Date: Thu, 7 Jun 2007 02:28:09 -0400
From: Jeff A <parrafan@ureach.com>
Subject: Witness Protection

Witness Protection

A story by parrafan

Disclaimer: This story is fiction, intended for adult amusement only. In
any case, I'd be surprised if any minors these days can read well enough to
understand words that aren't small enough to fit on a mobile phone screen.

Author's Notes:

1. In a previous story I poked some gentle fun at catholics. This time it's
the turn of another group of people who also believe in an imaginary friend
in the sky. See if you can guess who.

2. The central idea of this story is not mine - I read it in a story years
ago, and have had no success in finding it again, so I thought I'd do a
cover version, like musicians do nowadays. I hope the original author
enjoys my take on it.


** **

Witness Protection


"Daaad! Someone's at the door!" Anthony Baxter bawled out to his father.

"Who is it?" came the answering yell from within the suburban dwelling.

"Dunno. Some religious people, I think", Anthony shouted back.

"Tell 'em to fuck off!", his dad's voice resounded brashly from somewhere
inside the house.

Anthony blushed, and turned back to the well-dressed man and youth on the
doorstep. "I, uh, guess you heard that. Uh, sorry", he added, although his
voice belied his words.

The man was not perturbed. "Perhaps we could call at another time and speak
with your mother. We have some important, nay soul-saving, valuable good
news to share with you and your family".

Anthony gave the man a look of impatience. "I don't think my dad's gonna
change his mind. And Mom always takes his side. She's not religious either"

The man was not put off. "Nonetheless, we have a message so vital to your
eternal salvation that we will try again, my son and I, tomorrow afternoon,
Hopefully, if Jehovah God wills it, your parents will be more
receptive. Come along, Ishmael", the man concluded, lightly draping an arm
on his lanky son's shoulder and guiding him towards the street.

* * *

"I thought I told you people yesterday to fuck off", Jim Baxter leered as
he challenged the two missionaries on his doorstep the next afternoon. He
had been passing the front door just as the bell rang, and he was now
regretting pulling it open.

"Please, sir, not in front of my son. I am accustomed to hearing profane
language, but his tender ears have not yet been so besmirched by the
world's crudity", the missionary replied.

"Then you shouldn'a brung him here, should ya? Why'd ya come back,
anyway?". Without waiting for an answer, he turned his head away from his
visitors. "Anthony!" the man shouted down the dark hallway of his house.

"Yeah?" came the answering scream.

"Get yer ass out here, boy", he bawled. To the father/son missionary team,
he said "We'll see who said what to who", smirking.

Anthony ran to the door, joining his father. On the way, he told his middle
brother Jeff to stay put, and to keep their youngest brother Davey away
from the front door. Arriving at the doorway, he saw that the two
missionaries were dressed in similar fashion to the previous day - long
black slacks, white dress shirt, plain tie. His father, who was standing
half in and half out of the doorway, was clad in a somewhat more casual
manner - holey jeans and an off-white singlet. He turned to his son and
began his interrogation. "Anthony... did I, or did I not, tell these
god-botherers to fuck off yesterday?"

Anthony grinned at the obvious discomfort his father's language caused the
religious duo. "You sure did, dad. But they're back. They said they might
try to change your mind. Mom's too"

"Change my mind, eh? Try to save my immortal soul, or some such crap, I
bet. Look, why don't you save yourself some grief, and piss off my
property. Take your fag son with you. Go convert some other poor bastard",
the man spat belligerently. He emerged from his doorway to add to his
threat, Anthony following behind him.

"My son is not a f-...a homosexual, sir. He is as normal as...your boy',
the missionary retorted.

"Oh, yeah? Hey, Anthony! Four-eyes here, in his neatly pressed faggy
trousers and starched white faggy shirt and faggy tie, isn't a fag! You
hear that? Why don't you see if he wants to fight you? After all, everyone
knows, fags are too cowardly to fight".

A wicked smile played on Anthony's lips. The missionary's son was about six
inches taller than him, and judging from the spray of pimples on his
forehead and the wispy moustache on his upper lip, had already entered
puberty, but his pasty complexion bespoke few hours spent outdoors, and his
thin arms and narrow chest suggested a distinct unfamiliarity with physical
pursuits. Anthony, though smaller, was better built, and played a lot of
sports. "I reckon I can take him, dad", he declared confidently. To the
teen, he said "Put 'em up"

The man stepped in. "My son will most definitely not be 'putting them up',
or engaging in any other violent pursuit. The good book tells us, in
Matthew chapter 26 verse 52, that those who draw the sword will perish by
the sword"

Mr Baxter was not fazed by the man's recitation of the bible; instead, he
nudged his son with his elbow and nodded his head towards Ishmael's
stomach. Anthony took the hint and swung, punching the teen in the
midsection. Ishmael's response to this assault was to issue a groan, and a
noise sounding something like "Oof!", and to sink to his knees gasping for
air. His glasses shot off his nose and clattered onto the doorstep.

"Good shot, boy", Mr Baxter remarked.

"Thanks, dad", Anthony replied, still standing with both fists raised at
the ready.

Ishmael struggled to his feet, still wheezing. His father remonstrated with
Mr Baxter. "Now, see here, that was completely uncalled for! Please,
restrain your son!"

"Restrain him, eh? Tell me, do you guys still go for that 'turn the other
cheek' crap?"

"It is not 'crap', as you put it, sir. The good book commands us, in
Matthew chapter 5 verse 39, 'offer no resistance to the wicked. If anyone
hits you on the right cheek, offer him the other as well' "

"I reckon that's pretty clear", said Mr Baxter, smiling. "Son?"

Without waiting for further suggestions from his father, Anthony swung his
fist and planted a punch on Ishmael's left cheek that brought tears to the
older boy's eyes as he sank to his knees again.

"So, you wanna turn the other cheek now, fag?" Mr Baxter taunted as Ishmael
struggled to regain his footing.

"Really, sir, I must protest this unwarranted attack! Restrain your son!",
the missionary exhorted, torn between defending his son and carrying out
the dictates of his scripture.

"Sure, I'll restrain him", Mr Baxter agreed, laughing. He whispered in his
son's ear briefly. Anthony grinned, and just as Ishmael staggered back to
his feet, Anthony swung his right leg and kicked the missionary's son
squarely in the balls. With a shriek of pain, the teen crumpled to the
pavement, clutching his newly enlarged but largely unused equipment in both
hands, howling in pain.

"Now, I'll repeat myself just this one time. Get The Fuck Off My Property",
Mr Baxter enunciated. The missionary picked up the teen's fallen glasses
and helped his bawling son to his feet, leading him away from the house,
and back to the street. Mr Baxter congratulated his son and led him back
indoors, already reliving the highlights of the altercation. "Didja see his
face when you nutted him, boy? Ha ha ha".

