Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Reaping What You Sow - Part 2: Doing the Time (t/M, nc/reluc, oral, anal,
ws, scat) by Coproman

   Twelve years have passed since your six-year-old sex toy moved away. 
But he's not the only one who moved.  A year ago, the company you work for
began downsizing, closing its only office in the city where you lived and
worked all your life.  But because you're such a good worker bee, you were
given the option of keeping your job if you agreed to relocate to its home
office in another state.  You were reluctant to leave, but you eventually
accepted their offer.  You also figured it was a good way to finally detach
yourself from your mother's apron strings.

   It's been well over a year now, and you are still trying to adjust to
this new city.  For your 30th birthday you invite a few acquaintances from
work over for a small dinner party.  It is a strange, mellow occasion.  You
feel that at least a couple of these people have the potential to become
either friends or lovers.  But it's too soon to tell.  Your head is still
in another place.  You do, however, enjoy their company.

   After the party, which ends early, you sit on the sofa sipping a glass
of wine and doing what you've done almost every night for the past several
years--reminiscing about the babysitting jobs you had as a teenager and
young adult.  Because his mother spread the word about how good you were
with him, you gained a reputation.  Suddenly the mothers of all the
rambunctious boys in the neighborhood were showing up on your doorstep. 
You had more babysitting jobs than you could handle, enough to cover your
ancillary expenses straight through grad school.

   You remember how much fun it was introducing all those boys to your
nasty little games.  But you also remember what pussies they all were when
it came to paying you the ultimate homage.  Yeah, they all licked your
asshole, took it up the, and even drank your piss.  But the closest you
ever got to having one of them eat your shit was that last little boy you
sat for.  A cute blue-eyed blond eight-year-old, he honestly seemed to want
to do it for you.  But the moment your turd dropped into his mouth, he
puked his head off.  You fucked his little white ass extra-hard that day
for ruining the experience.

   So for the umpteenth time, the reminiscing leads back to you-know-who.
Indeed, all it takes is a passing recollection of your turd descending into
his mouth, and him chewing up and swallowing it to turn you on like crazy,
so much that your cock stiffens up the moment you think about it.  On top
of that, he's the only one you were totally free with.  With the others,
you were usually only half-throttle, nearly always holding back a little.
But with him there were no inhibitions, no self-restraint.  And the more
you recall your romps with him, the hornier you get until--splat!--you come
right in your clothes without even touching yourself.  Afterwards you lean
back, sigh, take another sip of wine, and smile, enjoying the feeling of
the wet, sticky mess in your underwear.

   Finishing your wine, you get up and head to the bathroom to take a
shower.  But the doorbell rings.  You aren't expecting anyone, so you
figure one of your guests forgot something.  When you open the door,
however, you are startled.  Even though it's been twelve years, you know
right away who it is because that boyish face hasn't changed.  It's just
been hardened and is now sitting atop a tall, chiseled frame.  It's as if
all that thinking about him has finally brought him straight to your
doorstep.

   You're not sure how to react because you're not sure why he's here.  He
senses your uncertainty and milks it by hesitating before finally smiling
and grabbing you in a bear hug.

   "Hey, man, how you doin'?!" he says in a booming baritone.  "It's good
to see you again!"

   "How'd you find me?" you mumble, lost in his big arms.

   "I just looked on-line.  I think it was the White Pages or some shit
like that."

   "Oh," you respond, wondering if you'll end up cursing technology before
his visit is over.

   When he's done hugging you, he holds you at arm's length and just stares
at you.

   "Damn, boy!" he remarks.  "You look just like you did twelve years ago!
You ain't changed a bit!"

   "Well, YOU certainly have," you say.  "You're so ripped, you look like a
super-hero."

   He thanks you for the compliment, and the two of you sit down and
proceed to chat.  You discover that he is a freshman at the local college,
which happens to be only a few miles from your house.  You also learn that
he is 6'4, 240 pounds and a linebacker on the football team.  There doesn't
seem to be an ounce of fat on his whole body, and you tell yourself that
you certainly wouldn't want to see him coming at you if you were running
with the ball.  He also tells you that he's doing well academically, and
that since turning 15, he's fucked over a hundred girls...and a bunch of
guys as well.

