he wished.

"Please don't hurt me too," Mal whimpered, snapping Jerod back to earth.

"I told you I'm no queer," the teen repeated. Shaking his head and readjusting himself inside his pants, the teen frowned and set about struggling with the knots the man had used to secure his charge to the table. Mal's desperate attempts at escape had only served to further tighten them, making the task that much more difficult.

Finally freeing him a few moments later, Jerod helped the boy off the table. Mal leaned into the teen, still sobbing and only upright because Jerod held him so. He neither assisted nor resisted as the teen led him to the pile of tattered and discarded clothing. Mal allowed himself to be hastily redressed, clutching onto his teen handler for support. His crying had calmed significantly but showed no signs of stopping, even once he was fully dressed.

"Why did he have to hurt me so bad?" Mal questioned as the teen began leading him away.

Jerod looked down at the boy, feeling a small pang of guilt at having waited so long to come to the boy's aid. "He's just a fucking pervert." Jerod pulled the boy along behind him, not noticing the boy's discomfort until the little hand pulled out of his. "What's wrong?"

Mal's finished wiping his watery eyes as he reached around to gingerly rub his behind. "It hurts to walk."

The teen slapped himself for not having anticipated that particular woe. Reaching for his cellphone, the teen dialed a number and disappeared into a conversation. Mal squatted and readjusted his underpants, uncomfortably aware of his leaking into them.

"Dad's coming by to pick us up," the teen stated, sliding his phone back into his pocket. With his hand so close to his crotch, he couldn't help but notice that his excitement hadn't subsided, although he'd never ceased to be aware of it. "Hey kid…"

Mal looked up at the teen to find his face ambivalent and apprehensive, almost even as if he hadn't intended to say anything. The boy picked up and mirrored the teens nervousness, which prompted Jerod to finish his thought. "Would-you-suck-my-cock?"

Mal blushed, took a step back and looked at the ground. Jerod immediately regretted asking and was about to issue and apology when a weak "okay" escaped the boy's lips. Shocked, he looked down at his young charge.

"Really?"

Mal nodded. "You stopped him."

A fresh pang of guilt passed through the teen, but it didn't stop him from unzipping his jeans and pressing the boy towards the wall. He moaned loudly as the boy's lips wrapped around his shaft. He closed his eyes tight and tried not to think of how long he'd waited in that very hallway listening to the boy's screams before he'd finally stepped in.

"Holy shit, kid," the teen gasped, clutching the boy's head. "You're fucking good at this."

The teen had by far the biggest organ that Mal had encountered thus far, but unlike the man in the alley and 'Sir,' Jerod let the boy do all the work. In a desperate show of gratitude, Mal temporarily forgot his own pain as he brought the teen over his diminished threshold. Mal pulled back, but Jerod held him in place as he finished.

With his orgasm passed, the realization that he'd just blown his load in a seven-year-old's mouth and the associated guilt overwhelmed the teen, who pulled back and zipped up his jeans.

Mal coughed a bit and wiped the overflow on his sleeve. Touching his mouth with his hand to make sure he'd gotten it all, he smiled up at Jerod, though his smile vanished when he saw the teen's face. "Did I… did I do something wrong?"

Jerod stood over the smaller boy, the remnants of his seed still shining on the boy's lower-lip. To his amazement and further guilt, he felt a familiar twinge. "No kid. You were great."

The phone rang, surprising both boys. Jerod pulled it from his pocket and flipped it open. He hadn't said two words before he hung up again. "Dad's outside. Can you walk that far?"

Mal nodded, determined to suffer through if necessary. Reaching up for the teen's hand, Mal bit his lip a bit as he followed the teen outside, leaving the scene of his violent rape behind, hopefully never to be seen again.

"Like I said, Kid, I didn't realize that john was going to be so rough on you," Slick repeated apologetically, careful to keep his face turned so that the seven-year-old couldn't see his in the rear-view mirror as he fought to keep the amusement out of his voice. The grown man looked over his shoulder at the boy, still flushed and red-eyed, and he could see a few stray whip-marks circling around the boy's neck. His apology, while not completely sincere, was not completely false either. "Next time I'll have to charge twice as much."

Mal's face went pale with fear, his voice a quaking squeak. "No! Please don't let him hurt me again!"

Tapping his fingertips against the steering wheel as he navigated the mostly abandoned streets, Slick pretended to muse. "You're saying you want me to check the Johns out first, to make sure they won't be rough on you?"

Mal nodded furiously, well aware of the purple-clad-man glancing at him through the corner of his eyes. Jerod sat in the passenger's seat, staring out the window except for the occasional glance of disgust at his father, although his self-pity had more to do with the fact that the man had correctly guessed how he'd occupied himself while waiting than a sense of outrage or offended morals.

"I don't know about that, kid. I mean, I guess I could try." Just as he'd pretended to consider it, the man pretended to come to a conclusion. "I tell you what. I'll make sure that the johns I send you too from now on are good to you, but only if you're good to them too."

A ray of hope illuminated the young boy's face. "You mean…"

"I mean they won't beat you, but if they want you to suck them, you suck them. If they want to fuck you, you let them fuck you. If they want you to dress like a girl or quack like a duck, you fucking do that too. Got it kid?"

Mal nodded furiously, and Slick chuckled at his successful manipulation. Jerod shot him a contemptible look, which the man readily ignored as he pulled into the motel parking lot. He'd driven around the block twice to finish the conversation and already considered himself to have had a return on that investment. Johns may like an unwilling bitch, but a willing one was easier to handle.

Shifting the car into park outside of room one-sixteen, the man leaned back, looking at his latest addition to his ranks through the mirror. "Whadya waiting for?" he asked when the boy didn't immediately leap out. "I had your momma pay for the room through the end of the week; she should be inside."

Nodding, the boy clumsily climbed out and dashed to the door, only to find it locked. Groaning when he realized what he'd have to do, Slick slid out of his beloved vehicle and followed the boy, reaching into one of his numerous pocket and pulling out a key. Opening the door with a click, he stepped aside to allow the boy to dash inside before deciding to consolidate this delivery with one he'd planned for later in the day.

Slick had seen a lot of things since he'd begun making the streets work for him. The scene before him barely registered any emotion other than annoyance.

Mal stood frozen three feet in from the door, his eyes locked on the figure still crumpled between the bed and the wall. His mother had barely moved since he'd last seen her. She was braced up a little more against the wall, and a thin stream of sick trailed from her mouth, down her shirt and pooled on her pants and the floor. Her skin was no longer feverish. It was gray. Her eyes were unfocused and clouded over. She wasn't breathing.

"Fucking shit," the man swore, jarring the boy from his shock. Fresh tears formed in the boy's eyes as he began to dash forward, but Slick pulled him back by his collar. The shirt let out a loud rip and the boy almost fell backwards.

