Author: Lizard69
Title: Stephani: Hostage Girl
Part: Complete
Summary: How much consent does it take to reach consensual?
Keywords: Mb crossdress nc

This is a work of fiction.  If you have trouble with the boundary
between fact and fantasy, don't read it.  If the story codes following the
title freak you out, don't read it.  If I mis-coded drop me a note through
the author email link at ASSTR.  Do not under any circumstances forward
this file to anyone that hasn't specifically requested it.  In case you
haven't figured it out yet this is intended as *adult* entertainment.  Do
not allow it to be accessed by minors.  If you have inadvertently
downloaded it in a jurisdiction where such material isn't legal please
delete it immediately.  Do not re-post in whole or in part without this
notice.  Do not repost on any "for profit" site without my specific written
permission.  Copyright 2017 by Lizard69.


Stephanie: Hostage Girl

Lizard69 (Mb crossdress nc)



   She tried not to faint as he followed her up the rusty stairs to the
door of the trailer.  From the outside it was nothing special.  One more
ancient single wide on a piece of desert land somebody bought cheap.  It
had to be cheap, with nothing but empty in every direction.  While he
unlocked she was looking around.  It didn't take more than a minute to
understand that nobody was leaving here on foot.  The temperature was
hitting triple digits and it was a long way back to the main road.

   He turned on a TV in time to catch the most recent replay of the bank
robbery.  They only showed a ten second clip from the surveillance cameras.
Stephanie's memories of the event didn't seem much longer.  She *knew* it
had taken more than that for him to get the money and almost as an
afterthought to grab her as a hostage.  He turned the TV off and spent a
long minute or two just looking at her.

   "So...  Is this the part where you, uh, have your way with me?"

   The best she could say for his slow smile is that it wasn't as creepy as
she expected.

   "Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of lunch.  Hope you're
willing to settle for soup and a sandwich.  I'm still so full of adrenaline
I couldn't handle much more.  While we eat I'll try to fill you in on the
situation and we can discuss how to deal with it."

   At first the thought of food made her stomach jump but half way through
a BLT and a bowl of soup Stephanie realized it was exactly what she needed.

   "It may have looked like this was a highly planned operation carried out
with clockwork precision, but there was a lot of flexibility in it. 
Unfortunately, there wasn't quite enough.  You should be at home right now,
or as soon as the police finish talking to you.  I'd planned to leave you
with the first getaway car.  You shouldn't know this place exists.  You
should *never* have seen my face or be able to pick me out of a line up."

   "This is getting a little too scary."

   "Relax.  If I was willing to kill you to cover my tracks I'd have
followed through on the original plan.  When I opened the trunk to put you
in it was HOT.  Not sweat box hot, I'm talking crock pot hot, maybe two
hundred degrees.  Even if I left you a cell phone and the location you
might not stay conscious long enough to tell the cops where to find you. 
They could drive directly from the bank to the parking garage and wouldn't
get there in time to save your life.  I had to take off the ski mask when I
got into the second car.  If I had a roll of duct tape or something to
blindfold you I wouldn't have had the time.  Now I have to deal with the
way things have changed."

   Leaving her sitting at the table he continued talking while doing the
dishes.

   "If this was a straight robbery the heat would start to die down the
moment I cleared the scene.  Because I have you, it's going to get worse
for at least a few days.  The cops know that if they don't get a kidnap
victim back in the first three days the odds of seeing her alive again get
real thin.  Right now some of them are imagining you lying on the ground
somewhere, bound and gagged, watching me dig a hole.  Others are imagining
a trail of clothes leading to the spot where you're trying to convince me
it's more fun to keep you alive.  A few are imagining what you'd have to do
to convince them.  There are perverts in every occupation.