   As you listen to and look at him, it's hard to believe that the little
boy you used to babysit has grown up to become the solid mass of muscle
sitting in front of you.  Everything about him seems to be super-sized. 
You're happy to hear he's doing so well, and you've finally calmed down
enough to accept his presence as merely a social visit, a last-laugh
"you-abused-me-but-I-wanted-you-to-see-how-I'm-thriving-anyway" cameo
apprearance.  In fact, you're now thinking, it's probably not even that,
because he probably doesn't even remember all those nasty things you did to
him when he was a child.  After all, he was so young at the time.  Those
early memories have probably faded away or gotten locked up in some dormant
part of his brain.  You expect him to confirm this pretty soon by getting
up, telling you he has to go, and saying how the two of you should keep in
touch.  Maybe he'll even invite you to his next football game.  But when
the chitchatting stops, his demeanor changes.  He leans forward, clasps his
big hands together, and stares deeply into your eyes.

   "But let me tell you why I'm here," he says.  Then he gives you a
crooked smile, the same one you couldn't figure out twelve years ago, and
asks, "Guess what time it is?"

   You see that he's wearing a watch, and you know that there's a big clock
on the wall behind you, so his question confuses you.  "Uhh...I'm not sure
what you mean."

   "I said, Guess what time it is?" he repeats.

   Still confused you say, "I don't know."

   Leaning farther forward and smiling more broadly, he puts his hand on
your shoulder and whispers, "Payback time."

   Suddenly you feel your mouth go dry and your heart beating in your
throat.  He DOES remember!  He remembers every single detail, and he's
going to get you back by turning you into a homicide statistic!  But, as if
he can hear your thoughts, he begins to shake his head.

   "No, I'm not gonna beat you up, and I'm not gonna kill you.  I'm just
gonna take from you what you took from me twelve years ago."

   While you're grateful that you'll at least be allowed to live, his words
aren't exactly comforting, especially since you've never had the "pleasure"
of being on the receiving end of any of the things you did to him.  So
though he won't kill you, you might wish you were dead by the time he's
done with you.

   But what choice do you have?  You think about hightailing it out of the
room, grabbing your cell phone, and dialing 911.  But doing that could
amount to opening up the biggest can of worms in your life if he decides to
tell the cops what prompted the payback.  You imagine the horror of all the
other little boys you babysat coming forth and telling their stories too,
confirming over and over again what he's said.  It has "25-to-life" written
all over it.  So you know--and you're sure HE knows--that the only thing
you can do is take your medicine.

   "What are you going to do to me?" you ask him.

   He laughs, slapping you on the back.  "I think you have a pretty good
idea."

   You watch as he begins to take off his clothes, smiling at you the whole
time.  He doesn't rush.  It's a slow, deliberate process, a torturous
strip-tease, in which he carefully removes each item of clothing, folds it
up, and places it on the coffee table.  He ends by untying and stepping out
of his shoes, pulling off his socks, stuffing them inside the shoes, and
placing the shoes under the coffee table.

   He is now standing before you in nothing but his white boxers.  There is
a REALLY huge bulge in the crotch.  It is so big that you're sure it's an
optical illusion, the way the light hits the folds of his underwear.  His
smile widens.  He can read the confusion, intrigue, and fear on your face
as you stare at it.  He walks over and stands right in front of you.

   "Take it out for me," he tells you.

   After glancing up at him, you slowly stick your hand in the fly.  It
doesn't take much to uncover it.  When you do, you snatch your hand back,
fear grabs you by the throat, and you hear yourself gasp, "Oh, my God!"

   He laughs at your reaction.  The light wasn't playing tricks on your
eyes at all.  Even though you're looking right at it, you still can't
believe how enormous it is!  You had no idea his little three-inch dink
would grow up to become the foot-long monster you see before you.  Not only
is it long and hard, as it points at the ceiling, it's also thick (at least
seven inches around) and veiny.  On top of all that, a big drop of pre-cum
is leaking out of it, making it look all the more menacing.