"Mommy!" Mal screamed, his struggles and his cries ignored as the man dragged him back into the burning sun. Slamming the door shut and chucking his key at the nearby dumpster, Slick bodily flung the hysterical boy into his backseat and once more drove off.

Chapter Four

His calls seemed to go unanswered. Reaching into his shorts, he pinched himself, his fresh tears re-wetting the dried ones. "Please! I can't hold it much longer!"

The door opened, and the boy relaxed to see that Jerod had apparently come to his aid. Dashing past the teen, he rounded the corner into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before the stream of yellow liquid escaped his loins. He sighed in short-lived relief, sensing a shadow behind him as he reached to flush.

"Do I have to go back in there again?" he asked in small voice.

"Sorry kid. Dad was pretty pissed when you tried to make a break for it. He told me not to let you out for anything, but I don't exactly think he'd be thrilled if you pissed on his boots."

Mal hung his head low, following the teen back to the closet. His stomach growled, and the boy looked hopefully to his guard. "Could I get something to eat and drink? Please?"

"Yeah, sure. But you've got to stay in there and keep quiet. Deal?"

Mal nodded and stepped inside, chancing another forlorn look up at the older boy. "Thank you."

Jerod slammed the door and fought to keep from retching. His fingers traced the outline of the phone in his pocket as he traveled into the filthy and unkempt kitchen space, brushing away a pair of mating flies as he proceeded to make a sandwich.

Slick opened the door, smirking at the unconscious child crumpled up on the floor. He was using an old boot as a pillow and one of Jerod's old jackets as a blanket. Even in the dim light, he could see the crumbs on the boy's chin and clothing, and it was difficult to overlook the empty glass. Slick nearly tore an arm off pulling the boy to his feet. Mal let out a little cry of surprise, almost tripping as the man dragged him into the open.

"Jerod let you out of the closet, didn't he?"

Bewildered and terrified, Mal nodded weakly, his lips parted and his eyes wide in fright, the thought to lie arriving too late. Slick just grinned. "Looks like I'm going to have to punish the two of you."

"No! Please don't!"

Mal thrashed and finally fell as the man flung him into Jerod's room. Mal clutched his head and cowered as the man flipped on the light.

"Wake up, Jerod."

The teen grunted and kicked and tried to shield his eyes as he came to. "Dad, what the…"

"I told you not to open the door."

Jerod scratched himself and sat up, still squinting. "Fine. Next time I'll just let him piss on the floor."

The pimp slapped his son, the sound causing Mal to shriek and scurry away. Slick grabbed the boy by the back of his shirt before he'd gotten very far and threw him onto the bed, the fabric ripping faintly.

"Please, I'm sorry, don't hurt me," Mal whimpered.

"I'm not going to hurt you kid," Slick chuckled. "I'm just going to make you practice."

Jerod looked at his father in shock, rubbing his still stinging cheek. "You can't be serious."

Mal looked between the two in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Slick stepped back, leaning into his cane a bit. "Your going to suck Jerod's cock, and you're going to keep sucking it until I tell you to stop."

A wave of relief ran through Mal as a wave of revulsion ran through the teen. "Dad, that's sick, he's a kid…"

"That didn't stop you two this afternoon." Both boys blushed, although the faint red tint was a much more impressive accomplishment for Jerod, considering his skin tone. "Now get at it."

Mal crawled forward, eyes purposefully focused as he reached for the teen's crotch which, despite his protest, was displaying the beginning of a tent. Jerod held him at arms length, looking angrily at his father. "Fine. But not while you're in here."

Slick left without another word, but left the door open and the light on. Jerod looked at the little boy, sighing in frustration. "Sorry about this, kid. I don't know what the fuck's wrong with him anymore."

"It's okay," Mal responded quietly with the faintest hint of a smile despite his attempts to avoid eye contact as he began pulling at the teen's boxers. "I thought he was going to hurt me, so I don't mind."

Jerod said nothing as he raised his hips to help his little lover push his underwear down to his knees. Mal grabbed at the wobbling half-inflated organ, wrapping his fingers and lips around it. Jerod moaned pleasantly, laying back and running his fingers through the little boy's hair.

The teen soon forgot his moral objections to having his knob polished and laid back to enjoy the situation he was in. He was a little surprised with the ferocity with which Mal pleasured him. "Would it be sad if I told you that you give better head than any of my girlfriends?"

Mal pulled off and looked up at the teen in confusion, absently stroking his length. "Head?"

"You know, what you're doing."

The boy pondered the unfamiliar terminology for a moment before wrapping his lips around the teen again. He bobbed up and down on the teen, who squirmed and kicked his boxers the rest of the way off. Jerod lay his head back and closed his eyes, spreading his legs and encouraging Mal to crawl between them. It didn't take very long for him to blow his top into the boy's mouth. Breaking out of the teen's grip, Mal got the third spurt over his face, with a bit more dribbling onto the teen's groin.

"Uh-uh, no kid, that ain't how you do it."

Both boy's snapped up at Slick's voice, but the man forced Mal's face back into the teen's crotch. "Fuck, Dad, what the hell are you doing?"

Ignoring his son's protests, the man rubbed Mal's face against the teen's skin like a puppy who'd soiled the carpet. "You have to swallow it all, Kid, now lick it up."

Mal obediently stuck out tongue and attempted to lap up the spilled seed, whimpering until the painful grip on his hair loosened. In his attempts to clean, he mostly just spread the slime around and got even more on his face.

"He's a pretty good bitch, isn't he son?"

Not sure how to respond to the question when said bitch was making a mess of his sperm between his legs, the teen said nothing. Of course, the fact that he was naked in front of his father for the first time in over a decade and having sex in front of his father for the first time ever only added to his speechlessness. He still couldn't quite allow himself to process the fact that his partner was a boy less than half his age.

"I never said you could stop sucking, kid," Slick reminded, slapping the back of the boy's head before the boy had the chance to slip his lips back over the teen's softening erection. The man had turned one of his rings backward, and it left a aching welt where it impacted with the boy's skull. Mal's muffled whimpering and his desperate, pleading glance up made Jerod choke with sympathy and disgust, yet he also felt himself twinge inside the boy's mouth.

"Dad, please, this is just too weird with you…"

"Shut up, Jerod." The man pulled Mal's shorts down. The little boy very nearly pulled off the teen to object, but the dull ache on his skull and the throbbing welts and bruises from that afternoon suggested that might be a bad idea. Instead, the boy refocused his fear into pleasing the teen, hoping that perhaps if he did well enough he'd be spared further pain. That hope dwindled when he felt Slick's slicked finger enter him.

