Date: Sat, 10 Nov 2012 11:18:22 +0000 From: Rob Armstrong <robarmstrong26@hotmail.co.uk> Subject: Spike's Piercing Parlour, Part Thirteen: Hallowe'en Family Balling 4 SPIKE'S PIERCING PARLOUR, PART THIRTEEN: HALLOWE'EN FAMILY BALLING 4 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 four The Cavern quieted down some once most of the football fathers had been carried off to one part of the sex dungeons or another. There was still plenty of action, but confined more now to the sidelines and the shadows. And from one of those shadows a figure appeared, separate from all the rest. The guy was nearly naked and extremely hairy. Moose Bruckner decided he needed to blend in as he emerged from his place of hiding, where he had been concealed for most of the evening. As far as he could make out, everybody had gone crazy - horror movie crazy, like when some meteor debris poisons the town well and all the townsfolk become serial killers. Or worse, in this case... fags. It had all started off very normal. Coach Farello had been able to commandeer the Woodcucks' hire bus to transport both teams to where they wanted to go - apparently not caring that the address Clay gave was a downtown tattoo parlor. The Turkish bus driver - who was built like a brick shithouse, by the way - musta known 'Spike's' because he practically homed in on it. In reception Moose, Clay and all were met by this enormous bald headed fucker called Spike, who had obviously played ball himself in his day. The guys were fascinated by the USMC tat on the guy's boulder of a bicep - and this dude sure knew how to take charge of a situation. 'I got a big private party goin' on down below tonight,' he said, shaking his head, 'so I'm gonna be closin' early, sorry guys...' Well this was the whole reason Clay had brought them here - he'd known about this place from some of his construction buddies and gotten word that some kind of rave was going down tonight. There followed a great deal of pleading and wheedling from both teams. Moose himself had nervously checked to see what Coach made of all this - but, mysteriously, the guy had disappeared. Huh. Maybe Farello WAS human after all and knew when to make himself scarce. Finally the guy - Spike - had caved. But there were conditions. At he first sign of trouble, they were all out. If anybody touched one of his girls, they were all out. If anybody tried to purchase alcohol from one of the bars... Well - they got the picture. Moose boned up in his underwear. Game on! Very reluctantly Spike showed them thru his workshop and began leading them into that freaky set of tunnels... ...and from then on in, things had just gotten freakier... ...After that wall of fog they ran into in the tunnels, Moose began to suspect something was off. In the heavy mist guys had reached out to find their way... hands had brushed body parts... liberties had been taken... Moose's dick had carried on throbbing as before... but he hung back from the rest of the group, following at a distance... ...and witnessed that confused, fever dream upon arrival in this great dark Cavern - amber torchlight flickering on male flesh - as the other guys were overwhelmed by naked older men with huge hardons, who stripped them naked also and groped their firm young bodies. Fags! A whole fucking nest of them. Queering his buddies... ...who were then carried off unresisting to those weird standing stone structures, up on the higher levels - walled up inside them, dirt and gravel piled up around them by naked construction workers wearing only hardhats - and hardons... ...and then came the wet sounds of lips on flesh... of sucking and licking and moaning cries... Moose lingered in a dark corner of the Cavern, watching intently, ignoring the dick that leaked copiously in his pants... ...pulling at him to join in the nakedness... He wasn't a fag. Instead he turned and fled, determined to make his way out of that Cavern... away from the desires that pulled at him like a magnet and wanted to suck him back into whatever was happening... He was almost back to street level when he came across that heavy iron gate that marked the beginning of the tunnel system. It was closed and locked tight. No exit that way. Reluctantly Moose headed back down to the Cavern, knowing his best chances lay in keeping near the centre of the action and monitoring the situation until a better opportunity arose... ...a sizeable part of him rejoicing to be returning there... And so he had hidden away for