   "It's a little bigger than it was the last time you seen it, huh?" he
casually asks you.

   Hypnotized by it, you just nod.  He steps out of his underwear, which
allows you to see his balls.  Twelve years ago, they were a
cherry-tomato-sized pouch.  Now they are the size of an orange, just as
impressive as his dick, the whole package proudly displayed in a wiry nest
of black pubic hair.  Again he takes the time to neatly fold his drawers
and place them on the coffee table.  Then he turns to you, puts his hands
on his hips, and just stands there stark naked, his hard-muscled
light-skinned body almost glowing in the warm light of the living room.  He
is perfectly comfortable in his nudity.  And why wouldn't he be?  He is the
perfect male specimen.

   "Open your mouth," he tells you.

   You look up at him and he's staring right at you.  He is no longer
smiling.  His stern brown eyes are dead serious.  You know he means
business.  But you are too paralyzed to move, and your mouth stays shut. 
Seeing this, he raises his hand as if to hit you.  You flinch and cower. 
He laughs then gets serious again.

   "I said, 'Open your mouth,'" he tells you again.

   This time you obey.  It takes him about two seconds to grab the back of
your head and stuff his oversized schlong in your mouth.

   "Gluuurrrg!" you respond, trying to back away as he pushes it in.  But
he couldn't escape his destiny twelve years ago, and you can't escape yours
now.  As he jams the head down your throat, you feel like you're going to
throw up.  Your gag reflex causes you to heave over and over again, bathing
his cock in warm spit and unintentionally paving the way for the mouth fuck
you're about to receive.

   "Shit!  You were right!" he tells you as the saliva collects in your
mouth.  "This DOES feel 'awesome'!"

   You're shocked that he remembers the exact word you used when you
mouth-fucked him that first time.  Your eyes begin to water as his dick
strains against the walls of your esophagus.  Even though you're able to
breathe through your nose, you still feel a sense of panic as he begins to
rock his hips.  You're not all that happy about having your mouth turned
into a pussy, but you figure he probably wasn't too happy about it either a
dozen years ago.

   "Damn, boy!  You give some good fuckin' head!" he remarks, rhymically
sliding his sausage in and out of your mouth.  "But I'm just warmin' up."

   Your skin crawls when you hear this.  You could've done without that
extra bit of information.  But you understand that he told you for the same
reason you always told him--to see your reaction.  As you brace yourself,
you wonder if the flash of fear on your face turned him on as much as his
did you back then.

   He begins to give you the same Full Deep Pussy treatment you used to
give him, fucking your face so hard that it feels like he's going to knock
your head off.  His balls bounce off your chin, and his pubes rake against
you nose and lips.  Half-strangling, you're making guttural noises you've
never heard yourself make before.  You're just hoping to come out of this
with nothing more serious than a major sore throat.

   Finally you feel him shiver after every few strokes.  You're relieved
because it means your ordeal will soon be over.  Fortunately you're right.
A handful of strokes later he jerks, hunches forward, and sticks his
fingers into your skull as he stuffs the entire length of his dick down
your throat.

   "Fuck!  I'm comin'!" he yells, trembling.  "Swallow my fuckin' load, you
fuckin' child molester!"

   His words eliminate any lingering doubts you may have harbored about his
memories.  They also confirm the purpose of his visit.  He has only one
thing on his mind: Pure Old Testament eye-for-an-eye, tooth-for-a-tooth
vengeance.  You feel the head of his dick throbbing next to your tonsils as
he spurts what feels like a gallon of come down straight down your throat.
If the typical male ejaculation contains an average of 200 to 300 million
sperm, you figure he's just given you about half a billion.  You can almost
feel them swimming around in your stomach.  If he came like this with all
the women he's claimed to fuck, you figure he must have fathered dozens of
children by now.  Then again, this may not be his usual load.  He probably
saved this one up just for you.

