Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 The Little Boy Rapers Club [bb (multi) NC, WS, scat (heavy), bestiality]

   By Antonio Green (antoniogreen@writeme.com)

   This is all fantasy.  The author does not condone any of the acts
depicted in the story in real life.  Let your fantasies run wild but treat
children well.

   Chapter 1: Choosing Marky

   Six boys, ages 10 through 13, sat on their bikes at the rise on the
hill. A Great Dane crouched nearby.  After chatting a bit, three rode down
the hill toward the barn with the dog loping behind them.  Three rode over
to the road that led from St.  Barnabas School.

   The three boys who stood by the roadside -- 10-year-old Donny,
11-year-old Peter, and Peter's 12-year-old brother Hunter -- chatted about
what they were about to do.  They and the three other boys had planned this
escapade for four weeks since school started back.  It was all they'd
really talked it during their club meetings.  And when they talked about
it, all six were naked, hard, sucking, jacking, or fucking each other. 
Because of what they were planning, you might think that the six boys were
"bad boys" who constantly got into trouble.  But they weren't.  At least
five of the six boys weren't.  Those five all got top grades at the local
public school and were considered some of the finest boys in their school.
But they all knew differently.  They were bad boys - just like the sixth
and youngest of their Club.  They'd been sexing with each other for two
years in their club whose name had morphed from "The Club" to "The Sex
Club" to the "Boy Sex Club" to the "Boy Fuck and Suck Club" to its newest
incarnation "The Little Boy Rapers Club.

   Boy clubs like theirs--real boys clubs made by boys and not by adults
for boys--never have real presidents or leaders.  That position is fluid
and usually assumed by the biggest or toughest boy.  But none of the boys
in this club was very tough, so as the oldest, Deiter naturally fell to
that position.  Oddly, though, the 13-year boy was a reluctant leader. 
While he loved the way the sexy feelings engulfed him, he wasn't the member
who usually started the sex or who added new things to do on a regular
basis.  Although the `leader' of the club, he was a follower when it came
to instituting the acts.  That role fell to the youngest of the group.

   When the boys first transitioned from playing regular boy games with
each other to playing sexy games with each others bodies, it had been
Donny, who was eight at the time, who suggested it and who thereafter led
the boys into sexier, dirtier, and nastier games.  Donny loved sex, and the
filthier the sex the better.

   Their sex play really got a chance to take off when Donny "discovered"
the barn during the summer.  At least he'd told them he'd discovered it. 
When they went in, it smelled musty and like old damp hay.  But it was in
good repair since the family that had owned the small, foreclosed farm had
just recently abandoned the farm it sat on.  What Donny hadn't told them
was that his grandfather had purchased the farm.  The man kept all the
utilities hooked up to both barn and farmhouse and told Donny he and his
friends were welcome to use the barn--but not the farmhouse--for whatever
purposes they had in mind.  The farmhouse itself was for his grandfather's
pursuit of happiness.

   But now after two months of frequent use and misuse, the barn smelled of
old boy piss and boy shit.  After all, what would nasty boys care how their
sex club smelled?  In fact they all loved that it smelled so rank.

   When they were in the barn, the boys would spin out fantasies to sex by.
Donny often led the fantasies, turning more and more frequently to mean,
rough scenarios that grew to include tying one of them up, torturing the
`victim,' and play raping him.

   They'd also force the victim to do nasty, perverted things--once again
usually directed by Donny--involving urine and feces.  Only they didn't
call them that.  These nasty boys loved saying words like `piss' and
`shit.' They regularly called each other `cocksucker,' `faggot,' `piss
face,' `piss drinker,' `shit face' and `shit eater.' These degrading terms
weren't just used for the hell of it either.  They aptly described the
current victim of the boys' perverted games.

   But as horny as these nasty games made the boys, they soon began
imagining what it would be like to get a real victim.  Right before school
started back, Donny suggested snatching a kindergartner from the nearby
Catholic school.  The tyke wouldn't know the boys, he suggested, since they
went to the public school three miles in the other direction.  And because
the barn was a good mile off a small, dusty side road, they could drag him
there undetected.

