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From: "Dream Spinner" <authorsix@hotmail.com>
Subject: ST:  At Their Mercy - 04 (m/b/b/b/t, scat, mind control)
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Warning, flashing lights, bells and whistles.  This is the ongoing
story of the abuse of a forty-four- year-old man by a group of cool
boys.  It is about dirty stuff like shit and piss and sex between a
man and a boy.  If the story turns you on let us know.  If you got
other cool ideas we can do e- mail authorsix and he will tell us.
Special thanx to J**o, it was a cool party dude!   ;-))

			       

		    At Their Mercy, Part 4


    Everyone at some point in time knows something terrible is going
to happen that he has no control over.  An upcoming test when we were
kids, an upcoming performance evaluation at the office, a family
reunion we're forced to go to, it can be anything.  I knew something
terrible was going to happen Friday.  Master Jay told me so when he
stopped by last Saturday night to pick up the story I wrote.  I did
not know exactly what was going to happen, or who would be involved,
but I knew it would be demeaning and perverted in a way that only an
eleven-year-old can twist things.

    I tried not to think about it all week, but that was impossible.
Having your life completely turned upside down by a group of smug
preteens is not something you can just put out of your mind.  Besides,
as I expected, throughout the week it was impossible not to run into
Bradley, the twenty-five-year-old assistant who had been working at
our office this past year.  Whenever we saw each other, my cock became
instantly erect, and I felt a desperate need to fuck the young man's
ass just as Jay had said would happen.  I could tell from the look in
his eyes that he was feeling the same need to have it fucked.  We had
to get away from each other or else I would have done it, just as Jay
had made us to it last Saturday as I described in Part 3.  The events
of that afternoon can never be erased from my mind, and were doing
nothing to alleviate my fears about what was going to happen on
Friday.

    Friday finally came around, and shortly after I returned home from
work my tormentors arrived.  Master Jay, the leader of the boys, was
wearing black, which I thought quite symbolic of the wickedness I was
getting to know in the eleven-year-old boy.  He had on a black Umbro
T- shirt, the sleeveless type that showed off the soft contours of his
shoulders and upper arms and that has tiny holes in the material so
you can see the wearer's skin.  His trousers were black Hollywood
jeans with shiny silver buttons down the sides of the legs, and he was
wearing black and white Nike runners with thick soles and black Nike
socks.  His best buddy and the second of my tormentors, blond,
blue-eyed, innocent-looking Master Tyler, was wearing blue and white
Reebok runners and a blue Reebok shirt with shiny black Umbro shorts.
The reason I know about the shorts is because I recently bought a pair
for a young nephew of mine.  With the arrival of summer almost every
preteen boy in the neighbourhood is sporting them.  The last of the
group, nine-year-old Billie, evidently liked Adidas, or else his
mother did.  His runners, his green soccer cap, worn with the brim
pointing to the back of course, and his black shirt with a yellow
stripe all bore the Adidas symbol.  The only exception was his green
Bugle Boy shorts.

    "Hi, shithead," the boys greeted in unison, and I immediately felt
myself falling under their control.  They walked on past me to the
living room.

    "Hey, all right, ya got everything ready for the party just like I
told ya," Jay observed.

    I beamed back at him, a warm sensation passing over me knowing I
had pleased my master.  As per his instructions, I had given the
living room a thorough cleaning, which did not take long in that I am
particular about neatness and cleanliness and totally abhor
slovenliness.  I had stocked up on potato chips, Cheezies, soda pop,
and Gatoraide.  Finally, I had gone out and boughten two Nintendo 64
and two Mortel Kombat video games and set them up as instructed in the
living room.

    "Better strip down to your underwear," Jay ordered.  "The rest of
the guys will be here soon."  I did so obediently, my only goal to
please my masters, although deep down inside, my mind screamed its
objection and my body tensed with a combination of anger and dread.
What did the boys have planned?

    As I stripped down, Master Jay gave me my instructions.  I was to
serve the boys like a good host, making sure their glasses were always
filled and the snack bowls were never empty.   No matter what they
told me to do, I had to do it.  I was their servant.  No matter what
they did, I could not object or do anything about it, no matter what
it was.  I was their servant.  Looking me over as I stood there
obediently and outwardly unashamed in my underwear, he had me get a
pair of scissors.  He then proceeded to poke a hole in the back of my
jockey briefs and rip it wider to reveal my anus, and to rip the pouch
in front so you could glimpse my testicles and penis easily.   The
door bell rang again.