   By some miracle you manage to swallow his entire megaload of cock slime
without choking.  But when he finally pulls himself out of your throat, you
start coughing like crazy and gasping for breath.  He observes your
distress with stoic indifference as he strokes his cock back to life. 
Incredibly, even after ejaculating so much semen, it is still semihard.  It
takes him only a few minutes to pump it right back up to its majestic 12
inches.  You expect him to slap your face with it, and that's just what he
does, whacking you on both cheeks.  Then he turns around, presenting you
with his smooth, muscular ass.  Glancing back at you, he gives you another
crooked smile and bends over, putting his hands on his knees.

   "Do it," he says, "and you better do it good."

   You know what he wants.  You lean over, grasp his ass cheeks, and spread
them apart, revealing his anus.  Even after twelve years, it's still very
familiar, though a few stray hairs have since taken up residence nearby. 
It even smells similar.  You move in closer and are about to rim him when
he suddenly farts in your face.  Out of instinct, you pull your head back.
But his football player's reactions are quicker than yours, and before you
can retreat, a hand grabs the back of your head and pulls you face soldily
into his ass crack.

   "Smell that fart, motherfucker!  I wanna hear you sniffin' it!"

   The scent is horrible, like rotten eggs, but you decide it's better to
inhale a bad smell than to have you jaw busted, so you begin sniffing for
all you're worth, breathing the putrid odor deep into your lungs.

   "That's better," he says, wiggling his ass in your face while continuing
to clutch the back of your head.  He loosens his grip only long enough to
fart again, bombarding your nostrils with more of his awful ass gas.  You
feel nauseous.  You think you might throw up or pass out from inhaling so
much stink.  But because you're sure that neither reaction will glean any
sympathy out of him and might, in fact, piss him off, you fight your nausea
and try to keep your cool.

   "Now lick my ass," he says.

   Again you obey.  You are certain that the lingering odor of his farts is
what's making his anus taste worse than it otherwise would.  You begin to
feel even more nauseous.  As a result your licking is interspersed with
bouts of dry heaving.  But again you fight your nausea, keeping the dry
heaving to a minimum, because it might upset him.

   When your stomach settles, you decide to go ahead and stick your tongue
up his ass, just to get it over with.  But as soon as you poke the tip of
your tongue in the tight hole, he pulls away from you and turns around. 
The anal stimulation has caused his cock to grow as hard as it was when you
first pulled it out of his underwear.  Still covered with your spit and
again leaking precum, it looks even more menacing than it did before.  He
is standing so close to you that it almost touches your nose.

   "Take them fuckin' clothes off," he tells you.  "And make it quick."

   You immediately begin to undress while still sitting on the couch.  You
somehow sense that he doesn't want you to get up, so when it's time to take
off you pants, you unbutton and unzip them, then lift up and slide them off
your hips.  You do the same with your underwear.  Then you kick off your
slippers and tug your pants and underwear down your legs and off your feet.


   Sitting there, you feel as completely exposed as you are.  Unlike him,
you are embarrassed by your body, especially when you compare it to his. 
You're not fat but you're not toned either.  You are soft in the middle,
and there is very little muscle definition in your chest, arms, or legs. 
But you know that it doesn't matter to him how you look.  That's not why
he's here.  When you look up at him again, you see that the crooked smile
has returned.  He flexes his sphincter, causing his dick to wave at you.

   "You know where I'm gonna put this now, don't you?"

   Your blood runs cold and you feel your heart beating in your throat
again.  It's not just because of what he intends to do.  It's also because
he's once again used the exact same words you did twelve years ago.  You
wish it were just an uncanny coincidence.  But you know it's not.  He's
remembered your words for a reason.  You're sure it's because he wants YOU
to remember them and to experience the same anxiety connected with them
that he experienced back then.

   "Turn around, get on your knees, and bend over," he tells you.

   He's not even going to allow you the dignity of losing your anal
virginity in the relative comfort of your own bed.  He's going to fuck you
right here on the couch.  You stare at him with pleading eyes as you slowly
rise up, but there is no compassion in his face, just impatience.

   "Hurry up, damn it!" he yells, spinning you around and shoving you.  "I
ain't got all fuckin' night!"

