Date: Fri, 17 Jun 2005 19:33:37 -0500 From: H. Rick Cantwell <zestful@myexcel.com> Subject: Rascal part 18 Rascal Part Eighteen Shock and Awh! (M/M, Oral, Anal, Incest High School) This is a continuing story. I almost didn't post this episode. However, like life, sometimes it rains on your day off. Trust me when I say, the story returns to sweetness so stay with me. You won't regret it. --Dick Hickey Rascal Part Eighteen Shock and Awh! Jason and I headed to Corbett's Sporting Goods loading dock after stacking what was left of the Cop-A-Feel PoppyCock popcorn into Kevin's van. The sale had been a success until one sleazy character came in--one Kevin referred to as "Rover." As it turned out, Rover was Brad's and Jeremy's abusive dad. Neither boy had seen him in years but still harbored unpleasant memories of him. Jeremy had to bail because his emotions got the best of him. He took Juanita and Ryan with him. As Jason and I approached the loading dock where we were to meet the others, heard Taylor finishing her sentence with, "... a ten foot pole." "I've got an idea," Brad said. Then he looked at Kevin. "I'm sorry, sir, I forgot. You said 'Until the sale was over.'" "Until I tell you otherwise," Kevin said. "This is an unusual set of circumstances that requires special rules." "Thank you, sir," Brad said before he charged out of the loading dock into the Sporting Goods salesroom. "I'll be right back," he yelled over his shoulder. I looked around. It wasn't a very large room because products were unboxed and put on the shelves as soon as they came in. The cardboard cases they came in were then flattened and stacked against one wall for recycling. The stack was currently about chest high to me. Brad returned with a hockey stick, a tennis racquet and a ping- pong paddle. "Taylor," Brad asked, getting her attention, "would you touch him with this?" He handed her the hockey stick. "Whaddya want me to do with this?" Taylor asked, confused. "After we each paddle his ass with the tennis racquet, you can give him a no-holds-barred swat on the ass." I looked over at Rover. The robe they'd put on him to get him from the tent to the loading dock formed a pool of fabric around his ankles. The rest of us were still wearing the robes from the tent sale --except Jason who was in the ringmaster's outfit and Brad who was still dressed in his salesman's clothes. "Aim for the fleshy part and use the flat of the blade," Kevin said. "Rover, stand over here." Kevin pointed to the stack of flattened boxes. I had an idea of what Kevin had in mind. "Jason, want to help me?" Between us, we removed some of the boxes until Rover could bend at the waist and lay his chest over them. Knowing his fate, Rover bent and, as he laid across the top of the stack, he spread his arms out to form a cross. "These mother-fuckers hurt like hell," Brad said, taking a few practice swings in the air with the racquet. "There's no wind resistance to these babies and the strings bite like fire ants all over the place." "Okay, Brad, show 'em how it's done," Kevin said. I got the impression Brad had endured a similar fate at the hands of Kevin before. "Five for each of us, sir?" Counting on his fingers, Kevin said, "Jason, Dick, Taylor, Tyler, Jamie, you, me ... that's seven. That would be cruel and inhuman punishment. You said it yourself, the webbing stings like hellfire. I think it should be ..." then with an evil smile, Kevin said, "... ten." "All right!" Brad said, jumping for joy. With a roundhouse swing, he swatted his dad's left ass cheek. Then, still bouncing on the balls of his feet like a tennis player awaiting the return volley of the ball, he danced over to the other side. Using a backhand swing, he landed another swat. "You have to wait a couple of seconds for the sting to register with the brain before you swing again. But you don't want to wait too long or you can't compound the effect of the pain. Three seconds is good--five, max." I watched as red lines began to create a waffle pattern on Rover's ass cheeks. For Brad, each swat probably represented a time Rover had beaten him as a child or fucked him against his will. The lines were visible reminders of how often Brad had endured pain or agony at the hands of his father. I think, too, it included the agony of being separated from his younger brother, Jeremy. After his sixth swat, Brad said, "Taylor, get ready." "I thought you said when we're all done." "You get to smack him once after each of us gets done. It's like the change in the pain fucks with his mind." "Even when the victim knows there's going to be a change up, the brain can't recover fast enough to change its receptors," I clarified. "It causes a different kind of pain, too," Kevin said, "so get ready." "Think about what Rover said he'd do to you," I suggested in the hopes the thought would help her generate more strength. Taylor hauled back and hit Rover's butt so hard the "smack" resonated in the room. Rover didn't flinch but he sucked in a deep gasp as the nature of the sting changed personalities. Tyler began beating Rover's ass, visibly but silently counting to three between swats. "Make some four seconds intervals, some three and some five