    "Go welcome our guests," Master Jay ordered.  "Welcome then to
your Masters' party, and then ask who you should announce.  And your
name for tonight's gonna be Buttface."

    "Yes, Master Jay," I replied as I'd been told to do so in one of
our earlier encounters.

    When I opened the door, I recognized one of the two boys on the
steps as Darren, a nine- year-old boy who had joined my tormentors
last Saturday.  They looked at me in surprise and then glanced at each
other and giggled.  The sight of a forty-four-year-old,
hundred-and-eighty pound man standing there in his underwear had to be
totally amusing for a nine-year-old.

    "Welcome to the party of Masters Jay, Tyler and Billie," I
greeted.  "Whom shall I tell them is here?"

    The boys glanced at each other again.  "Kenny," replied the first,
a sandy-haired youth with high cheek bones that gave him a narrow-eyed
look.  His close-cropped hair, high cheek bones, pug nose, thick lips
and big ears gave him the look that reminded me of an innocent farm
boy spruced up to go to church.

    "Darren."

    The boys were identical in size and weight.  They even dressed
similarly, both wearing Vibrations socks and Vibrations T-shirts,
Kenny's a vivid blue and Darren's a lime green.  They also both wore
jeans, Darren faded, torn cutoffs, and Kenny Levis.  Both were around
four feet tall and sixty pounds.

    I introduced our two young guests and offered them snacks and
drinks.  A few minutes later the doorbell rang again.  Three boys were
standing at the door, two ten-year-old boys and a twelve-year-old.
Their reaction was identical to the two first boys.

    "Welcome to the party of Masters Jay, Tyler and Billie," I
greeted.  "Whom shall I announce?"

    "David," said one of the ten-year-old boys, a brown-haired,
brown-eyed youth, who like his friend, was wearing the typical garb of
boys his age, runners, shorts, and a short-sleeved shirt.

    "Isaac," said his friend, a long-haired blond with greenish-blue
eyes and who in a few years would be the dream of every teenage girl.

    "Ryan," said the oldest and tallest of the boys.  He had thick,
sort of spiked black hair and deep blue eyes.  He was wearing the
typical garb of older boys, UVS runners, a grey Quicksilver cap, worn
backwards of course, Bugle Boys wide leg jeans, and a tan Guess shirt.

    The boys settled right in to their video games, pairing up on the
living room floor and switching with each other while I hurried about
the room filling their glasses with soda and filling the bowls with
snacks.  Typical boys, they did not bother removing their runners, and
they left the cans of pop and bowls of chips on my expensive glass
coffee table, the mahogany end tables, or on my eggshell coloured shag
carpet, along with the bowls of chips.  When they dropped any of the
snacks, which happened with almost every handful as they crudely
stuffed their mouths, they just ignored it and it was eventually
ground into the carpet.  I stood there and watched helplessly.   I
felt sick as I thought of the expense of having the living room carpet
shampooed.

    After half an hour Isaac declared that he was bored and asked if I
had any good music, like the Spice Girls or Backdoor Boys.  Of course
I had both tapes, Master Tyler having told me to buy them specifically
for the party.  I put on the Spice Girls, which generated some talk
about one of them leaving the group and even more talk about how hot
they were and how they'd like to feel their boobs and such things.
Even though I knew how crude some of the boys were from things they
had made me do previously, I was shocked at boys that young talking of
such things.   Isaac had me turn up the stereo full volume, which cut
out any further conversation.  Dancing around to the music, Isaac
knocked a bowl of chips onto the carpet.  He bent over to pick it up
but Tyler told him not to bother and ordered me to refill the bowl.
Darren, Billie and Ryan asked for some smokes, which I gave them and
even lit up for them.  I quickly found some ashtrays, which I had
being a smoker myself, but the boys more often than not just let their
ashes fall on the carpet.  When they were done, they just ground them
out on the glass table top.

    "Hey, you guys wanna have some fun we can't have at home?" Master
Jay asked the group, as if their present behaviour was typical good
behaviour at home.  Maybe for these boys it was.  Needless to say,
they all said they wanted to, and asked what Jay had in mind.

    "Well, like we pair up, and each time a guy loses a round,
Buttface takes off a piece of the guy's clothing, until there's just
one guy left."

