Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 The Magic Childslave Schoolbus, Chapter 01 By Jack B Pink
(jack.b.pink@yandex.com) http://www.asstr.org/~JackBPink/
Codes: no sex
Please be aware that this story describes, in erotic detail, sexual
interactions between males and between adults and minors (both over and
under 14).  The author vehemently discourages and condemns any sort of
adult-child abuse including sexual abuse - even if all parties involved are
"consenting" at the time.  Seriously.  It's not worth destroying a child's

life to get off.  Just read these harmless stories.

   This story is meant solely for entertainment purposes, not instruction.
Please do yourself a favor and DON'T harm or abuse any real children.

   The characters and events depicted in this story are completely
fabrications and in no way relate to real people or real events.  Any
appearance of similarity to real persons or events is completely
coincidental.

   ***I thrive on feedback.  If you enjoy this or any of my other stories,
I'd love to hear from you.  If I made you cum, let me know (consider it
payment ;) ).***

   - Chapter 1

   I gritted my teeth at the twenty four little brats behind me.  I was a
school bus driver, and for twenty year I had given my life to this job.  To
these kids.  Twenty.  And what thanks so I get?  A pinks slip in my mailbox
a week ago.  A budget had just past the school administrator's board
slashing budgets on non-faculty staff.  That meant me and dozens of other
career personnel for the schools got the shaft for younger, cheaper
"talent".  No hard feelings, nothing personal, of course.  Just a couple
years from pension age and now I had nothing to fall back on.

   That is, until I told my brother, a convicted child rapist in federal
prison.  He gave me the idea, and once I agreed, the contact information
for a notorious child trafficker.  I contacted "Mr.  Smith" immediately. 
Today was my payday.  Tomorrow, the start of my retirement.

   I thumbed the mic on my VHF radio, "This is Route 111.  Please let the
schools know the students will be late.  I have a road block and will need
to head around North on Cumberland."

   After a moment the dispatcher replied sleepily, "Route 111.  I see no
notices of construction.  Over."

   "Looks like a bad accident.  I can't see much, but there is a car upside
down.  Anyways the officer is sending me North," I lied, "Over."

   "Roger." was the only reply.

   I turned south down Cumberland St away from the empty road of my route.

   Half a mile down Cumberland, I stopped at the prearranged location.  The
kids started to suspect something, but it was too late.  As soon as I
opened the front doors, a half dozen men with guns burst in.  Another half
dozen came in the back door.  As the gunmen started confiscating cellphones
and security gps's and searching the little shits, I got out and met with a
tall, dark man in a suit.

   "Mr.  Smith, I presume," I offered my hand.

   The tall man took it professionally, "Jones, actually.  Mr.  Smith
prefers his privacy.  But I have your payment." He proffered a large metal
suitcase.  Opening it, I saw stacks of dollars, Euros, and other foreign
currency.  It should be between two and a half and three million dollars
worth, depending on exchange rates.  There were also false IDs and
passports.  And a plane ticket.  I was set.

   Mr.  Jones surveyed the two dozen children, twelve boys and twelve girls
as they were pushed out of the bus, frightened and scared.  "Three sets of
twins?"

   "The two boys also have that girl over there.  All seven are nine. 
Weird Christmas party that was.  Tell me, Mr.  Jones.  What are you going
to do with these kids?"

   He gave me a searching look.  "You don't want to know."

   The gunmen started to strip the kids of all their clothes, search them,
and put them in clothes the traffickers brought.  No chance of hidden
tracking devices or phones.  These guys knew what they were doing.

   "At least tell me this.  Are they going to suffer?" I couldn't keep the
eagerness out of my voice.  He laughed and gave a curt nod.

   "Any special requests?"

   "Two.  The triplets are the shittiest of the bunch.  They deserve to
hurt."

   Mr.  Jones smirked, "They will."

   "So should their parents.  They suggested the layoffs.  Publish the
punishments." I demanded.

   Mr.  Jones paused in thought, "I'll see what I can do." He promised. 
"And the second special request?"

   "That boy over there," I pointed, "bullies that kid over there," I
indicated a younger boy, still naked with his hands covering his shame.  "I
like the younger boy.  It would be nice if he were to get revenge."

   "Done."

   Suddenly, an old man burst into the street with a shotgun pointing
wildly.  He fell over with a hole in his head.  One of the gunmen replaced
his gun in his holster.

   "It was a pleasure, Mr.  Jones."

   "Indeed."

   * * *

   Five months later, after the media got bored with the unsolved mystery
of the missing children, I sat on a beach in southeast Asia, sipping on my
Mai Thai, with my face in D-sized titties.  My life ended good.

   -
   Thanks for reading.  I can be contacted at jack.b.pink@yandex.com.