Little Boy Lost
By Ponyboy G
All the usual rules apply...please do not read any further if you are not
morally, socially, politically, chronologically, mentally or emotionally
prepared for a tremendous ride of familial sexual satisfaction. This tale
contains unbelievably erotic encounters between members of the same gender, same
family, same religion, same video club and same Scout troop. Y'know... basic,
everyday middle-America fare.
Remember that weird sex is alot like playing Scrabble...it should only take an
hour, everything must touch at least once, and it was always better with your
family.
THE PRESENT
"Mommmmmmmm.... come and look at what he did this time!!!"
Eleven-year-old Susan Cohn pointed at the wet toilet seat and screamed for her
Mother, who was downstairs lovingly admiring her 3d Mimosa of the morning.
"Damn kids," the woman thought, "always ruining my mornings for no reason at
all," and they knew that Sunday was HER day! Her day to relax and regroup before
another week of work. Her Mother and her sister Ruth were at church and this was
Louise's only "alone time" in the little house shared with them and her
daughters.
Granted, Louise preferred to relax and regroup somewhere in between the bottom
of a bottle of Zbornak Vodka and oblivion. Nevertheless, it was no one's
business. Not her daughters business or the boys or the neighbors. She knew that
Mrs. Kincaid from next door, spied on her and the family often; watching their
comings and goings, and probably some cummings and goings, too. She didn't mind
at all, nope, not a care in the world today, until now.
"MOM!!!" Susan shouted down to her Mother again, now agitated and demanding
attention. "He missed the bowl again and didn't clean up properly!" she added.
There was the obligatory pregnant pause...followed by the even more inevitable:
"MOMMMMMMMMMYYYYYY!"
Louise's anger grew steadily and with purpose. The boy was gone until Monday,
some sort of field trip with classmates, she vaguely remembered...probably to
"The Dickhead Museum" or "The Asshole Hall of Fame," which is precisely where he
belonged. She hoped that he enjoyed the surprises that she and his sisters had
packed for him in his duffel bag. A slight giggle escaped her usually pursed
lips. She rarely laughed anymore, it was an expensive commodity at the Cohn
household. Who had time, energy, or desire to laugh and enjoy life?
Louise felt The Speech coming on, as you could almost set your watch by it. This
was the very same speech that she recited every weekend during her relaxing and
regrouping time. She knew it by heart. She had perfected The Speech. Only this
time HE wasn't around to listen to her, to listen about how HER life was ruined
by HIS father! That rotten dead prick, she hoped HE was in hell! SHE was forced
to raise 4 beautiful, talented daughters and the boy all by herself. SHE was
still in her prime and should be enjoying the finer things in life. Not that the
girls were ever a bother to her, but the boy was a major problem! Always lurking
about the house, stinking up the rooms with his BO and dickcheese, bumping into
things, wrecking everything, saying something stupid or doing something
stupid...blah, blah, blah. The Speech never changed and neither did Louise Cohn.
If the dead prick hadn't been so...well...dead, then things would be different.
Her life would be different, it would be better. If only things were the way
that they had been. Before that boy was born.
Sal always loved his 4 girls and charming wife, but he was missing something in
his life, something that would be a project just for him. Something to shower
his love and affection upon. The girls were clannish and often giggled at him
with their mother sharing private jokes that he knew were at his expense. Sal
wanted something that would be his and his alone. Something that would always
side with him. A boy.
SAL'S SON
When a boy was born, Sal was nothing short of ecstatic. Louise had wished for a
girl, often telling anyone who would listen, even to the consternation of her
husband. Their boy became the pride of his father's life and the elder Cohn
doted on him constantly. He spent years walking with him, changing him, washing
him, everything a good father would do. As the boy grew his father loved
watching the changes in his son's body...this boy was going to be a heartbreaker
with the ladies, he could tell already. By age 11, the boy had developed rounded
shoulders that were more broad than any boy other in his class, and his thick
wavy hair that, while brushed off of his forehead, continued to fall down, over
one eye. His skin was a seductive olive color, and his green eyes complimented
the tone. Sal had been a skittish bookworm as a youth and was determined that he
would have a son who enjoyed the outdoors, played all sports, lifted weights,
summered as a lifeguard, etc. Simply put, he was going to have the life that Sal
never did. In addition, the boy was well on his way.