* * *

Ishmael had not felt such all-encompassing physical pain since an incident
that happened to him three years earlier. When he was eleven, he attended a
bible study class in the basement of the Kingdom Hall every afternoon after
school. He had been studying the bible daily for two years, under the
tutelage of one of the Elders of the community. While he studied in the
basement room, along with other Witness children, his father sat outside on
a seat in the gardens of the Kingdom Hall and read his bible.

On this particular day, the bible tutor, Elder Johnson, told the group of
children to read chapters 13 through 15 of Mark's gospel, and invited
Ishmael to come with him to a small room, that turned out to be a storage
room. Elder Johnson shut and locked the door behind them and asked Ishmael
if he remembered the text that the group had been studying that day.

"Yes, sir", the boy replied politely. "It's Matthew chapter 18 verse 16:
'the evidence of two or three witnesses is required to sustain any charge'
".

"Just so", Elder Johnson replied. "And we have no witnesses here. No-one
but you and me, boy". Saying this, Elder Johnson advanced on young Ishmael,
spinning the boy's slim body around and dragging down the back of his
trousers. "I've wanted to do this for months", Elder Johnson snarled as he
snatched at the boy's underwear, jerking them down to his knees. He reached
around young Ishmael's waist and grabbed his nuts, applying just enough
pressure to make the boy unable to move. "I'm going to fuck your little ass
now, Ishmael", Elder Johnson whispered in the boy's ear, "so you just relax
and take my cock like a good boy".

"Oh, please don't, sir, it isn't right", Ishmael whimpered, but his plea
fell on deaf ears. Elder Johnson rubbed his free hand roughly up the boy's
crack, searching for the youngster's pristine hole with his fingers.

"Oh, yeah, a ripe virgin boy ready for plucking. And I am going to pluck
you good", the man whispered roughly into the sobbing boy's ear. He picked
Ishmael up with one brawny arm around the boy's slim waist and carried him
to an old sofa that sat against the wall, below a small grime-stained
window. Placing the boy in a kneeling position on the dilapidated
furniture, he roughly pushed Ishmael's shoulders forward until the boy put
his hands on the back of the sofa to stop from falling over. In this
position, Ishmael could see through the filthy glass to the garden
outside. His father was visible in profile, sitting in the garden reading
his bible. Ishmael wanted to call out to him, but he was afraid. What if he
made Elder Johnson even more angry with him?

Elder Johnson, meanwhile, took Ishmael's lack of vigorous protest for
acquiescence. He dragged the boy's trousers and underwear over his shoes
and off his legs and threw them to the floor. He grasped Ishmael's ankles
and pulled them apart, opening up the boy's chaste crack. Lining up his
dripping cockhead with the boy's anal ring, he drove forward, covering
Ishmael's mouth as he did so to muffle the boy's scream of pain. "Oh, yeah,
that's it, move that ass for me. You're a hot little cunt, Ishmael, and I'm
gonna give you a ride to remember". Elder Johnson raped Ishmael's fanny
with brutal vigour, finally spending his seed in the crying boy's
bum. Cupping his tear-soaked chin, he lifted the tearful lad's head to face
the window.

"See your daddy out there? I'm going to go out there and tell him what a
filthy, sinful, wicked boy you are. Then I'll ask him if I can fuck you
every afternoon at Bible Study. Your daddy's a virtuous man, everyone knows
that, so I won't expect him to use such filthy language -I'll just ask him
to give a sign. You be sure to watch your daddy close now; if he taps his
shoulder, that means he told me no. But if he taps his head, that means he
said yes, and I'll be coming right back in here and raping you again. And
if he does say yes, when I get back, you better be stark naked and lying on
your back with your legs in the air, ready for me, or I'll drag you outside
and fuck you right in front of him. You got that?"

Ishmael whimpered, not wanting to answer. Elder Johnson's softening cock
oozed out of the boy's bruised bottom.

"I said, did you understand me, boy? Answer!" he demanded, zipping up his
trousers.

"Y-yes, sir", the distraught boy sobbed. The man grunted and strode to the
door, unlocking it before passing through and re-locking it. Ishmael did
not want to watch, but could not tear his eyes away from the sight of his
father, sitting on a seat in the garden, bible in his lap. He saw Elder
Johnson approach his father and engage him in conversation, but could not
hear any words. He was certain that Elder Johnson was telling his father
what a depraved, evil sinner he was.

"Peace, brother", Elder Johnson greeted Ishmael's dad, who looked up from
his book and replied in kind. "The good Lord has sent us another pleasant
day, I see. I just came out of Bible Study for a breath of fresh air"

"Yes, the Lord is indeed bountiful", the seated man replied. "And how is
today's Bible Study progressing?"

"Oh, very well, brother. One might say it was exceeding expectations, oh,
yes, indeed", Elder Johnson replied. "Say, is that a bug just landed on
your head?"

Ishmael's dad brushed at the imaginary insect with his hand. Elder Johnson
smiled. Watching through the crud-encrusted window, Ishmael's heart
sank. His daddy had believed the Elder. Fresh sniffles began as he slowly
lifted his shirt over his shoulders and head, then pulled off his shoes and
socks. The sniffles grew to sobs as he heard the key turn in the lock...

* * *

"Your eyes look a little red and puffy, Ishmael. I hope you are not coming
down with anything", his father enquired solicitously as he drove the boy
home from Bible Study later that afternoon.

Ishmael turned his face to the window, to avoid looking at his father. "No,
sir", he replied flatly. His mind (and body) were still full of images of
Elder Johnson returning to the storeroom to rape him a second time; Elder
Johnson forcing him to lick the head of his cock before driving it up
through his bruised anus into his tender bottom; Elder Johnson making him
wrap his skinny legs around the man's large waist, before picking him up
off the sofa and bouncing him up and down on his painfully thick pole, all
the while telling him disgusting things, awful, sexual things he did not
want to hear. The ultimate indignity Ishmael suffered was being forced to
lick his own rectal juices off Elder Johnson's engorged dick after he
unloaded his seed in the boy's tiny ass a second time.

"I was thinking, Daddy, that maybe I should join the afternoon street
ministry. I mean, I feel Jehovah God is calling me on that path", Ishmael
said after a few minute's silent travel.

"My boy, but that's wonderful!", his father enthused. "How I have longed
and prayed for this day! You can witness with Mother at the Town Square!
But that means you will no longer be able to attend your afternoon Bible
Study sessions - do you think you are well enough versed in the Scriptures
to accept this calling?"

"Yes, sir. I think there is nothing more...that Elder Johnson can give me",
Ishmael replied, a tinge of bitterness in his voice.

* * *

The events of that pivotal afternoon flashed back into the forefront of
Ishmael's thoughts as he was assisted back to the family car by his father,
who, in spite of his obvious sanctity in the eyes of Jehovah God, had
failed him yet again.

