Date: Tue, 2 Jul 2013 20:51:55 -0400 From: Kevin Peake <daddy.kevin.p@gmail.com> Subject: Dads N Lads - Ep IV Dads 'N' Lads Episode IV - Smokin' the Big Meat Cigar by Daddy.K © 2013 Jeeves! After you've DONATED TO NIFTY ARCHIVE, send to my room a schnauzer, two pumpkins, an inflatable Justin Bieber, a carton of fireworks, and a boy from One Direction! I wish to be depraved! http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html Story Code: BBbb/oral "Dammit, Chaser," Curtis Yarnell laughs, "make your brother stop molesting me." Curtis reclines in the passenger seat; legs spread wide, Kevin Peake's hand diddling his bulging groin. Chase Peake snickers. "You like it when he molests you. Hell. I like it when he molests me!" Chase's Honda Civic, carrying the trio, sports a custom paint job (black with electric blue lightning arcing down the sides) and contra-rotating rims. Chase turns his sleek baby off Broad Street onto Main. The engine purrs like a boy savoring the slow burble of mancum in his butt. Brightly: "I can molest you both!" Kevin leans forward between the seats and slips his other hand onto his eldest brother's crotch. "See! I'm a reverse pedo!" "You like men," says Chase, spreading his legs, cock chubbing, grinning happily. "I like pubic hair!" proclaims Kevin. "And I got a lot of that," says Curtis. He undoes the top button of his fly. "You wanna check me out, you sick reverse pedo?" From both teen's ilps dangles a joint, shouldering. The Civic's windows are blurry with resin. The fifth grader in the back seat, the boy with one hand down George Washington High School's star running back's pants, the other down GWHS's dope peddler, is probably stoned enough from the thick fumes enriching the Civic's air. Maybe also the teen funk rises from their armpits. As they make their way towards Founder's Park, further up Main, Chase waves at a passing cop strolling on the sidewalk. The cop grins back. Chase can't think of the guy's name -- he doesn't think much of cops at all. But he does remember blowing the cop. Yesterday, in the dugout after school. A big cock, with dark pubic hair smelling of pee and some other boy's saliva. Keep your friends close; your enemies, closer. Curtis, Chase's best buddy and partner is countless sex crimes, grins madly, stretching out in his seat so the eleven-year-old man-molester can work his evil will. Sleeveless black tee-shirt, cut off just below his nipples, reveals a sleek, panther-like chest and belly. Lean. Strong. Skin the color of dark honey. Fine dark hair curls round his navel and descends towards more interesting regions. His jeans sag, exposing blue briefs. A black-haired boy with large, liquid eyes, the ladies like him a lot. Yep. Ladies. We got us a bi here. Fear not. Curtis bones women for their money. They're a job, not an adventure. You needn't ask how he adventures, not with Kevin stuffing his hand down into Curtis' jeans. "Go lower ... work it lower ... oh stop it, you bad bad boy ... yep, that's it, Kevin! Feel it?" Kevin grins like the boy who's discover his parents' Christmas trove two weeks before the holiday. His fingers are on safari in the black thatch in his crotch, playing with fat teen nuts and thick teen shaft. Kevin, his tongue shoved determinedly into the corner of his mouth, suddenly thrusts his fingers lower. Gasping, surprised, Curtis slams his legs shut like a wife a day after payday. "You keep your fingers out of my butt, kid." "Aw, shitcan it," says Chase. "You like it when my Dad molests you up the butt." "Well, the Chaser's dad's got a dong like a pony," says Curtis. Indignantly, Kevin says, "Wrong! My Dad's got a cock like a horse! And he knows how to use it! I'm his cowboy and he rides me. All! Night! Long!" He lets go of his brother's cock and uses the free hand to pull Curtis' knees open again. "Now spread those legs and let me play, dammit!" From amidst the turn-of-the-century brick buildings of the old downtown emerges Founder's Park. Greenery and water in the middle of Ellicott Falls. They still planned for the future, back when this town was young. Things were always better in the old days. Just ask Metrobius. Let me make clear why this trio is making for the park. In the right pocket of Chase's board shorts there is a bulge. No, not his cock. The bulge we're envisioning is nowhere near big enough to be his cock. That organ, the favorite of many Chatauqua County boys, now rests, chubby and interested, on his thigh. If you were someone crouching beneath the steering whell, looking up his shorts, you'd see his naked cockhead. Red, like a tomato. All that juice his Dad pumped up his butt has worked its magic on the stud seventeen year old. Boy is hung. No, the bulge in question is a baggie full of a half-ounce of weed. Not the good stuff, but the shit he sells at George Washington High School. This, gentlemen, is swag. Absolutely unremarkable medium-grade swag. Chase, a businessman like his Dad, also caters to no-longer-in-school stoners in Founder's Park, in the middle of Ellicott Falls. You just get all those silly PSAs out of your head. Nope, Chase has never been busted, and isn't likely to be. Why? Well, here's a piece of advice. If you would like to make a substantial, tax-free income, well as a young teenager swallow your pride and start blowing your local police force. They never forget a favor. "Does the Chaser need me to carry the heat for him?" asks Curtis. Now that Kevin has settled down and is playing with his cock he's much calmer. Curtis likes to play sideman for his buddy. This is consequent from that time five years ago, when Keith Peake buttfucked first Chase then Curtis, laying the two young boys on his bed and stuffing them full of his famous footlong dadcock. "Nope," says Chase. "I brought it, but I don't need it." There is a .380 automatic in the glove compartment. Chase is peaceable, not stupid. They pull into the parking lot at Founder's Park. Chase selects a spot near the falls themselves. He grinds out the joint as the Civic's engine dies. "OK. You two stay here while I go work this deal." "Chase," Kevin whines, lips shiny, eyes hungry, "we're in public." "You can blow him later. Shit, Daddy turned you into a real slut." Irrepressible, Kevin scrambles into the front seat as soon as Chase slams the door. The young boy looks up at the older black-haired teen, batting his eyes. "So. I LIKE pubic hair. You gonna show me your pubic hair, Mr. Football Player, or am I gonna have to make you?" "OK," says Curtis, pulling off his shirt. "We can work something out, kid." Kevin almost creams his jeans at the sight of Curtis' thick, fragrant armpit hair. "OK," says Curtis. "Now, you open up my fly so you can see how much pubic hair I got. I'll just cover your head with my shirt. And you make sure you don't accidentally molest me, you sick evil motherfucking reverse pedo!" And there let us leave the boy to violate the teen as we move on to pastures new. The Kollichucky River, originating in a cold spring high on the eastern slopes of the Blue Ridge, pours over the falls, spilling into Ellicott Pond. The Buck River, more sedate, meandering past Chase's house up north, joins the Kollichucky there in the willow-lined pond that is the heart of Founder's Park. The falls aren't terribly impressive at five feet, but still a cataract is a wonderful thing to have in the center of town. The sun, well above the mountains, warmly lights the green sward on the banks of the pond. Walking into the park, Chase pulls out his cell phone and dials. Only rings once. "I'm here. Where you at?" The sound of falling water almost drowns out the hick