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Subject: {ASSM} Beltway Snipers 2: Lee Malvo's Balls (how they got the sniper boy to talk) MM
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Date: Sat, 24 Jun 2006 18:10:01 -0400
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This is a work of fiction. The characters in this story are fictional.
Any resemblance between these fictional characters and real ones is
purely coincidental. This work includes various homosexual acts. If you
are offended by this kind of fantasy, please search for something else
to read.

When Lee Malvo and John Allen Muhammad were taken into custody the main
challenge facing authorities was getting the men to confess to the
crime and to help the detectives find answers to unsolved cases. They
quickly figured out that Muhammad was not going to be much help in all
of this. The older man, 45 years old, as sticking to his story that
both men were innocent and had merely been in the D.C. area to try to
locate his children and his estranged wife.

Malvo, the younger man who was 17 years old at the time, was another
story. The boy was still under the spell of John Allen Muhammad's
indoctrination and romanticized the reign of terror that the two had
inflicted on the D.C. area for nearly a month. The detectives met to
discuss the problems they were having with interrogation.

Detective Franks: "How's the interrogation of the kid going?"

Detective Jacobowitz: "The kid's kinda funny. One minute he's
spilling his guts like he's on Opera, and the next he's sullen and
speechless as a man who's had his tongue removed."

Detective Franks: "Well, when he's talking are you getting any good
stuff?"

Detective Jacobowitz: "It's hard to say. He's giving us lots of
information but I'm not sure how useful any of it is. He's taking
credit for most of the shootings, but I don't think he has the skills
to carry them out. Besides, why would an experienced marksman, like
Muhammad, let his apprentice do most of the work on a job like this? It
doesn't add up."

Detective Franks: "So, you think the kid is pumping up his ego;
trying to make himself look like a big man?"

Detective Jacobowitz: "That's one way to look at it, but I kinda
have another hunch."

Detective Franks: "What's that?"

Detective Jacobowitz: "I think the kid's trying to protect
Muhammad. I bet they had some sort of agreement that if they got caught
the kid would take the rap for most of the murders because the jury
would have a harder time executing a kid then they would an adult in
his forties."

Detective Franks: "Hmmmm. So you think we've got the noble young
soldier who falls on his sword for his superior officer?"

Detective Jacobowitz: "Yeah, something like that. The kid's also
doing a lot of bragging, as though he thinks he's the star of some
kind of action movie or something. Problem is, it's hard to tell how
much of what he's saying is true. I had some of our younger officers
look at the transcript of his confessions so far and they say lots of
what he's 'confessed' to has been lifted wholesale from the
lyrics of popular gangsta rap songs."

Detective Franks: "I guess we should have expected that since we're
basically dealing with a teenager."

Detective Jacobowitz: "Yeah."

Detective Franks: "So, you got any plans on how to deal with the
situation?"

Detective Jacobowitz: "Yeah, I've got one plan. I've got
Detective DuPont coming in this afternoon to interrogate the boy."

Detective Franks let out a loud chuckle. "Detective DuPont? If
nothing else, he ought to be able to get a rise out of the boy."

Detective Jacobowitz: "Yeah, there's nothing Detective DuPont likes
better than to interrogate young male detainees."

Both men laugh and sip their coffee.

Detective DuPont was a highly respected interrogator, particularly in
cases involving violent crimes by black and Latino young men and boys.
Nobody was quite sure how he got the young men to talk because all of
his initial work took place during closed sessions that were unrecorded
and unobserved by the other officers. DuPont always insisted on having
his "private sessions" with the young men; only after these
"private sessions" were completed did he allow the other officers
in to carry out the actual interrogation, which was recorded with both
audio and video devices.

DuPont was a lean man in his thirties, with smooth features.  Despite
his strict disciplinarian air, something about him vaguely hinted at
the effeminate, although colleagues and friends could never quite put a
finger on what it was. His smooth facial features and neat style of
dress were subtly unsettling - in the same way that the cultured
appearance of a Nazi officer would be.

When the detective entered the room he saw Lee Malvo seated in a plain
wooden chair - he was handcuffed behind his back and the back of the
chair. Except for another wooden chair and a large table the room was
empty. The black youth studied the detective and gave him the same
intimidating glare that he gave all the detectives on their first
encounter. He looked at the detective as if to say, "I just don't
give a fuck - I'll kill your ass too."

Detective DuPont pretended to be absorbed in reading the contents of
the manila folder in his hands and addressed the boy in an absent
distracted tone, "So, Lee Boyd Malvo, is it? Says here you have been
involved in multiple homicides in the D.C. metropolitan area along with
accomplice..." the detective paused for dramatic effect, as if he had
forgotten the name of the other sniper, "...John Allen Muhammad. Do
you care to talk about it?"

The boy glared at the detective who was still reading the folder and
refusing to make eye-contact. "No," the boy's answer sounded as
if it were challenge; as if he was deliberately trying to provoke a
reaction.

