This work of fiction is a dark tale in which a fourteen-year-old boy rapes and murders a ten-year-old boy. Neither of the boys is real. Nobody was harmed here. Nobody could be harmed, BECAUSE THEY ARE NOT NOW AND NEVER WERE REAL.
If such stories offend you, stop reading now. If such stories are illegal where you live, stop reading now and consider moving to a more progressive country.
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The professor sat at his breakfast nook, staring fixedly out the window as he chewed his bagel with cream cheese. He sighed when the boy came into view. ‘How can his parents be so stupid,’ he asked himself yet again. ‘Letting that beautiful boy wander around unprotected. Don’t they know how many predators are out there?’
Watching the boy walk by, presumably on his way to school, had been part of his morning routine since the family had moved in three doors up the street. He picked up his briefcase and left for school himself. A full professor of criminology and criminalistics at the local university, he had a busy day ahead. Four lectures, a graduate seminar, and a department meeting. The department chair, he never looked forward to those meetings. More often than not, they made him feel like a preschool teacher.
He had one more thing to do that day, which wasn’t listed in the calendar on his smart phone. He had to start researching his next trip. The boy was driving him crazy, but he knew better than to break his most important rule. “Never shit where you eat,” he said grimly as he buckled his seat belt. He’d have to go somewhere else to satisfy the lust the boy had awakened.
He’d first discovered his carnal needs when he was still in high school. He’d been sloppy back then, and could easily have been caught. He’d seen the boy at the neighborhood pool and had fallen in love instantly. Nine or ten years old. About four feet tall. Brown hair. He loved brown hair. Slight. Couldn’t weigh more than 50 pounds. ‘Yeah,’ he thought. ‘I can handle him.’
He’d watched him in the locker room, pulling street clothes over his wet Speedo style swim suit. ‘How cute,’ he’d thought. ‘He’s shy.” Already dressed, he followed him out, intending only to find out where he lived and to note the route he took to get there. He was a planner, even at the ripe old age of fourteen, but when the boy tripped while taking a shortcut through an abandoned building, his lust overtook him.
Quickly catching up, he knelt down next to the object of his lust and put his hand on his thigh. “You OK, little buddy,” he asked as he got his first close look. The boy looked up at him, no sign of suspicion in his eyes, and said “I’m OK. I just tripped.” He started to get up, but the older boy said “Hold on, little man. Let me check you out to be sure you aren’t hurt.” He smiled when the boy settled back, accustomed to following orders from adults.
He gently moved his hands over the boy’s body, pushing hard enough with one finger to cause the boy to cry out in pain. “Uh oh, he said. Better check this out.” He quickly unbuttoned the boy’s jeans and slid them down, exposing his legs. He laughed when he saw the swimsuit. “Colored underwear; pretty fancy, little man.” He quickly looked away and made a show of moving his hands over the boy’s skinny legs, apparently checking for injuries.
“What’s your name,” he asked. “How old are you? What grade are you in?” Used to answering such questions, the boy said “Bobby. I’m ten.” He proudly added “I’ll be in the fourth grade in the fall. Blushing, he added “It’s not underwear; it’s my bathing suit.” The teen nodded, his guess confirmed. He’d thought nine; no more than ten. “Wow, Bobby. You’re only ten? I thought you were eleven or twelve, at least.” He saw the boy smile proudly. ‘Little kids love it when you tell them they look older than they really are,’ he thought, grinning. ‘God. He’s perfect.’
Satisfied that he had the right boy, the teen said “I’ll tell you what, Bobby. If you want to make it to fourth grade, you better do what I tell you.” To make his point, he covered the boy’s mouth and nose with one of his hands and pressed him down into the floor so he couldn’t breathe. He held him that way until the boy was thrashing around, panicked. He didn’t release him until the light started to go out of his eyes.
He sat and watched him as he gasped for breath, his chest heaving. The boy stared back warily, now fully alert to the danger. Every kid knew about bullies and could usually spot them from far away. Bobby had missed this one.
Looking into the little boy’s eyes, he raised his voice and asked “You ready to hear what I want you to do, or do you need another demonstration?” He moved his hand toward Bobby’s face but the boy shook his head. “I’m ready! I’m ready! What do you want? I’ll do it. Just don’t hurt me.”
The future professor smiled. “Okay, Bobby. First, I want you to take off all your clothes; even that cute little swimsuit.” When the boy hesitated, he pulled a knife from his pocket and opened it. “I can help you, but I’m not very good with this thing. I might end up cutting off your little dickie.” He laughed as the boy lifted his butt and pushed the swimsuit down over his knees and down to his ankles. Then he pulled his tee-shirt over his head.
“Shoes and socks too, Bobby. I don’t want you running off before I’m done with you.” Once the boy was naked, the teen reached out, touched his cheek almost affectionately, and tossed his clothes away. “You ever see a man naked, Bobby? You ever see a man’s big, hairy cock?” The boy looked at him, tears streaming down his face. He shook his head but said nothing.