voice that respond. "Down at the picnic tables! By the east end! Hurry up I gotta get my kid back home before Katelynn gets there!" There's no more plaintive a sound than a married hillbilly who's in dire need of the herb that lets his shrilly devoted God-sanctioned female companion go unmurdered yet one more day. Did he say 'his kid?' The phrase resonates with Chase. Something low and deep begins to rumble in the teen's balls. He walks the paved path along Ellicott Pond. Lily pads grow thick in patches, the reeds bow in the uncertain breeze. The willows are like giants clad in grass skirts. Children play, hauling up dripping weeds from the pond or chasing ducks who've clearly just about had it with their crap. One or two muscular men saunter through the park, their eyes darting here and there. Kids flash past on bicycles. Couples lounge on picnic blankets. On the grills sizzle hot dogs, burgers, kielbasa. The hillbilly, Bobby Dugger, sits alone at a picnic table set apart from the others, fidgeting. Bobby is twenty-five, a hard, thin, wiry fucker, dark blond hair buzzed down to Mohawk and stubble. His chest, which is defined but not notably muscled, glistens with sweat. He sits wearing shorts, nervously lighting a cigarette. Bobby likes to work on cars. It was Bobby who rigged Chase's Civic with nitrous oxide. Oil stains his hands. His eyes narrow as Chase approaches. Bobby lives with Katelynn and a cute young son in their rented trailer further along North Buck Road from Chase and Kevin's home. While it might make some sense to do this deal at Bobby's trailer, Bobby's woman is a hard-assed teetotaler. NO weed! NO beer! 100% devotion! And Keith Peake firmly forbade drug deals at his house, not wishing to risk his sons' life in case the millionth chance came to pass. Chase takes a seat across the table from Bobby. Shadow of a large willow falls across them. Traffic flows a hundred feet away. Across the street is Besty's Café, at this hour quaintly empty except for Betsy, the proprietress, who back in the '60s was quite the tart. Chase scans their surroundings. All clear. "Eighty bucks," says Chase, pulling out the half-ounce of swag. He places it on the table between them. Behold! Also giving him some plausible deniability, should a cop appear. Unlike many, Chase had learned from the examples set by the American presidency. "Bullshit! Give me a break, motherfucker!" Bobby is already stoned. The cigarette is one rolled by his fingers, and is about fifty-fifty tobacco and marijuana. It dangles listlessly from his lower lip. "Eighty," says Chase, his pleasantly warm eyes as flinty as he can manage. A ruckus flies past on a bicycle. It is Tyler. Bobby's nine year old son. The subterranean rumbling in Chase's nuts now becomes something his weed-addled consciousness can detect. And savor. It's not as if he doesn't know Tyler. Chase has been watching the boy. Chase notices the young ones. Tyler? A short, stocky kid. Not fat, just a boy that promises to grow up with big shoulders, big chest, and a bubble butt. A body like Chase's brother Gideon, nascent, supple, clearly destined to blossom into strutting young muscled studhood. Tyler has brunette hair, rebellious and curly, and it's long for a boy, spilling over his eyes and down his neck. A fourth-grader, Tyler is far more enthusiastic than graceful. Front wheel of the bike wobbles as he chases one of his buds. It's the lips. Chase can't stop thinking about Tyler's lips. Moist. Soft. Pink like buble gum. Full. Luscious. Chase tugs the hem of his shorts down, lest his growing shaft alert Bobby that the fiendish dope dealer so necessary to Bobby's continued domestic bliss was also a fiendish pedo. Focus! You're here to make a deal. "Eighty," he repeats. "Come on, Bobby, I charge everybody else a hundred." "Travis down at Young Suds says you only charged his brother Adam seventy." This is true. What Bobby doesn't know and Chase won't mention is that sweet young Adam -- fourteen, tall for his age, lanky, strong, naïve, coltish, insatiable once you got your cock into his colon -- got his discount because he threw his cherry butthole into the deal. More precisely: Chase requested it. Remembering how the built, powerful Travis -- who worked out sometimes with Keith -- had slid his cock into his younger brother's dimpled, slender butt, juiced up with the Chaser's thick teen load, and all that jism had bubbled out in a froth of lust to slide down Adam's creamy thighs. Two brothers and a drug deal, buggering all, breaking all the laws. Chase's cock comes awake. "Well, shit, Bobby, hell yeah I charged him seventy. Look, I cut a deal because it was Travis' brother. Christ, he works for my Dad!" "They say your Dad's a pervert." Bobby's eyes stare coldly into Chase's. Tyler shoots past. Not much to see, just a blur. He's standing on the bike's pedals, little butt outlined by his shorts. "You watch what you say about my Dad," says Chase. He reaches for the weed. "Or I'll take you back behind the factory and beat the shit out of you. Guess you don't want to make a deal." Bobby breaks. Doesn't even take a second. His eyes plead. No doubt he's thinking of the ordeal of facing his woman, alone, uninsulated by marijuana. A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. In this case, surrender. Four twenties slide across the table. A bag of marijuana is stuffed into Bobby's pocket. Bobby stands and hollers. "Tyler! Let's go!" The boy rushes up. Brakes squall. Tires skid. Kid almost flies from his bike. Chase can now just let the feel, the ambience of the kid flow over him. He can stare. And lust. Tyler doesn't fail to notice "Hey! Ain't you Mr. Peake's son?" "Yeah," says Chase. Heart flutters. "Call me Chase. Tyler." The boy's suddenly suspicious. "How d'you know me?" "I know your Dad. And I've seen you on your bike. You like riding it up the hill, then down to your place, don't you?" "Yeah!" Suddenly, drawn maybe by half-perceived movement, Tyler's eyes drop to Chase's crotch. Chase carpes the diem. Grinning, the teen opens his legs. Wide. Golden muscular thigh, kissed lightly with hair. Bulge. Throbbing teen bulge. Jumping in the shorts. Bobby's position behind Chase keeps him from seeing what's going on. His eyes are on his son, but his mind is thinking of a bowl of fresh swag, so it doesn't register consciously that his boy is staring at another man's crotch. In his unconscious? Well, he's reliving that moment from an hour ago, when he and Tyler left the Wal-Mart, and the boy had his hand round his dad's waist, and the boy had suddenly turned and pressed his face in Bobby's crotch. Yeah, that was pleasant, and Bobby will think of it the next time Katelynn admits him between her legs. Chase deftly pulls up the hem of his shorts. He can feel the air on his cockhead. Blushing, Tyler looks up at Chase's face. Something has happened. He's not sure what. "Going down that hill, you go really fast, don't you?" says Chase, snaking his fingers in and stroking his cockhead while Tyler watches. "Yeah!" "Well," says Chase, easing the hem back down, "you know, if you start in our driveway, I'd bet you go really really fast!" This is a revelation to Tyler. And a potential extension of the kingdom he's allowed to explore. Wonder expands his eyes. "Yeah!" He turns to Bobby, who's standing and fidgeting. "Can I, Dad?" "Yeah, sure. Come on, Tyler, we gotta get back or your mom'll kill me." Chase watches the kid's butt as father and son walk off, hand in hand. Little too small to take a mammoth cock like Chase's. But it's fun to think about. Those lips ... those lips, though, are something else. When his cock settles down he gets up and heads back towards his Civic. He takes a different route, taking the path that loops past the playground. Tyler has made him frisky, and he wants to see what's going on. Right on the edge of the path spins a merry-go-round. Not rapidly. Desultorily. In 'do-we-have-to?' mode. Two boys sit on it, clutching the rails, watching. One boy, about ten, sits on a blue-painted pie slice. His legs kick at the ground to keep the merry-go-round moving. His shirt is stained with chocolate ice cream and there are more than a few speckles of chocolate on his face. He is blond, just the way Chase likes. His companion is a year younger and looks as if he could be the ten-year-old's brother. About fifty feet behind the merry-go-round, right on the edge of the park, there is a fat man who pops one button on his shirt each time the merry-go-round brings the boys face-to-face with him, revealing a torso that suggests what might happen at Madame Tussaud's if the air conditioning went on the dole in midsummer. As Chase approaches, the older boy meets his eye. He seems to know Chase. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder and shakes his head. Yeah, Chase thinks. Yeah. I think I need this. Really bad. I mean if Curtis has Kevin... When the merry-go-round brings the boys face to face with Chase, the older boy circles a phantom shaft with both his hands, brings it up to his lips. He bobs up and down on it. His expectant eyes bore into Chase's Chase says to the boys, "Wait here. I'll be back in a second." The fat man slips off his shirt. The boys shudder. Perverts like him make young boys dream of Rosie O'Donnell. "Hurry!" says the ten-year-old. Chose trots down the path. Approaching his Civic, he's amused to see Curtis sitting rigidly upright in the front seat, staring into the distance. Chase leans in the passenger side windows. Curtis starts out of his reverie. "Shit!" Chase inhales the rich pot-like reek of Curtis' armpit sweat. Grinning, he looks down at Curtis' lap, watching Kevin's head bob up and down beneath Curtis' sweaty shirt. Boy's in heaven. Surrounded by teen sweat and sucking on teen shaft. "Officer Chaser," Curtis says, "this kid's been molestering me." Chase plucks the shirt off Kevin's head. The blond boy looks up, laughing. Sperm oozes over his gums. "What you want?" says Curtis, who puts a hand on Kevin's head and guides the eleven year old's lips down to his tall teen tower and his thick thatch of pitch-black pubic hair. "I gotta a date," Chase says. "Who?" He jerks his head towards the playground. "Hell if I know. Two boys, hot as hell." "You dirty bastard." "Hey, Kevin. You mind molesting my best friend for another half-hour or so, bud?" "Hell," says Curtis, "you let him molest me for another half-hour and you can fuck my little sis." "Can I get her pregnant?" "Shit, you perv, she's twelve!" "Hey, look. If you're gonna let my little brother molest you, I think you oughta let me get your little sis pregnant." "Fuck that," Curtis says pleasantly as Kevin gobbles his cock right down to the base. Chase drops the shirt on Kevin's head. "You just wanan bone her yourself," says Chase. "Sick fuck. You want your sis to have your kids." Curtis laughs. "Yeah, well, maybe." Slow realization dawns in his eyes. "Shit! That'd be fucking perfect!" "Fuckin' hick," grins Chase. He rustles Kevin's hair. "Suck him good, Kevin, like I taught you." Yep. It was Chase who taught young Kevin how to throat teen meet. I mean, be serious. No one can take Keith's gargantuan meat down their throat. Certainly not a sweet young boy like Kevin. Chase pulls off his shirt and tosses its sweaty richness onto Kevin's head. Curtis' shirt was a bit skimpy. Chase leaves the two alone in his car, as usual reeking of teen jism and teen sweat and freshly smoked marijuana. He heads back to the merry-go-round. The older boy comes running when he sees Chase. He hugs Chase, pressing his face into the teen's crotch. "You took forever!" "Nah, I didn't --" Chase begins, but catches sight of the fat man, who has opened his fly. Discretely, but it's open, and creepy. Yep, must've been an eternity for the tykes. "Come on. What's your name?" "I told you it's Tad!" says the ten year old, who takes Chase's hand. "Come on! Let's rescue my brother." Well, Chase doesn't remember him, but whatever. Tad's brother, Morgan, reluctantly takes Chase's other hand only after Tad harangues him for a few minutes. "He's gonna help us!" "I don't know him!" says Morgan. "He's Chase Peake," says Tad. He whispers, quite loudly, "He's got a big wiener." "Oh," says Morgan. He looks up at Chase. "Is my brother full of shit?" "Nope," says Chase, feeling his cock growing heavier and heavier. "I got a huge fucking wiener. And I know you want to see it, Morgan." "How?" "Because you were playing on that merry-go-round. See, that's a special merry-go-round, where boys who want to play with a man's wiener wait for a man." "Is that why the fat guy won't go away?" "Yep," says Chase. "Now, come on, guys. Let's go play someplace where you can play with my wiener!" He frees one hand from Tad's grasp and shoots the wanking creep the bird. The creep panics, whirling, his tits swinging out like plastic sacks full of sand, before hurrying off. "Where are we going?" asks Morgan. "I told you!" says Tad, exasperated. "There's a restroom," says Chase. "No one can see inside so you guys can play with my wieners. It'll be safe. We can have lots of fun!" The restroom in question is on the park's periphery, far from Ellicott Pond. It has one peculiarity. There is a public section, open to everyone, which tends to be constantly crowded. There is a separate, private room, secured by a combination lock, intended as a place where the park's staff can discretely excrete. The entrance is screened by a vine-covered brick wall. When the trio is safely behind it, Tad openly palms the outline of Chase's shaft. Under the boy's ministrations, the teen meet juts up, pulling Chase's board shorts away from his belly forcefully enough to untie the drawstring. If his cock hadn't been so rigid they would've dropped to his feet. "See?" says Tad. "Wow," says Morgan, looking down into Chase's shorts. "That's a huge fucking wiener." Chase shrugs with a mixture of false modesty and amusement. Admiration is the price of being a teen stud. He punches the combination into the lock, pulls the door open. "Come on, boys, it's playtime." Inside the tile gleams, clean and freshly scrubbed. Sink. Urinal. Toilet in a stall. Chase secures the door behind them. His cock points between Tad and Morgan. A wet spot forms on the cloth as the kids watch. Morgan's mouth drops open. "You're peeing! You're peeing in your pants!" "No he isn't!" says Tad. "Look at it! Yes, he is! You're so stupid!" "You're stupid!" snaps Tad. "Boys," says Chase, mellow and smooth. He pats his drawstring, hanging loose. "Here. Take my shorts off and you can both see what's going on with my cock." "Cock?" "Wiener." Tad smocks his brother's arm. "I told you! Boys have wieners! Men have cocks!" The two brothers fight to be the one who gets to fully loosen the drawstring. It's Morgan by a sneaky move. He yanks the string. Down Chase's shorts fall. The teen, blond, muscled, stoned, stands revealed. His cock rises out of his groin, ten inches of greasy teen cock. His nipples on his powerful chest, normally broad, are tiny and spiked. Teen is primed. The older boy looks at the hot shaft as if God himself, in glorious panoply, descended from Heaven accompanied by Powers, Principalities, and Porn Stars. He knees before the golden teen, gazing upward