The detective was silent for a moment. He looked up from the folder,
"I see." The detective gently closed the folder and laid it on the
table. He pulled a chair up in front of the boy, sat down and looked
him squarely in the eyes.

The detective spoke in an emotionless voice, as if he were completely
in control of the situation. "This is very serious. A number of
people have been murdered. You have been implicated as an accomplice in
the murders, yet so far your answers have been riddled with the violent
wet dream fantasies of homicidal rap musicians. We cannot separate the
wheat from the weeds in your testimony. I'm here to encourage you to
cooperate in helping us to clear some of this up."

The boy stared defiantly at the detective, "Well then that's your
muthafuckin' problem."

The detective cracked the vaguest of smiles, the first hint of emotion
since he entered the room, "Such foul language. And they told me that
you were a polite and intelligent young man."

The detective slowly peeled off his jacket, "Well, Mr. Malvo, you are
about to learn that my problem is your problem also." He neatly
folded his jacket and laid it on the table beside him.

"You seem to be conflicted, as though you are two persons in one
body. On the one hand, there is the Lee Malvo who is quiet, withdrawn,
studious and respectful of his elders," the detective rolled up his
shirt sleeves.

"On the other hand there is Lee Malvo the monster; Lee Malvo the
serial killer who shoots innocent people in cold blood and, when he is
captured, laughs and brags about it to police officers."

The detective give the boy a quizzical frown, "Now, which one is the
real Lee Malvo? What are we to believe? And what are we to make of your
many conflicting statements, some of which seem to fit everything we
know about the crimes, and some of which are laced with the imaginings
of popular culture from the music industry?"

Malvo sneered at his interrogator, "I'll leave it up to you to sort
it out."

The detective leaned forward and began to unfasten the boy's pants,
"Now you see, Mr. Malvo, that's precisely where you are wrong. Not
only are you going to help me resolve the riddle of who the real Lee
Boyd Malvo is, with respect to the crimes; you are also going to help
me resolve who the real Lee Boyd Malvo is with respect to your sexual
capabilities."

The boy swallowed hard and took a deep breath, "So what you gonna do?
Torture me by crushing my balls? Torture me by stickin pins the piss
hole of my dick?"

The detective laughed, "What? You mistake me for a savage? I
wouldn't do any of those things to a fine healthy young man like
you." The detective pulled down the boy's boxer shorts, exposing
his dick and balls, and a lush bush of dark curly pubic hair.

"I've got other ways of making boys like you talk."

The detective grabbed a handful of Malvo's thick black penis and
slowly began to stroke it up and down. "I read your files. I read how
you spent night after night with your accomplice, Mr. Muhammad, in the
close confines of your hot stuffy vehicle."

The detective's skilled thin white hands stroked the length of the
boy's hardening black cock. "I read how you and Mr. Muhammad shared
a cot in homeless shelters, and how he embraced you as his 'son,'
even though the two of you are not remotely related."

Now the boy's thick black cock was fully hard and throbbing in the
white man's hand. The detective didn't let up. He kept pumping the
boy's dick, making it throb.

"Yet I see you here today and there's no sign whatsoever that you
are gay." The detective looked down at the throbbing young black boy
meat enclosed in the palm of his hand. He grinned, stopped stroking and
opened his hand to expose the boy's hard cock which was leaking
precum. "No sign except for this."

The boy's eyes filled with rage and fear, "I aint no faggot. I
don't get off from no dudes."

The detective laughed and bounced the boy's fully loaded balls in the
palm of his hand, "Oh? You could have fooled me."

The detective started playing with the boy's balls. He rolled the
boy's full sacs in his fingers, feeling the hair on the boy's nuts
and rubbing the underside of his scrotum working his way toward the
boy's ass crack.

"You see, the thing that always confuses me about boys like you is
how strongly you'll profess your manhood in public, but how much -
in private - you enjoy the gentle stroke of soft hand - and it
doesn't matter whether that hand belongs to a male or a female."

Malvo shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His hard black cock throbbed
and pointed toward the ceiling. His cheeks were flushed with sexual
desire and arousal. He wanted the detective to stroke him some more,
but the detective kept playing with the boy's balls.

"You want it, don't you? You want me to keep stroking that big
thick Nigger cock of yours."

Malvo shook his head in vigous denial.

"Oh yes you do. You want me to go back to stroking that big Nigger
cock - or maybe you'd prefer a hot, moist, soft mouth..."

The detective leaned in close so that his open mouth was barely inches
from the boy's throbbing dick.

"...sucking on that tender, young, healthy, nigger cock?"

Malvo shouted in denial, "I aint no faggot! I aint no faggot! I
don't even like dudes."

The detective smiled and resumed playing with the boy's balls and
sliding his finger into the boy's ass crack, "of course you
don't."

Slowly the detective moved his hand back to the boy's dick and
started stroking his hard firm shaft.

"In my ten years of interrogative work I've always wondered why it
is you black boys and Latinos have such big thick cocks."