    "All right losers, get set to strip," announced Ryan.

    With four pairs of boys playing, it was not long before I was
removing Isaac's Reeboks, and then Tyler's and soon the other boys'
sneakers.  Eight pairs of sweaty boy feet confined in sneakers all day
left a distinctive odour wafting through the house but the boys did
not seem to notice.  I lined their runners up along the fireplace.
Ryan was the first to lose a sock, a Wilson sports sock.  Others were
quickly added.  When I removed Darren's Vibrations, I could not help
but notice his feet were not exactly the cleanest, and he smiled up at
me with a knowing smile, evidently thinking back to the comments about
toe jam from our last meeting.  I prayed that we would not get into
feet licking tonight.

    Isaac was the first to lose his shirt.  As I slipped his red
Reebok's off, my fingers ran along his soft, warm body and I could not
help but think of how young he was.  "Fucking shit, all I got left is
my pants and gaunches," he commented, quickly dispelling any thoughts
of his innocence.  I wondered if he had picked up that language from
television or the internet like many adults claim.

    "Hey, Buttface, put some chips in my mouth for me."  I fed Master
Jay a hand full of chips, the crumbs and pieces falling to the floor
unnoticed as he concentrated on winning the match.  That was followed
by a spate of such demands to be hand fed and to given drinks to, more
for the amusement of seeing me do it than any need for refreshments.
I did so with a broad smile even though I was seething inside.

    Ryan's tan Guess shirt was next to go, despite his bragging.
Tyler was the first to lose his shorts, followed by Darren's faded
Levis and David's shiny blue diamond Umbro shorts.  The boys laughed
and giggled as one by one they were reduced to their underwear.

    "Aw, Jesus fucking shit!" cried out Master Billie, the first to
lose the final round.  Amidst the cheers of the others he stood and I
removed his little white jockey underwear and revealed his tiny limp
dink and hairless balls.  Isaac soon followed and I drew down his pale
blue Vibrations to reveal similar naked pubes.  It was not long before
the contest was down to Master Jay and Ryan.   After a strenuous game,
Ryan was the victor.  As I drew off Master Jay's deep blue Russian
Navy jockeys his privates brushed up against my hand.  He glanced at
me with a blank look and I wondered if it was by accident.

    "So, what did I win?"

    "Any game ya want."

    "For real?"

    "Course"

    "Far out.  Mortel Kombat," he said as he removed his plaid boxer
joes and tossed them at me.  I noticed he had a sparse patch of hairs
at the base of his little penis.  He was the only boy that did.

    "Hey, let's do it again for another game."

    "But we're already naked."

    "Buttface could dress us all."

    "I got a better idea.   This time the winner gets Buttface to do
whatever he wants him to."

    Cheers resulted from that suggestion.  My mind raced with all the
possibilities, especially considering what the boys had already made
me do as I've written in earlier parts of this story.

    "Hey, anyone hungry?"

    "Hell yeah," came the chorus.

    "Whad'ya wanna eat?"

    "Pizza," again came the chorus.

    "What kind?"

    There the commonality ended.  The conversation finally concluded
with me taking orders for eight different large pizzas.  The boys
began to play and Isaac was the first to win.  He demanded I come over
and smell his armpits.  That sent a round of laughing amongst the boys
and for the next little while I ran from naked boy to naked boy to
sniff their sour pits, and it was evident not one of them had showered
recently.

    Billie commenced the next trend by digging out a long, slimy snot,
and dangling it out so I had to stick out my tongue to receive it.
When it was his turn, Ryan blew his nose in his hand, purposefully
sneezing, and then offered me a palm of the slimy lime and white snot.

    "Eww, gross," came the response from the others, but they all
gathered around to watch me suck and lick the nasal mucous off his
hand.  The slimy, salty snot clung to my lips and as I tried to lick
it off Kenny observed how much I must like it, much to the amusement
of the rest.  I began to turn red with humiliation.

    Master Tyler initiated a round of fart sniffing, and for the next
while I ran from boy to boy to sniff at their assholes.  Each one bent
over and tried to blow the loudest, smelliest fart he could.   With
the arrival of pizza, I hoped the boys would end this game, but the
boys were so eager to continue they kept on playing and had me feed
them.  Their lips and chins greasy from the pizzas, they didn't worry
if they dribbled any onto the carpet, and I was too busy to wipe any
of it up.  It had to have been half an hour after the pizza had
arrived that the mishap occurred.  When I was attempting to slip a
wedge of loaded pizza into Isaac's mouth, the topping slipped off and
fell on his leg.