hours, tucked away in an unnoticed fissure in the rock face down near the hot springs. It was the perfect vantage point and he saw pretty much everything as it went down. During his long concealment, Moose had plenty of time to think. And as he thought, resentment and anger focused on a single name. Clay Larsen. This night out had all been Larsen's idea. The pussy had gone soft, anyone could see that, ever since the start of school. He thought Moose didn't see those disgusted looks he gave him, but Moose wasn't dumb. Larsen had gone fag... And now that fucking fag had betrayed him... The moans and groans from his fellow football players continued louder than ever not long after he hid himself away. Deep grunts and high-pitched whimpers - cries of pain and gasps of ecstasy - the sounds of macho young alphas having their manliness ripped away, their virgin holes penetrated - ruined forever as they were raped into faggotry. Moose stuck his fingers in his ears to block them out. Not because they scared or repulsed him. But because they didn't... Those ripped, tanned, dripping-dicked construction workers... Clay Larsen... The loud classical music had come later, drowning the worst of the sounds. Then the arrival of his fiends' fathers and the pyrotechnic reappearance of that Spike dude, all decked out as the frickin devil... Things had gotten even more chaotic after all that. ...But now they had quietened down some. The party had moved on. Moose knew he couldn't hide in here forever. It must be nearing midnight by now. His dad would still be working his shift at the precinct - too busy to attend his son's game, of course... Moose's cell was in his pocket but they were underground here. He needed to get to somewhere he could find a signal... Clay Fucking Larsen. ...Yeah, then he'd see to it that Larsen, Spike and all the other fags got what was coming to them. He'd see them destroyed utterly for queering his buddies - and their dads - into queer homo fags. But first Moose had to lose most of his clothes - oddly, going naked made for the best disguise - all except for his letterman jacket as he needed a pocket to hold his cellphone. Stashing the rest of his stuff he stepped out from his hiding place and stretched gratefully. His hardon had never died down, the sights he witnessed having the opposite effect, but it's wet headed length served to help him blend in with the other inhabitants of the Cavern. There was still plenty of movement, figures flitting from shadow to shadow, but nobody paid him much attention now, apart fom the occasional passing grope of his tool... ...drawing from him an excited gasp, in spite of himself... Moose made for the nearest exit from the cave, never realising, in his heightened sexual state, that his sense of direction had completely betrayed him. The tunnel he entered now led, not up to street level, but into the rock walled labyrinth of the sex maze, between the Cavern and the leather dungeon. By the time he realised his mistake, Moose decided that he was committed. His only real course was to plow on forwards. A few hundred yards into the tunnel the music from the Cavern became less distinct. Moose could hear other sounds in here... the dripping of water down rock... murmurs of contentment... low moans of passion and the sounds of wet, wet mouths... He made his way carefully through the dark, grateful for the soft dirt floor beneath his bare feet. Now and then he would get taken by surprise - when unexpectedly the shadowy mound up ahead he took to be an outcrop in the rock wall would shift, turn and reveal itself to be two or more dwellers of this Hellish place, engaged in one kind of fag activity or another. Hands in the dark would grab at his still throbbing erection - THAT hadn't changed. Sometimes he would pull away and move on, others he would let them have a good feel so that he would blend in, unsuspected... That was the ONLY reason. Finally a hot mouth landed on his fuckstick... Moose hadn't been expecting that and was surprised into stillness. It-isn't-a-guy-it-isn't-a-guy-it-isn't-a-guy, he told himself, over and over, as he was engulfed by what he knew could only be warm, wet, MALE velvet... He leaned back, braced for the cold of rock, only to find a wall of hot male flesh to receive him. Moose moaned at the delicious contact, giving himself to it momentarily, as firmly muscled arms reached round to embrace him... include him... ...eager fingers clasped his nipples... stroked the thick