   "When I grabbed you as a hostage all I was looking for was somebody
small enough I could slap some sense into them if I had to, but intelligent
and mature enough I probably wouldn't need to do that.  I didn't look at
you as a possible party girl until we were on the way here.  Honestly, it
was a little creepy.  At the bank your age wasn't an issue but I would have
guessed fourteen, tops.  The way you kept your head through this I mentally
bumped that up to *maybe* a late bloomer sixteen.  Your, 'got better things
to do than mess with it', hairstyle is cute.  The glasses, braces, and even
a little acne can't hide what a pretty face you have.  Your age would make
it illegal but a guy who robs banks for a living doesn't have a lot of
respect for the rules.  I'd feel a little creepy about doing somebody that
young but it would probably be fun.

   "Then I got the news that my hostage is the innocent little miss
*twelve* year old Stephanie Parker.  It was like flipping a light switch.
When I turned towards you after shutting off the TV I was looking at the
exact same person I dragged here from the bank, only now you're
unmistakably a twelve year old kid.  Then you asked about me having my way
with you and I got the biggest shock.  I must be a total creep because even
after seeing you as the kid you are, when you asked about it, well, the
thought of having you that way still turns me on.  I am a little curious
about where you picked up that particular euphemism.  You're kind of young
to be a fan of Gothic romance novels."

   For a while she just stared at her plate and blushed.  When she did
start to speak it was too softly for him to hear and she blushed deeper at
being asked to speak up.

   "I...  Uh...  I'm not quite as innocent as you think.  You, uh, wouldn't
be my first."

   "Your first what?"

   By now her face was beet red and her attention seemed totally focused on
the remains of her lunch.

   "My...  My first anything."

   "Really?"

   He got up and moved around to a spot behind her chair.  Reaching over
her shoulders to unbutton her blouse he slipped his hands inside and found
a thickly padded training bra.  He pulled it up and discovered a totally
flat chest.  It was such a surprise it took him a minute to look past her
chest and notice something peculiar about the way her skirt covered her
lap. Lifting the skirt exposed a lacy pair of what the girls call "boy
shorts".  A name that was especially appropriate in this case.  The tightly
stretched fabric covered a pair of testicles and most of an erect penis. 
The last inch of the firm young member pushed past the waistband and was
darkening the bottom edge of "her" blouse with a steady thread of pre-cum.

   "Well I'll be second hand damned!  It looks like you're at least one up
on me when it comes to secrets Steffi, or is it Steve?  From the looks of
that hardon getting raped by some pervo isn't exactly what you'd call a
fate worse than death."

   "Look mister..."

   "Just call me Sam."

   "OK Sam, We're even.  I can't tell about you without you telling about
me.  If everyone found out about this it would mess my life up as bad as
going to prison would for you.  Drop me where I can walk to a pay phone and
we'll both forget about this."

   "Will we?  From the way you're talking there aren't so many people who
know about you that I'd get lost in the crowd.  I certainly can't remember
ever meeting a boy dressed like a school girl before.  Maybe they're fairly
common but it's not like I can reach under the skirts of the next dozen
girls I meet and check to make sure they're really girls.  Nope.  If I ever
want to know what it's like to fuck a hot little girlie boy this is my best
shot.  No self respecting perv would pass up a chance like this.  Besides,
from the way your hardon is leaking I'd say you were expecting something
like that and I wouldn't want to disappoint you."

   "I'd manage to get over it, really.  I don't suppose it would do any
good to tell you I'm not queer."

   "Uh-uh, though it would make me a little curious about what you're doing
dressed like that."

   "It's hard to explain.  I started doing it when I was too young for sex
to be an issue.  It was sort of a role play thing, pretending to be a girl.
Mom freaked out the first couple of times she caught me, then decided not
to make a big thing out of it.  I guess she hoped it would just be a phase
and I'd move on to something more normal."

   "Only you didn't."

   "Well, uh, that wasn't exactly my choice.  When I was ten a neighbor
came over to borrow some yard tools.  Mom was out and...  Looking back, he
must have seen me dressed up more than once.  Anyway, he used it as an
excuse, like, any boy dressed that way was asking for it."

   "Asking for what?"