"I am sorry, son, so sorry, that those Godless folk treated you in that
manner. That boy is clearly the spawn of Satan, and his father a demon in
the flesh. But you behaved as any righteous son of Jehovah God would, by
not returning evil for evil. I'm proud of you. And", his voice dropped to a
conspiratorial whisper, "I think we should call on our, er... friend
Two-Shot on the way home". For the first time that afternoon, a small smile
crept onto Ishmael's bruised face, making him wince.

* * *

"Daaad! There's someone at the d-" Anthony Baxter's shout to his father was
curtailed by a large meaty hand being clamped over his mouth. Another hand
twisted Anthony's right arm up behind his back, to a painfully high
position. Anthony saw four more burly adults push past him through the
doorway into his house, but he was powerless to offer any further warning.

"If it's those fucking religious weirdos again, tell them to f-" Mr
Baxter's answering shout was similarly cut off as the heavily-muscled and
tattooed men quickly overcame all resistance to their invasion. Mr and Mrs
Baxter, who had been watching television in the living room, were placed on
kitchen chairs and duct-taped to them by arms and legs, ball gags in their
mouths. Anthony's youngest brother Davey was gagged, blindfolded and tied
at his wrists, his arms raised and his slender body then strung up to a
vacant pot-plant hook in the ceiling by a rope so that his feet at full
stretch barely touched the ground. The middle son, Jeff, was held in a
half-nelson and forced to drink a glass of vodka from Mr Baxter's wet bar,
then another. After that, he was in no condition to resist anything.

Anthony was the only member of the household not restrained. Physically, at
any rate. The leader of the group sat in Mr Baxter's easy chair and gave
instructions to his comrades. "Snake, go lock the front door. Mad Dog, you
and Poison start slicing the clothes off Mr and Mrs Smartmouth here. If
they struggle too much, I guess you can convince them it would be in their
interest to keep still. Stains, you can entertain our drunken friend. Get
him naked, first, we'll see what he's got"

"His name's Jeff", Anthony snarled at the leader, obviously not
understanding exactly how much trouble his family was in, and how offending
these men would not help.

"And you must be Anthony", Two-Shot replied mildly. "I've heard all about
you. Quick with your fists, are you? Maybe you should have learned to be
quick with your brain instead. You can call me Two-Shot. And you can start
the evening's entertainment by stripping off those clothes"

Anthony's eyes darted around the living room. "Looking for this?" Two-Shot
held up the telephone handset, the severed cord dangling impotently from
its end. "I'll make this easier for you. Me and my boys here are...well,
not exactly friends of the religious weirdos- let's just say we're Witness
Protection - ha ha, like that Arnie movie. See, we built a clubhouse on
some vacant land nearby. Or we thought it was vacant. Turns out the
Witnesses own it. Part of the grounds of their Kingdom Hall, or whatever
shit they call it. Anyway, when they heard our bikes ride up to our new
clubhouse, instead of making trouble with the law, they said we could
stay. So we do them a favour in return, now and again. And it looks like
tonight's your turn. You pissed off some mighty nice folks, and we're here
to make you see the error of your ways. Now I believe I told you to strip"

"No", was Anthony's defiant reply. "I won't".

Two-Shot sighed. "Now, you see, here's the thing. Your old man and old lady
are tied up - pretty soon Mad Dog and Poison will have all of their clothes
sliced off. One of your brothers is drunk as a skunk, and it looks like
Stains is already having himself a little fun with him. Go for it, Stains -
see if he can take three fingers. Your other brother, who I detect is very
dear to you, is only seconds away from being seriously fucked over by my
good friend Snake. And I can let you in on a little secret: he didn't get
that name because he sheds his skin every winter".

Anthony's shoulders slumped. He acknowledged the hopelessness of the
situation. "What...what do you want..."

"I believe I told you to strip. And I expect you to make it interesting for
me and my buddies. Or I might not be able to restrain them from...let's
say, acting out their animal desires on...ooh, maybe Junior here", he
smirked, indicating Davey.

"His name's Davey", Anthony commented miserably.

"I don't care if his name's Dolores. Start with the striptease, or I let
Snake loose on your darling little brother. And I'm already tired of your
bullshit. Every time you say 'no' or answer me back, young Davey here loses
a piece of clothing. When they're all gone...well, better if you do what
you're told, if you don't want him getting pregnant, hah hah".

Anthony set his face in a grimace, but began doing as Two-Shot
ordered. Two-Shot called out to Snake to start his camera rolling. While
Anthony was dithering between undoing his shirt and undoing his jeans,
Snake got into a handy position for capturing all of the action, the three
boys and their parents.

"I'm beginning to get impatient", Two-Shot remarked as Anthony slowly
reached his third shirt button. "Would you prefer little Davey be the star
attraction? No? Then get a move on, kid, I'd like to see some of those
muscles that you used on young Ishmael before I die of old age. Oh yeah, I
know all about that. See, me an' Ishmael happen to be buddies, after a
fashion. He told me how you punched and kicked him without provocation,
unless you call getting egged on by your idiot father 'provocation' "

"My father's not an idiot", Anthony snarled through gritted teeth as he
reluctantly shrugged his shirt off his shoulders and dropped it on the
floor, leaving himself bare-chested in front of his parents and the five
bikers.

"See, now, here's a perfect example of how the younger generation can't
keep it's fucking smart mouth shut, or follow a simple instruction without
fucking it up. I told you what would happen if you back-answered me; now
little Davey loses...oh, let's say...his shorts. Get 'em off him, boys",
Two-Shot directed, and Mad Dog and Poison gleefully jumped out of their
seats and began lowering the youngest boy's short pants, ensuring that they
were in a good position to allow Snake to film all of the action. Davey
writhed in his awkward position, unable to protest or resist.

Anthony cried out "Stop! Wait...uh, don't...do that, I'll...do whatever you
want, only...don't...do anything to Davey. He's...just a kid, he...uh, it
wasn't his fault, the...uh, punching and... kicking ...I...that is, uh..."
Tears began to run down Anthony's cheeks as he contemplated the impending
ravishing of his baby brother by these brutes.

Two-Shot held up a hand to stop Mad Dog and Poison, who had dragged Davey's
shorts down to his bound ankles by this stage. "So, smart-mouth, you'll do
whatever we want, eh? Funny, I thought you already agreed to that. Well,
you can start by agreeing that your father's an idiot, like I just said he
was"

Anthony's head sagged a little further. With a pathetic glance at his
father, Anthony mumbled "My father's an idiot"

"What was that? I didn't hear you!" Two-Shot demanded.

"My father's an idiot!" Anthony shouted, unable to look at the parent he
was betraying.