at the slimy cockhead. His eyes roam slowly along the shaft, watching Chase's urethra throb, reaching eventually Chase's fat nuts, eager to breed. "See?" says Chase to Morgan. "It's not pee." He touches his pisslit, pulls away. A string of precum hangs, breaks. He touches his finger to his lips, smacks loudly. "He ate it!" "Yeah. Didn't you listen, Morgan! I told you it's awesome!" "How big you think my cock is, boys?" asks Chase. "A foot!" "Two feet!" "A mile!" "Why don't you guys measure it?" Tad looks at the floor dejectedly. "I forgot my ruler at school." Chase smiles. "That's OK. We don't need a ruler. You guys ever been on a farm?" "Sure," says Tad. "Our uncle's got one." "He got horses?" "Lots!" "Well, you know the measure a how big a horse is by hands, right?" Tad's nose crinkles. No, he doesn't, but he doesn't want to disappoint this hot, golden teen who's letting him and his brother play with his big organ. He doesn't say anything, because he wants to see Chase shoot his special sauce. "They do," Chase continues. "So you boys can measure my big dick in hands. See?" He takes Tad's left hand and guides it towards his crotch. "Now grab hold. Yeah. Ow! Careful with my hair. It's thick." The boy had faked a two-handed grip on a phantom cock. Now he was confronted with the reality of the Chaser's fat dong. His little ten-year-old hand can't even grab halfway round that shaft. "'Kay," says Chase. He takes Morgan's hand. "Now you grab it here." Morgan's hand seizes the teenshaft just above his brother's. He can barely hang onto the throbbing beast. Staring at the teen's cock, he says, "Feels weird." "Feels great," corrects Chase. "Now, boys, you've measure two hands. How many more hands do you think we'll need to get to the end?" "Six," says Tad. "Five," says Morgan, clearly being contrary. "You moron! Seven!" "Eleven!" "Fifty-four!" "A gazillion!" "A gazillion and one!" "Let's find out," says Chase. His balls are swelling, pulling close to his shaft. He's gotta blow. These boys make him hot. "Now, Tad, give me your other hand. Thanks. You're a good boy, you know that." He positions Tad's hand just north of Morgan's. "OK. You next, Morgan." With two pairs of boy hands gripping his shaft, still more than half of that cock rears out of Chase's groin. "OK," says Chase. He taps the hand Tad's got at the base. "Let go. And put it here ..." As he repeats the process, the boys touch more and more of Chase's big teen pedophile cock. More precum begins to pour from his pisslips. Chase might like it, but one impatient boy wants to move things along. Tad, in an aw-the-hell-with-this-bullshit moment, release Chase's cock and collects a palmful of the teen's precum. Greedily he licks it. "Mmm! Now this is what I like!" He shoots a sharp look at his brother. "I dare you to lick some too, Morgan!" Morgan removes one hand, leaving the other to hold Chase's cock. He collects his own handful of precum. Looking distastefully at it, his tongue extends as he brings his hand towards his lips. He laps at it like a puppy at a waterbowl. Light dawns in his eyes. It was as if he were biting a strawberry, expecting it to be sour, and discovered the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted. Tad play-taps his brother's thigh. "Pretty good, isn't it?" Chase watches the boys eat what his prostate has given up for them. But he's still got a lot more to give. "Hey, Tad," Chase says. "Put your mouth on it." Tad grins. "Sure thing!" Morgan is again puzzled. But it all becomes clear, as he watches his brother reach out, seize Chase's big shaft, bend it down, aiming it at his lips. His tongue moistens that sweet flesh. He gapes wide and shoves his face onto Chase's cock. "Oh, yeah," Chase groans. Automatically a hand moves to the back of Tad's head. Boy ain't going nowhere. No, sir. Chase likes the feeling of kidlips on teencock. "You're kissing his wiener!" Morgan exclaims. It's a struggle for Tad to get the huge cockhead into his mouth, but it's a struggle he wins. With lots of gurgling. Lots of drool. His cheeks bloated and lips stretched thin, he gazes with adoration at the teen who's letting him play with his big, throbbing toy. Shit. Chase almost blasts Tad's head off. Boy's lapping at his frenulum. You can see the muscles work in his neck. His cock jumps, almost escaping the worshipping tyke's mouth. "Hey, Morgan, help your brother out." "How?" "Grab hold of my cock, like I showed you, and just hold it pointed at his face." Morgan obeys. His gaze goes back and forth. The look on his brother hints at things his flesh is just barely old enough to guess at. But the huge dong, greasy and throbbing and alive, keeps drawing his attention. And though he doesn't realize it, the teen funk rising from Chase's armpits grows more and more powerful as the teen soars towards orgasm. Suddenly Morgan releases Chase's cock, pushes his brother away. "I wanna try!" Tad is furious. "I'll pound you, I swear, you little pest!" "No you won't," says Chase. "Let your brother have his turn." He grins down at the nine-year-old. "OK. Kneel down in front of me. OK. Grab my cock." "Your wiener!" "It's a cock. Now grab it. Point it. Now lick your lips. More! Do it again! That's good." He glances at Tad, who's already forgotten his fury and is entranced by his brother and the depraved teen they're playing with. "Tad. Hold my cock. Help your brother out. I don't think Morgan can handle it." Tad grabs on with both hands. He grins up at Chase, and then begins to slide both hands up and down Chase's cock. "Good boy, Tad. Now put it in your mouth, Morgan." Fact: Morgan just can't get something like that into his mouth. Incontrovertible. It won't fit. His lips, glistening and alluring, suffer from practical limitations. You can only stretch flesh so far. The Peake Curse: having a dong too big for the boys said dong lusts after. But Morgan is clever. Swiftly he discovers that more of that fluid can be elicited just be rubbing his lips and tongue on the huge, fleshy cockhead. Soon enough, the boy learns to kiss cock. The dried ice-cream on his face dissolves with all the leaking fluids. Mom'll be happy when her boys come home, fresh and clean. And Chase is quite happy with that, especially with the added friction Tad's hands administer to his shaft. The heat rising out of his balls means he's gonna cum soon ... and something special occurs to him. Gasping, Chase says, "OK, Morgan. I want you to share with your brother." Quizzical motion of the eyebrows but the nine-year-old continues to nurse contentedly. "Morgan!" Tad bellows. "Morgan. You just kiss the left part. Let Tad get on the right." Morgan'll accept that. But from his expression not happily. Why does he have to share this wonderful piece of meat with his bossy older brother? Maybe he can sneak off to the merry-go-round without Tad. Soon both boys suckle on Chase's cock. Lips and tongues slather saliva on Chase's cockhead. Two pairs of hands work the shaft. Back and forth. Tighter, then looser. Stroke those nuts. "Good boys," Chase croons. There's a double-flash behind Chase's eyes, like the first light from a detonated nuclear weapon. It's coming. Chase folds his arms behind his head, hips pumping. His nuts, tight, swollen, vibrate more and more violently. "FUCK!" It's like someone has opened up a valve on a semen hose in the room. A solid blast of jism blows over the boy's faces. Surprised the kids stare in shock at Chase's cock. Morgan, of course, has never seen a man orgasm, and Tad, well, he's never seen anyone cum like Chase. Ropes of jism fly here and there, white shards of teen potency. Dollops smack