By the time he was 14 years old, he had become the key receiver on his Jr. High
team, class president, and he also had gone to State Comps in tennis and swim,
which his father never tired of pointing out. Most often his dad was reaching
for a picture of he in a suit and his son in an ill-fitting white Speedo at swim
camp. Louise never knew how to shop for the boy, and mistakenly bought his
bathing suit in the little boys department, rather than young men's. This Speedo
was made for a calf and her son was a bull. The outline of young cock was
obvious as it laid across his upper thigh and his balls protruded forward,
forming 2 discernable firm eggs. Excessively large for his slim muscular frame,
his "privates" looked as if someone had transplanted the uncut dong and swollen
nads of a 25 year old onto a punk. Sal could always hear an audible "UGH" from
his son as he pulled out the picture to show his business clients, relatives and
friends, but he was a proud father. So proud that he was blind to his son's own
embarrassment.
Louise, however, was not happy and mostly felt unneeded in her own babies' life.
She immediately and progressively resented the time that Sal spent alone with
the boy. Their "boys nights" at the movies, the Cub Scouts, the swim and tennis
camps, the YMCA, everything they had designed to rob her of her fun and
attention. She knew that her girls were superior to the boy, which they
demonstrated daily with good manners, refined tastes, and high grades. She
thought of her son as a big dumb animal, sweating and stinking up her lovely
home, running to the bathroom with just that stupid jock on; it's big pouch
bouncing up and down threatening to let his bull nuts flop out. Who the hell was
he trying to impress anyway? No there cared about him at all. Except his Dad.
She wouldn't even wake him for school anymore. Every time she walked into his
room she would be forced to look at his big shoulders hanging off the edges of
the little boys' bed he still slept in, one leg thrown over the side with his
size 11 foot touching the floor. He always slept with one arm flexed and held
behind his head, exposing a quarter-sized mat of thick dark hair, and those
little tan nipples rock hard 24-7. Worst of all was his swollen prick standing
up with its slight curve to the left and thick purple vein running straight up
to the peeled back foreskin. In addition, she wished she could just take away
the ridiculously small patch of hair at the base, with one swipe of the razor.
His fat hairless sack always stuck out like some offering that he was actually
proud of. She remembered Susan sneaking in one morning with her, exclaiming
"EWWWW GROSS...IT LOOKS LIKE THE DOGS PEE PEE!" They both burst out laughing as
he awoke, grabbing desperately for the sheets. She detested having to rouse him,
because shaking his shoulders often forced a string of clear jizz to shoot from
his garbage hose.
She learned to have fun with it, though. One morning, his "pal" Tyler or Tyson
or Tyrone or whatever-the-fuck, came to pick him up for a morning run and she
told the punk to go and awaken her son by himself. Knowing that the boy would be
humiliated by his friend seeing him sleeping in a pool of his own spooge, she
kicked back and waited to hear the laughter and catcalls. Without fail, knowing
how all boys are nothing but walking dildos for women, she heard the teasing
begin. Another time she left his door open so that his sisters and their
friends could watch him while he slept enjoying everything their bare-balls,
brother had to offer.
She knew that her husband enjoyed seeing the kid naked. Though, perhaps a little
too much. He was always in the basement when the kid showered, standing in the
doorway of the navy showers he had built for the boy. He would discuss sports,
weight lifting, school events, and girls...anything to be close to his bareassed
son. He admired seeing his boy in all his nakedness, soapy and washing every
inch of his body. Twice daily; once in the morning before school and once at
night before bed. He kept the boy on a rigid schedule of exercise, diet,
education and discipline. He enjoyed knowing that he controlled his sons' every
waking moment. The kid barely took a piss without asking Sal's permission first
and always ran every action or thought past his Dad first. A boy should be
raised with a firm hand; and no slacking (or jacking) off, EVER. He had been
brought up strict and intended to make his son an even better man by doing the
same, but harsher. He believed in sparing the rod for no one.