"Please no, it's still sore!" the boy begged, but the man slapped him again with his free hand, which unfortunately happened to be the one with the backwards ring. The boy went back to his fellatio, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Dad, wait," Jerod called, trying to sit up. "You shouldn't, that guy was really fucking rough on him today."

"Yeah, I can see that," the man muttered, pulling the boy's welted buttocks apart as he slid in a second finger and spread them. The boy was quaking in fear by this point. "He can take it though. Shit, I bet he even wants it, don'chya boy?"

Too afraid to pull off the teen's cock, the boy shook his head, which just made the man laugh. "Shit, look at the little cock-hungry slut going at it even harder at the thought of getting his ass fucked."

Mal wanted to correct the man's deliberate misinterpretation of his actions, but Slick forced his face forward so hard that not only did Jerod's glans slip into his throat but the teen also winced when the boy's chin banged into his balls. He wisely elected not to say anything about it as at that same moment his father was raising the boy's ass into the air and had started slipping his over-sized length inside.

Mal found himself choking and screaming and crying and squeezing the teen's hips for support as he was entered by the largest man he'd encountered thus far. His already aching sphincter burned as it was forced to accommodate the enormous presence. In his agony, he completely forgot what he was supposed to be doing and let the teen slip from his mouth.

The teen's pubes scratched the boy's forhead as he sobbed helplessly. The man mercifully granted him a brief reprieve before he continued. He waited a few minutes longer before he tapped the boy's skull and reminded him he was supposed to be fellating. Weakly nuzzling into the groin, Mal treated the teen's genitals almost like a pacifier, suckling quietly with his eyes closed as he waited and prayed for the man to finish quickly.

Unfortunately for Mal, if there was one thing Slick was proud of, it was his ability to fuck, and rightly so. While the man had started slow to allow the boy to adjust, he quickly upped the pace to the point where Mal was completely overwhelmed.

The bed squeaked and creaked beneath them. Slick slammed into his hips so hard Mal thought he was going to be spun head-over-heals and perhaps would have been were it not for Slick's grip on his hips. The first two times the boy stopped suckling to beg for mercy, the man corrected him with not-so-gentle love-taps to the skull. After that, the man just let it slide, allowing the boy's cries to add to his passion.

Even without Mal's warm mouth enveloping him, Jerod was embarrassed to find himself continuing to grow harder while watching his own father fuck a helpless child. He was getting aroused watching a little white boy get raped for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, this time by a six foot plus [>1.80 m] black man. Even worse, between the two rapes, the boy had lost his mother and been locked in a closet for at least six hours. He felt for the boy, but that didn't stop him from wanting to feel the boy as well.

Wrapping his dick in his hand, the teen masturbated, sitting up and craning his neck a bit to watch see where his father was joined with the boy while he rubbed his slime-covered dick over the boy's slime-covered face. His leakings made little trails across the what little skin was not already covered in one sort of fluid or another.

"Please?"

Jerod looked down to see Mal looking up at him with a expression of pure desperation.

"Please, please, please, please…"

The boy began chanting it in time with the thrusts, his voice so downtrodden and pathetic that before long the teen could no longer stand it. He forced his member back into the boy's mouth, cutting off the insistent pleas and returning the boy to his original duty. He was pleasantly surprised when he felt the young tongue go back into action, perhaps even with as much ardor as when he'd first performed the act that afternoon. Jerod even forced himself into a conviction that this was what the child had been pleading for, knowing full well when he formed it that his certainty would pass the second he'd blown his load.

Finding himself on the receiving end of simultaneous fucks at both ends and feeling betrayed by the boy he'd prayed would defend him, Mal surrendered completely.

"He's a pretty good little bitch, isn't he, son?"

Jerod nodded, tightening his grasp on the boy's head as he began thrusting his hips in sequence with his father, repeating an endless mantra of "holy shit."

Slick finally reached his peak while Jerod's chant was in its forty third refrain, pulling out of the boy's now gaping hole to make love to his fist instead as he spewed across the boy's back; a single spurt actually hit his own son in the chest. Most of the creamy fluid landed on Mal's shirt – which nobody had bothered taking off – soaking in and forming a pattern that would forever remain stained into the fabric.

At any other moment in his lifetime, Jerod would have been utterly revolted at having his father spill any amount of seed on his body, but he'd long since abandoned his moral compass. If anything, it only added to the enjoyment he was experiencing from the incredibly perverse act of face-fucking a seven-year-old boy. Added just enough, in fact, to push him over the edge as well. The boy choked on his seed, his teeth scraping against the teen's tender flesh for the first time as the involuntary reflex overcame him.

Pulling out before the coughing boy could cause him any serious harm, Jerod only barely caught his renegade hand before he slapped the boy. He looked at the appendage in shock, forcing it to instead caress the quivering boy's face in a fashion he hoped the boy would find comforting. The teen looked up at his father, who watched the obscene scene with an amused grin as he redid the bindings on his purple pants.

"Now you're in it too," the adult stated evenly, finishing redressing himself and leaning on his cane once more. "Sorry about that, kid. After this afternoon I was a little worried Jerod here might get cold feet, but he can't do that now, can you, boy?"

The blood that had been boiling with eroticism and lust only a moment before froze in the teen's veins. "You-you…"

"I didn't really think you'd sell out your old man," the pimp reassured casually, waving his hand as though to brush that thought away. In the same motion, he pointed towards a small object on the dresser that emitted a blinking red light. "I was just a little worried you might dump the kid off at some hospital or cop shop or something with a note pinned to his shirt."

"You're blackmailing me?" Jerod asked incredulously, almost unable to believe it. The man smirked.

"Don't think of it like that," Slick answered calmly, snatching the camera. "'sides. I'd never snitch on my own kid. Although I might 'accidentally' mislabel a family movie and send it to your grandma. Might just give the poor bitch a heart attack."

Jerod accidentally kicked Mal twice in a desperate rush to the bathroom, barely making it over the toilet before the volatile composition spewed forth. Naked, nauseous and stunned, the teen eventually returned to his room. The boy was sobbing in the fetal position while Slick slid a pair of fingers around inside the boy's gaping hole. A flash of anger filled his adolescent body, but it passed when he saw the tube of salve on the rumpled sheets.

"If you just needed dirt on me, why did you have to fuck him like that?" the teen questioned accusingly. "Why did you have to do anything with him at all?

Slick just shrugged. "Couldn't help myself. He's a hot little bitch. I normally don't go for the kiddies, but watching him go at you like that – shit."

A relative silence came over the room, violated only by the violated boy's weeping. The medicine the man had applied had helped, but nothing short of an epidural could take the pain away completely, and even then their was his mental anguish. Taking a step forward, Jerod noticed the large, circular discoloration on the fabric beneath the boy's waist. "Fuck, he wet the bed?"