   "You know.  Anyway, he wasn't deliberately rough but he knew what he
wanted and I didn't.  Besides, I think he was scared my mom might walk in
on us.  I was sure worried about it.  He dragged me to the bathroom, bent
me over and started trying to shove his cock down my throat.  That worked
about like you'd expect.  Between gasping for air and puking my guts out I
didn't put up much of a fight.  I'm not sure how much I swallowed when he
came.  I was probably doing good not to inhale any of it.  It wasn't until
he pulled out that I saw he was only gripping my hair with one hand.  The
other was holding a cell phone making a close up video of my face."

   "Uh-oh."

   "Yeah, between what happened and wondering who might see the video I
sort of lost interest in pretending...  for a while.  It was so weird. 
When I was dressed normal, hanging out with the guys, it was like nothing
happened.  The creepy pervert stuff?  That all happened to Stephanie.  It
can't be real because *she* isn't real, just a made up person I pretend to
be sometimes.

   "But...  Pretending to be a girl is one of the ways I play.  It isn't
the only game I like.  It's not even at the top of the list.  In some ways
it's hardly a game.  A lot of the times I dress up it's just to make
something dull or boring seem different.  I'll put on a skirt and blouse,
then clean my room, pretending I'm getting paid to be some lazy kids maid.
Or I'll be brainiac Stephanie doing homework when Steve would rather be out
playing basketball."

   "So, if Stephanie gets stuck doing the things Steve doesn't want to,
when some pervert wants his cock sucked..."

   "Definitely a job for Steffi."

   *****

   Carrie stared into the bathroom mirror at a woman she could hardly
recognize.  It had been the worst day of her life and longer than most. 
When the cops had left and Jen finally herded the friends and neighbors out
of the house, she'd been surprised to find Carrie holding her purse and
coat ready to help her leave as well.  It was kind of mean to her sister.
She'd apologize in the morning.  Right then she needed to be alone.  So
exhausted she wasn't sure she'd make it as far as her bed, habit made her
check Steve's room on the way.  Tired or not it pretty well destroyed her
chances of sleeping sometime soon.  She wasn't going to turn on the TV and
listen to more repetition of the few things they knew.  Instead she fired
up the computer for the first time since leaving to make that deposit at
the bank.

   After dumping the usual spam she read the mail that arrived before the
robbery.  Carrie wasn't ready to deal with any more sympathy at the moment,
whether it was from friends or strangers.  Then she noticed the subject
line that said, "Hi Mom!", clicking on it before it occurred to her that
somebody might be playing a cruel joke.  The message was short.  "Don't
even think of sharing this with anyone, especially the police, if you ever
want to see me again." Opening the attached video revealed her boy sitting
on something covered with a sheet draped high enough to provide a
background as well.

   "Hi mom.  Again, don't be in any hurry to share this.  Ok?  First the
good news.  I'm alive and it looks like I'm going to stay that way.  He
hasn't hurt me yet and doesn't seem to be planning anything like that.  I'm
in a really bad spot but it isn't hopeless and there are things I can do to
improve it.  You're not going to spend months or years wondering what
happened to me.  One way or another this will be over in less than two
weeks, maybe less than one.

   "It doesn't take a genius to figure out that he doesn't need a hostage
any more.  When we got here I kind of half seriously asked if this was the
part where he has his way with me.  We talked about that and how there
really isn't a place for me here.  We also talked about other things.  He
knows I'm not a girl.  He isn't, uh, disappointed.  This is like, really
awkward.  When I started dressing up I was too young for it to matter.  We
sort of left it at that while every day I got a little bit older.  Two
years ago I found out why you went so nuts about me wearing girl clothes.
It wasn't my idea.  It wasn't fun.  I should have told.  There was no way I
could imagine talking to cops and maybe having to get up in court and tell
the whole world about it.  I didn't know much about keeping secrets, not
then, except that if you can't tell everybody you better not tell anybody,
not even your mom.