Just because the kid was a solid muscle-boy by age 13 and had looks that could
stop traffic, didn't mean he could coast through life. Sal also knew his son's
cock and balls were huge for a boy his age, but that was no reason to allow him
ejaculation. EVER. The boy knew he would be beaten if he even touched his
monster dong except for washing it, and even then his father was present and
would have beat him in the shower, bareassed and wet, if he had taken too long
on it. Sal believed that the constant pressure in his testicles would help with
an edge in sports and both his Coach and the boy's Dr. had wholeheartedly
agreed. He certainly enjoyed waking the kid up for school after his wife refused
to and when his daughters were too busy. He liked to open the door wide and
sneak in, peeling back the covers and revealing the young tanned Adonis for
anyone to see. He liked the kids' oversized bull balls and reveled in the fact
that they held weeks worth of boy spooge just aching to get out. He also enjoyed
seeing the punk's foreskin peeled back and the stretched plum sized head with
its long piss-slit just glistening with pre-slop. The cock looked as if it were
literally begging for a final release, that would never come.
Of course he knew the kids nuts would soon start to shoot during his sleep, as
that was part of being 110% all American male. He knew his wife would refuse to
wash the messy sheets, so he planned to remove all the sheets and the boy's
pillow, so if show a load during the night, he would have to lay in his junk, as
a learning lesson. In addition, when that day came, Sal had prepared soft
leather cuffs to attach to the headboard which would control his sons' desire to
abuse himself.
This was HIS SON. HIS BOY. HIS CREATION. Moreover, every inch of it belonged to
Sal Cohn. This boy had come from his testicles and he was determined to control
his creation forever. His wife certainly didn't care about the kid. She assumed
that all males were basically either pack mules for women or a walking set of
testicles to produce sperm and motion for the pleasure of females. She was a
feminist from way back. In addition, a drunk from either farther back. Sal
honestly didn't trust her with the boy, as he believed she could be violent to
the lone male child. He recalled walking in on her spanking the boy when he was
about 13, she had him naked and grabbing his ankles tightly with his legs
slightly bowed. This was a perfectly respectable position for a young male to
spanked in, as it exposed his most intimate parts, adding much needed
humiliation to the physical pain. Parents have a right to see any part of their
sons at any times, Sal's Dad had engrained that into his own head. However, that
particular day, Louise was holding the boys large nuts in one hand while hitting
them repeatedly with the wooden spoon in the other. He watched the boy yelp and
jump, and she smacked down on them shouting "UGLY BABY MAKERS" and forcing him
to agree. "Yes Ma'am, they are ugly and too big for me Ma'am" he would repeat
almost as a mantra. "Yes Ma'am they are huge...OWWWWW...donkey nuts MA'AM!"
After that day he handled all of the boy's almost weekly, then almost daily
discipline. Sal and his son spent almost every evening together in the basement
watching sports, studying or lifting weights. This became their routine and Sal
would break it for nothing, unless he got the 2nd shift job at the warehouse he
had applied for. He was determined to have his boy enter Golden Gloves next
year, and was going to work 2 jobs to earn the extra money for sparring lessons.
He constantly found new and exciting hobbies for the boy, to keep him occupied
and away from the sluts who showed up at their door at all hours, peeked in the
windows, and even stole the boy's jockstraps off the backyard clothesline once.
When a certain girl showed interest in his son, he made the boy call her, in his
presence, and announce that he wouldn't be able to see her. He would explain to
his son that women were only after what hung low between his legs. That they
drooled over, discussed and giggled about his huge "schlong" and that they only
wanted him just to feel it up and squeeze it to make it leak, which was wrong.
Boy's balls were the girl's only interest, as women only want to own them and
control their production of cum. No girl wanted him for his brain or
personality, just for his meat. His tool. His mule cock. His horse nuts. His
baby batter. Sale would shout these theories as the boy sat, cringing as each
word cut into and humiliated him more.