the clean tile whiles, hang from the light fixtures, paint the mirrors, and ooze into the sink. "Holy shit!" Tad exclaims. He stares up at Chase. Boy has found his religion. Morgan smacks his lips. "Tastes pretty good. Can we have more, mister?" Chase heaves a great sigh. "Shit, guys, I'd love to. But I gotta cum and go." He bends down, pulls up his shorts, and ties the drawstring firmly. Remnants of his orgasm dry on his chest. Post-orgasmic discharge darkens his shorts. "You boys play on the merry-go-round a lot?" "Yeah!" says Tad, eyes bright. "I will now," says Morgan. He ruffles their hair affectionate. "You guys be careful. Watch out for that fat man. If he bothers you, run and find a policeman. I'll see you soon." Feeling much better, Chase makes his way back to the car. Well, fuck. Kevin's sitting on Curtis' lap. Staring forward. Bouncing up and down. Grinning. Curtis has at least stubbed out his joint. He's leaned back and is staring at the ceiling, a rapturous look on his face. He is soaked with sweat. He shakes his head, walking up to the Civic. The coupled pair doesn't notice. Kevin has the various shirts draped over his waist, but as he moves his butt up and down it's clear he's shed his shorts and is wearing only his briefs. Curtis must have his cock slipped up the leghole. Chase slams the ceiling to the car, making both of them jump. Kevin leaps so high you can see almost five inches of slimy teen cock protruding from his butt. "What the hell is going on here!" Chase mock-demands. "Are you molesting this fine young boy?" "He's a man," says Kevin, "and yes, officer, yes, I'm molesting him. I'm molesting him good." "And how long as this young boy been sexually assaulting you, Mr. Yarnell?" "Hell, officer, I don't know, I lost count about three nuts ago." Chase laughs. "Sounds like Kevin. Get off his lap, little brother. We're leaving." Kevin glances at him sheepishly. "Uhhh ... can't." "Why not?" Curtis answers. "Listen. Chaser, it feels like I got my dick in three cans of cream of mushroom soup. Boy's wet up there. If he gets off now you're gonna have a hard time explaining to those dudes at the carwash how this seat got stained." "Oh for Christ's sake, Curtis, I've fucked most of those guys in this goddamned back seat!" Chase climbs into the driver's seat, twists the key. The engine roars to life. Kevin flings the shirts into the back seat. He shivers as the engine roars. "Man, that's good!" "Come on, let's get home. I gotta bone. And you're it, Kevin. You're it." Roaring down Broad, making for North Buck Road, Kevin finally decides to climb off Curtis' everhard babymaker. Unwise. Just as soon as the pole exits Kevin's butthole he cuts a gigantic fart. That fart seems to last about half as long as Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. It is so loud that seismologists in distant Tokyo clutch each other fearfully, pointing at their instruments, shouting "Gojira! Gojira!" "Sweet fucking zombie Jesus!" Chase roars. Kevin collapses into the back seat, briefs halfway down his thighs, laughing uproariously. "Damn," says Curtis, staring down at his crotch, shocked. Then he too bursts out laughing. Chase glances over. Curtis' lustrous black pubic hair, which Kevin liked so much, is doused with a pint or two of steaming hot teen jizz. Jizz warmed by a loving boy's butt. After this and another pair of joints, they take Kevin home, pop him in Chase's bed up in the attic, and ride his tight little butt until Keith comes home and asserts dominion over his son's ass. That night Chase dreams of soft pink lips, a pug nose, long curly brown hair, and warm, trusting eyes gazing upward in adoration of the throbbing log of teenage lust looming over that innocent face. The next day, after school, Chase reclines on a couch. He doesn't much like television, but this afternoon X Games are on, and he can watch young skateboarders for about as long as his Dad can watch young divers. He likes to picture the contestants as pubescent's, flying up and down the streets, shirtless, their shorts riding low on their sweet bubble butts, the upper parts of their taut buttocks glazed with sweat, begging to be licked. He's alone in the house. His teen brothers have various after school activities. Aaron, for instance, is probably has his baseball coach cornered in the dugout, his jockstrapped ass leading the way as he advances backwards towards his coach's throbbing black cock Jesse no doubt is in the showers at Harrison Pool, his Speedos looped carelessly round his ankles, some Marine or some dude with a big bulge in his swim trunks sawing away. Gideon spends most of his afternoons in ROTC, so he's strutting around George Washington High School, uniform crisp, beret screwed down low over his eyebrows, looking for some tender butt to fuck. Tristan is at dance, probably face down in old sweaty tights, butt up, leotards down to his ankles, cunt dripping the semen of seven men -- no, eight; men Chase forgets how much a slut Tristan is. Kevin is out playing with some kids from the neighborhood a short distance down the road towards town. Daddy Keith has taken his younger sons up to the lake for some fun with the kids of Chatauqua County Boy's Club. This thought makes Chase horny. Boys frolicking naked on a beach with Dad. Chase can picture it. You can tell by the way his cock plumps in his running shorts, the way his hand drops down to massage it. The house is quiet. As you'd expect, a bong sits on the floor next to the couch. Chase. Feeling mellow, plays with himself. He's running a series of private scenarios in his head: Oh yes, Seth, I know it's big, but we can make it fit. Just get some of that lotion and rub it on your butthole and your big brother's cock. Then bend over. Yeah. I'll make it fit. Yeah, little brother, you've got a fine tight ass. Do you like my big dick? Well, do you, kid? Shit. Chase really wants to deflower kids. Prepubescent. Elementary school boys. The thought is kinky. It makes him hard. It makes him sweat. It makes him want to run through school hallways stark naked, his big hard cock bobbing in front of him, then burst into a classroom, screaming, "I'm the Chaser and I'm the fucker!" Not possible. Not in this house. His Dad rules here. A ruckus disturbs thoughts of Curtis Yarnell's twelve year old sister and her tiny, tiny cunt and her hungry, fresh womb. A ruckus on the carport. He puts aside his erotic reverie. Listens. A bell, tinkling. Tires squealing. A whoop. Loud shouting of indistinct names. Then nothing. He lies there, remembering the foundation he'd laid yesterday in the park. He hadn't expected his design to come to fruition so soon. He'd hoped, yeah. Minutes pass. Comely skateboarders arc and dive gracefully. Fantasies of Seth and of a girl he wants to be his first brood mare occupy his mind again. Stoner lassitude. They interview a hot skateboarder on the TV. Kid's got down on his upper lip. Let me shoot it on you, he thinks. It's like ice cream, just warm. When the ruckus reasserts itself Chase sits up with a start. Little pink lips. Curly brown hair, too long for a boy. Adoration swimming in trusting eyes. Hot. Boy. Lips. And it's right outside the door. He rolls off the couch and makes his way to the kitchen. The curtains over the window in the door are drawn. He peers through a slit. Tyler stands poised astride his bike, muscles tensed and ready to speed off. The kid is shirtless and wearing yellow shorts. The bike's almost too small for him. He's standing on one leg, his butt pointed right at Chase. It's a tiny butt, round, fine, high, hard. You could fit each buttcheek in the palm of