    "Jeez, ya almost dropped it on my dick," he complained.

    "Hey, Isaac, yer supposta eat the pizza, not fuck it," someone
commented.

    "Oh yeah, well fuck this," he replied, picking up a wedge and
tossing it.

    By this time the boys had had their fill of pizza, especially
after snacking all evening, which meant almost half of each large
pizza was left.  Isaac's little trick was the trigger that started the
food fight.  Boys began grabbing pizza slices and tossing them at each
other.  Tomato sauce and cheese and pizza toppings flew through the
air, hitting naked, dodging boys, and splatting against the walls.  A
slice hit my five hundred dollar oil painting by Rennet.  Several
slices hit my cream- coloured drapes and slid down them, leaving
streaks of sauce and bits of topping.  My heart sank as several struck
the back of my two thousand dollar suave brown, Italia leather sofa
and just hung there.  As the boys dodged the flying pizza, they
knocked over their drinks and left them there to soak into my shag
carpet.  Lamps and ornaments were toppled from the end tables and all
I could do is stand there like a mindless idiot and watch with a sick
feeling in the pit of my stomach.

    "Hey, Kenny, you could throw more pizza if ya used both hands
instead of using one to play with yer dink," called out Ryan, bringing
the free-for-all to a halt and focussing everyone's attention on the
nine-year-old.

    "Twasn't playin' with it," he retorted.  "I gotta take a pee."

    "Hey, me too."

    "Now ya mention it, me too."

    "I gotta go so bad my eyes are turnin' yellow."

    "Bet I gotta go more'n you."

    "Bet not."

    "Oh yeah!"

    "Hey, let's have a peeing contest!" suggested Tyler.

    "Aw, I don't wanna have ta get dressed and go outside."

    "Who said anything about going outside?"

				  "Where then?"            

    "Right here."

    "In the house?" someone asked incredulously.

    "Right here in the living room."

    The boys giggled and several looked over at me.  I just stood
there and grinned as my heart pounded and my mind screamed.  They
wouldn't!    

    "So, everyone line up here," Tyler indicated.  "On the counta
three everyone start to pee, and Buttface will decide whose goes the
farthest."

    "Can tell ya now, I can hit the wall on the other side of the
room."

    "Yeah, right."

    "Okay, Buttface stand over there and watch," Tyler indicated.  My
heart felt so tight in my chest.  I was sure I was about to have a
heart attack.  The position Tyler had indicated for me to take was
beside my leather sofa. I opened my mouth but could not object.  My
three masters smirked, knowing full well what was going on in my mind.
"Everyone ready?  On the count of three."

    After all the pop, they all did have to go, and they all had to go
badly.  Eight streams of yellow arched out from their pizza-spattered,
naked bodies.  The boys strained to force out their piss.  I cringed
and wanted to cry as one and then another stream reached the sofa,
soaking the cushions with hot piss or splattering against the back.
Dark, almost black, splotches spread out over the leather as the hot
piss soaked into the cushions.  David won by managing to arch his
yellow stream over the sofa.  As bladders emptied, the streams
retreated along my carpet back to the row of eight naked, pissing
boys.  The nitrogenous odour of hot piss filled the room.

    "So, I get one of the games?"

    "Anyone ya want."

    "Hey, there's two more games left.  What else can we try to win
another one?"

    "Let's see who can loogie the furthest."

    "All right, bet I can hit the sofa from here."

    "Hey, I can hit that ugly picture on the wall."

    That ugly picture was a five hundred-dollar reproduction of
Genet's Evening in Venice, one of the oil paintings not spattered by
flying pizza.

    "I got a better idea," announced Tyler.

    "What's that?"

    "Buttface."

    "Far out!"

    "Let's get started!"

    "Okay, ya gotta stand behind here, he said, taking one of the
pizza boxes and placing it on the littered carpet.  "And Buttface, ya
stand there."

    "Shit, any moron can hit him from here."

    "That's the idea," Tyler said with a grin.