seconds," Brad said. "That way, the son of a bitch can't anticipate the impact." "And it's too strenuous to steel against the impacts for the full ten minutes or so while we're going to be doing this," Kevin said. While Tyler continued his assault, Kevin asked, "Jason, would you like to go next?" Looking at Taylor, who was eagerly anticipating her next swat and then at me, he said, "Sure. I think the sick bastard needs to be taught a lesson." "That's the problem," Kevin said while Taylor took aim. "He can't be taught. He doesn't learn ... except how to obey orders." After his daughter finished her second swing with the hockey stick, Jason started swinging the tennis racquet. "Mind if I ...?" I asked picking up a ping-pong paddle. "No, not at all," Kevin said. "Let's alternate," I said to Jason, "just don't hit ME." Since Rover had his eyes closed like he'd been instructed, it was a shock when the hard rubber face of the paddle landed on his cheek. "We're gettin' some nice color, here," I said. "Nice and rosy." "Should be blood purple by the time you're done," Kevin said. "That'll make sittin' painful for a few days," I said. Jason hit Rover's right cheek with the weave of the tennis racquet and I hit the same cheek with the pebble-like surface of the paddle. Then, Jason hit the left cheek but I hit the right cheek so Rover didn't get the idea there was going to be any kind of pattern to our torture--no rhyme or reason. After ten minutes of this, Kevin said, "Rover, stand up." Rover raised up from his bent-over position, turned around to face us and with fingers entwined behind his neck, he displayed a dripping erection. Kevin whispered to Brad who ran out to the sales floor. "Don't lose that hard-on," Kevin warned Rover. "I won't," Ryan said, giggling. I chuckled as I opened my robe and said, "Me either." "Spunky, you're dripping," Tyler said. "Can I?" "Sure, kid," I said. "Is it safe for me to undress?" Jason asked. "These tights are strangling me." "Hell, yeah," Kevin said. "I've been admirin' that boner of yours for almost an hour." As his pants came off, Taylor said, "Hey, you're drippin', too, Dad. Can I have some?" "Sure, hon," Jason said. Taylor was on her knees sucking her dad and Tyler was blowing me when Brad returned. "What the fuck!" he said, looking at Taylor. "What?" Kevin asked. "I thought she was his daughter." "She is," Kevin said matter-of-factly. "But she's suckin' his dick." "She asked politely." Kevin said in a conversational tone. "But I thought you were trying to teach me incest was wrong." "I've been trying to teach you that anything forced on others is wrong. With you it happens to be incest and bullying tactics." "Then help me understand something," Brad said. "Why isn't what we're doing to Dad wrong? It's being forced on him--not that I'm complaining, though." "In his case, it's in retaliation for something he's already done, so no, I'd say it's ... not forced ... it's punishment." "All right! Let's do it, then. Whatcha got in mind for this stuff?" "Rover, put on these inline skates." Turning to the kids, Kevin asked, "Have either of you played horseshoes or quoits?" "Quoits," Taylor said, releasing her dad's cock and joining the new adventure. "Me, too," Tyler said, spitting my cock out, also. "Then you two get to try and ring his cock." Turning to Jason, he said, "It looks like you and Dick get to play horseshoes." "Say what?" Jason asked. "Rover, use your left index finger to push your erection away from your body at a sight angle--about an inch from your belly. Put your finger down near the base so the kids have room to toss the rings over it." Rover had trouble standing steady in the skates, probably never having been on any before. "For the horseshoe tournament, you're gonna try to get a ringer around his ankles, just above the shoe tops. Okay?" "Oh, man, that's gonna hurt like hell," Tyler said. "I barked my shin once and Mom washed my mouth out with soap." "I bet she did," Kevin said. "You can take turns tossing quoits and horseshoes. To make it more fun, I'll give the winner a chance to ... uh ... torment Rover even more." "Ringing his cock will be more difficult than getting a ringer around his ankles," Taylor said. "The winners of each contest can work together on my next project. In the meantime, Brad, I have something else I need you to get for me from the sales floor." I tossed a lead-weighted hard plastic horseshoe toward Rover's right leg. The tip end caught his shin solidly and careened off to slide across the concrete floor. Rover grimaced. Taylor offered to let Tyler go first but he said, "Ladies first." She squinted one eye and tossed the ring in a side-handed motion. The solid rubber quoits after striking Rover's hipbone, bounced off to flitter with a skittering sound across the loading dock floor. Jason swung his arm back and forth in a large arc several times, taking aim at Rover's left ankle. The toss landed against his shin with such an impact, Rover lost his balance and began 'fast-footing' in place to stay up on the skates. Once he recovered his balance, Tyler took aim at his cock. Like a magnet, it flew on a straight steady course toward the meat pole, only to strike the