your hand. It would be the easiest thing in the world to peel open the young lad's crack and gaze upon his secret treasure, that unfucked pucker, tight and alluring. Tyler fistpumps, whoops, and shoots down the driveway. With Dad gone, nothing blocks his pell-mell rush towards North Buck Road, fortunately devoid of traffic. Chase's Civic is pulled off the driveway into the yard. Tyler hurtles down the slope towards the trailer park. Slow grin dawns on Chase's face. Oh yeah. Thank you, sweet fucking zombie Jesus. While Tyler's gone -- down the hill, hooting at his friends and creating mayhem, then laboriously pedaling back up towards the house -- Chase packs and smokes another bowl. Chase also tugs his running shorts low, revealing a line of curly light-brown pubic hair. No jock, so his engorged cock and fat teen nuts raise an intimidating bulge. His shorts are indeed short, riding high on his thighs. Keith has bequeathed to his sons a profound rebelliousness against the Islamofascist attitude America has taken towards display of the young teen's body. No boy burkhas at 901 North Buck Road. Chase repositions himself at the door, peering through slitted curtains as Tyler, panting, rides his bike up the road and into the driveway. This time things transpire different It seems that young Tyler has been making his own observations. As the boy draws level with Chase's Civic he squeezes the brake, stopping sharply. He lays the bike down on the concrete. Looking both ways to make sure no one can see him, Tyler tiptoes over to the Civic. Chase is briefly puzzled. Oh yeah. Chase has forgotten to roll up the driver's side wind. The boy pauses at the door. Then he rises on tiptoes, the muscles of his calves bleeding through his skin. The boy leans into the window. His shorts pull low, revealing half-an-inch of red-and-white boxers. Chase tries to think. What's he looking for? There's no money in the cup holders, nothing in the back seat to steal -- Tyler leaps up, leaning into the window. Now hit little butt is perfectly displayed. Oh yeah. Chase wants in. Chase has gotta get into that butt and breed it till the semen goes rolling down Tyler's thighs. Tyler tilts inside the car, catching himself with his hand on the seat. Lower legs protrude. Then Tyler backs up, drops down, and voila! He's fetched a half-smoked joint from the ashtray. Shit, thinks Chase. I'm a fucking moron. He watches Tyler put the roach in his mouth. And then pretend to smoke; puffing away, exaggeratedly exhaling, holding the joint just the same way Bobby Dugger held his cigarettes. Time to act. Chase flings the door open and struts onto the carport. Tyler whirls. Mouth drops. Joint falls to the concrete. His eyes rake Chase's body, from the blond hair down the naked, golden chest to the blue nylon running shorts bulging with his perverted lust. And lingers long on the mystery of the teen's pubic hair, revealed. Tyler gulps, looks down at the joint. He awkwardly covers it with his foot. "You old enough to smoke that, Tyler?" Chase asks. "My Dad smokes cigarettes like these! He's been showing me how." "Yeah, Tyler, I know." Chase strolls up to the boy. Tyler's lips glisten, dewed with saliva the same way dew freshens the grass at dawn. Casually Chase palms his groin as if adjusting his meet. He watches, satisfied, as Tyler's eyes swell wide. "Your Dad ever let you smoke one his cigarettes? I mean really smoke it?" "Yes. Well, no. Not all of 'em. See, there's the kind he gets from the store. He lets me smoke them. Then there's the kind he makes himself. He won't let me smoke those." "Well, Tyler, I made that cigarette myself, so you can't smoke it, hear me?" "Yeah," he says, dejected. "Hand it here." Tyler moves his foot, picks up the roach, puts it into Chase's outstretched hand. "You like riding your bike down the hill?" Chase pops the joint between his lips. Damn. Should've brought a lighter. Tyler smiles. "Yeah! I go fast!" Chase pauses, considering what he'll say next. The answer comes direct into his head as if put there by sweet zombie Jesus himself. "Tyler," he says. "You ever smoke a cigar?" "No. My Dad doesn't smoke those." "Well, Tyler," says Chase, a real shiteater of a grin dawning on his face, "I'd like to teach you how to smoke my cigar." Tyler's eyes again drop to Chase's crotch. "What kind of cigar?" "A big meat cigar," says Chase. He leans into the Civic and puts the joint into the glove box. He stands on tiptop and spreads his legs. The liner of his shorts is worn and loose. He's sure Tyler's getting a good look at his nuts from behind. He takes his time. He wants the kid to know he's hairy down there. Where it matters. And when Chase turns back around he watches Tyler's eyes flick back up to his own face, a slow flush spreading over the boy's visage. Chase extends his hand. "Come on. We gotta go to the back. My Dad doesn't let us smoke out front." Tyler takes his hand. Together, the perverted teen and the innocent boy walk round the house. Chase leads Tyler to the patio outside his Dad's bedroom. The table and the grill are neatly covered. The Buck River chuckles merrily. There's no one in sight except maybe some kids playing on the far bank of the river. "Do you eat here?" says Tyler, looking around. "Yeah," says Chase. "That must be cool!" Chase throws an arm round the boy. "You smoke the cigar right and you'll eat with us, you hear?" "Yeah!" "Now. You promise to smoke my big meat cigar, OK?" "OK." Tyler scuffs his shoes on the patio, impatient. "Say it, Tyler. Like you mean it." "OK. I promise to smoke your big meat cigar. But!" His eyes plead with Chase. "You won't tell my Dad or Mom, will you?" "Good boy." He pats Tyler on the head. "I think you'll like smoking it!" Tyler stares at him, fidgeting. "Promise?" He demands. "Maybe." "You gotta promise or I won't!" "Well, Tyler. I might promise. But!" A sleazy image fills his mind. And he likes it. He really really likes it. Let's make the image real, he thinks. "You gotta do one thing for the Chaser." "What?" Chase savors the words. "Just turn around. Real slow." The tyke sighs with frustration, shrugs, and then turns, fists clenched, cheeks puffed. Once again Chase is lost in appreciate of the tyke's butt. The round globes are draped by thin, worn fabric. They are beautiful, two peaches pressed tightly together. Far more alluring even than Tyler's lips. He wants in there, badly. He wants to feel that tight rectum, squeezing, struggling to eject his meat. Chase has a plan, and it must evolve with time. He'll take the first orifice he can fit in. "OK," says Chase. "Face me." Tyler turns and confronts Chase, his arms folded. "I promise to not tell your Mom." "My Dad and my Mom!" "Well, Tyler," drawls Chase, "I might have to do that. But we'll see. Now. Let's see how good a smoker you are." Tyler appears to have accepted the circumstances he's in. "Where's the cigar?" asks Tyler. "Is it there?" He points at the covered barbecue. "No, Tyler. Come here, boy." The tyke stands in front of the teen. "It's in my shorts, Tyler." Like shades flying up, Tyler's eyes go wide. Those expanded orbs descend, taking in the pubic hair and the bulge. It may be that Chase's bulge is as much in Tyler's immature consciousness as Tyler's rotund butt is a feature of Chase's depraved lust. "If you're gonna smoke my big meat cigar, like you promised, you gotta take it out of its package. So you gotta pull my shorts down. 