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Two-Shot cajoled. Across the room,
Stains had manoeuvred the drunken and now nude Jeff onto his lap, and had
penetrated the boy's loosened ass-ring with his dick. Though almost
paralytic, Jeff was not completely anaesthetised, and he cried out in pain
as his bum was invaded. "Shut that kid up, Stains, me and Anthony here are
trying to have a conversation. Get his mouth onto his momma's tit, that
should quieten him"

Forgetting the pain of his anal violation for a moment, Jeff giggled as
Stains, still with his cock up inside the boy's ass, moved his chair over
to a position alongside Mrs Baxter. Her clothes had been carefully cut away
around the duct tape by Mad Dog, as had Mr Baxter's, and her unrestrained
tits sagged down on her chest. "Ha ha, I see Mommy's boobies", the
stupefied boy chortled, before Stains pushed his face onto Mrs Baxter's
mammaries, muffling his slurred words. Mrs Baxter's eyes showed her
mortification at being suckled by her eleven-year-old son, as he was being
bounced up and down on Stain's pole.

"That's better', Two-Shot observed. "Ah, Poison, can you make Daddy more
comfortable in that chair? I need his balls hanging free over the
edge. Anthony here has one last little detail to perform to complete his
apology". Poison roughly pushed Mr Baxter down in the chair, his duct-taped
ankles causing his knees to splay apart. "Excellent, Poison, I'll see you
get a suitable reward later. Now Anthony, get those jeans off or I'll have
Poison help you with them"

Anthony did not need any more encouragement. Poison was easily the ugliest
and most repulsive man he had ever seen. The thought of being touched by
him hastened his fingers at the zipper of the jeans, then his hands at the
waist pushed the snug, faded denim over his hips and down to the
floor. Anthony did not wait to be chastened about his tardiness again - he
pulled his boxers straight down and off. 'At least my parents can only see
my butt', he thought to himself as he stood before Two-Shot, nervously
covering his crotch tightly with both hands.

"Come here, Anthony, I won't bite - that's more Mad Dog's style. Now,
remember what I told you about back-answering me - pull your hands away
from your dick and let Snake get a good shot of it for the camera. That's
for our little home movie. Put your hands up behind your head, that's
better. My, my...we have got something to be proud of, haven't we? How old
are you again?"

"Thirteen" mumbled the snuffling boy, embarrassed to be standing nude in
front of these thugs.

"Well, you really do have a delicious looking weapon, there. What is it,
three, three and a half? I'm sure you must have measured it, or compared it
with your buddies?" Two-Short taunted him.

"Three and a quarter", Anthony muttered, hoping this all would be over
soon.

"Mighty impressive. And how much hard? Come on, you must have checked that
as well", cajoled Two-Shot.

"Four and three quarters" the boy whispered.

" 'S'only four'n a half" Jeff called out, taking his mouth off his mother's
boob for a moment, and showing that he was still listening to the
conversation. Anthony's blush deepened.

"Well, four and a half's still pretty good for a boy your age,
Anthony. Mind you, it's about half of what Snake's got, but he's a grown
man. Now, do you shoot semen when you jack off yet? You know, jizz? Juice?
Cum? How about it, Momma? Does Anthony make little puddles in his sheets
and undies yet? Keep his bedroom door locked in the afternoon? Hide a
stinky rag under his bed to catch his pearly droplets? Just nod your head,
dear, I understand it's a bit hard for you to talk at the moment"

Mrs Baxter grunted and struggled with her bindings. Her son Jeff was still
gnawing at her nipple.

"Well, we won't disturb you - I can see you're busy. Now, Anthony, here's
where you get to complete your apology. Turn around and face your parents"

The boy's shoulders slumped even further. This was the moment he feared,
although if he had any idea of Two-Shot's plans, it would have been the
least of his worries. Hands by his sides, he shuffled around on the spot
and stood, naked and exposed, in front of his mother and father.

"Now, Anthony,", Two-Shot began, "it wouldn't be fair to blame you for the
cowardly kick in the balls you gave Ishmael earlier. Not entirely,
anyway. After all, you're only a boy. By Ishmael's account, it was the
Idiot here, who urged you to kick his nuts. I'd estimate daddy's about, oh,
three times as old as Ishmael. And he's an adult, so he should have known
better. So, here's what's going to happen. You're going to kick your daddy
in the balls, three times as hard as you kicked Ishmael. And me and the
boys will be watching. And if we don't think you kicked hard enough, well,
you'll just have to kick him again. And again. And again. Until we're
satisfied. And if we're not satisfied, well, I'll just have to kick him
myself". He glanced down at his steel-capped, heavy motorcycle
boots. Anthony's eyes also dropped, aghast, to the solid-looking boots,
making him wince in horror.

Anthony thought he had one last card to play, so he gave it a try. "Uh, I
can't, er, kick dad in the...um, I can't, because his, er, his...uh, penis
is in the way", the last few words coming out in a rush. And it was
true. Mr Baxter's balls had retreated somewhat into their scrotal pouch,
leaving his dick hanging in the way of a clear kick.

Two-Shot contemplated the boy's predicament. "You know, you got a point
there, Anthony. Tell you what I'll do. I'll get that big ole dick out of
the way so you can give daddy your best shot. Poison, can you hold the
Idiot's head still for me, so he don't miss any of the action? Great. Now
look this way, Idiot, there's a good daddy. I'm gonna make that dick of
yours rise up outta the way with the power of suggestion".

Saying this, Two-Shot nodded at Snake and Mad Dog, who took up positions on
either side of young Davey, who was still standing on tiptoes, minus his
shorts. He wore a long T-shirt, down to mid thigh, which covered whatever
underwear he had on. The two thugs slowly raised the t-shirt, in a very
seductive fashion, until Davey's Power Ranger undies were exposed. Mr
Baxter struggled and stretched at his bonds, but stared fixedly at the
uncovering of his youngest son's skimpy undies. Snake and Mad Dog, having
lifted the T-shirt up to Davey's armpits and hooked it over his head, now
started to jiggle the hem of the boy's colourful undies, pulling it
seductively down a little before raising it again. To Anthony's horror, and
Mrs Baxter's disgust, the sight of his youngest son's forced stripping
caused Mr Baxter's dick to lengthen, then stiffen, then rise up like an
Indian fakir's rope.

"Woo-ee, just lookit that thing go!" Two-Shot exclaimed gleefully. "I think
you better keep an eye on hubby from now on, Mrs B, especially when little
Davey is taking a bath. He looks especially happy to see Davey's little
pecker, don't he?"

Anthony didn't wait to be told again what he had to do. He became very
angry that his father couldn't control himself when Davey's knickers were
pulled down, and was himself starting to feel a tingling in his
dick. Before Two Shot could threaten him again, he took a short run-up and
kicked his father a fearful wallop right in the crotch, connecting squarely
with his ball-bag. Mr Baxter's eyes nearly bugged out on stalks as the pain
erupted in his lower stomach and surged to his brain.

"Hey, nice volley, Anthony. I knew you could do it. But now, look, poor
daddy's pecker has gone all soft. Why don't you kneel down in front of him
there and kiss it better? After all, you caused it", observed Two-Shot.