He stood up and pulled his shirt over his head, draping it over a beam. Then he unbuckled his belt and pushed his pants down over his legs and stepped out of them. He left his shoes on, just in case. He stood in front of the boy and said “You ready, Bobby? You ready to see a big, hairy cock?”
The teen pushed his briefs down, causing his member to bounce up and down obscenely in front of the boy. It really wasn’t all that big, but he knew it would look terrifying to the little boy sitting on the rubble strewn concrete floor. ‘Cocks,’ he thought, ‘always look bigger from down below.’ He knew that for certain after all the times he’d looked up at his step-father’s huge dick and balls. He shook that thought away as he looked down at the boy.
“Kneel in front of me, Bobby.” When the boy didn’t move, he reached down, grabbed him by the hair, and hauled him onto his knees. “Look, you little shit. I could kill you right here. Break your scrawny little chicken neck. Nobody’d know it was me. So you better do what I say.” He let go of the boy’s hair and said “Lick my big, hairy balls.” He grabbed his scrotum and held it out to the boy. “Lick it, or I’ll shove ‘em down your throat, you little pussy!”
The teen just about spurted when the boy stuck out his little pink tongue and touched it to the wrinkled skin of his scrotum. He moaned softly and said “That’s it. Lick ‘em all over. Taste ‘em.” He grabbed the boy by the hair again and guided him until his balls were mashed against his face.
After a while, he pulled the boy’s head away and pushed him down onto his back. He sat, straddling the skinny little chest and said “Open wide, Bobby.” When he didn’t, the teen placed his hands on both sides of the little boy’s face and pushed at the sides of his jaw, forcing his mouth open. He rubbed the head of his cock, already wet with precum, over the boy’s lips and said “You bite me and I’ll rip your little dick off.” He reached back with one hand and squeezed the boy’s genitals until tears were running down his face. “You know I can do it. You want to start fourth grade as ‘Bobby the dickless boy?’”
He pushed his cock into the boy’s mouth. His member was only about three-and-a-half inches long, but he was still only able to get about two inches into the boy’s tiny mouth. But he didn’t care. He was getting his first blow job!
After a few minutes, he got tired of fucking the crying face. So he turned the almost unresponsive boy on his belly, spread his cheeks, and spit on his asshole. He did the same with each of his hands then slicked it over the tip of his cock. Like everything else he’d done, he’d only seen this in porno movies and magazines, but he understood the theory. He didn’t think he’d be able to get more than an inch into the little boy, but he was determined to try everything he knew how to do.
Leaning down over him, he pushed his cock into the crease between the boy’s ass cheeks, using one hand to guide it into place, the other in the center of his back, holding him down. He didn’t know about preparing the opening, stretching it, lubricating it, but he might not have done it even if he had. He drove into it, using his superior weight and strength to force himself in. The boy cried out in pain but he didn’t stop. He grabbed the boy’s hips for leverage and thrust harder. Finally, he felt a ‘pop,’ and his cock pushed into the boy. He thrust into him over and over, each time finding it easier. The boy’s cries grew fainter and fainter. The teen neither noticed nor cared.
After a few minutes, the teen exploded in the little boy’s ass. He collapsed on top of the small body and lay there for several minutes, catching his breath.
It wasn’t until he got up that he saw the blood. ‘Oh my god,’ he thought. ‘That’s a lot of blood.’ It had formed a pool around the boy. A Boy Scout, he was trained in CPR and quickly checked for a pulse. Finding none, he turned the boy on his back and froze in startled horror. The boy’s chest was collapsed. He quickly concluded that he’d crushed him into the floor, breaking his ribs.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!” He looked around, trying to figure out what to do. He grabbed his clothes and started to pull them on, his only thought to run; but then he stopped. ‘I have to get rid of the body.’ His thoughts grew remarkably clear. He put his clothes down in a neat pile, realizing that he was better off naked, then scanned the abandoned building. He spotted the remains of an elevator shaft. When he couldn’t see the bottom, he knew what he had to do.
He returned to the boy, checked his pulse again to be sure, and carried his body to the shaft. Pushing him out so he wouldn’t hit the walls of the shaft, he tossed the body in like a bag of garbage. Smiling, he said “Bye bye, Bobby. You were a sweet piece of ass.”
Then he went and gathered the boy’s clothes, checked for labels and anything in the pockets, and tossed them in. Looking at the sneakers, he thought “Too bad they’re too small; they’re pretty sweet.” He’d found a recreation center ID card, just like his own, from which he learned that Bobby’s last name had been Jacobson. He pocketed the card and three dollars. He planned to burn the card, but not until he’d gotten away from there. Carrying it for a while seemed like an acceptable risk. He still had that card, decades later — his first souvenir.
He dressed himself, thinking he’d have to burn his clothes too, and then set off for home like nothing had happened.
That was the professor’s first. One of many. But he knew better than to take the little boy he’d seen walking by his house. ‘Never shit where you eat’ was one of his most important rules.
(c) Copyright 2013 Jordan Bradders. The author reserves all rights. Permission is granted to download this story for personal use only. It may not be published in any other forum, web site, magazine, granite blocks, golden tablets, parchment, papyrus scrolls or book without my prior permission.