Jerod's annoyance was swayed when the embarrassed boy began sobbing anew. Unsure of what to say, he looked helplessly to his father.

"While I was fucking him," The man explained. "I must have hit his bladder or something. I doubt he could have helped it, and it's not like he could have asked anyway."

"Oh," the teen replied intelligently. "Well, I'll just sleep on the couch then."

"Take the kid with you, it'll be good for him," Slick ordered, brushing passed his son. "I'm going to double check the locks to make sure he can't get at them."

Sitting on the soiled bed, Jerod reached out, an uncharacteristic tremor in his hand. His stomach lurched again when the boy recoiled from his touch, but his make-out session with the commode had been quite thorough, and he knew well enough that there was nothing left. After the initial flinch, however, the boy almost melted into his touch his hand. Mal rolled over and nearly tackled the older boy, wrapping his arms around the teen's midriff and latching on so tightly as to prevent the teen from breathing.

After somehow prying the boy's grip to the point where he was no longer fearing for his own life, Jerod held the boy and just allowed him to weep. Allowed him to mourn his mother, his situation, his abuse and his lost innocence. Neither of them were aware of it at first; Jerod was the first to realize where his fingers had absentmindedly slipped to and what action they had unconsciously begun to perform on the childish penis. The boy didn't stop crying, even as the signs of his arousal appeared, even as the pleasure steadily grew, even as it finally peaked.

Mal did finally quiet a bit as he recovered from his orgasm, his sobs turning into whimpers and his whimpers into snivels until Jerod finally realized that the boy was asleep. Ignoring the dampness of the soiled fabric and young skin pressed against him, Jerod carried the unconscious boy into the common room and collapsed onto the ratty old couch, wrapping himself and his tear-stained charge in the dusty blanket covering it. Within moments he joined the boy in a surprisingly restful sleep.

Jerod awoke a few hours later, uncertain whether he'd been roused by the small body pressing uncomfortably into his, his uncomfortably full bladder, or the noxious stench of stale sweat, sperm and urine that filled his nostrils. Regardless which was the culprit, his mind quickly formed and set into motion a plan to correct each grievance in order of priority, beginning with preventing Mal from unconsciously rendering the teen unable to reproduce.

Mal jerked awake almost instantly when the teen shook him gently, his eyes fluttering and his head jerking around in panic until he realized whose arms he was in. He chanced a weak, disoriented smile at the teen, who returned it as he spun their bodies into a sitting position. "Sorry kid, my legs were starting to fall asleep."

A brief cloud of fear flashed through the little boy, but it passed when he realized the teen wasn't upset. Helping his little lover to his feet, Jerod led Mal into the bathroom, finding that the child was leaning heavily into him for support, even after he'd released the boy to relieve himself.

Looking down at the boy, Jerod was a little surprised how disheveled he looked. His shirt was filthy and stained, his hair was unruly and plastered to his skin with dried sweat mixed with dirt. His skin was pale and feverish, a fine layer of grime covering most of his exposed skin, save for a line on each of his cheeks. There was a dried, crusty substance around the boy's lips and chin, and the teen felt a small twinge between his legs when he realized the origin.

The term shell-shocked came into the teens mind as he switched places with the abused boy. He wasn't sure if he was using it right, but it sure sounded like it described Mal's condition. Jerod moved to the shower and began adjusting the temperature. The toilet flushed and the teen turned, unsurprised to see Mal trotting over to him like a lost puppy.

Without saying a word, Jerod pulled the boy into the shower with him, stripping the soiled shirt off the boy and throwing it out onto the floor as an afterthought. The boy seemed to gravitate towards him as he proceeded to soap up both of their bodies in sequence. The boy squirmed as Jerod rubbed the lather into his groin and winced when the soapy hand washed his tattered hole. Mal seemed to relish the close quarters and the contact, but when the boy smiled, Jerod remembered the expression of pain, fear and betrayal he'd seen the night before. Adding to his guilt, at some point in the process of cleaning his young charge, Jerod had developed an erection, and, even worse, Mal latched onto it like a well-trained leech upon seeing it.

Recoiling into the shower wall, Jerod nearly cracked his skull on the tile as he stared down at the little cherub. His hands trembling, he watched the little boy going at him eagerly. His conscience and lust fought fiercely, and finally he surrendered, running his fingers through the boy's wet hair and leaning back, moaning and thrusting his hips eagerly until he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"You got the kid in there with you, Jerod?"

Mal almost pulled off the black teen's cock and, in his surprise, Jerod almost let him, but the teen caught him and pulled him back down his length. "Yeah."

"I've got a lot of shit to take care of. You mind watching his skinny little white ass?"

"Not at all," the teen panted, trying unsuccessfully to keep the sex from affecting his voice.

"And you can do more than just watch his ass; he could use the practice."

Mal had begun quaking at the sound of the voice, and as the man's footsteps faded, the boy looked up at the teen with puppy dog eyes, silently asking if he'd actually do as the man had insinuated. Rather than answer the unspoken question, he pumped his hips forward with an insistence that returned the boy to his duty, and the boy obliged.

Jerod leaned against the tile wall, humping and moaning and looking down at the little child as the hot, streaming water washed over them and filled the room with steam. The water had darkened the boy's hair and left it matted and plastered to the boy's skin; if it were a little longer it would have covered the child's eyes. His skin was once again its proper peach color, accentuated by the thin reflective sheen of water. He could still see the evidence of the boy's abuse from the day before; the welts had faded a bit but remained blatantly visible.

Squeezing his eyes shut tight and gritting his teeth against any lingering guilt, the teen thrust his hips forward as his orgasm washed over him. Exhausted, he slumped against the wall to catch his breath. Mal smiled nervously up at him; with the running water Jerod was unable to tell if the boy had swallowed the entire offering or not.

Shutting off the shower, the teen led the boy out and tossed him a towel. Jerod quickly dried himself before assisting the boy. Returning to his bedroom, the teen frowned at the stench of stale urine and lamented not attempting to clean up the boy's accident the night before.

Chapter Five

"Can't I please just stay with you?" The boy asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please? I'll do whatever you want."

Jerod rubbed the boy's back comfortingly. "Sorry kid, it's not up to me. Dad said this guy paid quite a bit for the afternoon."

Mal leaned into his teenage protector, starting to quiver. "Please don't let him hurt me."

Jerod looked away. "Dad made you a promise, remember? Just make sure you do what he says and he'll keep up his end of the deal."

Slightly reassured but still extremely nervous, the boy scooted a little closer to the teen and squeezed his hand when a white car pulled up next to them. The window rolled down and the middle-aged driver smiled at them nervously.

"Jerod and Mal?" The man asked, his voice shaky with nervous resolve.

"Are you Russel?" Jerod asked calmly.