   "This probably wasn't the best time to tell you.  I wanted you to know
that I can do whatever it takes to come home alive."

   Oh dear Lord...  In less than two minutes he'd managed to punch a hole
through the mental dam holding back everything that had happened.  Some
endless time later she'd progressed from hysterics, through tears, to the
healing slumber of physical and emotional exhaustion.

   *****

   It felt strange to be back at the house before noon on a work day. 
Carrie had tried to work.  The idea of sitting around the house waiting for
news was more than she could handle.  After a few hours though, the office
manager had taken her aside and gently explained that she not only wasn't
up to anything like her usual standards, the other girls were walking on
eggs around her and not getting their work done either.

   She didn't have any real hope of hearing from Steve again so soon.  The
possibility gave her an excuse to fire up her computer and begin wading
through all the well intentioned email.  Another, "Hi Mom", message
immediately put everything else on hold Hardly scanning the few words in
the cover note, she opened the attached video.  There he was, wearing the
same clothes from yesterday, looking noticeably rumpled.

   "Hi mom, uh, try not to be shocked.  This wasn't my idea but he says it
isn't official until my mother knows.  He...  Uh...  He's fucking me.  I
guess it's something we'll have to talk about when I get home.  If there is
any sort of silver lining to this mess it would be finding out how much
there is that we need to talk about.  You never think when you walk out the
door about all the things that would be left unsaid if you don't come back.

   "That's the other thing he wants to make, 'official'.  I'm going home.
He can't give an exact time, not unless he wants the cops picking him up
when he drops me off.  They would already be losing interest in the robbery
but kidnapping is a crime in progress.  The FBI got so good at catching
crooks during the payoff that kidnapping for ransom doesn't really happen
anymore.  Most hostages get left at the scene of the crime.  When somebody
actually gets taken someplace, it's almost always for sex.  The good news
is that the kidnapper starts to lose interest as soon as he gets his, uh,
ransom.

   "The bad news is that everybody is a little crazy on that subject. 
After he's done, no matter what you mean by done, he'll usually start
feeling at least a little guilty and maybe more than a little embarrassed.
He'll want to put some distance between himself and his victim.  At the
same time, the idea that whoever it was might, 'kiss and tell', is enough
to send a chilly breeze up his butt.  If he's enough of a creep to make you
do stuff, he's enough of a creep to think about making sure you won't
tell...  maybe *can't* tell.

   "Sam isn't a nice guy.  People who rob banks for a living usually
aren't. He's not some kind of monster either.  The thing is he doesn't have
anything to measure himself against.  He knows I can't depend on him doing
what's right to keep me alive.  He's fixing it so nothing he can do will
keep me from talking, because I already have.  This isn't easy for me.  It
must be terrible for you.  Try to imagine what it's like for him...  and
that he has a choice.

   "I told you I stopped being a virgin a couple years ago.  It would be
nice if I could tell you it was only one time, or even that there has only
been one creep.  This isn't my day for nice.  Tomorrow doesn't look good
either.  When Sam found out I wasn't a girl, he had to wonder exactly how
much of a boy I was.  I don't mean just the way I'm dressed.  The idea that
*another* pervert was going to make me do it *again* had me so stiff it was
leaking.  I'm not queer.  At least I don't think so.  If I choose to do it
with a creep, there is always some kind of, 'or else'.  I've done it so
many times the, 'or else' doesn't actually have to be said out loud. 
Sometimes it doesn't even have to come from the creep.  It will be like,
meet him somewhere private, or else worry about somebody walking in while
he's doing it.

   "Sam didn't actually tell me he needed a reason to keep me alive.  Now
that I know him a little, I can tell you he isn't that mean.  I was more
worried about how he'd react to the sausage in my shorts than I was about
doing stuff with him.  By the time I was on my knees with his cock in my
mouth we each had our own reasons for thinking it was a good idea.  I'm not
sure which of us first thought of something better.  On all fours with my
panties down and my skirt flipped up, there isn't much difference between
me and a girl my age, not to the pervert kneeling behind me.  I didn't
cum...  the first time.

