Date: Sat, 3 Nov 2012 17:55:14 +0000 From: Rob Armstrong <robarmstrong26@hotmail.co.uk> Subject: Spike's Piercing Parlour, Part Twelve: Hallowe'en Family Balling 3 SPIKE'S PIERCING PARLOUR, PART TWELVE: HALLOWE'EN FAMILY BALLING 3 THIS STORY CONTAINS THEMES OF INCEST BETWEEN FATHERS AND THEIR 18/19 YR OLD SONS, WATERSPORTS AND DOMINATION. THESE CHARACTERS EXIST IN AN AIDS FREE, CONSEQUENCE FREE, FANTASY PARALLEL UNIVERSE AND ARE NOT TO BE EMULATED. PLEASE SUPPORT NIFTY WITH YOUR DONATIONS AND KEEP THIS INCREDIBLE RESOURCE GOING. SERIES FINALE part three A little while before Spike's arrival, some of the football fathers began exploring round the back of the granite structures hunting ass... hungering to get their dicks wet... On either terrace, the narrow space back there formed a kind of passage, each ranked with fifteen naked boy-butts hanging out the back, ready and available for anybody who cared to use them. Shadowy figures ploughed the jocks' holes mercilessly, some of them recognisable as their own fathers - now totally caught up in the powertrip of just taking whatever they wanted from their defenceless sons. One of the Manhattan dads had fucked his son twice, tag-teaming with some hairy stud in a gorilla mask, and he now siphoned out his own and various other loads he found lodged up his boy's cunt. He was still on his knees, lapping at his boy's last juices - his boy's writhing and bucking hips driving his hole further and further back onto dad's tongue - when a fat dripping log, its glans pierced with a merciless 0 guage pa, poked insistently at his cheek and smeared his face with drool... A muscled leather granddady was grinning down lewdly at the dad/son scene, teasing the massive, distended nubs of his tits. With a wink, the bearded polar bear shoved his fat tool into the dad's mouth. Dad fed on it hungrily, sucking down his first cock since college without blinking. Then he released the old timer's cock and spread his son's ass wide, dragging his tongue... ever so slowly... ever so wetly... up and down his boy's raunchy trench... ... these poor boys hadn't even had a chance to fuckin' douche after all... ...plunging the tongue deeper into his som's snatch, growling and grunting at the tart flavors... 'MMMMMmmmm...! ...oink! ...oink! ... snarrrfle... scarf... scarf... mmmmmmm...... chew... oink! ...oingh.. ngh.. nhg!' He pulled back, tongue still lolling out, and looked Gramps in the eye... ...thumbs prising his son's hole wide open in invitation. Leather Gramps met his hungry stare and grinned slowly. He hefted his pierced warrior and shook it at him. 'Ya wanna see ya son's hole breached with this ringed hog o' mine, baby?' Dad nodded almost shyly, tongue now lapping at Gramps' drooling glans... He stared, fascinated, watching his son's used hole forced wide again, this time having to accommodate the extra steel... The dad tongued the shaft now, cos the dickhead had lodged snug inside his son's ring... inch... lick-lick... by inch... lick-lick... by inch... God that dick went on and on... 'Rrrroaaaar...' growled Gramps as he hit bottom, '...tight, almost virgin cunt...' ... and if Dad wondered what his son was making of the assault, the frenzied gyrations of his hips were indication enough... In order to stay part of it, Dad spread Leather Gramps ass and shoved his tongue up there instead... Wow! Gramps' hole was even dirtier than his son's - and no good excuse there! Better get cleaning, then... 'MMMMMmmmm...! ...oink! ...oink! ... snarrrfle... sluuuurp... scarf... scarf... sluuurp... chew... chew... oink! oink! oink!' Once the rutting frenzy grew too fast, the Manhattan dad came back out front again, to enjoy the redness of his son's face as Grandpa reamed him out. His son Lucas was one of those jocks encased in a pillory, so Manhattan's choices were limited. He settled for choking Lucas with his own dripping tool, making him clean his own ass juices from offa his father's cock. It wasn't long before he felt his balls churn and he coated his son with a nice cum facial. Damn, he looked hot, this normally cocky, teen alpha dawg now humbled by streaks of his father's slime all over his face... ...pouring into his open mouth... Mmmmm... smack... lick... thluurp! Lucas finished licking his lips, swallowed, and only then sucked in air - just as well he did, because it wasn't long before his father was cupping his jaw in strong fingers and forcing it open, pinching the lips inward slightly. And then Manhattan began to piss directly into his son's mouth. 'Mmmmf! Glaaaaaargh....! Heave...! Guuuuuurgle...' A light slap on the face. 'Lucas, don't be such a baby! Daddy's gonna piss in your mouth and you're gonna swallow every drop, do I make myself clear?' His humbled young alpha pouted and nodded in submission... ...opened wide... Pissssssssssssssssssss.......... 'Aaaaargaaaaargle.... huagh!... aaaaaaargle...' Dad loved watching Lucas' reaction to drinking his father's piss, swiftly running the gamut from not-so-dry heaving... thru a grimace of distaste... followed by acceptance... curiosity... surprise... to fevered, piggish hunger... 