The man nodded, and Jerod pulled his young charge to his feet. The teen reached out for the door handle, and the man blushed when he realized it was locked. "Sorry, stupid child-safety features. Um, would you mind if the kid rides in front?"

"Sure, whatever." The teen ushered the reluctant child into the car and slid into the backseat. Readjusting himself nervously and uncomfortably aware of the man drooling at him, Mal looked up at the man with the faintest hint of a smile. The man let out a hiss and forced his attention to the street. Mal's eyes switched focus from the dashboard to his latest client. He felt a little relieved, the man didn't seem as intimidating, frightening or dominating as 'Sir' had been.

At the first red light the man grabbed his upper thigh, eliciting a surprised jerk. He glanced up to see the man smiling down at him. Blushing, the boy turned to stare out the window, trying his best to ignore as the man 'examined the goods.'

The man fondled him through the thin fabric of his basketball shorts, and the boy's body responded on its own. The hand traveled north, rubbing the soft skin of his belly and up to his chest, but stopped when the man had to slam the breaks to avoid rear-ending the car in front of him. He issued embarrassed apologies to his passengers and kept both hands firmly on the steering wheel for the remainder of the trip.

Richard thumbed through his notepad, pretending to write something as the fat, bald man thinly disguised his outrage at the inconvenience of having the police stomping around the hotel. After listening to the self-righteous loathing for long enough to appear sufficiently sympathetic, Richard cut the man off with an stern stare.

"We'll be out of here as quickly as we can. When did the woman check in?"

A little put off by the ice and business in the detective's voice, the manager shifted his weight nervously and flipped through the sign in book. "Six days ago. She paid cash."

"During that time, do you know if she had any visitors or guests?"

"Her business is her business," the man grunted. "I don't give a crap what they do with the rooms once they pay the bill, so long as they don't fuck it up too much."

"No of course not," Richard sneered. "Did you see her at all after she checked in?"

"Just once, she paid for a few extra days and asked not to be disturbed."

Nodding and closing the notebook without scribbling a single word, Richard flicked the manager a card and walked out. "Let me know if there's anything else."

Walking through the blazing heat that radiated from the asphalt, Richard reached into a pocket and produced a bottle of aspirin. Flipping a pair of tablets into his mouth, he chewed and swallowed and grimaced a bit at the bitter taste. Bobby waved him over as he approached room one-sixteen.

"Just another O.D.," Richard's overweight partner informed, doing little to hid his lack of enthusiasm over the paperwork that would be involved. "My guess, she bit off a little more than she could chew. She probably got her hands on a big score and decided to shack up here to enjoy it."

Not noticing the color drain from Richard's face or the man's jaw slacken, Bobby continued his disinterested report. "I haven't seen anything to suggest she didn't do this to herself. Nothing to do but go through the motions, and it's not like it's a great…"

"Bobby, that's her."

Bobby turned to see Richard bracing himself against the door frame, his face as pale as the dead woman's. "It's Emily. Bobby, that's Mal's mom."

Squinting his eyes and taking a step forward, Bobby looked closer at the corpse. "Holy shit."

Recovering from his shock, an aura of certainty and authority infused Richard. "Double check the room. Either pay attention this time or get one of the fucking wunderkind rookies in here, Bobby, I'm fucking serious."

Sprinting back across the parking lot and receiving curious looks from the uniformed officers, Richard burst back into the hotel office, nearly knocking the door off the frame. "You lying piece of shit!"

Jerking away from the computer and minimizing whatever he'd been doing before the detective could see, the manager regarded the man in confusion. "What are you…"

"The kid!" A fearful flash of recognition flashed through the manager. "Where the fuck is the kid?"

"I-I don't know what you're…"

Richard cut him off, grabbing his shirt and dragging the heavyset man to eye level with adrenaline induced ease. "Cut the fucking shit or I'll book you as an accessory to kidnapping. I know she had a kid here, a little boy seven years old. Where is he?"

"I really don't know, I only saw him once when she checked in." The manager almost tripped when the detective shoved him backward into the chair he'd been occupying for the last four hours.

"So when his mom happened to kick off, you didn't think to mention the kid might be missing?"

"I told you, their business is their business. I didn't want any trouble…"

Kicking the desk hard almost hard enough to tip it over, Richard shot the man a stare of pure loathing. "You're either going to tell me absolutely everything you know about what happened in that room over the last week, or I'm going to make some fucking trouble like you've never seen."

Russell led the boy up the stairs and into a bedroom. Mal studied it in awe. It was the room of a boy enthralled with America's favorite pass time. Posters of past and present baseball stars lined the walls. The bed was made with sheets covered with bats and balls. On those sheets was a carefully folded outfit, a baseball uniform. Mal looked to the man nervously for direction.

"I want you to change into that, Jeffery" the man ordered the confused boy.

"My name is…"

"You're name is Jeffery until I say otherwise," the man interrupted, glaring at the boy with impatience. "Now change."

A little frightened by sudden change in the man's voice, Mal jumped to obey, stripping off the over sized T-shirt Jerod had given him to replace the stained and torn cloth that – to his knowledge – remained crumpled on the floor where it had been discarded outside the shower the day before.

Fumbling to slide into the uniform's shirt, Mal flinched then froze when the man touched his shoulder. The man's hand traced down the boy's back, rubbing his finger tips over the fading lines. "Someone hurt you; someone whipped you, didn't they, Jeffery?"

"Y-yes," the boy whimpered, tensing even more from the memory.

"Is that why you're so afraid of me?" the man's hand traveled down to the small of the boy's back and slid under the boy's waistband, slowly lowering the garment until it dropped on its own to the floor. His voice was quiet and deep, almost seductive. "Are you afraid I'm going to do the same?"

Mall nodded, trembling as the man's calloused hand explored under the boy's underwear. He was near tears. "Please, I'll be good, but please don't hurt me."

"I don't know why anyone would want to hurt you, Jeffery," the man cooed, his finger tracing the boy's hidden ring. "I promise that I'm not going to, not intentionally at least."

"But you're going to fuck me, aren't you?" The boy's voice and body were quivering. The man helped the boy into the baseball shirt and held him in a comforting embrace while he partially buttoned the front.

"Yes, I am. But I'm going to try to make it good for you." The man pushed the boy's underwear down to his ankles. "How many times have you been fucked?"

"S-seven," the boy whispered as the man cupped his genitals, rubbing them gently.

"All by different men?" The man reached for the bleach-white jockstrap sitting on the bedspread.

Mall shook his head. "Jerod and Slick and James all did it twice."

Russell didn't bother asking about the unfamiliar name; he correctly guessed the basic circumstances of how the boy and man had been intimate. "Didn't any of them make you feel even a little good?"

Mal didn't say anything as the man helped him to step into the unfamiliar mess of straps and cloth and pull them up to his waist. He squirmed a little as the man readjusted the straps into their proper position.