tip, ricochet up and glance off his abdomen. Rover's grimace could have been from the nipping of his cock tip or from the impact to his stomach. After that, the four of us used Rock-Paper-Scissors to determine who would go next--the last player to toss, of course, was not eligible. That way, since it was a silent challenge, Rover couldn't anticipate where the next strike would occur. We kept at it for a while with Tyler getting two ringers while Taylor got one over Rover's erection. There were a lot more misses than ringers and purple bruises were beginning to appear on Rover's hips, waist and thighs. Jason and I had a bit more luck with his legs, although we drew blood on several occasions by hitting the same part of the shin too many times in succession. At one point, his inline skates slipped out from under him. He went ass-flat on the cold coarse concrete, which I'm sure caused his red waffled rump to sear in pain. Nevertheless, he struggled valiantly against the wheels to get back on his feet. At some point, Brad returned with a box of billiard balls and a croquet mallet. As soon as he got back, Kevin excused himself, saying he'd be right back. When he returned, he had both hands in the pockets of the robe. "What are the scores?" By then, Taylor and Tyler were tied at three apiece. "Give me one more chance and I'll win. I've finally got the hang of it," Taylor said. "Hang of it," Tyler said, giggling. "Hang of it? If he were hung, our job would have been easier." Brad high-fived and then low-fived Tyler for the put-down of his dad. "A tie is fine," Kevin said, "It'll give you both a chance to participate in the next challenge." "Yea!" the two screamed, jumping for joy. Their robes had come loose and I saw Taylor's tits and Tyler's cock and balls bounce as they engaged in their revelry. I was glad to see Tyler was dripping pre-cum- flinging it, actually--as he bounced about. It proved he was finally coming into his own as a man. Rover was told to sit with his back to the stack of cardboard boxes and spread his legs. At the last minute, Kevin decided to have him remove the skates. Kevin stepped ten paces from Rover's bare feet, placed a billiard ball on the floor and handed Brad the croquet mallet. "Okay, Brad, you get the first shot. Right between the legs." As Brad got into position, Kevin warned, "Rover, keep your eyes open. If you so much as TRY to deflect a ball, you'll be punished." I knew Kevin well enough to know Rover was going to be punished anyway. I also realized he chose the smaller billiard balls instead of the croquet balls because they took up less room when speeding though the splayed legs to he point of impact. A loud crack reverberated in the room as Brad struck the billiard ball with the wooden head of the croquet mallet. There was a swishing noise as the ball whisked across the concrete toward the V created by Rover's outstretched legs. At the last minute, the ball curved and smacked Rover solidly in the heel. "Ooh, that must have hurt," I said, remembering how sensitive the heel bone is when you step on a pebble. It shoots a pain straight up your leg. Then the electrical shock-type pain splits. As one tendril of pain continues toward the brain, the other heads straight into the groin. Sometimes it stops at the nuts, other times it stops at the asshole, making it clench from the sudden impact. 'Yeah,' I thought, 'Kevin has done some foot torture on me, too.' Kevin put the number two ball down and Brad swung again. From the expressions on the others' faces, I'm sure they were hoping for a direct hit. We all followed the speeding ball as it whizzed toward its target--but, because our desire for retribution was so intense, the ball appeared to be traveling in slow motion. There was no slow motion, however, when the ball made contact with Rover's gonads. His butt lifted off the floor and his thighs flinched inward just a little--a natural reaction to a hit in the groin. The third ball was placed and Brad swung. Since the second ball had struck his nuts and then banked back against his thigh, there was a clear shot. As luck would have it, however, Brad struck the second ball, forcing IT into the pocket, so to speak. But, because it was so close, there was nowhere near the impact we expected--or yearned for. Kevin asked politely, "Tyler, would you pick up the used balls each time?" "Sure," Tyler said, running to do as he was asked. When he bent over Rover's crotch, instead of picking up the billiard balls, Tyler scooped up Rover's nuts and let them drop heavily onto the floor. "Yep, they're still there," he said with a giggle. 