   "My...  I don't know what to call him, 'regular pervert', sounds
completely warped.  The one that first started having me, when he noticed
me getting stiff sometimes, he started teasing.  I'd get embarrassed
listening to him and it would get soft.  Then he'd play with it until it
was stiff again.  Soon I was getting embarrassed about how stiff it would
get from listening to him.  I suppose it was chance that he was the one
playing with it the first time it squirted.  The odds were in his favor. 
Anyway, after that he shifted to trying to get me as hard as he could for
as long as possible *without* letting me cum.  It's kind of a new thing for
me, but if I'm close enough, long enough, sometimes the fucking alone is
enough to take me the rest of the way.

   "There it is.  You don't have a daughter.  Sam didn't let that little
problem stop him from raping his hostage.  Being raped wasn't enough to
keep me from getting physical pleasure out of it.  None of us wants to call
a press conference.  Hurting me won't keep any of it secret.  It's safer
for everyone if I go home.  It's still a little scary.  You're my mom. 
You're not going to hate me because of what other people did.  You're also
not going to be happy if I won't do the only thing that could make it
stop."

   Oh Lord!  Two years?!  Two damned YEARS?!  Were they even living in the
same house?  Ok, it's not like having a marching band in the living room.
They were trying not to get caught.  There still had to be some warning
signs, some kind of psychic *stench* from this evil thing happening right
under her nose.  Or did there?  She knew now...  and the closest her mind
could get to it was some half formed presence grabbing him while her
attention was elsewhere.  She left the computer to take another look at his
room.

   It was undoubtedly a boys room.  Maybe that's why it was so easy for her
affection to quench her exasperation regarding the mental, "quirk", of her
problem child.  Steve wasn't a bad boy.  When she gave him a hard time
about it, the fear of his, "friends", at school turning on him played a
bigger role than worry that he might be stalked.  Briefly she considered
searching his room.  Carrie didn't want to find anything that would support
his claims and finding nothing wouldn't help.  Absence of evidence isn't
evidence of absence.  No, it would be better to preserve his trust and let
him bring it out at his own pace.

   Her face felt odd.  It took a moment to realize she was smiling.  Her
nice, safe, slightly abnormal life had been knocked completely off the
rails.  She was facing some incredibly awkward discussions with her
adolescent son.  Yet, in a strange way, her dread at the thought served to
increase her certainty that the conversations would take place.  She wasn't
back to normal, not even close, but her personal crisis had passed.  Steve
was coming home.

   It was still a shock to find him sitting at the kitchen table when she
returned from a grocery run a few hours later.  The way he tensed up as she
hugged him sent her maternal worry gland into overdrive.

   "I'm sorry hon.  I needed to make sure you were really here."

   "It's ok, I kind of expected you to make it a big deal.  I'm sort of
surprised there aren't any reporters parked out front.  Sam said we should
probably call a lawyer before we talk to the cops.  When they're chasing a
bad guy they don't care too much about the people they run over during the
chase."

   "I don't want to take his advice about anything but I guess a
professional criminal would know how and when to use a lawyer.  The
reporters...  This is going to sound terrible.  When a young girl is
abducted, they're going to bring up the subject of sex, it sells papers and
gets ratings.  Nothing really creepy, you won't see a reporter on camera
saying police believe the kidnapper has had time to assault her more than
once by now.  But nobody watching the news will get the idea she's sitting
in some quiet corner working on a jigsaw puzzle while she waits for the
cops to show up.  If it's a boy things are even more low key but they still
circle around like sharks that smell blood in the water.

   "If it's a boy dressed like a girl, they melt away.  'No story here. 
Nothing to report.  'We're honoring the request of the victims family for
privacy.' Publicly outing a trans preteen is the sort of thing that could
have protesters twelve deep in front of their office while they're being
sued into bankruptcy.