    Tyler stood behind the box and the boys all lined up behind him.
He tossed a juicy gob that struck my left cheek and ran down to hang
as a pendant from my jaw.  All eight hurled a gob that struck me
somewhere, most of them in my face.  All I could do was stand there
and grin like an idiot while their spit oozed down my cheeks.  I was
instructed to take two steps back, and the boys all tossed again.
Again all managed to hit me, most of their slimy spit striking my
chest and sticking in my chest hair in bubbly globs or running down my
sides.  The third round eliminated Kenny and David, and the fourth
Isaac, Jay and Billie.  The fifth eliminated Darren, leaving only
Tyler and Ryan.  Thirty-five loogies of spit later, twenty-six of
which had struck my body, Tyler was declared the winner and he claimed
the other Mortal Kombat game.

    "Okay," Ryan said in his defence, maybe you can loogie the
farthest, but I got the best aim.

									  "Hey,
for another game, let's see who has the best aim."         

    "I'm in," said one of the boys and they all quickly agreed.

    "Say who can hit the target the most times out of ten loogies."

    "So what's the target?

    "Take off your gaunches, Buttface," Master Tyler ordered with a
grin.

    The others all cheered and poked each other in the ribs.  They
each stood up behind the box and tossed a spit bomb at me while I
stood at the first elimination point.  Most hit my lower torso, with a
number making direct hits on my penis or testicles.  The spit
collected in gobs in my hairs, which eventually became so saturated
the spit began to ooze in slimy rivulets down over my genitals.

    "Hey, his dick is growing."

    "The old bugger's enjoying it!"

    "Hey, no fair, the target's getting bigger!"  Darren complained
and everyone giggled at that.

    "Hey, Buttface, getting spit on turn ya on?"

    "Maybe its making him think of a hot, slimy cunt."

    "Maybe he just likes boys spitting on him."

    The boys continued their elimination contest, my semierect cock
and my balls now dripping with spittle.  Billie ended up being the
winner of the Nintendo game.

    "Uh, oh."

    Everyone looked at Kenny.

    "I gotta poop."

    "Bet I can poop farther than you."

    "Bet not."

    "Bet I got more poop'n you."

    Everyone giggled and glanced at our hosts.

    "We got no more games left, but for those who want to have a
contest, the winner can have anything of Buttface's that they want,"
announced Jay.  "Right Buttface?"

    "Yes, Master Jay."

    Everyone opted to play. "We need eight chairs," Jay said, looking
at me.

    I brought in two chairs from the bedrooms and we went into the
kitchen.  Jay positioned them with the kitchen chairs around the
table, banging them against my expensive Oak Royale dining room
furniture without the slightest concern.  To me the scraping was like
the noise of fingernails along a blackboard.  He then had the boys sit
on the backs of the chairs with their dirty feet on the cushions and
their butts hanging over the chair backs.  Taking my finest china out
of my buffet cabinet, he handed them to me and told me to place the
plates under each boy's butt.

    "And if anyone misses, scoop it up with your hands and put it on
the plate," he said with a grin.

    "Bombs away!" someone called.

    One by one the boys began to defecate.  I scurried around behind
them, trying to be sure the plates were directly under the turds that
began to emerge from their boy butts.  One by one, they dropped their
turds amidst exaggerated grunts and groans, each boy claiming his turd
had to be the biggest he had ever dropped.  The room began to smell
like a campground pit toilet.  The boys had not been exaggerating.
They all had to take heavy duty shits.  When everyone was done, I was
instructed to place the plates on the table so they could compare.
They did so with much holding of noses, making of faces and obscene
comments.  They finally decided Kenny was the winner.

    "So whatcha want, Kenny?"

    "Dunno, the old dude ain't got nothin' I want," Kenny replied as
he began to get down from the chair.  It began to tip, and as he
jumped off he slammed into David.  David reached out to support
himself as he fell forward and stuck his hand right in his plate of
shit.

    "Awe yuk!" he cried.

    "Gross!"

    "You fucker," he cursed, looking at Kenny.

    "Hey, sorry, it was an accident."

    "Yeah," he said with a sudden gleam, "accidents happen."

    "Hey dude," said Kenny backing away.

    "Do it!" someone shouted.

    "Fuck, stay away," Kenny said trying to get away, but the others
purposefully blocked him.

    He turned, but before he could escape, David slapped him on the
back, leaving a brown hand print. Turning around, Kenny grabbed a
handful of shit from the nearest plate with amazing speed.  "Alright,
take this then," he said, slinging it at David.  It struck his chest
and chunks dropped off onto the floor.