'Uuuuuurgle... mmmmmm.... sluuuuurp... sluuuuuuuurp...' Pisssssssssss..... pissss.... pisss... piss... pis... Lucas' tongue was out to catch the last drops. Manhattan shook his dick and squeezed his piss-slit, ensuring his boy didn't miss out... A figure appeared at Manhattan's side and pulled him into a deep kiss, which Manhattan returned with slutty abandon. Julio Ortiz wore the mask and hat of Zorro - the cape also, thrown back now to expose ripped, tattooed nakedness. He reached down and stroked Lucas' father back to full hardness. The two men duelled with their swords for a coupla minutes, slicking each other up. Then Manhattan aimed the Zorro's dick at his son's mouth and treated his boy to a new flavour of steaming manpiss, direct from the spout... This time Lucas didn't miss a drop, and the hot sight of Zorro plunging his pissing hardon in and out of his son's eager mouth drove Manhattan to his knees... Father and son shared the hot load of Latin piss, swapping mouthfulls back and forth as they frenched each other's open mouths... That was when Spike made his explosive entrance down by the pool. Julio sprayed the dad's face with the last of it and shrugged at him. 'Sorry, man - you're outta time!' 'Gulp... gulp.. Huh...?' 'Welcome to the Hallowe'en Family Ball!' Spike announced, He opened his eyes, which burned with inner hellfire... Up on his terrace, wits dulled by the Schultz drug, Manhattan thought that Satan really had come for him and he screamed like a woman. (Told ya.) Delighted by the effect he was having, Spike smiled widely, revealing his filed teeth, and ran his forked tongue over them. A large leather whip appeared in one hand suddenly, and he cracked it expertly, laughing with satanic fervor at the assembled hoard. 'So Get The Fuck Balling Each Other!' he commanded with a snarl. And then... well... all Hell broke loose... Large indoor fireworks sent amber sparks shooting into the air. The music exploded suddenly out of the classics and into the hottest, dirtiest club music ever... its base line throbbing right up thru the ground and into the core of every guy's twitching hole... A male singer growled out the occasional lyric, base and gravelly and utterly manly... Over the music, recordings of men's voices, crying out in ecstasy or anguish, either or both... Next came sounds of destruction up on the terraces, as heavy mallets smashed into the upper halves of the dirt and granite standing stones, turning them to harmless dust and debris - and releasing each boy who had been imprisoned within. The jocks were helped to their feet by whoever was fucking them. In the main, though, the fucking continued uninterrupted. And above it all boomed Spike's voice again. 'Look to the fathers!' he yelled, and cracked his whip again, pointing at the men still beating off on the dirt floor of the concourse. 'Take them!' He gestured up to the terraces also. 'Take them all and release... the freaks!' An unearthly howl screamed over the sound system as, seemingly from every side there burst a hoard of bizzarre Hallowe'en creatures. Vampires, covered in white bodypaint, grinning to display sharp fangs... lithe, horned demons painted red or blue, armed with handforks and whips... beefy, bearded werewolves, with fake pointed ears but covered in very real body hair and snarling with lust... Others simply wearing rubber head masks, like the gorilla man or a screaming ghost... All stark naked and fully erect. Dad-in-Charge was one of the half-dozen fathers still masturbating on the concourse floor - his group was the first to be seized. These dads had been the least involed in the action so far and they had remained the most clothed. In fact Dad-in-Charge had even managed to retain his jacket, though he was tieless and unbuttoned down the front. That counted for little, however, when a tribe of men, seemingly covered from head to foot in tar, raced out of the shadows. These were extremely brawny guys, and there were a dozen of them, so there was little the dads could do to stop them as trousers, jackets, shirts and socks were ripped from their bodies. 'Stop it!' commanded Dad-not-so-in-Charge, 'Stop it... you're ruining my clothes...' Protests fell upon deaf ears. In answer he was forcibly bent double, his hands touching the ground, as his suit trousers and underwear were torn out at the seat, exposing his naked buttocks. The lead tar-man spanked his naked ass repeatedly, making it dirty with tar and reducing the trousers to messy rag. Then he shoved his face right up the dad's crack and got eating with gusto. Poor old Dad-in-Charge could only wail his distress, inwardly cursing himself for ever leading them all to this terrible place. Stripped naked now, the fathers were publicly molested in the most intimate manner, to the whoops and cheers of the watching denizens of the Cavern. Streaks of tar smeared chests, faces and buttocks. 'No...no...' cried another dad, 'you're getting me all dirty!' That seemed to be the cue: the lead tar-man took his tongue out of Dad-in-Charge's hole and yelled out in a heavy Turkish accent. 'To the tar pits with them!' The dads were lifted bodily into the air, writhing and struggling, as they were carried off into the same shadows the tar-men had come from. Manhattan and the other dads, meanwhile, weren't faring much better up on the terrace. A similar tribe of freaks had gotten hold of some of them, though these guys were covered in mud rather than tar. 