Often his son cried after making the calls, knowing that fewer and fewer girls
would even talk to him. Nevertheless, that wasn't of any concern to his Father.
The fewer the girls around the boy, the better. They would only take time from
sports and his studies. Leaking in their panties at the sight of him in his
singlet, whispering and pointing to his obvious bulge like they did in the
stands at the wrestling meets. They didn't know he was the boy's Father as they
guessed and commented about its length and capabilities. Sal considered them all
nothing but horny sluts. When the time finally came for his boy to lose his
cherry, his Dad would not only hire the woman, but would watch, direct and guide
him through his first sexual experience.
Therefore, when his son would cry at the loss of a potential date, it was fine
with his Dad. He believed in letting the boy cry as a way of breaking his spirit
and training him to see only his Dad's point of view. Which was truly the only
way to live. Pretty soon he would start to rethink the male friends that his son
had, because too many pals meant that the boy had too much free time. Then he
would crack down even more and control his son's activities almost to the
minute...and then to the second.
WHAT HAPPENED, HAPPENED FAST
3 weeks later Sal Cohn was gone. As he walked along the rows of diesel truck
parts in the warehouse he guarded at night, 4 young men emerged from the
shadows, each with a knife or a gun. Sal had never encountered anyone in here
before, but he had only taken the job a few months ago for extra cash to pay for
sparring lessons for his son. What could these punks want? He hadn't been
licensed for his weapon yet, so he reached for the stick and his mace.
"You better get the hell out of here before my backup comes!" Sal threatened
them with a lie. As he reached for his mace, a 5th boy came from behind and
grabbed his arm and neck. The boys laughed, knowing better. They had been
watching the warehouse for weeks and knew that no one would arrive for at least
5 hours. They had lots of time to collect any cash and have any fun.
Unfortunately for Sal there was little of one and plenty of the other.
Within the next several hours, Sal had been stripped naked and whipped with his
own belt. The boys wrote on his body humiliating and degrading commentaries,
forcing Sal into the workers' locker area and then making him stare into the
mirror. They had written 'SUCK HOLE' across his face with a red arrow going down
into his mouth, "FAGGOT FUCK" was printed across his lean chest, "CUM HOLE"
adorned his back in 9 inch letters with yet another arrow going down his back
and up into his crack.
They had forced his own flashlight up his asshole without lube, coating it only
with the minimal spit that Sal could muster while being forced to orally make
love to it. The broke off or pushed out 7 of his teeth while ramming it down his
throat, repeatedly. The boys were maniacs with the clean-cut white man; to them
he represented everything that had held them back in life. Moreover, they were
prepared to take out all of their frustrations on him. They were getting revenge
after years of being 2nd class citizens and their scapegoat was a hard working
honest poor man. They began raping him with swollen Mexican cocks almost as soon
as he was naked. After they watched him set fire to his own uniform they threw
him naked onto the cement floor and took his manhood away from him with each
forceful fuck from their young fuckmeat. They made him beg to be fucked like
"the whore that he was" and "to ride him like a bitch dog." They made him bark,
whinny, and moo like various animals. In their eyes he was nothing but a cum
dump, a farm nag to be used to sexually service "real studs" like them.
He had stopped crying after the first hour, when they rode on his naked back,
smacking his rear end like a packmule, the whole time burning the beautiful,
wavy, dark hair off of his head and blackening his eyes with repeated kicks. He
had stopped making any sounds at all after 3 hours of constant rape and torture.
His asshole had been stretched to look like an abused whore's pussy with its
puffy red lips that now leaked cum, piss and spit continually. They had
circumcised him with his own pocket knife and shot mace down his throat and up
his nose, repeatedly. His testicles had been tied off with fiberglass twine and
behind him he dragged a 40-pound carbide rotor. Sal's nuts were now almost
totally black in color and had been completely ruined from hours of abuse,
kicking, and dragging various objects. If he would survive they would have to be
removed.