    "Shit fight!" someone yelled.

    Boys grabbed handfuls of shit and lobbed them at each other
without hesitation or pausing to aim.  Shit splatted against naked
bodies, against the walls, against the china cabinet.  Boys smeared
their caked hands on each other's butts and on each other's chests,
and they tried to rub it in each other's hair.  Brown chunks of shit
clung to the refrigerator like obscene magnets.   Flying shit struck
my chest and stuck in my chest hair as I stood there watching
helplessly, my mind totally devastated by what was going on around me.
Turds struck the burners on the stove and disappeared.  Naked feet
stepped in it and tracked it about the kitchen.  The boys finally
collapsed in exhaustion on the chairs, smearing the cushions with
their pizza and shit spattered butts.

    "What a freakin' mess," observed Master Tyler with a grin.

    "Oh man, look'it the time," observed David.  "I gotta be going."

    "Aw, jeez, we was havin' so much fun too," commented Isaac.

    "If I don't get home soon my mum'll ground me for a week!" groaned
Darren.

    "Hey, what would she say if she saw ya now?" asked Jay and they
all laughed.

    The boys trooped into the bathroom, leaving a trail of shit behind
them, and washed up in the tub.  They used up every facecloth and
towel I owned.  They carefully picked their way back through the
ruined living room to get their clothes still neatly stacked up by the
fireplace.

    "Fuckin' fantastic party, guys," said Isaac as he stepped out the
door.

    "Yeah, we gotta do this again," said David as he joined Isaac.

    I prayed not.  I was going to have to disinfect the entire house.

    "Yeah, thanks a lot.  You dudes throw one wild party," agreed
Ryan, and so did Darren and Kenny, the boys now all washed and looking
pure and innocent.  I wondered what they would be thinking as they
walked home, and what their parents would think if they knew what
perverted things their sons had done this evening.

    "Hey, any time dudes," the hosts replied.

    "We should all thank J**o," said Master Tyler.  "It was his idea
to have the party."

    "And some of the party games," said Jay with a wicked grin. 

    I looked at my three tormentors as the door closed.  "Don't you
boys have to be going home?" I asked hopefully.

    "Unuh.  I told my folks I'd be at Jay's," replied Tyler.

    "And mine think I'm at Tyler's," Jay said with a grin.

    "And mine don't give a fuck where I am," said Billie, pretending
to be cocky but I could see in his eyes that it was a front.  His
parents really did not care, and although Billie was pretending he did
not care either, he did.

    "So, let's go wash up."

    The boys lined up in the bathtub.  Having no more clean wash
cloths, the boys made me get my clean jockey shorts and use them to
clean the shit off their bodies.  I then soaped them up and washed
them thoroughly from head to toe, rubbing the soap into their skin and
then rinsing them off with lots of hot water.

    "Make sure you clean my dick real good," Darren said with a wicked
grin as I self- consciously soaped up his little boy genitals.  To my
disgust, and his amusement, his little dick grew hard in my hand.  As
I washed it, he jerked his hips to and fro, fucking my hand with a
satisfied smile.  The two older boys didn't comment and didn't respond
to my contact physically, but I could tell from the looks in their
eyes that they particularly enjoyed watching me perform the demeaning
act of washing their buttholes and their genitals.

    "Okay, Buttface," Jay said as the boys stepped out of the tub,
"your turn."

    I stepped into the tub and the three boys proceeded to wipe me off
and then lather me up with soap.  The three spent a particularly long
time washing my hairy chest, my butthole, and my genitals.  At one
point Jay was working the lather up on my chest, Tyler was occupied
rubbing his soapy fingers up and down my butt crack, and Billie was
entranced as he drew back the skin on my cock and soaped up the knob
and my balls.  It felt strange having three sets of tiny boy hands
massaging every part of my body.  When they touched my private parts
it felt particularly strange, and especially when I noticed they all
had little erections. What they were doing was for the morally
depraved.  We used a blanket to dry off.

    Rolling one of the television sets back into my bedroom where it
had come from, I popped in one of the videos the boys had ordered me
to buy, Scream 1.  The four of us, now fresh, clean and naked, lay
propped up with pillows on my bed.  The boys were enraptured by the
killing and violence in the movie.  I sat there more in a daze as I
imagined my ruined home.  I figured the damage on the screen was minor
compared to the damage to my home this night, and to my mind.   To see
my orderly, immaculate home fouled by every imaginable body excretion
was a mental blow more painful than a blow between my legs.  After the
long day and excitement of the evening, it was not long before Billie
had nodded off.  Try as hard as he could to stay awake, Tyler finally
succumbed as the movie ended.