Following his assault on his father Anthony was indeed filled with remorse,
much more than after kicking Ishmael, so without thinking he sank to his
knees and kissed his father's scrotum. "Keep going - lick his dick",
Two-Shot urged, and the boy continued, his father straining impotently at
the duct tape.

"Well I think our work here is done - oh, that's right, nearly forgot. You
boys haven't got off yet. Stains, you finished with young Jeff's ass?"

"Done given him one load already", Stains grunted as he vigourously raised
and lowered Jeff's hips on his pole.

"Well, give him to Mad Dog - he likes seconds. Snake, set that camera down
somewhere handy to get the action, and unleash that monster of yours on
little Davey. I reckon his arms are so tired he won't give you any trouble
if you cut him down. Anthony, you be a good boy and drape yourself over the
arm of this chair. I'm gonna fuck that tight little tushie of yours while
Poison feeds you his dick. Hey, that reminds me. Did I tell you how Poison
got his name? It's a cute story, you'll love it"

"We were riding out bikes through the park one evening, and Poison - I
think we still called him Shithead then - saw this little Cub Scout behind
a tree, with his short pants around his ankles. We thought he was just
taking a wizz on the way home from his Patrol meeting, as you do when
you've had a few. So we stood the bikes up and crept over to him, real
quiet like. And were we ever surprised! He wasn't peein', he was wankin' !
Turns out some older boy had taught him how to do it just that very night,
and he couldn't wait to get home to try it out for hisself!"

"Well, we thought we'd complete his education, so we all lined up and made
him suck us all off, one after the other. Only when he got to Shithead, and
got that big cock of his in his mouth, the little tyke said 'Eww, tastes
like poison!' And the name stuck! Ain't that a hoot? By the way, Idiot, if
you ever get sick of fooling around with young Davey, I recommend you have
a poke at Anthony's ass - it's tight as a ten-year-old's fist. But I'll
understand if you want to stick to the fresher meat - how's Davey boy
goin', Snake?"

"Jess fine, Two-Shot", Snake replied, easing his long cock in and out of
Davey's ass. "I reckon his old man's been here before me, though, the way
the boy's pecker stiffened up as soon as I drilled his hole. It's like
pushin' my cock into warm gravy".

"And how's your four and a half incher goin' Anthony?" Two-Shot asked the
boy whose ass he was plundering. He reached around Anthony's waist and felt
for the teen's dick. "Hey, waddaya know, he wasn't lyin' - feels like at
least four and a half to me. Head's all slippery, too. Hey, Mrs B, you got
a right horny bunch o' boys here. Let's see if I can bring Anthony off at
the same time as I shoot in him. You ready, Poison?"

"Uh, ready, Two-Shot", the man replied, pistoning his cock in and out of
Anthony's mouth.

"Here...we...go! Uhhh, oh, yeah, damn, that's got it. Oops, sorry about the
chair, Mrs B. Gosh, Anthony shot a big load for a thirteen year old, didn't
he? Maybe the Idiot might like to lick it up later. Now, turn around, like
a good boy, Anthony, so me and Poison can swap holes. You'll soon learn why
everyone calls me Two-Shot. Don't worry about that slime on my dick, just
suck around it. It's yours, anyway. Stains, I think Jeff needs a little
change of scenery - take his mouth off momma's tits and put it on his
daddy's dick. Snake, you bottom out in that kid yet?"

"Just...about...there. Aagh, I wanna take this one home with us,
Two-Shot. His ass is like velvet"

"And leave the Idiot without his favourite fuck? Nah, that would be too
cruel. But I tell you what, daddy. We'll be finished here in about an hour
or so, soon as we've all had a turn of each of your boys. When we go, the
kids can get you free of those chairs. Then I suggest you start packing
your suitcases, 'cause I want to see a 'For Sale' sign in front of this
house within 48 hours. Any longer than that, and Snake's home video will be
distributed widely around the town - and I should mention he has a real
flair for editing. You'll look like the stars of a Russian sex movie by the
time he's done dicing and splicing. And feel free to go to the cops, if you
think it'll do any good. I'll even send them a preview copy of the movie
for you".

Mr and Mrs Baxter stopped struggling. They sat, resigned, and watched their
three sons being debauched by the five bikers. Mr Baxter even came in his
son Jeff's mouth, but the boy was too wasted to notice. Anthony ended up
with Two-Shot's second load all over his face, but he was refused
permission to wipe it off. He had to scoop it off with his fingers and eat
it instead, then lay on his back on the floor, legs in the air, holding his
ankles, while Snake worked his cock into the thirteen-year-old's ass
sideways, and Poison sat on his face.Two-Shot moved on to Davey, giving him
a sperm enema before calling all his buddies off and dressing. The five men
collected their video camera and roareded off into the night, leaving the
Baxters to begin the blame game with each other.

* * *
  
Sometimes an idea gets in a boy's head, and, try as he might, he just can't
shift it. It takes a hold of him; it slowly but surely dominates all of his
thinking; it possesses him. So it was with Ishmael. He simply could not get
the day of his deflowering at the hands of Elder Johnson out of his
mind. He mentally replayed the events of that afternoon over and over, some
nights even dreaming of them. In the eighteen months following that fateful
day, he must have thought over every detail of his ravishing as many as a
thousand times. Had he done, or said, anything to make Elder johnson rape
him? Was it somehow his own fault, for being too...something? And slowly
but surely, his recollections of the assault began to change. Time itself
filtered and softened the incident, until all the pain was put into the
background, like the static you hear on a cheap radio behind your favourite
song. And in the foreground, the thrill of being taken by a man, taken
against his will, submitting to a powerful man's lustful wants.

As the hormones of puberty began to wreak their havoc on his slender body,
Ishmael began to feel desires. Sexual desires.  And since the only sex he
had ever had was to be raped by Elder Johnson, he began to look for ways to
repeat that experience. He had never attended any sex education lessons at
school, because his father sent a note to the school advising that Ishmael
was to be excused from them. But Ishmael was not a dull boy: he knew
instinctively that what Elder Johnson did to him was usually done between a
man and his wife for the purpose of procreation. He figured his parents
must only have had sex once in their married lives, because he had no
brothers or sisters, and other boys had plenty of them. Ishmael calculated
that he must be more sexually experienced than even his own father, because
Elder Johnson had fucked him twice.

Ishmael's mind, now he had reached 13, became more focussed on the question
of sex. As a naturally shy and retiring boy, he did not know how to go
about making a man interested in him. In his desperation, he even
considered going to Elder Johnson and asking to be raped again (though not
in those words, of course).  Unfortunately, just before he could muster the
courage to approach him, Elder Johnson became the centre of another
controversy. At one of the weekly meetings at the Kingdom Hall, Elder
Johnson was sitting out the front of the congregation with the other
spiritual leaders. A little girl of about eight years, who had been sitting
with her family in the front row, skipped out to the front and sat herself
on the Elder's lap. Her doting parents thought this was quite charming,
until the little girl said, in a loud stage whisper, "Put your hand under
my dress, Elder Johnson, and inside my panties, like you did before".