'I do believe this boy has a mean streak in him,' I thought but I admonished, "You know what Kevin meant." Collecting the first three, Tyler returned so a stray ball wouldn't hit him. Brad struck twelve more balls with increased precision. Tyler continued to squeeze, drop or otherwise molest Rover's balls, following each strike. Since Tyler had been a gentleman earlier and let Taylor go first, it was agreed he would go next. He chipped the first shot, and the airborne ball struck Rover dead center in the middle of the breastbone. The grimace wore away so slowly it wasn't completely gone when another chip shot hit him squarely on the chin, raising a welt. After calming down, Tyler's next three shots hit their mark with agonizing accuracy. Taylor, collecting the spent balls, barely got out of the way before Tyler fired off another volley. He kept up the rapid-fire succession until all fifteen balls were used. All color had drained from Rover's face by the time Tyler was done. When Jason took his turn, Tyler took over collecting the balls again. By the time Jason sent his last orb on a collision course with Rover's egg producers and Tyler picked it up, Tyler said, "Man! His nuts are getting HUGE." We all went over to look. Sure enough, the majority of sixty billiard balls had taken their toll and his nuts were beginning to bloat. His normally wrinkled ball sack was less wrinkled, too. "If we keep this up," I said, taking up my position to swing, "his balls won't be needing a face lift to get the wrinkles out!" Fifteen swings and fourteen direct hits later, Rover was in agony. His balls were purple. The welt on his chin had become a knob the size of a golf ball. His breastbone had a pink circle of a welt that was beginning to turn a putrid yellow and his thighs were still quivering uncontrollably from the pain he had endured. I'm sure the coarse cement had not been kind to his ass cheeks and the constant flinching had caused his shins to ache even more. "What time is it?" Kevin asked. "Uh ... three-thirty," I said. "Yeah," Kevin said, thoughtfully, "we've got time. Rover, lay face down on top of the boxes and spread your legs." As he climbed up, Kevin said, "Better yet, lay along the edge and drop one leg over the side. Yeah, that's it." Rover's chest and right leg were completely flat on the "altar of pain." His left leg dangled off the edge, leaving his ass cheeks spread open. His erection was under his belly but his bloated balls were visible in the apex of his thighs. "Who goes first?" Tyler asked, not knowing what Kevin had planned but eager to participate, nonetheless. "Brad," Kevin said. Then, picking up a billiard ball, he handed it to Brad and said, "You know where it goes." "I've seen women shove ping-pong balls up their twats but this?" Brad said, holding the ball on display atop the tips of his fingers. "I'm not sure it'll go in." "Your dad is the biggest asshole I know and you're gonna prove it," Kevin said. "I can't see," Tyler said. "Me, either," Taylor said. "Uh, Tyler, come here," I said. I lifted him so he could sit on top of the broken-down boxes. He pulled himself up so he could get on the other side of Rover, close to the wall and kneel over him. "Taylor, help me pull these into place." We grabbed some of the boxes we had pulled off the top earlier and we made a step for her to stand on. "There. Can you see?" "Fine. Thanks." "You can proceed," Kevin said to Brad. "Doesn't he need lube or something?" Tyler asked. "We'll try it dry first. Don't want to make it too easy on him." "You're really gonna try to shove that ball up his butt?" Taylor asked. "Not try," Kevin said with finality. "Succeed!" Brad fumbled with his dad's butt, trying to coax the ball between the fatty cheeks. "Hold them apart for me, Tyler," Using both hands, Tyler parted Rover's cheeks. Brad said, "Yeah, that helps." Using brute force, Brad cajoled the ball through the resistance of the sphincter and into the rectum. We all watched the sphincter spasm, trying to force it out. "Brad, you'll have to hold it in place or it'll pop back out," Kevin said. Handing Brad another ball, he said, "You've got to force the first one into the colon." "Awesome!" Brad said. "How does it feel, Dad? I bet you're sorry now that you fucked me when I was a kid." He began forcing the second ball into Rover's ass chute. "Let me do it," Taylor said. "Yeah," Kevin said. "Let's play a little eight ball." "No, Kevin," I warned. "You know the most anyone has been able to take is six." "So what? This is Rover we're talking about. You know, the guy who has no regard for anyone else's limitations or anyone else's feelings." "Yeah. He forced all eight inches up my ass when I was ten years old. Now it's payback time." "One ball for each inch. That seems fair," Kevin said. "There's no way Rover has eight inches. It's four at the most. Besides, those billiard balls are bigger than an inch in diameter," I reasoned. "So?" Kevin said dismissively. "Besides," Brad argued, "when you're ten, four inches FEELS like eight inches!" "Brad, move over a little but hold that ball in there, too," Kevin said. "Aight!" Brad said, using the hip-hop word kids use when they're enthused. "Taylor, grab two balls and set them up there for Tyler. Then grab two more for yourself." Once she had done that, she asked, "Can I go first?" "Yep," her brother said in a tone that implied Tyler was not into any sibling rivalry at the moment. Getting the next two balls in was more difficult. Rover's sphincter was clamping down, trying to resist the insertion of another ball while his brain was telling his bowels to relax so it could expel the fullness in his intestines--in other words, take a dump. "I don't think you're gonna have the strength to get yours in, Tyler," Taylor said, once