"Getting fucked doesn't have to hurt. It can actually feel pretty good, it's nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed about," Russell lectured, his fingers traveling back to the boy's exposed cleft. "A lot of little boys like it."

Mal was breathing heavily with no small amount of apprehension, feeling the man's lips on his neck.

"Were all the other men rough on you?" The man's finger began pressing against his opening with increasing insistence. Mal shook his head slightly, the movement barely noticeable. "Some of them made you feel good, isn't that right?"

The boy didn't respond, even as the man lifted him and set him on the bed. The man pushed him onto his hands and knees. "Stay like that," the man ordered, tossing the rest of the clothes he'd intended for the boy to wear aside. He left the boy alone for a minute. Mal watched over his shoulder nervously, obediently holding the instructed posture. His bottom was up in the air, the jock leaving the crease between his two pale peach orbs exposed. The straps and the boy's position even separated his cheeks enough for Russell to see the little rose of opening when he returned to the room.

"Grease yourself up with that," the man ordered, tossing a small tube onto the mattress beside the boy. Mal stared blankly at the object for a moment, uncertain how to proceed. "Go on, just put some on your finger and start playing with your asshole."

The boy obeyed awkwardly, using more lubricant than was prudent and doing his best to ignore the man setting up the video camera beside the door. Russell watched both the live show and the miniature screen that was recording it for posterity, rubbing the prominent rise in his slacks as he watched the little finger curl into the very recently abused opening.

"Use two fingers," the man instructed sagely, adjusting the angle and zoom. "Rest your chest on the bed and use both hands to spread it apart – yeah, like that – try one finger from each hand – Okay, now pull apart with those fingers, start loosening it up nice and good so that it won't hurt – "

Having freed himself during his narration, the man let his slacks fall to the ground and stepped out of them. He hadn't been wearing any undergarments, and he had a strong urge to take up residence behind Mal and fiercely ride the child into a sex-induced coma, but fought his instincts and elected to stick with the mental script he'd prepared from his fantasies and anticipations of the encounter.

Turning the camera away from the child for a second, he focused it on a drawer that, upon opening, appeared to contain nothing but boy's underpants; however, once the clothes were brushed away, a pair of phallus shaped objects were revealed. One was plastic and roughly the size of Russel's, with slightly less girth and slightly more length, while the other was considerably larger and was, in fact, a miniature baseball bat, the kind purchased as souvenirs. It's designers had intended it to be too small to be of any practical use, never even conceiving that it might be used in the manner which the context hinted it might be soon. It wasn't too much thicker than the plastic dildo, but after seeing the boy he intended to use it on, the man started to have misgivings over whether it would fit without causing the boy actual harm.

Electing to leave the larger of the pair in its hiding for the time being (mostly to avoid frightening the boy), Russell turned the camera back to the little boy on the bed, who was still obediently stretching his small entrance as he'd been instructed. Handing the boy the plastic tube and making sure that the transaction was recorded on the small screen – although with obvious and marked amateurism – Russell ordered the boy to use the dildo on himself.

"It'll be easier for you to take me inside you if you use that on yourself first," the man justified, although the actual reason for the introduction of the toy had nothing at all to do with Mal's comfort. "With that, you can open your hole yourself and avoid most of the pain."

The boy nervously obeyed, uncomfortably and awkwardly positioning the rounded edge at his exit and, squinting his eyes tightly shut and biting his lip, prayed that being in control would somehow lessen the initial pain he'd always felt. To his amazement and joy, it did – to some extent. Although the camera didn't catch the grimace on the boy's face and the microphone only barely caught the whimper, Russel's senses picked up both and the man had to let go of himself lest he soil the room's carpet.

Mal held about a quarter of the length within himself, willing himself to relax so that the pain would go away. It did, after a few minutes and, upon sensing that the boy had become slightly more at ease, Russell instructed the boy to "Push it deeper; try to get as much inside as you can."

Knowing he had no choice – he was absolutely terrified what might happen if Russell even hinted to Slick that he'd been uncooperative – Mal fumbled awkwardly until his middle finger caught the distal, flat surface of the toy and began slowly pulling it inside. He got about half of it, and then another quarter after further coaxing on the part of both Russell and his fingers.

Sweating profusely from both the temperature and the nature of the act in which the young boy was engaged, Mal fought the urge to collapse; partly because he was afraid that in doing so the object embedded inside of him might somehow do him harm and partly because he was afraid that any unwarranted action might cause the man to be angry with him.

And so he lay there, chest buried into a comfortable mattress and fighting off his collective weariness, the young boy kept his bottom propped up in the air while Russell moved about the room excitedly, trying several different angles with the video camera until he decided on the right one and then, producing a smaller, sleeker camera, proceeded to capture even more angles and takes on the scene.

"Start moving it around inside of you," Russell ordered. "Pull it back in forth so that it's fucking you." The boy obeyed, dropping his face into the mattress as he awkwardly reached to the little stump protruding from inside him and tried to move it as instructed.

Turning the digital screen on the camera so that he could see what was being recorded from the front, Russell stepped behind the boy and reached beneath. Doing his best not to block the 'important part,' the man cupped the small pouch that was the front of the jock strap, massaging the organs within.

"You've got an erection," the man informed, more for the camera's benefit than the boy who was already cognizant of his condition. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Russell didn't really expect the boy to respond as he pulled the fabric to the side to expose the boy's hidden treasure. Sure enough, the little flesh-tube was hanging at an angle that defied gravity. Hooking the fabric in the small cleft where the boy's thigh connected with the rest of his body, the man sat beside the boy and wrapped his arm over the boy's waist. Partially so that he could stroke the boy's little pecker without his blocking anything for the camera but, more importantly, because doing so gave the man a firm grip of the boy's hips.

Pushing the boy's hands aside, Russell grabbed on the exposed end of the dildo and took over. At first, he matched his pace in both hands with the one the boy had used on himself, but gradually increased the tempo. Mal began whimpering helplessly, wiping his tears on the dark fabric beneath him out of sight of the camera.

Gradually, Russel's pace increased to the point where it bordered on being brutal. Despite the discomfort, Mal felt a climax approaching and decided to hold his pleas until afterward. The pleas turned out to be unnecessary; when the young boy was thrown into the throes of orgasm, Russell eased, and he stopped completely once the boy's writhing subsided.

Removing the slimy plastic object and knocking it aside carelessly, Russell positioned the boy again for the camera, instructing him to "spread your cheeks like this and hold still." He returned to the camera on the tripod, zooming in on the now red and gaping orifice. He took a dozen or so pictures on the smaller camera before he told the boy to relax.