   Not wanting to make him any angrier, you quickly follow his orders,
getting on your knees, tucking your head down, and curling yourself up into
a ball.  Your position puts your ass on graphic display.  You feel
completely vulnerable, totally at his mercy.  Now you're REALLY scared. 
What if he decides to dry-fuck you?  If he does, the pain will be
unbearable, and you will end up lubricating his entry with your own blood.
Even if he lubes you up, though, there's no way you're going to be able to
take that third leg of his up your ass without a LOT of hurt.  So either
way, you figure, you're screwed--literally and figuratively.

   You're relieved when he hawks up a couple of loogies and spits them on
your anus.  You jerk when he shoves his finger up your ass and begins to
ream it around in your rectum.  It hurts.  You want to tighten your
sphincter, but you know it's better if you do the opposite.  So you push
out, trying to help him stretch you open.  But it's hard to stay focused
when a second and third finger join the party.  The pain seems to increase
exponentially.  You try to breathe it away, like a pregnant woman about to
give birth, but it doesn't help much.

   Finally he removes his fingers and spits one more big wad of saliva on
your asshole.  An eternity seems to pass before he pulls one of your ass
cheeks to the side.  You feel a smooth, wide knob being pushed against your
pucker.  You groan as that knob begins to bore into you.  Your anal ring
resists for as long as it can but is quickly overpowered.  When it gives
up, it does so unconditionally, not only allowing his dickhead to enter you
but embracing it when it does.

   "Nngh!" you gasp, lurching forward.  But he's holding onto your hips,
and the couch isn't going anywhere, so there's nowhere to run.

   "Damn, boy!  You got some TIGHT booty!  You mean to tell me you still a
fuckin' virgin after all this time?"

   You don't want to answer him because you know he already knows the
answer.  But the last thing you want to do right now is piss him off, so
you croak out, "Uh-huh."

   "Well, I'm gonna take care of that.  And don't worry--I'll be nice and
gentle."

   You hope his sarcastic tone is just a scare tactic.  That hope vanishes
when he jams his joint all the way up your virgin ass.  A hot, searing pain
shoots through your whole body.  You hear yourself scream, but he's only as
concerned about your pain as you were about his twelve years ago.  Now
you're the one quietly sobbing as he proceeds to fuck you, making you his
bitch the same way you made him yours.

   "So how's that dick feel up your ass, motherfucker?!"

   "Nnngghh!" you respond.

   "I don't understand that fuckin' baby talk!  Tell me how that shit
feels!"

   "It hurts!" you whimper.

   "Good!" he says, laughing as steps up his pace, making it hurt even
more.

   The ass fuck is brutal.  Not only do you feel every millimeter of his
cock as it plows your shell-shocked rectum, you also feel every ounce of
his linebacker's weight on top of you, his muscles rippling rhymically as
he pounds you into the cushions, fucking the living shit out of you.  Every
now and then he takes time out to smack you on the ass, making it sting. 
Even though you're dark-skinned, you are sure you'll be able to see the
bruises the next day.

   After a while, though, the pain subsides and you actually begin to feel
some pleasure.  His ramrod is sliding back and forth over your prostate,
and endorphins are beginning to flood your brain.  Soon your rectum has
stretched open enough to accommodate the length and girth of his
super-cock, and there is so much natural analgesic surging through your
head that you're actually starting to enjoy the bone-crunching fuck.  In
fact, to your utter surprise, you have the urge to thrust your ass back to
meet his violent strokes.  But you hold off doing this because you realize
that a big part of what's turning him on is the same thing that turned you
on: The idea that he's forcing you to take it.  And you don't want to do
anything to dispel this fantasy.
So even though you're so turned on that you have a full boner, you
continue to groan and grunt and cry out as he slams into you.  But they are
now groans, grunts and cries of pleasure.  You wonder if he's paying enough
attention to tell the difference.  You decide that he's too wrapped up in

his own pleasure and his own revenge to notice.