her first billiard ball was forced up Rover's ass. "Start putting the other one in before his muscles clamp down too hard," Kevin said. "Hold his cheeks farther apart," Taylor said. "They're as far as they go," Tyler said. "Unless you want me to rip 'em off his body." "Brad, you know what to do," Kevin said. "Hold on just a minute, Taylor." Brad began slapping Rover's bunghole repeatedly with two fingers. It was a complicated maneuver because Brad had to hold the ball in with the finger of one hand while beating Rover's butt hole with two fingers of the other hand. We watched as the rosebud tightened and loosened from the maneuver. "This is where it gets tricky. Be ready to push the ball in as soon as the one that's already in there starts to pop out." "Okay," Taylor said, slipping the ball up against his crack, ready to push. "Now!" Brad shouted. There was a 'click' as the two balls came in contact with each other. The only other sound was an agonized "Unngh," as Rover struggled to keep the balls inside at the same time he was straining to expel them. Obviously, he knew he would have to endure the pain longer if the balls had to be forced inside a second time. "You're winning the battle," Tyler said encouragingly. "Keep pushing." "Aaagh!" Rover groaned as the third ball was forced into his colon and the fourth ball was lodged between the internal and external sphincters. "Tyler, you better go next," Kevin said. "Okay," Tyler said sprightly. Oddly enough, from his position above Rover and looking down, he was able to force two more in. Although there was resistance, it was no worse than what Taylor experienced. "That's six," Brad said. "Jason, your turn." "Are you sure?" Jason asked with a slight panic. "As sure as death and taxes," Kevin said. "It's the death part I'm most concerned about," Jason said. "He won't die," I said, "he'll just wish he were dead." "Can I beat on his bunghole?" Tyler asked. "Sure," Brad said, "but you have to hit it with a snap, kinda like when you flick you finger on someone's ear lobe or forehead to get their attention." "So it tightens and relaxes," Tyler said understanding the concept completely. Jason watched closely and pressed the ball against Rover's ass as soon as Tyler gave him the chance by snatching his fingers away. "Push. Push harder," Tyler said. "Do it, Dad," Taylor encouraged. "There's no room for it to go," Jason said, worried that he'd do damage. "Sure there is," Kevin said. "The man has no heart, so two of them can fill THAT void." Jason knew he wasn't talking literally but he shoved anyway. Then, before the muscle could clench up, he started forcing the last one--the black eight-ball, actually--up Rover's ass. "It's in!" Tyler yelped gleefully. "Great work, Dad!" "Don't brag yet," Kevin warned. "You've got to get that last one all the way inside." "How do we do that?" Tyler asked. I was glad to see the once-shy Tyler was being the aggressor when it came to learning new things. 'The time spent with Rascal seems to have paid off,' I thought. "It's called fisting," I said. "Fisting?" Tyler said. "You push your fist inside until the ball goes past the interior muscle inside there and then you can pull your hand out." "Really?" Taylor said, making a fist and looking at it with disbelief. "Kevin," I said, "with eight balls up there, I think ..." "Calm down," Kevin said. "I'll let the kid do it. He's got the smallest fist." "ME?" Tyler shouted. He made a fist and pressed it against Rover's butt hole. "Whoa!" I said. "Jeeze, take it easy." "Why?" Tyler asked. "We don't want him to pass out." Looking at Rover's face, I saw he was already pale and his skin had a slight sheen of sweat. "He won't feel it if he faints." "Oh. So what do I do?" "Put all your fingertips together to form a cone." "Okay, now what? Wait! I get it!" Sweating from exertion, Tyler threw off his robe before he pressed his fingers into Rover's ass. "That's it," I said. "When you get to the last knuckle, curl your fingers into a fist, keeping your fingers inside as you do it." "Yeah, I get it. I know what to do," Tyler said. He formed a small fist, pressed it against the ball and shoved the eight-ball into Rover's bowels. "Yeah! That's it! I did it! I can feel his muscles gripping my fist. Oh man, what an awesome feeling. It's like he's trying to chew on my wrist." "Slowly pull back but make sure the ball doesn't come back out, too," Kevin said. "Yeah, okay," Tyler said. "Man, this is the weirdest feeling. It's all warm and squishy around my fist. Taylor, you gotta try this." "How about YOUR ass the next time you piss me off?" "Taylor," Jason scolded. "Hey, Kevin," Tyler said, "how come you haven't joined in on all this fun? All you've done is tell us what we should do and when. That's no fun ... unless you're Taylor." Tyler grinned foolishly at his sister. Kevin said, "Rover and I get to have our quality time when we get back to HIS place. Right, Rover?" "Yes, sir," Rover said, through clenched teeth, obviously trying desperately to overcome the fullness in his colon and the pain in his sphincter as his body tried to shit and not shit at the same time. "Like what?" Tyler asked, wondering what Kevin did to Rover