Rolling onto his side and propping himself up with an arm, Mal watched the man nervously while he waited for whatever was in store for him next. The man adjusted the camera again beforeretrieving the lubricant from its forgotten position and slicking himself up with a generous amount.

Russell sat so that he was featured on the camera and the bed sank beneath them both at the addition of the man's weight. Scooting to the left, then right, while looking at the camera's display, the man lifted the boy to his feet.

"Just sit on my lap like this," Russell instructed, reaching beneath the boy to insure that the angle was correct. Mal bit his lip and squeezed his fingernails into his palm to the point of being painful as he correctly anticipated the man pulling him down harshly. Despite his preparation, the Mal yelped shrilly as more than half of the man's length entered him.

Russell continued to pull down until he was more or less completely inside the boy, when he, quite to the boy's surprised and confusion, lay on his back, propped up slightly on his elbows and looking around the boy's torso to see the small screen of the video camera.

"Use your legs to lift yourself up and down, so that your fucking yourself on me," the man ordered, laying down completely after satisfying himself that the camera was capturing the scene as desired.

The boy awkwardly and uncomfortably complied with the man's wishes, frequently coming close to losing his balance without anything to brace his hands on. In honesty, the boy was somewhat pleased with this new position; for the first time he seemed to have a say in his own molestation, for the first time he had control over how hard he was fucked.

To both the boy's and the man's surprise, Mal didn't alter his pace after the man began thrusting his hips up from the bed and, in fact, kept time even when the man insisted he increased the speed. Russell would be further surprised that night when he reviewed the footage of that moment when he saw that the boy developed another erection for the camera.

Despite the man's best attempts to prolong his pleasure – even ordering the boy to hold still twice – he was too excited and had been anticipating this scene so long. When he finally grabbed onto the boy's hips again, there was very little that could delay the inevitable any further. Not even the door opening. Not even the room's true occupant entering. Not the new boy's slack jaw, wide eye expression of shock. In fact, if anything, the intruder's amazed inquiry of "Dad, who is… what are you doing?" increased the middle aged man's enjoyment as he filled young Mal with semen.

Mal, however, was terrified by the interruption. Were it not for the man's firm grip, he likely would have bolted across the hall, or perhaps even chanced brushing by the older boy and into the streets naked. As it was, he was trapped as the man rolled over on top of him and finished. After the climax had passed and a few seconds to recover, the man lifted himself so that he was sitting, Mal contoured tightly to his body.

"Mal, this is my son Jeffery," the man informed, his hands again exploring the boy's body through the sparse costume. "Jeffery, this is Mal, I'm watching him for someone. I hope you don't mind us borrowing your room, or your old little league uniform."

Jeffery stood silent while he recovered from his shock while Mal nervously inspected the older boy. He judged the boy to be about twelve years old and likely quite popular, if his appearance was any indication. The barely preteen's blond hair had been gelled and spiked at some point during the day, but the gel's grip had been loosened by sweat and some kind of hat – likely a baseball helmet considering the boy's apparent fixation on the sport, not to mention the bat handle sticking out of the boy's sports duffle, which he'd dropped on the floor. He was also dressed in a baseball uniform, which also helped in Mal's deduction.

"Mal, did you know that Jeffery here likes to get his ass fucked, just like you? In fact, he begged me to give him a good one just this morning, before his game…"

"Dad!" Jeffery's expression changed from shocked to humiliated, horrified, and perhaps just a hint of anger.

"I've been fucking him since he was six, and he asks for it so often I'm surprised he hasn't given me a heart attack. I even got him that dildo I had you use because he couldn't get enough…"

"Dad shut up!" The anger was much more apparent in the older boy's crimson face at that point. Russell chuckled and lifted Mal out of his lap, a small drop of creamy-white fluid sliding out of the boy's vacated hole.

"He also loves to get his cock sucked. Why don't you go give him a real nice blow-job, Mal, to thank him for letting you use his stuff."

Russell sidestepped around the boy to the camera in time to catch most of Mal's bowlegged, stumbling walk to the other boy. Mal unceremoniously collapsed to his knees before the older boy, looking up to the handsome seventh-grade baseball star for either guidance or pity.

He received the former. Jeffery undid his belt and pushed both his pants and the athletic supporter beneath them to his knees, forcing his focus on the little boy in front of him instead of the tripod from which his father was eagerly recording.

Mal chanced one last, possibly pleading glance up at the older boy before swallowing the erection before him, which was fairly impressive considering the age of the boy it belonged to. Jeffery moaned loudly and ran his fingers through the boy's hair, briefly noting but paying little attention to dry scab on the boy's temple.

"Shit, dad, he's better than you," Jeffery gasped, closing his eyes and gently thrusting his hips. The older boy was so focused on the taking and the younger boy on the giving that neither noticed the man was no longer behind the video camera.

Using all the little stealth his age afforded him, Russell sneaked up behind Mal. Jeffery opened an eye and almost tripped backward in surprise, which probably saved him some injury as the man grabbed and twisted Mal's wrist, forcing the boy to bend over and expose his leaky opening. In his surprise, Mal hadn't the time to prepare for the massive, blunt object that plunged its way inside of him.

"Jesus Christ, Dad, what the fuck!" Jeffery called out, his words barely reaching their intended target over Mal's shrill screams.

"Just relax, Mal," Russell ordered, tightening his grip on the poor child. "I know it's a little bigger than you're used to, but you'll be alright, you just have to relax."

At the man's words, Mal realized that his struggles were indeed just exacerbating his discomfort and fought his instincts to resist. The shock and unexpectedness had more to do with his reaction than the actual pain which, although by all means severe, was much less than some of what he'd suffered worse at the hands of 'Sir'. The man had used the handle of the souvenir bat, the neck of which was actually not significantly larger than other objects which had entered the boy. The majority of the initial pain had been caused by the lip of the handle, and that was quickly fading.

"Dad, that thing is too big, you could have really hurt him…"

"He's okay," Russell assured, pushing the bat a little farther further into the boy's bowel like a plunger in a syringe. "Aren't you, Mal?"

The boy didn't respond, except to whimper a little louder when another little bit entered him. Letting go of the little boy's wrist, Russell changed the angle on the toy, which had Mal immediately correcting the angle of his body. Squatting and helpless, Mal could do nothing but respond as the man, treating the boy quite literally like a puppet on a stick, forced him back into position and instructed him to resume pleasuring the older boy.

Once Mal was again suckling on Jeffery's length, Russell let go of the bat, which bounced and drew out further whimpers from the little boy. Returning behind the camera, the man zoomed and changed focus time and again until, delighting in the way the wooden dowel bounced and wiggled. Gradually, gravity and the natural tension of the boy's muscles pushed on the bat until, finally, only the lip remained inside the small ring of flesh and Russell pushed it back inside.