Needless to say, her mother rushed out and plucked the girl off the Elder's
lap, and he immediately fell to his knees and begged forgiveness of the
assembled congregation. The presiding Elder pondered the matter for several
minutes, then quoted Matthew chapter 18 verses 21 and 22: "Then Peter went
up to him and said, 'Lord, how many times must I forgive my brother if he
wrongs me? As often as seven times? Jesus answered, 'Not seven, I tell you,
but seventy-seven times' ". Elder Johnson was forgiven by the congregation,
and not reported to the police, but he left town that night and was never
seen at that Kingdom Hall again. He disappeared without ever knowing that,
had he played his cards right with Ishmael and gone a little more slowly
and gently, he could have fucked him every day until kingdom come.

Ishmael was spending a lot of his free time at the Kingdom Hall, and in its
surrounding acreage. He began taking long walks alone, trying to understand
his body and its needs. It was inevitable that he should happen upon the
biker's clubhouse, on the far side of the Kingdom Hall's property. Ishmael
was not wordly-wise enough to know true fear, since the only adults he ever
encountered were his teachers and the Elders of the congregation. He saw a
motorcycle leaning on its stand at the front door of the ramshackle
clubhouse, which he took to be some kind of groundkeeper's hut.

"H-hello?" he called timidly at the doorway, thinking that surely someone
present must own the motorcycle. Maybe he could get a ride on it! There was
no front door, otherwise he would have knocked. Fate, which sometimes takes
a hand in these matters, decreed that the bike belonged to Two-Shot, who
called out from within the hut "Come in if yer good lookin' ". Two-Shot had
seen the approaching boy through a curtained window, and sensed an
opportunity.

Ishmael did not think that any building on the Kingdom Hall's grounds could
contain anything dangerous, so he gingerly entered the humble dwelling,
following the direction that he thought the peculiar greeting had come
from. He knew he was surely not good looking, but guessed this must be what
people called a 'sense of humour'. Two-Shot was seated on a dilapidated
couch, skimming through a well-thumbed magazine which Ishmael could see
appeared to contain photos of scantily-clad ladies. The big biker put the
magazine on the floor beside the couch and held out a hand to welcome the
boy.

"Good morning to you, my young friend. Welcome to my humble abode. Your
visit has brightened my otherwise dull day. Please, make yourself at home".

Put off guard by Two-Shot's effusive greeting, Ishmael perched himself on
the edge of the other end of the couch, half turned towards the man. "M-my
name is Ishmael, sir. Are-are you a... Witness of Jehovah God?"

Two-Shot grinned broadly. "I'm a citizen of the world, my young friend. A
humble traveller through space and time. A wayfarer, one who tarries hither
and yon at will, and learns a portion of the universal truth from every
man".

Completely befuddled by this answer, Ishmael smiled uncertainly. "Er, do
you...work for the Kingdom Hall?"

Two-Shot beamed his friendliest smile. "When invited to do so, I certainly
do. And speaking of invitations, if you're uncomfortable on the edge of the
couch, you can sit on my lap if you want"

Now, any other thirteen year old boy in the whole country, invited to sit
in a total stranger's lap, would be screaming 'Pervert!' at the top of his
voice. But all young Ishmael could think of was the little girl who so
readily sat on Elder Johnson's lap, the little girl who felt the Elder's
hand under her dress and inside her panties and who, like a female Oliver
Twist, wanted more. "Thank you, sir", Ishmael replied politely, and rose
from his perch to stand in front of Two-Shot, turn, and carefully lower his
hips and bottom onto the proffered seat.

"This is cosy, Ishmael, my boy", Two-Shot observed as the lanky boy settled
his bony behind onto the man's well-padded thighs. Guessing that the boy
would not protest, he wrapped his arms around Ishmael's narrow chest and
pulled him backwards into a hug. Readily accepting the first token of
affection he had experienced for years, Ishmael sighed and let himself be
grasped by the man's strong arms. "You know, when I said before to 'come in
if you're good looking', I never dreamed that such a handsome boy would be
gracing my little shack', Two-Shot smooged.

Ishmael sighed. "But I'm not good looking, sir", he said, shyly lowering
his head to the man's shoulder.

"Not good looking? Are the mirrors in your house all broken? Of course you
are!" And he gave the boy a peck on the forehead to reassure him. Ishmael
was unaccustomed to being kissed - although he did enjoy the small smooch
he just received. He had seen his father give his mother a chaste kiss on
the cheek at breakfast some mornings, and often wondered what it felt
like. He hoped the man (whose name he still didn't know) might kiss him
again. Happily, Two-Shot was also thinking of kissing the boy again, so he
gave him another little buss on the cheek. Ishmael sighed happily.

Two-Shot decided that this boy was a rarity in today's world: an
innocent. And there were few activities he enjoyed more than plundering a
sweet boy's innocence. He decided to step up the pace while he could. "Can
I rub your tummy while I kiss you, Ishmael?" The boy sighed again, and
nodded his head, expecting the man to rub his tummy on the outside of his
clothes.Two-Shot had other ideas, however, and clamped his lips on the
boy's, forcing his tongue slowly but relentlessly between the lad's teeth
and into his mouth. His hand was not idle either, untucking the boy's shirt
from his trousers and roaming under it until he found Ishmael's
nipples. They were the kind that many boys get during puberty (to their
embarrassment) - not pencil erasers, but big doughy paps like girls have.

Ishmael sucked in his breath as he felt his nipples being palpated by the
man's rough fingers. So that's what nipples are for, he deduced. Two-Shot
also rubbed his tummy, as promised, but kept his roaming hand above the
boy's beltline. After a good few minutes of kissing and caressing, Ishmael
broke their liplock and said "I think I'd better be going, sir. My father
will be waiting to drive us home. Thank you for the, uh, kiss".

Now Two-Shot had been in this position before, many times, in other
towns. His usual response was to forcibly rip the clothes off the boy
concerned, and rape him then and there. Typically, he would then drag the
naked boy out to his motorcycle and, draping him face down across the bike,
rape him again, this time more slowly and deeply. Thus sated, his usual
custom was to drive the unlucky boy to an edge-of-town truck-stop and dump
him there, for the serial and group use and abuse of passing truck
drivers. If he was still alive by morning, one of the interstate truckers
possibly might wrap a blanket around him and drive him across the border to
Mexico, where he would sell him to a brothel that specialised in young
white meat.

But Two-Shot hesitated. Perhaps it was due to the influence of Jehovah God,
finally cutting young Ishmael a break. "Sure thing, kid. Come back and see
me whenever. If my hog's here, I'm here"

The boy, confused, looked around the shack for any signs of animal
life. Two-Shot smiled and said "Motorcycle. That's mah hog. Get along
now. Come back when you want more kissin' and... whatever". Ishmael smiled
and thanked the man, whose name he still had not obtained, and tucked in
his shirt before scampering outside, feeling happier than he had in quite a
while.