during "quality time." Kevin took a moment to think and apparently came to a decision. "Actually, I suppose we can do it right here. Tyler, you're gonna have to help Rover sit up. After he rolls over, lift up on his shoulders so he can sit up on the edge of the boxes." "Okay," Tyler said. "You're not gonna lose any of them when you sit up, understand?" "Yes, sir," Rover said, rolling onto his side with a grunt as Tyler started lifting. Kevin reached up to lift Tyler down off the stack of boxes. Tyler's groin made contact with Kevin's chest, leaving a wet slimy-trail of pre-cum as he was hoisted down. "Okay, I want you kids to stand over there," Kevin said, pointing toward the door leading to the sales floor. "Dick, will you and Jason stand over by the loading dock door?" "Sure," I said, having no idea what Kevin had in mind. "Normally, I'd make him hold those inside until he got home but since I haven't paid for 'em, I can't take 'em out of the store." A look of relief crossed Rover's face, knowing he wouldn't have to endure the pain during the long, bumpy ride home. His relief only lasted briefly, before the pain of holding eight billiard balls took over again. "Rover, come down off the boxes and stand at attention." I knew having his legs together would help Rover retain the balls easier. Kevin pulled a small device the size of a cell phone from his pocket. Aiming it at Rover, he pressed a button. Two taser wires shot out, electrifying Rover so suddenly he just stood there for a second-- only a second. Then he started jiggling, trembling, vibrating, and folding at the waist and knees. Oddly enough, the tremors kept him from having any organized control over his motor skills. He didn't fall to the floor nor could he stand straight or bend over to relieve the pain in his gut. One by one, the billiard balls shot out of Rover's ass hitting the concrete like cannonballs. It looked like one pain tried to overpower the other, only to lose the fight but then take up the valiant effort once again--out of necessity. "That's only six," Kevin said. "Sir," Rover said after he recovered from the electrical onslaught, "I think they got pushed into the one that crosses over." He drew his index finger across his chest just below his nipples "The transverse colon," Kevin said, "it's called the transverse colon." Drawing his index finger up Rover's right side from his hip to just under his rib cage, he said, "Ascending colon." Dragging the finger to the right, then across under his ribs, he said, "Transverse colon." Then as he drew the finger down the other side, he said, "Descending Colon." "I think they're STUCK in there," Rover said pushing gently under his left rib. "We'll have to see," Kevin said. Stepping back, he put another cartridge in the pistol and pressed the activator again. Rover jumped and danced while his gonads jiggled independently of each other--one going up, the other going down. It lasted a good five to seven seconds. 'That's a long time when you're in agony,' I thought. Then Rover pissed. When the flow stopped, his ass muscle shot another ball to the floor with a thud. "I guess you were wrong," Kevin said snidely. "Once again, an error in judgment--just like with your sons." Another taser strike didn't produce the last ball. However, standing in his own piss only intensified the effect, causing his teeth to chatter like a chill wind was blowing through him. Even so, the jolt made Rover's cock go rigid in the time it took to snap your fingers. When he was able to speak, he said, "Please, sir. No more. No more ... please." Turning to Brad, Kevin asked, "I don't suppose YOU ever pleaded with your father for him to stop, did you?" "All the time," Brad said. "Then there will be more. Much more. As soon as you pass that last ball, I'm gonna take you home and put two stainless steel balls up your ass and let them fire off electrical shocks between each other. "Does that thing have different levels of intensity?" Tyler asked. "Yes, why?" "It's neat. I thought I'd like to try it but ... not at that setting," Tyler said. Jason and I looked at each other wide-eyed. Jason shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "Who knew my kid would grow balls that bold!" "Well, not tonight. You all better get dressed. The store's about to close. We sorted out the clothes and I put Ryan's, Jeremy's and Juanita's in MY car. I delivered them to Ryan's house but he wasn't home yet. I figured he could return his friend's clothes to them at school. As far as school went, things continued as usual. Ryan began winning wrestling meets, almost from the start. He discovered his short stature and flexibility could get him out of just about any hold his opponent tried to pin him with. His newly acquired muscles, although not massive, were enough to takedown and pin a guy. His name was soon being bantered around Eastern High school as the newest sports celebrity. He even got a TV interview with one of the local stations. As luck would have it, however, Jeremy played a spectacular game the night Ryan's spot was supposed to air and they broadcast Jeremy's homecoming footage instead. I could easily understand why. Lyle, Ryan and I were caught up