fur on his stomach and arms... kneaded his buns... stroked his long hair... ...teased at his hole... That did it. Fingering him there was like a bucket of cold water being thrown over him. His nerve broke and he bolted. Moose ran thru the maze now, crashing into walls or sending unseen revellers tumbling in his panic. He turned this corner and that, tangling himself evermore deeply in the maze until he was hopelessly lost. His trajectory brought him at last into a dimly lit area. Low amber lighting had the effect of calming Moose some. He realised that, at some point during his panicked flight, he had lost his letterman jacket with the precious cell. He was stark naked... Stark naked and vulnerable... ...just like every other guy on the squad... The thought made his dick drooool... Notions of escape and retribution were displaced by the sights here that the orange spotlights revealed. The rock walls here gave onto dirt as often as not in this region of the maze. Up ahead, a naked man had been packed into a natural alcove, halfway up the dirtwall. He was spreadeagled, his wrists and ankles bound by the root structures that protruded there. A complex of longer roots had been woven over him, like a basket, taking most of his weight. His skin was slick with sweat. His chest rose and fell calmly enough, though the flesh of his torso and legs was striped with faint traces of the lash... A wreath of stinging nettle had been wound around each nipple, the tiny spines sticking cruelly into the tender nubs there, inflaming them into hot red balloons. A long stem of thorn circled the guy's dick and balls like a barbed cock ring. The digging barbs did nothing to diminish the excitement of his tool, however - if he was in pain, he was enjoying it. The man's dick thrust out into the tunnel, a constant stream of precum drooling onto the the floor. Something was happening with the guy because he kept moving his hips, gyrating them, pushing his hips back against the wall behind him... ...and he was groaning like a whore with two dicks up her ass and one in her snatch... Fascinated now, Moose walked up to the guy. There was a low buzzing noise from somewhere at waist height and Moose realised the guy had a vibrator stuffed up his cunt. That was what he was grinding himself back onto. His eyes were closed until Moose, in a trance, reached out to stroke his hot flesh. His eyes opened, hot with lust... 'Hurt me...' he croaked at Moose... 'My tits... hurt my tits...' Shit! It was Mr Shelby, Truman's dad... A real hardass. Strict disciplinarian. Moose had grown up in fear of this guy whenever he had spent time over at Truman's place... ...and now he was some sadist master's cumhungry bitch. God, he looked... amazing, trussed up naked into the wall like this... Moose reached up with both hands and began to squeeze the stinging nettle into Mr Shelby's nipples... ... the spines stiking into his own fingers, hurting him as he hurt them both... ...he and Mr Shelby staring into each other's eyes, sharing that connection... 'Ahhh....' Mr Shelby breathed, 'That huuuuurts, Moose... ahhhh...' And he ran a slick tongue over his lips in enjoyment... leaving his mouth open in invitation to Moose's own tongue... Moose stepped forward, his dripping erection kissing heads with that of his teammate's father. He closed in, their dicks rising up and undersides pressing together, trapped between their bodies, pulsing against each other. Moose felt some of the thorned cock ring barbs prick his scrotum and he didn't care... But just as Moose craned his head upwards to partake, a movement to his right caught his eye and he broke off contact. Just round the curve in the tunnel, another man was packed into an alcove in identical fashion to Shelby. This was a black man Moose didn't recognise. Musta been one of the New Jersey dads. A satyr was stooping slightly, hands on the man's hips, vaccuuming daddick into his hungry mouth and slurping on it. The satyr wore a dark curly wig with ram's horns, thick hair naturally curling on his body, especially on his legs - but his ass was hairless and smooth, the contrast making it look more naked than the rest of him. The satyr had a prodigious dick, which looked huge on such a trim little guy. He sucked cock expertly, hands groping that fine ass, occasionally reaching in to work the vibrator up that guy's hole. The dad there was moaning and gasping in pleasure... ...his nipples caught in tiny metal, springloaded teeth and pulled