   "You're back in boy clothes for now.  Nobody at work brought up the fact
that I don't have a daughter.  There's at least a chance none of the kids
at school will know it was you.  The hostage he grabbed wasn't a *boy*."

   The cops were a little upset about him being, "uncooperative", but had
better sense than to get aggressive in front of a lawyer.  A short
statement by the same lawyer to the media let them wrap up a story they
weren't eager to pursue anyway.  By supper time they were alone, except for
the elephant in the room.

   "I suppose it's up to me.  No matter how hard he tried to, 'make you a
woman', I'm still the adult here.  You're home safe and if there really is
a God, you will never in your entire life have a chance to know exactly how
glad I am to say that.  Because you didn't seem to be in any sort of
distress I didn't drag you down to the emergency room.  Should I make a
doctors appointment?"

   "Uh, I'm ok."

   "No, you're not.  From what you said in the videos you haven't been ok
for a couple of years.  I'm probably not the best person for you to talk to
about that.  If you like, I'll check my medical coverage and see how much
and what sort of counseling it will pay for.  I hate to say this but the
deductible might not be the biggest problem to getting help for you."

   "I'm not crazy."

   "I didn't say you are and I'd love you no matter what.  A counselor
doesn't try to cut and paste until you match some dictionary definition of
normal.  They help you sort out how you feel about what's going on in your
life.  They can't always make you feel good about it.  Pretty miserable
things happen sometimes.  Often the best they can manage is helping you
learn how to cope.  The good news is that most of the time that's good
enough.  The bad news is that kids never had the full benefit of doctor to
patient confidentiality.  To make matters worse, a while back the
government decided their interest in pursuing sex offenders was more
important than the doctors opinion about what was best for his patient. 
If, in the course of providing treatment a medical professional discovers
evidence of sexual assault, especially involving a minor, they are required
by law to contact the police and pass along any information that might lead
to an arrest."

   "You're kidding."

   "I wish.  It kind of puts the cops on the same level as the creeps. 
Either one is more concerned with getting what they want than what's best
for you.  I don't think they can actually force you to testify.  It would
be stupid to drag you into court and stick you in the witness stand if they
don't know what you're going to say.  I don't know if a counselor can
repeat in a courtroom things you told them in a treatment setting.  The
video you sent me, all by its self, might or might not get a sex offense
added to robbery and kidnapping.  It would surely have the police
interviewing any neighbor that ever borrowed my garden rake."

   "Or your hoe?"

   "Eeewww!  That is sooo bad!  Funny, but bad.  I'm in a worse spot than a
counselor.  Family services will start an investigation on nothing more
than an anonymous tip.  Depending on how much I knew, when I knew it, and
what I did or didn't do about it, things could get really ugly."

   "Ugly compared to what?"

   "I get your point.  FS could do anything from random checks to sticking
you in a foster home and me in jail.  I'll admit, for the worst to happen
they'd have to convince a jury I was taking an active part in passing you
around.  Simple ignorance probably wouldn't get me any more than probation.
It's even possible that an investigation would turn up enough general
information to jail me for failing to protect you, without discovering the
sort of evidence needed to convict any of the men who have abused you.  It
isn't likely but stranger things have happened."

   "Oh.  Wow.  I thought cops were supposed to help people."

   "I think most of them want to, at least when they first get hired.  Some
of them still try, when nothing gets in the way, but their job is enforcing
the laws.  If enough of them are right there when a crime is being
committed they will usually do something to stop it.  If somebody calls
them, sooner or later they will show up and investigate the complaint.  If
they find enough evidence that a law has been broken, they'll try to find
whoever broke it then turn them and the evidence over to the district
attorney.  Depending on how busy he is and what kind of evidence they have
there might or might not be formal charges filed.  Most of the people
charged with a crime never have a trial.  Their attorney talks to a
prosecution attorney about who can prove what in front of a jury.  What
usually happens is they plead guilty to a small part of whatever they're
charged with in return for getting a smaller sentence than they would get
if convicted on all the charges.  Who goes to jail and how long they have
to stay there, mostly depends on who is upset about what they did and how
good one lawyer is at convincing another lawyer that he's not going to get
what he wants."