   The other boys, particularly Deiter, thought a 5- or 6-year old wouldn't
be much fun, but Donny convinced them otherwise.  The victim wouldn't have
any idea what lay ahead of him and all the things they did would be new to
the little boy, new and incredibly frightening.  There's no way, Donny
reasoned, that a boy that young would expect to be raped.  Unless, Donny
thought to himself, he'd already been raped and fucked a lot just like had
happened to Donny since he was three.  (But that's a story for a different
time).

   After an hour of arguing for and against the proposition, Deiter finally
conceded and agreed to go along with the rape of a five year old.  The idea
turned his stomach.  But why, he wondered, was his 5 ?  inch cock so hard.
Part of the stomach wobbliness came from disgust, he recognized as much. 
But part felt just like the excitement he felt when he stripped naked
before the Club meetings or right before he was about to enter the rectum
of one of the younger boys.  It felt very much like how he felt when at
night he fantasized about hurting Donny badly and then raping his nasty,
usually shitty asshole until the younger boy bled to death.

   Once the idea was accepted by all, they then discussed how to stay
undetected.  Most of the group thought wearing masks would be the best way
to keep safe.  But 11-year old Peter--a close second to Donny's
sadism--convinced the group that masks would reduce their enjoyment.  So
they decided on using camo make-up.  He had the makeup at home.

   St.  Barnabas School started a week earlier than the school the members
of the Little Boy Rapers Club attended.  And that was the name of the club
they decided on at Donny's insistence.  Donny volunteered to scope out
possible victims since he lived near St.  Barnabas.  On the very first day,
he spotted a likely candidate.  A tiny, redheaded boy was dropped off at
the school by a woman Donny assumed was his mother.

   The little boy was crying loud enough that Donny could hear it half a
block away.  "I don't want to go.  Please don't make me." He cried so loud
that Donny could barely hear the mother's instructions to her son,
delivered as she wrestled a tiny two-wheeler from the trunk of the car.

   "Now sweety," she said sounding more irritated than compassionate, "you
ride straight to day care after school.  Mrs.  Robison is expecting you
there by 3:15 and I'll pick you up at 7:00."

   "Bingo!  Perfect," thought Donny.

   It may seem unbelievable that a loving mother would allow her little
5-year old (well, almost 5 ?-year old) to ride his bike the three plus
miles from his school to day care.  But as Ms.  Branson explained to
Marky's teacher, to his day care provider, to her friends, and to herself,
she was helping the boy develop independence.  In her quietest moments
she'd admit to herself that she was helping bring him out of his very
evident sissy ways.

   What she wouldn't admit was that after almost 6 years of being a single
mother who never had man to help raise her son, she was tired of the boy.
She worked long hours and went out after work so she could have a life of
her own she deserved.  Or so she thought.

   Donny's choice of perfect victim was confirmed when on Wednesday of that
first week of school, the little boy--whose name Donny now knew was
Marky--left school on his bike with his coat wrapped around his waist.  To
Donny, that could mean just one thing.  So as Marky pedaled by, Donny
stepped out of his vantage point and `accidentally' bumped into the little
guy.  Marky wheeled wildly, but Donny caught the bike before it could drag
the tyke down.  In steadying the bike, Donny pushed the jacket aside a few
inches.  Donny's guess was right.  Marky had wet himself.  A huge patch wet
his brown uniform pants.

   Donny's pecker stiffened immediately to it's full three uncircumcised
inches.  Fuck," he thought.  "I'd love to fuck the little bastard right
now." But he didn't.  He just muttered a quick apology and moved on before
Marky could really see his face.

   Donny knew he'd get his wish soon and was willing to wait.

   TO BE CONTINUED...  (I promise)

   [NOTE: Authors love feedback.  Please let me know what you think about
my current story.  I have four chapters written so far, so let me know if
you want more.]