Quickly asserting that the boy was not seriously injured by his father's assault, Jeffery shut his eyes and again ran his hair through the quivering boy's hair, moaning and gently thrusting until he reached and passed his orgasm. Once the older boy had released him, Mal reached behind him and almost attempted to remove the object.

"Leave that in for now," Russell ordered, detaching the camera from its tripod. "Jeffery, you didn't eat after your game, did you?"

"No," the preteen answered, cocking his head curiously.

"Let's go down to the kitchen and fix us something," The man suggested, grinning and tightening his grip on the camera. "No need to get dressed, let's go exactly as we are."

Mal reached back for the bat again for a second, but he was again stopped, this time by Jeffery's gentle hand on his shoulder. "He just wants to see you walk around with that thing in your ass," Jeffery clarified quietly, reaching for the boy's hand and gently leading him out into the hall.

Mal winced and whimpered and the bat swung back and forth in time with his step. After the third stair, the handle finally came out with an audible "Pop," and Mal would have collapsed had Jeffery not caught him. The souvenir bat bounced and rolled down the stairs, coming to a stop. Jeffery ended up carrying the younger boy the rest of the way into the kitchen, and Mal couldn't stop squirming as the man nuked a trio of TV dinners.

The phone rang as Ginger, one of Slick's newer girls, was busily buried in her new 'manager's' lap. The man groaned, one hand releasing its grip on the redhead's filthy hair as it went in search of the offending device. Ginger began to pull back, but Slick forced her back down hard enough to choke her. She was still recovering when Slick finally found his cell. He sneered at the number, but answered it on its fifth ring.

"Did you take care of it?"

Ginger recovered and resumed bobbing up and down. She preened her ears to hear what was being said on the other side of the conversation, and her servicing lacked for it, but the man seemingly let her laps slip. In fact, the man seemed inordinately absorbed in the call. The longer it went, the more tense Slick became, until finally he snapped the device shut.

His fist hit the driving wheel first, and Ginger second. The woman yelped and recoiled, letting his impressive length slide from her lips as she attempted to flee. Three more blows slammed into her before she managed to pry the door open and roll out into the ally. She found her feet and fled, braking the heel off one of her shoes. She had no idea what set the man off and she expected him to chase her down, but instead the Cadillac purred to life. A wave of panic filled her at the thought that he was going to run her down, but instead the car pulled out of the alley, its tires squealing shrilly as it disappeared into the distance.

The doorbell rang and Russell opened the door, wearing only a white T-shirt and a pair of boxers.

"Times up," Jerod informed. "Where's the kid?"

"He's in the kitchen," the man answered, showing the teen the way. Once he turned the corner, he was greeted with the site of Mal bent over the table with an older white kid standing behind him, sodomizing the youngster for all he was worth. They were both wearing baseball shirts, and Mal's little pecker was still confined within an athletic supporter. Despite the apparent restriction of the boy's stimulation, Jerod had been watching for only a moment or two when the boy squealed out another orgasm. The other white kid followed suit quickly.

"Where are his clothes?" Jerod asked impatiently, trying to ignore the stiffening mass in his own jockeys. He was probably going to have to make his own use of the boy before too long, but, ironically, he felt nervous in this part of town. He'd been wandering the neighborhood while Mal performed his occupational duties, and he needed to get away from all the eyes that had been following him.

"I'll get them," Russell volunteered, vanishing up the stairs.

Mal, grateful that his protector was back, came over and hugged Jerod's knees. He would take Russell over Sir any day, but he desperately wanted to go back to Jerod's place and sleep until the fire in his ass burnt itself out.

"Who are you?" Jeffery asked conversationally.

"Fuck off, Whitey," was Jerod's conversational response. Properly intimidated, Jeffery did just that, quickly going upstairs to find his father. Russell returned moments later with the promised clothing, and Jerod proceeded to quickly redress the younger boy.

"Uh, here, take this," Russell instructed, handing a small.

"I thought dad said you'd already paid," Jerod asked suspiciously.

"I-I had, but he did so well," the man looked away nervously. "It's for him, not Slick. Could you maybe help him hide it?"

Jerod shrugged noncommittally, trying to suppress his grin. Maybe he'd buy the kid one of those ten-dollar electronic games; he bet that if he did the kid wouldn't miss the rest. What would a seven-year-old do with fifty bucks anyway?

"Come on, kid, we've got to get going," he informed, grabbing the boy's hand and leading him out of the house.

Heading for the bus stop, they hadn't gotten very far before Jerod's phone began beeping. He answered it and was greeted with the infuriated voice of his father. Wincing, the teen answered the flurry of questions as quickly as he could, and, following bombardment of instructions and curses, the line went dead.

"Change of plans, kid," Jerod informed, his stomach swimming. He'd only heard his dad this pissed off once before, and the next day a rival had turned up dead. Leading him away from the residential areas, he found a small alley with a high fence limiting the view within. After a few minutes, the phone rang again and Jerod gave his father more detailed directions. He hadn't even finished when the Cadillac pulled into the alley, almost running the two boys over.

"Get in," Slick ordered gruffly. Sensing something wrong, Mal resisted when Jerod attempted to pull him in. Seeing this, Slick grabbed his cane and jumped out of the car.

"I said, get in," he repeated, but his menacing countenance only furthered young Mal's apprehension. He pulled away from Jerod, attempting to flee back the way he came. Perhaps if he could get back to Russell. Yeah, Russell would protect him. Even if he wanted to put that bat up inside again, it would still be better than getting hit by that cane…"

Mal got only a few steps before Slick grabbed him by the collar. 'Whishhh – Crack!" The cane bit into his thighs, and the boy screamed.

"Fuck," the enormous black man cursed, remembering too late that he wasn't in his usual neighborhood. People heard screams in this part of town. They called the cops when they heard screaming, especially when the one screaming was a seven-year-old boy. He dropped his precious cane and clapped his hand over the boy's mouth, muffling but not stopping that awful noise. "Jerod, pop the trunk!"

"Dad, what…" Jerod began, but he cut himself off when he saw his father's eyes. The pimp's sunglasses had fallen off, and the red-eyed panic and desperation was terrifying. Opening the passenger door, Jerod reached into the glove compartment and hit the button. Slinging the flailing child inside, Slick slammed the lid. He could still hear the boy's cries, but it wouldn't matter.

"Get in," he barked at his son.

"Dad, what the fuck is going on?"

Snatching his cane from the ground, he brandished it wickedly. Jerod saw the blow coming only just in time to defend himself, and the oft-used weapon smacked into his forearm rather than his temple.

"Get in!" he repeated for the final time. Jerod hopped in the passenger seat without further complaint, and seconds later the car peeled out of the alley. The cops showed up ten minutes later, but with found nothing and wrote it up as an old lady's overactive imagination.

NEXT PART