in the rush that night as spectators swarmed onto the field, creating a 'reef' around the team that formed a human lagoon of blue and gold. As quarterback, Jeremy received most of the accolades for the victory and spent more time on the teams' shoulders than he did with his feet on the ground. The wide receiver was on their shoulders almost as much as Jeremy for all the touchdown passes he caught. The crowd was in a happy mood and during the first fifteen minutes I got groped by at least a dozen people--not all of which were girls. In fact, one guy--a band member--made a point of coming back for seconds. Of course, all the groping had its affect on me and his second grope was more of a handful than he bargained for. His eyes lighted up with shock and delight. He raised up his instrument--a flute--and mouthed, "Anytime," implying he blew the flesh flute, too. I saw Ryan was involved in similar groping activities. Even Lyle was treated to a few friendly gropes from the high school kids. To my surprise, none of the straight guys in the crowd seemed to mind being groped by other guys in the crowd--or if they did, they ignored it because of the joyous excitement of the victory. It's a good thing we won the Homecoming game because the revelry lasted until almost 11 PM. There was some minor damage done to the field but the football team, along with the cheerleading squad, promised to repair the damage before the next game. Just after Thanksgiving, during the next to the last game of the season, Jeremy not only got sacked but he got pummeled by a kid twice his weight. Jeremy came down on his right shoulder--his throwing arm--and then, somehow, his body got twisted in the opposite direction. He was curled up in a ball from the pain, out on the field, for almost five minutes. Although he walked off the field to tumultuous applause, he wasn't able to get back in the game. When his shoulder hadn't improved by morning, his foster parents insisted he go to the doctor. Instead of being on the field for the last game, Jeremy was in the hospital, recuperating from surgery. At half time, Eastern was losing 34 to 7. It looked like their undefeated season was going to be marred by one loss. "I'll be right back." Ryan said, getting up from the bleacher. "Where ya goin'?" I asked. "To the locker room." "I'll go with you," I said, wanting to find out what he had in mind. I knew I couldn't stop him but I thought I might be able to minimize the amount of damage control that would be needed. "Me, too," Taylor said. She and Tyler were coming with Ryan to every game since the two of them met Jeremy. Tyler had done something 'naughty,' as Taylor put it, and their mom had grounded him. It was Jason's turn to give in, so he didn't insist that Tyler be allowed to attend the game--especially since Jeremy wasn't playing. "No," Ryan said. "Girls aren't allowed." "It's not like they're gonna be naked." "Yeah, I guess you're right, c'mon," Ryan said. "What are you planning?" I asked as we opened the outside door to the home team's locker room. "I have to talk to Coach." "About what?" "Coach?" Ryan yelled through the opening of the door to the dressing room. "It's Ryan. Okay if I come in? I've got a couple of friends with me." "Sure, c'mon in." "One's a girl. Is that okay?" Hoots and hollers, along with catcalls and wolf whistles, echoed as Coach said, "Yeah, we're all decent." "Can I say something to the team?" Ryan asked politely. "I guess so. I've said all I can say." Ryan stood on the end of a bench so everyone could see him. "Most of you guys know me--or know OF me. I'm Ryan, Jeremy's friend. I know you guys are bummed that he's not here tonight. Some of you probably think you're losing because he's not here to pull you through. That's not true. At some time during every TV interview he's ever had, he's said, 'It's the team that makes HIM look good. It's the TEAM that's winning the games.'" Murmurs rumbled throughout the crowd. "And as far as him not being here, yes he is. As long as I'm here, he's here!" Several players cupped the ear of their buddy and whispered. For the most part, their buddies snickered. I imagined they were saying something like, 'Yeah, Jeremy Juice down his cocksuckin' throat!' "In spirit, anyway," Ryan continued. "He decided to go ahead with the surgery this week because he has so much faith in you guys. I know you don't want to let him down but you're letting his absence get in the way of you guys playing the best you can. Don't let that happen." There were more murmurs. "Most of you guys know I've got a ... reputation. I know a lot of you don't ... care for me all that much, but you know I stick by my word. If you win this game, I'll ..." I cut Ryan a sharp look. "... make it worth your while ... one way or another." "And I'll help," Taylor said, caught up in the pep talk. "Uh, Taylor, be careful," I warned. "We're not talking about washing cars, here." "I'll do whatever Ryan's willing to do," Taylor said. "And I've got a brother who'll help, too. He can't be here tonight but he'd do anything for Ryan just like Ryan would do anything for Jeremy." "We've gotta get back on the field," Coach said. "Please, fellas," Ryan pleaded as he