'K, Tyler?" An unsure, WTF-class expression clouds the kid's face. He's wary. This is new to him. He's in the part of the map of a boy's fantasy kingdom where the cartographer has marked 'Here Be Pedophiles.' He's also confronting the fact that when a man or a mature teen peels open their fly to display their pride and joy, there's the natural urge to admire and to worship the giant organ presented for their perusal. Chase seizes the moment. He takes Tyler's hands. "Here." He croons the word, as if he's courting the boy. "Let me help you." He guides the boy's hands to the hem of his shorts, placing them right below his nuts. He chuckles. Yeah. He can feel the kid's body heat on his balls. "Grab on." Tyler grabs the fabric. The bulge is right there. Right in his face. Swollen. Smelly. Alive. Is something moving in there? Has Tyler ever seen Bobby in briefs? Does he think about his Dad in briefs? Does he dream of Daddy showing him things? Of course. The Duggers are devout. And there's a close correlation, possibly not noted by psychology, between the fervently religious and the deeply perverted. Tyler doesn't yet realize it, but the universe intends for him to grow up a weirdo. Tyler wrinkles his nose, sniffing deeply Chase's funk. He gazes up at Chase, seeking guidance. Subconsciously Tyler knows who rules here. The man with the biggest bulge is king. The king commands: "OK. Yank 'em down, kid!" The bulge compels obedience in the boy. Boom! The nylon pools round Chase's feet. "Jesus!" The huge teen dong hangs right in Tyler's face. It's not erect but holy shit it's like an elephant trunk, thick, long, obviously capable of amazing feats. It sways between Chase's thighs halfway to his knees. It lays in a curve out over the overstuffed hyperactive nuts. And the smell? Well, you know Keith's reek, right? Chase isn't that powerful. Not yet. The kernel is there, however, and it's flowering, pungent, cheesy, strong, and rich with sweat and testosterone. He's laid it all out for the boy. Yep. Chase is a 17 year old male, at the peak of his sexual drive. Chase chuckles, low and sinister. He lives for this moment. Being the first naked male a kid's ever seen. He wonders how a twelve year old will react to his studliness. Tyler is drawn to it. He leans forward. Sniffs. Nose wrinkles. Sniffs again. Whimpers. Inhales sharply. Exhales. He looks up. "I gotta put that in my mouth?" His hand drops to his crotch and he rubs vigorously, the way little boys do when they have to pee but are too shy to say anything. "If you're gonna smoke my big meat cigar, you gotta put it in your mouth. But first you gotta make it big." "It's already big!" "It's not a dick. It's the Chaser's big meat cigar." Grinning, Chase cups one hand beneath his nuts, the other behind his shaft. He presents his nasty, sweaty junk to the kid. "Now lick it!" Tyler stares -- sullen, suspicious, his eyes narrowed to slits -- at the dong presented to him. At the biggest meat cigar he's ever seen. A moment ticks past. Suddenly he decides. He dives forward, tongue extended. And he swipes his saliva along the top of Chase's cock, from the corona to the base. Chase's pubic hair makes him sneeze. "There. I licked it. Why isn't it big?" The swiping tongue felt hot, but of course it's not enough. "You gotta lick it some more. Do it again." With some urging, Chase manages to get the tyke to lay a few moist stripes on the top of his shaft. His shaft, appreciating the work, lengthens and bobs a little, as if it's awaking from sleep. "What's it taste like?" Tyler is grimacing. Not from distaste, but from thoughtfulness. He smacks his lips. He considers the matter deeply. "Funny. Like ... butter." "Lick it again. This time on the side." Chase presents the left side of his dick. Once again, but with considerable less reluctance, Tyler licks, from corona down the thickening flank of Chase's babymaker. Down the shaft. And down the shaft again. He's beginning to get the idea. You pet it like a dog, but with your tongue. Saliva glistens as if a snail has slithered over the teen meat. Tyler stops suddenly. He turns and stares at Chase's furry groin. Again he sniffs. He licks his lips. He pushes his face into the hair. And he rests there, just breathing. His tongue slithers over his lips, seeking out the oily substances from Chase's cock clinging there. The boy's breath is feathery and light on Chase's expanding meat. Without encouragement, the little kid resumes lapping at the engorging shaft. Yeah. Clearly it's the right thing for him to do. Chase caresses the boy's head. "Good." Tyler looks at the shaft, which is even fatter and longer. Like an athletic sock filled with sand. "It's getting bigger. How big does it get?" "My big meat cigar gets REALLY big," says Chase. "Sometimes it gets so big that little kids like you have a hard time smoking it." He lifts his cock. "Now, lick it again so it gets nice and hard." "I can smoke anything!" "I bet you can," croons Chase. "Yeah, Tyler, you wanna smoke the Chaser's big meat cigar more than anything, don't you, boy?" He presents his nuts to the kid. "Now lick here." He groans, feeling Tyler's tiny tongue fluttering on his loose sack. He releases his cock, letting his shaft slap onto Tyler's face. "Yeah," growls Chase. "Who's your Daddy?" With his free hand Chase hold's Tyler steady, making sure the kid gets a good whiff of his raw funk. "Smell it." "Mmmmhmmm." Chase releases him. "Go ahead. Lick it up. Son." The slithering tongue creeps up the urethra. It feels like warm ooze. The pleasure is slow, minute, yet it builds and builds. Something that only the delicate touch of a young boy's tongue can do to a mature cock. By the time Tyler reaches the frenulum Chase's cock stands tall, proud, arrogant, potent. Ready to breed. Ready to feed the kid the secret sauce all men carry sloshing in their balls. "What's that?" Tyler stares at the droplet of precum emerging between the pisslips. "Are you going to pee?" He says this sentence not with trepidation, but fascination. "Nope. That's the flavoring." Chase picks it up with his fingers, licks it. "Ummm. Tasty. Now, Tyler, open your mouth wide. You know, like when your Daddy puts a cigarette in his mouth." "He doesn't open his mouth wide." "Yeah, well, your Daddy's cigarette ain't as big as my big meat cigar." Those luscious lips part. And there it is. The oral cherry, one of Tyler's more precious treasures, which Chase intends of plunder. To defile. To nut his godlike teen cream. Tyler's little tongue beckons lasciviously from a puddle of spit. Briefly, Chase imagines Curtis' sister's vulva. Would it be this alluring when he pierced it? When he bred her to make his first son, would he burn to cum inside the way he does with this boy? Let's do it. One hand to the back of the kid's head, to hold him steady. The other on the shaft, to hold it steady. Thrust hips forward. Move boy's face inward. Contact! A boy is violated. Moist and hot and decadent. Perversity ahoy. Chase feels the lust flowering through him. Tyler's lips close around the steamy cockhead. Tyler's no ace at suckling on teenshaft either. He can get about half the big cockhead in his mouth. But no more. His lips stretch thin. Cheeks bulge. "Slurp on it," Chase commands. "Like ice cream!" He strokes the boy's sweaty hair. Gently he curls a lock around a forefinger, lets it trail away. Repeats, a low moan rising within him. It's not the amount of flesh he's got in the boy that makes his balls churns. It's the transgression he's committing that does it. If it was legal to fuck kids it wouldn't be half as fun. Thanks, parents of America! He balls are punched up with pleasure. Blazing with the need to spew. God what an awesome feeling. Violating this kid's mouth. Shit, if only Bobby Dugger would come round the corner and catch them like this -- Softly: "Who's your daddy, Tyler?" Unable to restrain himself Chase thrusts at Tyler's mouth. The kid chokes, coughs. Spittle flies. Chase laughs, picturing Bobby Dugger's hillbilly eyes rolling back blissfully as he holds Tyler's head to his crotch, his son's lips fastened to the dadmeat which bred the innocent bastard. "There's no smoke," whines Tyler. He wipes his lips. "It ain't a cigar unless it smokes." "There's smoke in these," says Chase, and he guides Tyler's hands to his nuts. "You ever hear of liquid smoke?" "No." "It's a flavoring. I got a lot in my balls. Now smoke my cigar and make all the smoke come out!" Tyler reproves him: "You ain't my Daddy!" Tyler drags on the cockhead as if it were a cigarette. It's good, but -- "Be careful with them teeth, Tyler!" "OK." Tyler grins up at him, again wiping the spittle off his lips with the back of his hand. "You didn't tell me your cigar had feelings. Chaser." Chase smiles lovingly down at the boy. "Smoke it, Tyler. Smoke the Chaser's big meat cigar." Tyler bends to work. Soft lips are feathery on the cockhead. His cheeks pulse. Precum flows copiously in the way you only see with teencock. Drunk with the fluid, Tyler's tongue wriggles in Chase's frenulum. Pleasurable shivers bless Chase like a priest's hand stroking the small of an altar boy's back. Chase moans, praising the boy's efforts by stroking the tyke's hair. "That's nice, Tyler. My big meat cigar likes that. You keep that up you'll taste the smoke for sure." Happily, the boy mumbles something. "OK, Tyler, we're getting there. But you're not smoking it right. Cigars like mine gotta be held." One boy hand comes up and grabs the shaft. "I don't know, Tyler, I don't think one hand'll be enough." To underscore his point he twitched his cock and with a pop it escaped Tyler's mouth. "I guess I'll have to smoke it with both," says Tyler. He seems reluctant. His free hand has been rubbing vigorously at his crotch. His little penis is hard. He doesn't understand why. He knows it got really hard and felt really good when Chase started talking about his Daddy. He does understand it feels good to be hard. And that it likes to be rubbed. And that Daddy oughta be involved. In seconds Chase's cockhead is again ensconced in sweet, nursing boyflesh. Two hands grip his throbbing shaft. "OK, now, Tyler, move 'em. Move your hands." The boy shrugs. Seems like a weird way to smoke, but whatever. This adult (that's how he looked at the teen Chase) sure knew what he was talking about. Except when he was asking Tyler about his Daddy. Tyler knows who his Daddy is. Tyler wished he could still rub himself. Say! Maybe he can do it when he gets home! His daddy likes Tyler to learn new things. The friction from Tyler's strokes make Chase's nipples spike hard. His nutsack shrinks tight up against his shaft. He throws his head back, emitting low ululations. Come on, Bobby Dugger, come 'round that corner, Chase thinks. Fuck, man, look at your kid blowing your dope dealer. "Don't stop, Tyler," he puffs. "The smoke's coming. Oh yeah. Keep it up, little brother. Yeah. Faster. Yeah. Touch me there. YEAH. Do it. Do IT1 FUCKING DO IT! SHIT, KID, I'M GONNA NUT IN YOUR HOT MOUTH!" And he does, almost blowing Tyler's head off in the process. Like a machine gun Chase's teen cock fires. Bolt after bolt of fiery hot jism blasts the back of Tyler's throat. Choking, the kid rolls away, coming to rest on his back, watching wide-eyed as the teen's cock, jutting skyward, breeds the air with a mysterious slimy substance. "Holy crap!" says Tyler. "FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" Chase roars. Shit, there's nothing better than getting a nut with a boy. Jism rains down on the patio. "Wow," says Tyler, as Chase descends from an Olympic-class orgasm, "you got a lot of smoke in your cigar!" "Yeah, Tyler, I do." Chase laughs to himself. He shakes himself, starts looking for his shorts. Tyler burps. Again he wipes his mouth. The back of his hand is shiny with teen jism. He looks up. "You remember your promise?" Chase half-smiles, half-snarls down at the tyke. "What promise?" "You promised! You promised to not tell my Dad and my Mom!" "I didn't promise anything. I said I'd think about it." Tyler shoots to his feet, fists clenched. He's not putting up with this crap. He's a tough little bastard. He'll go after Chase. He's so anger he can't even guess how badly he'll lose. Chase, of course, has ulterior motives for his actions. "Tell you what, Tyler. I promised not to tell your Mom. But your Dad, well, that's another story. Me and your Dad are kinda tight, you know. We hang, you know. So who knows what'll happen?" "You promised!" "All right, all right. Settle down. We can deal. Tell you what. You come up here tomorrow, same time, and you suck my cock, and I'll think about keeping my mouth shut around your Dad." "Suck your cock?" "Smoke my cigar." "Fine!" Tyler's hands go to his hips. "But that's not good enough. You're going to keep your promise, Mr. Promise Breaker! I'm gonna come up here every day and smoke your cigar!" "Sounds good." Chase likes living on the Planet of the Morons. All sorts of unexpected benefits accrue. Tyler stalks off. Dried teen cum streaks his body and his shorts. Chase yet again feasts his eyes on Tyler's young butt as the tyke storms up to the driveway. There's a dreamy -- certainly predatory -- look on his face. This isn't a one-act play. He pulls his shorts up, tucks his cock in. Tyler's spit and the remnants of Chase's orgasm stain the fabric. Chase turns to go back into the house through the sliding doors into his Dad's bedroom -- Someone, definitely immature, clears their through loudly and dramatically. Chase turns on one heel, a determined look on his face. "Kevin Peake!" he barks. "Get your butt out here." His young brother's face rises like a jug-eared balloon from behind the barbecue. There's something about his expression that bother's Chase. From Chase's perspective, Kevin should look sheepish. Embarrassed. Penitent, even, for being caught spying on his oldest brother's sexual activity. The reality is that Kevin wears an expression similar to the predatory one that graced Chase. Kevin strolls casually around the barbecue, folds his arms, stops. Wolfsbane accompanies him, panting and frisky. Kevin's feet spread apart and he rocks back and forth on his heels. He's wearing jeans and nothing else. "So," he says. "What was that?" OK. Chase'll play along. Reaching through the leg of his shorts he scratches his nuts. "A blow job, little brother. It's called a blow job." "You were MOLESTING a little boy," accuses Kevin. Chase laughs. "You molested my best buddy yesterday!" "That's neither here nor there," says Kevin in a credible imitation of an adult. "You had your dirty, nasty COCK in some little kid's mouth!" "Yeah, little brother, I did. And shit it felt awesome!" "Well," says Kevin, tapping his foot. "I betcha Dad wouldn't like it if he found out." Ah, Chase realizes. So this is the goal of the game. Sure. No problem. "Well, I know you won't tell him." "If you don't want Dad to know," says Kevin, unzipping his jeans and dropping them down to his ankles, "you gotta smoke my big meat cigar." Chase smirks. Shrugs. Yeah, OK. "Cigarette," he says. He saunters to where Kevin stands spread-legged, having stepped out of his jeans, on the jism-slathered patio. Chase knees. His eleven-year-old brother's cock points like an accusing finger in his face. Chase opens his mouth and suckles contentedly on it. The shaft is sweaty, and clean, and is pure boy. Kevin runs his hands through his brother's blond hair. "Yeah, blow me, kid."