sharply upward by a taut steel chain... ...the hot black dad writhing now, bending at the knes to pull that chain tighter... tighter... his tits burning in ecstasy... Finally there was a snap! as one of the tits tore free of its clamp... ...the cock spurted cum high into the air... landing on the satyr's face and getting caught in his goatee. FUCK! The satyr was that fag Lenny Wiseman. But fuck he looked good, all hairy and naked and butched up like that in that satyr's costume. That ass looked good enough to... Before he knew what he was doing, Moose had lunged forward in a classic tackle and buried his face up Lenny's trench. Lenny was pushed face first into the black daddy's crotch... not that he minded in the least. Once he saw who it was eating him out he just laughed and set about sucking daddy's dick back to hardness. Moose grunted and huffed, eating out satyr ass like it was a happy meal. He scarfed down Len's ass juices and a coupla loads that had been left there from earlier in the evening, never thinking that this was his first taste of manspunk not his own... He wanted more. He straightened up, pulling Lenny's body into him, enjoying the snug fit of his tool along the length of Len's spit-wet ass crack. Len turned his head and Moose licked the dad's cum off his face and sucked it out of his goattee. Then they were frenching. Moose moaned into Len's mouth in utter whorish abandon... But then he was licking thin air. Len had taken off, pausing only at the corner to look back at Moose and chuckle provocatively. If Moose wanted that ass he would have to go after him. This time, in his race thru the maze, it was not panic that propelled Moose but his own dick. Len would pause just long enough for Moose to spot him... ...bend and spread that ass to flash at Moose the hole he'd just been feasting on... the hole he wanted to thrust his aching tool into... ... and then he was off again... ...fucking fag cock tease. Just wait till Moose caught up with him, that hot goatteed satyr would have Moose's dick buried so far up his ass it would be poking out thru his goddamn cocksucking fag mouth! As he gave chase, Moose passed other alcoves where men were trapped within... before some, sons worshipped their father's dicks with their mouths... others were two man alcoves, where a father might lay trussed up, his son bound on top of him, riding his father's fuckstick... ...until eventually Moose emerged from the maze altogether and blundered into the leather dungeon... ..where a whole new host of sights awaited him. All around the dungeon were various wooden structures. An X-shaped St Andrew's cross here, a stocks there, a high slave chair. Here a father was bound to a cross, crying out in pain... and pleasure... as his back and buns were lashed by a whip wielding demon... or prodded in the ass with a handfork by his son. Whhhht-tshhhh! 'Aaaaarghhhh..!' Whhhht-tshhhh! 'MMMmmmmmmmm..!' Prod! 'Yooouwch!' Pod! 'Unghhhhh!' Or there a son might be confined to a set of stocks, being pissed upon by vampires, or by a gang led by his own father. Werewolves ravished both father and sons indiscriminately - in slings, in corners on the dirt floor, up against a wall... wherever... In one slave chair a father was bound and ball-gagged. He was attended by a tall salt-and-pepper bear, naked except for a tiny white lab coat worn over a leather harness. The bear was also wearing a stethoscope around his neck, and in case anybody didn't get it, he had a prosthetic scar across his forehead and had somehow stuck a steel bolt either side of his neck. Doc Schultz had come as a sort of amalgam of both Dr Frankenstein AND his monster. Moose recognised the guy in the chair as Mr Carter. His son, Ethan, was assisting Frankenstein in attaching saw-toothed, alligator jump leads to his father's nipples. Carter's eyes damn near popped out of his head. The doctor then went over to an enormous, exaggerated power pack on the wall and started throwing levers. You couldn't see horror-movie style electric current sizzling along the cables and into Carter's tits - but you could see the effects in those wide eyes! Dzzzzzz-waca-waca-waca! Dzzzzzz-waca-waca-waca! 