hopped down and headed out the door. Taylor and I followed him back to the bleachers, waving to Juanita who was huddled with the cheerleading squad. They were eagerly anticipating the return of the team to the field, so they could start cheering. The team came running out onto the field, the crowd got rowdy and by the last minute of the fourth quarter, the game was tied. It was Eastern's turn to receive and in a play that would make Jeremy proud, Eastern ran seventy-seven yards for a touchdown to win the game. Again, the spectators swarmed the field, only this time, the division trophy was being passed from player to player. Each one wanted to hold it, touch it and have their picture taken with it. After the commotion died down, Coach retrieved the trophy and headed toward the gym. "Hey, Coach, whatcha gonna do with the trophy?" Ryan asked. "It's going in the display case before anything happens to it. After all, it's only on loan to us. We have to pass it on to next year's division champs." "So we get to keep it again next year, too," Ryan said, with a satisfied grin. "Let's hope so," Coach smiled. "I was wondering," Ryan said. "About what?" Coach asked, looking at me like I might be able to enlighten him with nothing more than an expression. I shrugged my shoulders. "Before you lock it up, could we take it up to the hospital so Jeremy can touch it? I know he didn't play tonight but he helped win all the other games." "That's a great idea, Ryan!" Coach said with an uncustomary burst of exuberance. "I'll take it up as soon as the team clears out of the locker room." "Thanks," Ryan said. "We're gonna go up now, but we won't say anything about it. I want it to be a surprise." "If he's watching the late news, he'll know we won," Coach said. "Yeah, but he won't know you're bringing the trophy" "Right you are, lad. It'll be a surprise, then." "See ya later," Ryan said. Turning to me, he asked, "Okay if I drive?" I turned to Taylor and asked, "Is your life insurance paid up?" "Let's go," she said. "I can't wait to see Jeremy's face when he hears the team won." As luck would have it, the three of us walked in just moments before the news broadcast began. "Did we win?" Jeremy shouted as he saw Ryan. "It'll probably be on the news," Ryan said disinterestedly. "How're YOU doing?" "C'mon, dude. That won't be until eleven twenty-five. Did we win?" "Well, if you couldn't see fit to be there, then you deserve to have to wait." "You are so evil," Jeremy said with equal amounts of love and hate. "Juanita said she wanted to change and then she'll be up, too," Ryan said. "Yeah, she doesn't like to parade around in that cheerleading outfit. Too many perverts out there." "I resemble that remark," Ryan said. "Lecher is more like it," I said. Groping Jeremy's cock through the bed sheet, Ryan asked, "Are you getting this taken care of okay while you're up here?" I was surprised Jeremy didn't flinch. Apparently, whatever they did--or talked about--after they left the tent sale so suddenly, must have eased Jeremy's dislike about being touched. "I'm ambidextrous," Jeremy said. "Me, too," Ryan said. "I can do it with men OR boys." "Girls, too," Taylor said. "Would that make me a trisexual?" Ryan asked. "If by 'try-sexual' you mean you'd TRY anything," I said, "then yeah, that makes you a trisexual." I leaned back to look around the curtain at the guy sharing the room. He was watching TV but the sound was down low, so I figured he was hearing most of our conversation. We stood around listening to the national news, followed by the local news and weather. Then all the other sports' scores were reported, leaving the best for last, apparently. Just as they reported the final score proclaiming Eastern as Division Champs, Coach walked in with the trophy. He handed it to Jeremy and said, "You, more than anyone, deserve to hold this trophy." "Oh, God! Thanks, Coach," Jeremy gushed. Juanita came in with a camera and took a picture of Jeremy with the trophy and then one of Coach, Jeremy and the trophy. Then the nurse suggested we should leave. As I left, I heard the guy in the other bed say, "You're THAT Jeremy Wheatly?" I knew Jeremy was going to have a fun-filled night of recounting play-by-play action with his roommate. To my surprise, the photo of Coach, Jeremy and the trophy appeared in the Sunday sports edition--in full color. There was an above the fold, half-page write-up about the team, including a lot of statistics, giving Jeremy a lot of credit for the wins. I cut out the article, took it down to Kinko's to have it laminated and mounted it on a wooden plaque so I could give it to Jeremy. It was only after I went to bed that I recalled Ryan's win-the-game offer. It made for a long restless night as I worried about what he had gotten himself into ith the team. To be continued. Thanks for coming back for more. I closed down my website. I couldn't justify throwing good money after bad. Maybe some of you readers know of websites that buy stories. If so, let me know. For those of you who did write, thanks so much. I really like writing this story and I hope you guys will continue to enjoy reading it. Thanks. Keep in touch with me at zestful@myexcel.com