   "Do you want me to tell?  About the creeps?"

   "I want them caught and punished.  I want them to know that it's not ok
to abuse young boys.  I want them to know that raping my son is a really,
really, bad idea.  But I'm not so crazy mad at them that I'll hurt you so I
can hurt them worse.  I want to protect you.  Just because dealing with
cops and courts is a bad thing for a criminal doesn't make it a good thing
for his victim.  The cops can't do anything until they know there's a
problem.  Anyone can call them, it doesn't have to be you.  Whoever calls
them doesn't get to put limits on who they talk to or the questions they
ask.

   "Remember that nature program we watched?  The one where an angry rhino
started ramming one of their trucks?  Imagine somebody's pit bull got
loose. It's in your yard.  It's big, mean, and scary.  Maybe it already bit
you and will bite you worse if you try to make it leave.  So you call 911
and ask them to send over something meaner than a pit bull.  They send an
angry rhino.  Maybe the pit bull is gone by then.  Maybe it's still there
but the rhino is more interested in eating your garden than chasing it
away. Maybe it goes around tapping everyones door with its horn looking for
the pit bull, scaring the crap out of people and finding things it would
rather do than chase a stray dog.  Maybe it chases the dog all over the
neighborhood, on and off the streets, smashing through peoples back yards,
trampling their stuff.  What happens when the neighbor who wins awards for
the flowers she grows gets her garden trampled?  Or the neighbor that
throws, 'no suits', pool parties has an angry rhino smashing through his
fence?"

   "One of our neighbors has naked pool parties?"

   "Uh, that's not important.  The important thing is that if the cops are
running around bothering people because of your problem, the cops don't
live here, we do.  It will be a lot easier to get along with our neighbors
if we don't send the cops to their house."

   "So you want me to keep it a secret?"

   "I want you to do whatever is best for you, long term, not just the next
hour or week.  Let's start with something that doesn't get anyone else
involved..."

   It wasn't more than twenty minutes after his mom left for work the next
day before he heard someone at the back door.  He won the bet, if he could
figure out how to collect.  Why did she make the bet if she didn't want to
know if he came...  and if he came.

   "How's my favorite celebrity?  Can I get you to autograph my nut sack?"

   "You really want me holding your nuts in one hand and a sharp object in
the other?"

   "Why not?  You're pretty good at doing what you're told.  If it came
right down to it I could probably snap your neck before you did too much
permanent damage."

   "Yeah, well, I got some news about that."

   "Oh?  The kidnapper was a surgeon?  He found a spine donor and gave you
a backbone transplant?  I don't believe you worked up the nerve to tell
mommy you're the pass around ass for every boy humper who knows about you."

   "Not exactly.  It's still too embarrassing to talk about and telling my
mom what you do would be like some weird kind of incest.  She had me write
it down, dates, names, places, everything that happened, as much as I could
remember.  Then I put it in a sealed envelope and gave it to her so she
could give it to somebody I don't know.  It stays sealed as long as I keep
telling them not to open it.  If I go away, or just don't care anymore...
It's like I already told everybody.  I just don't know who was listening
yet."

   "Shit!  Ok, what do you want?  I'm retired on a disability so if it's
money we're both out of luck."

   "You can't kill me without getting caught.  That means you can't hurt me
in a way that would be hard to explain either.  You're still bigger and
stronger.  I can't stop you from fucking me if you want it bad enough.  If
you give me some warning I'll try to meet you someplace once or twice a
week.  No more grabbing me any time you get horny and no more than twice a
week.  If you want to give me to one of your pervo buddies you have to skip
a turn yourself."

   "Ok, deal."

   "One other thing.  No more pool parties.  They're not as big a secret as
you think.
   
The End?