'Get away,' yelled Manhattan crossly, 'Get offa me, ya filthy queers - Lucas, help me!' But Lucas was busy in the rubble of the standing stone. He leant back into the embrace of Leather Gramps. They were still fucking, Gramps running his hands up and down the boy's hot muscled torso, pinching his tits and tongueing his ear - Lucas with his arms up, wrapped back around Gramps' neck. Julio - Zorro - and his brother Pedro - a sexy bullfighter - were getting it on. They stroked each other's cocks and merely looked on. Nobody came to their aid, but they did watch and jerk off as Manhattan and the others were taken away by mudmen, werewolves and demons. Manhattan and two other dads were carried off to a corner down beyond the hot spring, where a quagmire of mud bubbled and plopped in sinister fashion. Two more mudmen stood waist high in the stuff, ready to recieve them. Surely they weren't going to... Manhattan landed upright in the quagmire. His cries were plugged by the tongues of the two waiting mudmen, who squeezed him between them in a sandwich - one tongue in his mouth, one in his ear. 'Nahhhh...' cried Manhattan, 'Get offa me, I ain't no fuckin faggot... ooooohhh....' Fingers had found his tits. Fingers had found his hole. Manhattan balked at first at the taste of dirt in his mouth - but at least his superstitious panic was quelled, as he realised these guys were just guys, who had covered themselves in mud. Their tongues were just tongues, and as they spun him around, from one to the other - kissing this one for a coupla minutes and then switch - he found himself looking into two mud-ringed pairs of perfectly human, and extremely similar, green eyes... These two were father and son, he'd swear it. Little did he realise that, beneath the coating of mud, lay none other than his bus driver from earlier - and two generations of the noble Wilby family... As Manhattan and the other two fathers got turned, turned, and turned, waist deep in the mudbath in their respective sandwich setups, they got muddier and muddier and muddier. A seventh mudman systematically set about layering mud over their upper bodies, plastering the wet clay in their hair and smoothing it down, spreading it over faces, necks and shoulders... ...anything the spinning embraces did not cover, he did, and before long there were ten mudmen, not seven, wrestling with each other and frolicking sexually in the bubbling quagmire... Dad-in-Charge later remembered little of being carried to the tar-pits, other than his own outraged cries. 'No! You can't do this! I'm a respectable married man!' Silencing fingers shoved into his mouth - and told him that the stuff was not, in fact, tar, but molasses thinned with dark chocolate sauce. That was little comfort, however, when they arrived in the leather dungeon where there was a vast industrial vat of the stuff! The vat had been dug into the dirt floor, only chest deep but covering a lot of square footage - the sweet morass within heated to body temperature. The tar-pits! Ercan and his tar-men hurled the half-dozen fathers bodily into the mess, instantly coating them all over. They then jumped in on top of them - and sank below the surface... The six parents thrashed around, finding their feet, spluttering and looking down in horror at the sticky mess they were covered in. They were apparently alone - until a tar-man would burst up for air and then disappear again. Tentatively, the fathers went off in different directions, fighting thru the heavy ooze, making for the edge of the square pit... Until a tar-man would emerge, pulling them back to the centre... ...the dads whimpering in fear... ...their spirits rapidly breaking... ...until the pit boiled with life all around them and all the tar-men arose at once to claim their prizes as the slick, sticky, slidey orgy of fucking commenced... Fearful whimpers changed to yells, as each father was outnumbered by two men to one... and made into their bitch... Dads were hauled onto shoulders, tar-men fellating them and licking them all over... Then they would be turned about and take their captors sweet candy rods down their throats. Dads were thrown forwards over shoulders too, expertly fingered up the ass, opened up and eaten out... Every nerve ending on fire, the fathers gulped down the dicks with abandon, the Schultz formula bringing out their inner slut, with only a little persuasion needed. Dad-in-Charge fought valiantly, as he was hauled back into the embrace of Ercan and Junior Ortiz, but he was up against a championship oil wrestler and the young member of a streetgang... ...As the licking, fingering and nipple torture continued all around him, Dad-in-Charge reflected dimly that it was the football fathers who had assumed they would be the ones doing any groping tonight. They had certainly never bargained for being the sex-objects... Only now, as his violation began, did he realise what a setup they'd all been lured into, both fathers and sons - and that blond Mohawk dad was responsible... A second thing he realised. He was still hard as a rock. He hadn't lost it from the moment he'd stepped out of the mist in the tunnels... ...and suddenly that seemed more important than anything. As the Schultz formula claimed him, Dad-in-Charge didn't want to be in charge any more, and he surrendered to the hormones that raged within him. Ercan and Ortiz had brought him to one edge of the vat. 'You want us to let you go?' taunted Ercan, as his clever fingers worked their magic beneath the tar, up inside Dad's chute, 'We let you go if you ask nice...' Dad pictured the rapture on his son Howard's face when he was being taken by force up on the terrace... ...his hardon throbbed... 'No,' he replied, shoving away from the side and withdrawing into the sweet, sticky ooze... He scooped up a handfull and ate it from his palm... '...I want you to make me dirty...' END OF PART TWELVE. MORE TO FOLLOW.