In bed that night, Ishmael went over the events of the day in his mind. The
man who owned the motorcycle (he could not bring himself to call it a
'hog', even in his mind) had been a lot nicer to him than Elder
Johnson. What had he meant by 'whatever'? Did he mean he might rape him,
like Elder Johnson had? The kissing had been nice, too. Would he be there
again tomorrow? Why hadn't he ever noticed his nipples feel like that
before? His mind kept buzzing with these and other questions until he fell
asleep.

The next afternoon Ishmael practically ran through the wooded area at the
back of the Kingdom Hall to the bikers' shack. A single motorcycle stood on
its stand in the front. It never occurred to Ishmael that the bike might
belong to someone else - all motorcycles looked the same to the unworldly
lad. But the bike was indeed Two-Shot's, and he answered the boy's call
with the same greeting he used the day before. But this time Ishmael ran
straight to the living room and threw himself at the big biker who was
seated on his couch.

"Whoa, slow down boy, you'll injure yourself. What's the big hurry?" Two
Shot asked as he smoothed down the boy's tousled hair with the hand that
was not wrapped around the boy's narrow waist.

"I'm just...glad you're here. And I don't even know your name yet!" Ishmael
enthused, sitting in the man's lap, luxuriating in his hug.

The burly biker smiled at the boy, drinking in the lad's honest face. "My
friends call me Two-Shot. One day I'll tell you how I got that name. But
now, how about a kiss?"

"Yes please, Mr Two-Shot", Ishmael grinned happily.

"Hey there, it's not 'Mister', it's just plain Two-Shot. Now do you want me
to rub your tummy again while I kiss you, or do you want...something more?"

Ishmael had half expected this question, and had lain awake quite a few
hours last night thinking about what he really wanted, and how to get
it. But before he could put his tumultuous thoughts and newly-born desires
into words, Two Shot spoke again.

"I'll make it easy for you. If you want more, while I'm kissing you, just
undo the top button of your trousers. I'll do the rest"

Ishmael's heart leapt in his chest. Now he understood what the prophet
Isaiah meant when he wrote in chapter 35, verse 6 'then the lame will leap
as an hart'. He waited for Two-Shot's lips to close on his own, then
carefully reached for his pants button. The 'pop!' of the press stud
sounded loudly in his ears, but Two-Shot hummed into his mouth and calmed
his fleeting fear with his fleshy tongue swirling around the boy's smaller
one.

The boy was surprised that Two-Shot's hand first moved under his shirt,
rather than slink straight for his crotch as he expected. The man's fingers
again sought out the puffy nipples, making Ishmael sigh with happiness. it
was such a sensuous feeling, having his immature boobs tweaked and rolled
by Two-Shot's talented fingers, that he wouldn't have cared if the man
didn't reach under his pants. But he did. Under the pressure of the biker's
incessant kiss, Ishmael's body slowly assumed the horizontal position,
until he was no longer sitting in Two-Shot's lap, he was lying across
it. He felt the zipper of his trousers being lowered, and the man's hand
feel around under his shorts for his penis, which had hardened as soon as
he saw Two-Shot's motorcycle outside.

Having his penis petted and fondled was much more exciting than having his
nipples stroked, Ishmael realised right away. Suddenly, Two-Shot withdrew
his hand, broke the kiss off and murmured in the boy's ear "Do you want to
go to bed, now?"

"Bed? But I'm not sleepy, Two-Shot, honest, and besides, I just got he-
ohh!" Comprehension dawned on the lad as Two-Shot picked him up with both
arms and carried him across the room to a large bed, laying the boy gently
on the crumpled sheets. Two-Shot carefully drew Ishmael's clothes all the
way off until he was naked, then undressed himself. The boy had never seen
a fully naked man before - even Elder Johnson had kept most of his clothes
on when he forced himself on Ishmael, and the boy had kept his eyes
clenched shut when the Elder made him lick his dick clean.

It turned out to be a day of firsts all round, because Two-Shot had never
sucked a boy's dick before. Sure, he had fucked plenty of boys and teens,
and made them suck his dick, but until he met Ishmael he had only been
concerned with satisfying his own lusts. Nobody else's feelings
mattered. But Ishmael had, within only a couple of days, wrought a
significant change in Two-Shot. He fondled the boy's slender prong and
balls, licking and mouthing them to Ishmael's shivering delight.

For his part, when he beheld Two-Shot's thick cock and heavy scrotum,
Ishmael was like a boy with a new puppy. He thought Two-Shot's equipment
was the most wondrous sight in the world. He petted the biker's dick like
it was a baby kitten, fondling it, talking to it, kissing it, running his
fingers through the dense patch of pubic hair, even probing the man's
crack, all the time marvelling at how alive, how powerful the big genitals
seemed. When Two-Shot pulled the boy onto him in a sixty-nine position,
Ishmael's hips jerked in a dry cum. That set Two-Shot off, who got one
squirt into the air before Ishmael grabbed the erupting cock and pulled it
to his mouth, like a drinking straw bubbling over with his favourite soft
drink.

A lot of gasping for air ensued, before the two mis-matched lovers sat up,
grinning at each other. Two-Shot glanced down to Ishmael's crotch to see
that the boy was still erect, even after his orgasm. Most boys his age pass
through a glorious, but all too short phase in which their cocks stay erect
even after climax. "Want a ride on my bike?" Two-Shot murmured as he
stroked the boy's wood.

"Yes please!" the boy enthused, looking around for his clothes. Two-Shot
stood up and took Ishmael's hand, helping him off the bed, and led him to
the door. Ishmael looked back at the pile of clothes on the
floor. "But...we've got no clothes on, Two-Shot!" Ishmael protested as the
biker led him through the doorless doorway and outside the house to where
the bike stood on its stand. Two-Shot simply winked and smiled. Ishmael
allowed himself to be led, naked, to the big shiny motorcycle, still
holding the man's large hand. Two-Shot straddled the hog, his dick
beginning to recover from its recent exertions, and held both arms out for
Ishmael. The boy turned to face away from the man, expecting to be lifted
onto the space in front of Two-Shot, but the biker made a twirling gesture
with his hand and finger, indicating the boy should spin around.

Puzzled, Ishmael did as he was directed, turning to face Two-Shot, who took
the boy's waist and hoisted him into the air.  Lowering the lad carefully,
Two-Shot nodded his head towards the pegs at either side of the
cycle. Ishmael understood, stretching his feet towards them. He held
Two-Shot's shoulders for balance, still in the dark about the complicated
manoeuvre the man was guiding him through. The biker reached down the side
of his machine for a tube of grease, which he squeezed to eject a dollop
onto his fingers. Ishmael's eyes widened as the man slowly raised his
grease-laden fingers up between the boy's parted legs until they made
contact with his crack - more specifically, with his little hole, which had
only ever been visited by Elder Johnson. Spreading the slippery goo around
liberally, Two-Shot grinned at the boy and said "Ready for your ride?"