The brutalized man tried to keep his thoughts on just surviving and getting out
of his personal torture chamber in one piece. They had finally understood that
there was no money to be stolen and certainly no valuables on site. This only
further added to their anger. He had stared at the clock on the wall until they
noticed and broke it over his now, almost bald, singed head. Grinding the glass
and metal into the open wounds and burns, they laughed that he would never get
out alive. Finally, after almost 4 hours of torment, they dragged the barely
conscious man back to his own desk and began to tear through it.
Duct taped into a wheeled office chair, and repeatedly rolled into the walls,
desks, and filing cabinets, the man was suffering from broken bones, 2
dislocated shoulders, battery acid burns on 30% of his body, as well as internal
hemorrhaging from the repeated rapes. With his nightstick shoved entirely up his
ass and his security badge pinned through a nipple, the man fell in and out of
consciousness. Yet the moment the leader found the box Sal's eyes widened. He
could no longer speak even if he wanted to, as they had wrapped everything below
his nose in silver duct tape also. However, his eyes suddenly came alive as
they smashed the lock off the green metal container which he kept in his bottom
desk drawer. Assuming it was cash, the gang was beyond excited. Not only did
some cracker suck their dicks, but they would make some money off his demise.
Perhaps the entire night would not be a waste after all.
However, the locked case only contained Sal's personal items. Items that he
would look at late at night when the loneliness began to get to him. When he
felt as if all the work was for nothing. They were personal and the dirty
Mexicans had no right to examine them.
"You holding out on us Pops?" The leader yelled at him. Expecting money, his
mouth watered and then his face suddenly turned angry.
The tortured man violently shook his head and eyes filled again with tears. As
the youngest member of their squad ripped the lid off with a crowbar, only
pictures and newspaper clippings fell out. They were all of his son. The boy
winning at the All-State Wrestling Comps just last year. His son receiving a
silver medal while standing in only a speedo on a platform before his honor, the
Mayor. His naked son showering underneath a waterfall at Lake Claire during
their summer Dad/son getaway. The boy flexing for his dad wearing only the swim
jock he worked out in. A Polaroid that Sal had taken of his son sleeping with
his boymeat standing up and leaking precum.
"This sissy is your little boyfriend, Pops?" The leader mocked, knowing it must
be his son. "You fuckin pervert," another shouted. "Taking naked pictures of
your own son?" yet another added.
"Hey, maybe he's fucking this little cunt...are you, Pops?" the leader jumped in
with. "I'll fuck his ass in a minute," the leaders brother added.
"Is he a good pussyboy, Pops? Does he suck your tiny willie?" the brother shot
back with. "Maybe we should we find out if he's a good little whore for our
clubhouse?"
"Should we pay your cunt a visit, huh? Answer me, you shit for brains!"
"Maybe we should make this punta fuck his own Pops?"
"My baby sister would loooooooove this piece of meat!"
These were Sal's only treasures and they were tarnishing them. The fattest
Mexican in the group rubbed his own uncut meat, which was still hanging out of
his jeans, and looked at the muscle stud in the pictures, commenting in Spanish
words that Sal knew had to be dirty. He openly drooled onto some newspaper
clippings and then tore them up. The head honcho ripped the tape from Sal's
mouth and then proceeded to fill his gaping bloodied hole with the boy's high
school class picture, forcing him to chew and swallow each clipping and
photograph. Sal screamed and cried openly as he chewed each shred, all the while
they spat and pissed on his beaten and bound body.
They had stolen not only Sal's pride, but the dignity of the one human he truly
cared for. As he swallowed the last picture, a shot of his completely nude boy
emerging from Logan Pond after skinny dipping, he finally lost consciousness.
The rapists left quietly with only the 12 dollars from Sal's wallet, his watch,
gold cross necklace, and a newspaper article featuring a photo of his son
standing on the high dive at the city swim finals, last month. In the caption
was the boy's name, his stats, his age...
and his address.
To be continued...
Please address any correspondence to ponyboy_g@yahoo.com all will receive a
response.