'Grggggggg....! Mmmmmmmmnnn....!' Carter screamed into his gag as his nips tingled and buzzed, his dick dripping all over the wooden seat and making a sticky mess. And talking of sticky mess - Moose narrowly avoided tumbling into a great vat of what looked like tar. Men were writhing in there, covered in the stuff. One guy would be held by two others while a third stood behind, humping, taking his ass. Or a really brawny guy might just carry a bitch round on his dick under that ooze. Over at one side, a guy lay sprawled half in, half out of the vat with another guy's brawny arm buried up his ass almost to the elbow. At some point somebody had come along and pissed the worst of the tar offa these two, because Moose recognised their Turkish coach driver - and riding his fist, eyes glazed over in fucklust, that looked an awful lot like Howard's dad. Jeez. That buttoned up prude? Who'da thunk it? And then it dawned on him... That guy was taking a fuckin ARM up that shit-chute... ...moaning like a whore... DAMN. Moose didn't know an ass could take that... His hole twitched, unbidden, and felt kinda itchy... ...kinda... hungry... But just then Moose spotted Len's ass flashing at him from a rocky exit and he set off after him like Alice after the white rabbit. But instead of cornering Len, Moose found himself in a long, narow chamber that, bizarrely had been partially panelled and tiled... ... and stank earthy, manly and pungent... Moose had happened across the latrines. Two long rows of toilets faced each other, army style - open plan, no partitions, zero privacy. In fact each pair of toilets faced each other so closely, they were practically nose to nose and one had to step nimbly to get between them. And yet, in spite of the cramped conditions, the place was packed with father and son couples, whoring themselves out... ... Everywhere father and son teams were feasting on ass... clean or recently used and raunchy hot... anybody's, apparently... each other's... total strangers'... In one spot, a father sat back asswards as his son buried his face up his shitty trench. In another, a dad jammed his boy's face up another dad and commanded him to get eating. 'MMMmmm...' said the writhing jock, as his dad buried his filthy dick up his ass... 'Mmmmmmmmm....' ...and then the boy said, 'Thluuurppp... thluuurppp..' ...and then 'Glomp!' 'Eat it!' his dad commanded, as he pumped his boy faster towards orgasm, 'Lick it! UH! UH! Lick it...UH! UH!...' Sons sat on fathers' dicks as the fathers sat on toilets... fathers sat on old guys, guys in leather, guys in Hallowe'en costumes... Further back, one dad had his son sit in front of him on the same toilet seat, his hands round his boy's wait, clutching him tight into him. 'That's it, boy... let it go... push it out... oh fuck, yeahhh... I can feel it gliding over my dick... it's HOT, son... UNHHHHH...' SPLOSH! SQUIRT! SQUIRT! 'Ahhhhh...' 'Unghhhh....' A buff leather stud with a white beard hunched forward over a cistern, barking commands at the team servicing him. 'Come on, Dad! You can get your tongue further up there! Don't let your boy get all the nectar! That's it... that's it... oh, fuck yeah, duel with your tongues up Gramps' hole...!' As Moose stood there - taking it all in - the sights, the smells, the sounds all combined to work upon Moose in a way the Schultz formula had failed... ... and somehow a part of his brain - the MOOSE part - shut down... ...so that when he was grabbed from behind by enormous, powerful arms, he was less resisting than he might have been. He looked round to see that none other than Spike himself - the Devil Incarnate - had hold of him. Spike had ditched the wings - too impractical at close quarters - but otherwise he still cut the same terrifying, satanic figure who had first exploded out of semingly thin air in the Cavern some hours before. Terror gripped Moose now, but instead of lending him strength it sapped him. It were as if a part of his brain, set free at last, figured maybe he deserved to get taken by the devil and punished for his sins. And when the three coaches, Symansky, Rogers and Farello, appeared at his shoulder, Moose knew that his punishment was inescapable. And sure enough, there was Lenny Wiseman, grinning smugly, still wiping away the last of the kohl from his eyes after playing the Egyptian mummy girl hostess for the dads earlier. Lenny had done most of the luring tonight. And now he had lured Moose here to his doom. Spike got his arm around Moose's neck in a choke-hold and the coaches each grabbed a corner of the quarterback. Moose struggled all he could, but even a linebacker like him was helpless in the grip of four such powerful studs. Lenny followed on behind as Moose was taken to the wet bar... END OF PART THIRTEEN. LAST INSTALMENT TO FOLLOW.