As soon as he grasped the mechanics of Two-Shot's invitation, Ishmael's
mouth opened in surprise, but, brave little trouper that he was, carefully
lowered his hips towards Two-Shot's waiting erection. The first touch of
dick on pucker made Ishmael gasp - a little "Oh!" of shock. Two-Shot held
his cock at the base to ensure it stayed upright, Ishmael bending his knees
as he slowly, carefully sat on the biker's big stiff prong. "Ah!" soon
followed, then an "Ooohh!", and finally an "Urgh!" as he felt the prickling
of the man's pubic bush o his naked bottom. He was all the way down! A
memory of Elder Johnson entered his mind just at that moment - not a sad
memory, but more like a recollection of a familiar feeling, a kind of
physical deja vu - sort of "I've been here before, and it was okay, but
this is waaay nicer!"

"Let's ride", Two-Shot whispered in the boy's ear. Ishmael took his hands
off the man's shoulders and wrapped them around his neck. Then, using the
pegs as footholds, began to raise and lower his hips, driving two-Shot's
cock up his tender ass with every bounce. The creaking of the cycle's shock
absorbers was drowned out by the boy's high-pitched yelps of passion as
Ishmael repeatedly fucked himself on Two-Shot's greasy prick. His own thin
cock, which had never softened, rubbed against Two-Shot's hairy belly, the
glans peeking out from its protective cover with each bounce. And when
Ishmael's hips shook in orgasm, it sucked the semen right out of Two-Shot's
cock. Ishmael's triumphant cry of joy was smothered by the man's mouth, as
if trying to draw the very breath out of the lad.

Finally sated, Two-Shot helped Ishmael climb off him and into the shack to
clean up and dress. A parting kiss, and Ishmael was off again, with a
promise to return. After their first coupling, the boy visited the shack
four or five times a week, finding his lover present on most occasions. The
two became intimately acquainted with every square inch of each other's
bodies, and not just their flesh - they learned every nuance of each
other's desires, even the longings neither thought would ever be
fulfilled. For six months, as Ishmael passed from boy to youth, their
affair was as fiery as it was varied. Then came the visit from Ishmael's
father.

Ishmael had spoken often about his father to Two-Shot, when the two were in
bed together. The biker gathered the impression that Ishmael thought his
father devout, but not very practical, more versed in the Bible than in the
daily newspaper. Two-Shot had been sitting on his couch reading girly
magazines when he heard the car pull up. Thinking some fool had lost his
way, he got up and walked outside. He recognised Ishmael in the passenger
seat immediately, and from Ishmael's descriptions of him while they were
fucking, recognised the driver as Ishmael's father, the man who was too
heavenly to be of any earthly use, according to Ishmael.

Ishmael's dad got out of the car but half hid behind the door. "You must be
Mr Two-Shot. My son has told me a lot about you. We...er, that is,
Ishmael...uh, he's..."

Two-Shot ran around to Ishmael's side of the car, not caring what the man
was saying or would say. His lover was sobbing quietly in the passenger
side, a bruise already forming under his left eye. A cold anger could be
seen on Two-Shot's face, a look which many people had learned to
fear. "It's all my fault", Ishmael's father said, which made Two-Shot even
more furious. He guessed, incorrectly, that the boy had told his father
about their relationship, and the father had struck him. Two-Shot began to
circle the car, intent on doing serious harm to the man who (he thought)
had hurt his beloved, when Ishmael himself spoke up.

"It wasn't dad!" he yelled from within the car, accurately reading his
older friend's murderous look. "It was...some people we were witnessing
to. I'm okay, it's just a black eye".

Two-Shot stopped, his face visibly relaxing. He retreated to Ishmael's door
and opened it, reaching in and scooping the teen off the seat and cradling
him in his arms. As he carried him into the shack, he heard Ishmael's
father, still cowering behind the car door, call out "I'll wait here, in
the car, while, uh, you two...uh, I'll be reading my Bible, you go on
and...uh..." The car door shut.

Carrying the boy inside, Two-Shot lay him on their bed, holding his bruised
head in his big fleshy hands. "I'm all right, really, Two-Shot. It looks
worse than it is".

"Just tell me who did it. Just the name, that's all I need", the man
answered, an evil glint in his eye.

"You have to promise me you won't...kill them, or anything drastic. Put
your hand on my heart and promise", the lad insisted.

Two-Shot pulled Ishmael's bloodied shirt out from his waistband and slipped
his hand underneath, resting it on his chest. "Tell me what happened. I
promise that they'll walk out of town under their own power, with all limbs
still attached"

Ishmael tried to smile, but his face still hurt. Ignoring the pain, he told
Two-Shot about the two disastrous visits to the Baxter family made by
himself and his father, and how the eldest Baxter boy, Anthony, had struck
and kicked him. Two-Shot suggested that Ishmael go on home and recover
fully before visiting again, and the boy concurred. They walked out to the
waiting car, Two-Shot's arm draped over Ishmael's shoulder in a casual,
possessive fashion. He waved as the car departed, then thought about which
of his buddies might enjoy helping him impart a little lesson in manners at
Chez Baxter.


* * *

Six days after the group of bikers paid their instructive visit to the
Baxter family, Ishmael and his father again appeared in their car at the
front of the bikers' shack. Ishmael jumped out and ran to Two-Shot, who had
come into the yard on hearing the vehicle's engine. He threw his arms
around the biker's waist and squeezed him tight, about as effective as a
mouse squeezing a watermelon. "They're leaving town!" Ishmael yelled, even
though Two-Shot was literally within arm's reach. "We drove by their house
today - there's a big 'For Sale' out front, and a moving van, and the whole
family was carrying out boxes! Mrs Baxter was screaming at Mr Baxter!" the
excited boy babbled.

Ishmael's dad had also exited the car, and stood off a respectful
distance. "I want to thank you for what you did for my son, Mr
Two-Shot. You truly are a mighty champion in the eyes of Jehovah God. I
understand my boy Ishmael would also like to thank you privately. He, uh,
always has been a happy child, but about two years ago, he...withdrew into
himself. Only the Lord knew why, as I surely didn't. It's only been the
last few months, since he met you, I gather, that he has brightened up
again, and the old Ishmael has returned. I'll, uh, just wait in the, uh,
car, until...uh, I'll...be in the car". He watched as the biker and his
son, arms around each other's waists, turned to the shack and strolled
towards the door. Two-Shot couldn't resist dropping his hand onto Ishmael's
bottom and giving it a squeeze, knowing his dad was staring intently after
them.

Ishmael's father occupied himself in the car by reading his Bible. When the
sounds of copulation from within the shack (in particular, Ishmael's
high-pitched yelping "oh! oh! Oh! Oh, yes! Ohh Jesus, Yess!) became too
intrusive, he wound up his window.

end

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