   He fucks you for at least half and hour, though this is only a guess
since you've totally lost track of time.  It's as if your brain is stuck in
the now.  He staves off his orgasm by periodically stopping his strokes and
rotating his hips, stetching your poor hole open even wider.  You are sure
he's going to tear something back there.  But he seems to be red-lining,
veering right on the edge of ripping your anus without actually doing so.
You fear he'll accidentally go overboard; you're hoping he's fucked enough
virgin asses not to.

   But even a super-stud can't fuck forever, and you realize that he is
reaching the point of no return when you again feel him shivering
occasionally.  After this happens four or five times, his orgasm finally
breaks free.

   "Fuck!  I'm comin'!" he yells.  Yanking you backwards, he simultaneously
thrusts his hips forward, sealing his crotch to your ass while driving his
dick as far inside you as it will go--farther, you're sure, than any other
dick will ever go for the rest of your life.  "Take it right up your
child-fuckin' ass, you fuckin' freak!"

   Again he reminds you why you're being punished.  There's no statute of
limitation, no "Get Out of Jail Free" card for your pedophilia as his pole
pulses wildly in your rectum.  You seem to recall that there are not
supposed to be that many nerve endings way up in there, so you're surprised
that you can distinctly feel his spunk spewing into your intestines.  It
seems to go on forever, and again you wonder how long he held off
ejaculating just to come over here and dump it all in you.

   Inevitably the pulsing slows down, though it never ceases completely. 
Like before, his dick shrinks only slightly.  Yours, on the other hand, is
completely flaccid.  Somewhere in the midst of receiving his load in your
ass, you lost yours on the couch.  For the next few minutes neither of you
moves or says anything.  But you can feel him gradually getting hard again
inside you.

   "Guess what?" he asks.  But before you can respond, he says, "I'm gonna
do you again."

   You expected this.  He ends up "doing" you two more times from two
different positions, the second time on your back with your knees pressed
into your chest and the third time spooning you with his arm hooked around
your waist.  With each new climax you again feel his sperm surging up your
back alley.  Soon you begin to wonder just how much male seed he is capable
of producing, how much has been pumped inside you, and how long it will
take to drain out once he's hit the road.  Added to what he dumped down
your throat, you figure you have more semen inside you from just one guy
than anyone has ever had inside them before.  In a way it's flattering. 
But it's not exactly the kind of world record you want to brag about.

   When he finally pulls out of you, you feel a rush of cool air on your
stretched hole.  You want to look in a mirror to see how badly he's damaged
you.  But this is his time, and you suspect he won't allow you to waste any
of it focusing on yourself.  Besides, your concerns become MUCH more
immediate when he has you lie on the floor on your back then climbs on top
of you, his shit-coated, come-dripping dick dangling in your face.

   "You know what to do, motherfucker," he calmly says.

   There's no need to speak, so you just lift your head, take the smelly,
soiled cock between your lips and begin to suck.

   "That's right, nigger!" he now yells at you.  "Fuckin' ass-to-mouth! 
Clean that fuckin' shit off my dick!"

   You don't particularly care for the taste of your own feces, but what
you like or don't like doesn't matter.  All that matters is what he wants,
and he wants you to clean his cock.  So you settle in, slurping and
swallowing until everything his dick dug out of your asshole is sitting on
your stomach.  Once again a wave of nausea passes through you as your brain
reminds of what just ate, but it goes away as quickly as it came.  You're
lucky it does because two seconds later something warm and acrid squirts
onto your tongue.

   "Nnngh!" you complain.

   "Shut up and drink it, motherfucker!" he commands you as hot piss begins
to flood your mouth.  It takes only a few seconds to fill it, and you find
yourself doing the same desperate gulping that he did the first time you
took a leak in his mouth.  The only difference, of course, is the amount
you gave him compared to what he's giving you.  You didn't think it was
possible for a human bladder to hold this much urine.

   But you're forgetting that he's beyond human, that for him you have to
take what's normal for most human beings and scale it up at least fifty
percent.  That means fifty percent more dick, fifty percent more come,
fifty percent more piss, and fifty percent more....  You stop yourself from
thinking any further because the very thought makes your blood run cold
again, which constricts your throat, which makes it difficult to swallow
the last of his piss.  But you manage to suck most of it down, though a
trickle of it backs up into your sinuses and runs out of your nose.