    "Turn the T.V. on to Much Music," Master Jay ordered, and turn the
volume down.  I did as commanded.  "Mr Wallace?" he asked quietly as I
lay down on the bed beside him again.

    "Yes, Master Jay?" I whispered.

    "You remember what you did with Jarred?"

    "Yes."  How could I possibly forget the disgusting things I had
been forced to do for him!

    "I want you to do the same to me."

    We glanced over at the two sleepers and I carefully got up and
walked over to the foot of the bed.  Kneeling down on the floor, I
bent my head and began to lick the backs of his feet.   Having just
washed them, of course they smelled fresh and clean.  As I worked my
tongue down, he spread apart his toes and I licked between them.  Once
both of his feet had received a thorough tongue bath, I began to work
up his legs, running my tongue up the calf of one and then the other
leg.  I continued on to the inside of this thighs, leaving behind a
thin trail of spittle.

    "Jarred was right, this does feel weird," he whispered with a
satisfied grin.

    He rolled over on his stomach and I dutifully ran my tongue over
his soft, pink butt.   Despite my humiliation, I had to admit the
young boy smelled good.  Climbing up onto the bed, I thought I saw
Master Tyler's eyelashes flutter.  As I spread apart Master Jay's butt
cheeks, I glanced over at Master Tyler out of the corner of my eye.
Running my tongue along Master Jay's crack and licking his butthole,
again I was sure I saw Master Tyler's eye flick closed.  He had to be
awake and watching us.  I felt Master Jay's asshole contract and open
in response to my licking and I dutifully returned my attention to it.

    After a few minutes, Jay rolled over on his back.  His dick was
stiff and the skin was stretched back off the knob, revealing a
reddish-brown mushroom cap.  I bent over and with reluctance and
disgust at the perverted act I was being forced to perform on the
eleven-year-old boy, I stuck out my tongue and ran it over his tiny
walnut sized balls.  I continued up his stiff dick, which was no
longer or thicker than my index finger.  It could not be more than
three inches long.   I licked from the hairless pubes up to the tip of
his mushroom cap and then back down.  After a minute, I continued up
his naked pubes.

    "No," Master Jay whispered with a huskiness in his voice, "Just
put your mouth around my dick and suck it."

    I did as I was told, easily accommodating his little boy dick in
my mouth.  I sucked gently on his stiff little weenie.  I could hear
Jay's breath becoming heavier and slower.  He squirmed and wiggled his
hips, and then he began to pant, and suddenly he thrust his hips
forward and drew them back in several rapid motions.  He was dry
humping my mouth.  He trembled violently and then collapsed.  I did
not need him to tell me to stop.  I lay down beside the naked boy, his
thin chest heaving up and down as he panted for air.

    "Whoa, dude, that was like totally awesome," he finally whispered.
"We're gonna have a lot of fun times, Mr. Wallace."

    He lay on his back and closed his eyes.  I raised my head slightly
and looked at the other two boys.  Billie was curled up and soundly
asleep, looking like an innocent cherub, a smile of pleasure on his
lips as he probably dreamed about the obscene party we had just held.
Tyler was stretched out on his back, a smile on his lips too, and his
hand at his hip where it had fallen.  His little boy dick was still
sticking straight up at the ceiling, the knob still flushed from the
wanking it had just been receiving.  I lay back and stared at the
ceiling and wondered if this was the end, or the beginning, of the fun
times.  Nobody could possibly suggest something more demeaning than
what the boys had done to me that night.

    "Hey, Mr. Wallace, ya like football?" Jay whispered.

    "Yes," I whispered back.

    "Cool.  I got two high school football players I'd like ya to
meet."  Jay closed his eyes again.  "They like need a major ADDA2D
adjustment."  A smile curled his lips and in minutes he was fast
asleep.

    The foul odour of piss and fresh shit wafted in from the living
room and kitchen.  All I could do was lay there with the three
sleeping boys and wonder what Master Jay had meant by
that.--====================987654321_0==_ Content-Type: text/plain;
charset="us-ascii"



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