By now the detective had picked up speed and was making the boy's
balls bounce. "Can you tell me the secret? What's the secret behind
those big horse sized Nigger dicks?"

Malvo started breathing heavily with each stroke. He closed his eyes,
threw his head back and softly mumbled "I dunno."

The detective squeezed the boy's dick tighter while he stroked, "Is
it because you boys masturbate by the time you're eight years old? Is
it because you horny little fuckers give your dicks a good workout well
before puberty?"

Malvo groaned deeply, "I don't know. That might be it."

The detective bore in on him as he stroked the boy's hard cock -
"You're enjoying this, Nigger - aren't you?"

Malvo shook his head vigorously in denial, "No I aint."

"Yes you are! Ten years on the force in interrogation and never once
have I come across a young black man who doesn't like having his
balls played with and his dick sucked, and it doesn't matter if
it's a man or woman who does it!"

"Not me!" Malvo shot back.

"Yes you! Yes all of you! It just has to be the right time and the
right place."

The detective leaned forward and began sucking on the boy's hard
cock. He moved his lips up and down the boy's thick shaft. The young
detainee bucked with excitement.

"No, No, No. I aint no fag. I aint no fag. Please stop! Please stop
making me a faggot. Please respect my manhood!"

The detective took the boy's dick out of his mouth and laughed,
"I'll respect your manhood alright - just as soon as I make you
shoot your load and empty your Nigger balls all over my face."

Malvo protested, "Don't - Don't do that. Please! Please
stop!"

The detective was now stroking wildly, vigorously. He stroked as if he
were a man who had lost control over himself, "I will - I will do
just that. I'll make you a faggot. I'll give you a man's
attention and make you enjoy it."

Malvo was lost in forced sexual ecstasy and protested all the louder,
"No - No, please stop!" His body writhed with pleasure.

The detective leaned in and studied his jiggling nigger balls on the
wooden seat of the chair. He mercilessly stroked the boy's hard black
cock until it was throbbing and whipping a clear strand of precum
around the dick head like a lasso.

"Who is the real Lee Malvo? Tell me. Who is the real Lee Malvo?"

The boy bounced up and down in his chair, his body following the motion
of the detective's wild strokes on his hard young cock.

"I dunno! I dunno who I really am! I dunno!"

The detective stroked harder and harder, "Well find out then! Let
loose and find out who you really are and what you really want!"

Malvo protested, "I can't - I can't. Black men don't swing
that way! Black men don't get into faggotry."

By now the detective was stroking the boy's cock with one hand and
shoving his finger up the boy's dark ass with his other hand. He
finger fucked the boy as he massaged the boy's black shaft.

The detective laughed in the boy's face, "Yeah, you're a real
he-man! A real he-man who couldn't get off in the hands of another
man if your life depended on it, right?"

Malvo shouted, "That's right! That's right!"

Just then the boy breathed heavily and erupted with a big gusher of
thick white cum. His dick pumped load after load of hot white cum
everywhere. It whipped around and landed on his thighs, his pubes, his
testicles and the white man's hands.

The detective let out a guttural laugh, "Yeah, that's it Nigger.
Shoot that cum. Shoot that jizz. Learn something about yourself!"

The boy's body was covered with sweat. The detective continued to
stroke the boy's dick and the boy took deep breaths, gasping for air.
Even though his balls were empty his dick was still hard because the
white man kept stroking him.

"You're a Nigger bitch. You're a fucking Nigger whore! You
can't get enough of this, can you bitch?"

Now the boy's balls were aching from pumping empty jizz. His penis
was sore from being kept hard so long. His balls were exhausted, but
the sadistic detective kept stroking him.

"Please stop, please stop!"

The detective ignored him and kept stroking, enjoying the sight of the
boy suffering from sexual passion.

"Please stop, I'll tell you anything - anything you want to know.
I'll talk! I'll talk!"

The detective licked the boy's cum coated dick. His hot moist tongue
made the exhausted dick even harder. The boy was beside himself in
sexual overdrive.

The detective said, "Are you sure? Are you sure you want to talk
now?"

The boy pleaded, "Yes, please, please, I'll talk! I'll talk!"

*********************************************************************

A half hour later, after the detective had time to clean the boy up and
air out the room, he let the other officers in for the formal
interrogation to begin. Had the officers not had previous experience
with Detective DuPont's miraculous ability to make recalcitrant
detainees talk they would have been amazed at the transformation that
seemed to have come over Lee Boyd Malvo.

But as it was, it was simply another case of the wily detective's
incredible interrogation skills. Gone was the affected pride that had
characterized the boy previously. Gone were the fanciful stories that
had previously led the detectives on wild goose chases for additional
evidence.

All that was left was a humble, fully cooperative teenage black boy.  A
boy whose cooperation became essential in piecing together the puzzle
of the extent, method and motive of the D.C. sniper case that had so
captivated the nation during its brief but deadly reign of terror.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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