   "Damn, boy, that felt good," he says with a sigh.  "I had to go bad."

   You're hoping and praying that he doesn't also have to do what you just
stopped yourself from thinking about.  Maybe you'll be lucky.  Maybe he
moved his bowels before coming over here.  But deep down you know better.
You could tell by the smell of his farts that something was up.  You
probably would've known for sure had you gotten a chance to stick your
tongue up his ass.  That's probably why he turned around before you could
do it: He wanted to surprise you.  But you're not surprised, only
devastated when he gives you that crooked smile again then turns around and
squats over your face.

   As you stare up at his pouting asshole, fear once again seizes you.  But
this time, oddly, it comes with a pinch of desire.  So you are both afraid
and fascinated as you watch his anal ring get bigger and bigger until the
tip of a light-brown turd pokes out of it.  He looks at you from between
his legs.

   "Open your mouth," he says, echoing your calm tone of twelve years ago.

   Just like he did, you obey immediately, your tongue trembling in nervous
anticipation as his smelly log descends onto it.  If this were anyone else,
you wouldn't be able to go through with it.  You would already have thrown
up from the smell alone.  But because it's him, you know you won't throw
up. It's because, besides the fear and the desire, the guilt you should
have felt twelve years ago has finally begun to gnaw at you.  So failure is
not an option.  Instead you will do whatever it takes to take whatever he
gives you.  It's only right.  It's the only way you can repent.

   "Eat it, you fuckin' pervert!"

   He drops about a load and a half of shit straight in your mouth,
instantly filling it.  The only compassion he shows is when he draws in his
sphincter long enough to let you chew it up and swallow it down.  It's
horrible--the worst thing you've ever experienced--and you wonder if he
deliberately ate certain foods just to make it smell and taste so bad.  You
certainly wouldn't put it past him.  It's payback of the worst kind, and
only now do you truly understand that you should never have done this to
him, that he should never have had to endure this as a six-year-old child.
But you accept what's happening to you as karma and acknowledge that it
takes something like this for people like you to appreciate the gravity of
their past sins.

   It takes him about twenty minutes to empty his bowels.  By the time he's
done, you are stuffed to the gills.  You have eaten so much shit that your
belly is bulging out.  You don't think you would have been able to swallow
another morsel without upchucking.  You are grateful it's over.

   Afterwards he tells you to lick him clean.  You comply, giving his anus
a thorough tongue bath, including worming your tongue inside it this time.
When you finish, he gets up and casually puts his clothes back on.  As he
checks himself out in the mirror, he smiles at your reflection and informs
you that he'll be back periodically to fuck your ass and feed you his piss
and shit.  But next time he'll call first.  When he does, he expects you to
drop whatever you're doing and prepare to receive him.

   "And I might bring one or two of my buds with me," he adds, "either to
watch or join in."

   He departs with yet another crooked smile, this time along with a wave
and a "See ya!  Wouldn't wanna be ya!"

   After he leaves, you get up, lock the door, and just stand there.  His
parting words have left you with a big knot in your bloated stomach.  Your
asshole aches and your mouth is sore.  You're also trembling.  It's as
though your body and brain have just been through a tsunami.  You shudder
inside when you realize that it's only the first of many storms to come.

   Then why on earth--as his come drools down your thigh and the taste of
his shit lingers on your tongue--is your cock getting hard again?  And when
you look in the mirror, why is the image looking back at you wearing the
same crooked smile that he was?

   Strangely, "that" part of you knows the answers to these questions and
fully understands.  It has something to do with Yin/Yang and how it's time
for the "that" part to rest and "that other" part to rule.  You just wonder
how long it will be and if your body can endure the abuse.  But you don't
dwell on this.  Since you deserve everything that's happening to you,
you'll manage it.  The bigger problem will be hiding your enjoyment as he
and his friends have their way with you ;-).




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