Smashwords

Coach studied Jeramie for a moment. Slowly, he bent over slightly so as to look Jeramie in the eye.

“Listen,” he said in a gentle voice, placing a big hand down on Jeramie’s slender shoulder. “What goes on between Shaffeur and I… well, it’s not your fault, and it’s not your problem.”

Jeramie raised his head. “Really?” he asked, feeling uncertain. “Because…”

“Because nothing.” Coach didn’t give Jeramie the chance to recover. “He and I have some things to work out. Maybe I should have been clearer to him. About… a lot of things. But you didn’t make things bad between us. That’s on me.”

Jeramie couldn’t help himself. Coach was naked. He knew Coach’s smell drove him wild and made his cock spring to life and bounce in his pants. Spreading his arms wide, Jeramie reached out and gave Coach a big hug. The two boxes of underwear—his father’s birthday present––that he had been carrying around with him fell to the floor, forgotten.

Immediately, Jeramie felt himself drowning in Coach’s sweat and scent. The changing room tilted. Before he knew it, Jeramie was on his knees. Coach Ramirez’s cock was right in front of him. The thick tube of man meat was starting to fill out. A thick runny line of precum was already drooling down out of the piss slit, making a stain there on the carpet.

Jeramie couldn’t resist anymore. He launched forward like a young man starved and inhaled Coach’s big cock down his throat. The precum flooded his mouth at once, coating his tongue. Jeramie moaned deeply at the taste. It was like heaven and fireworks going off on his tongue.

“Fuuucckkkk,” Coach groaned, louder than he’d meant to. “You are one insatiable little faggot, ain’cha?”

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Thunder shook the Lecleaux residence.

Lightning streaked across the sky, lighting up the clouds for an instant. The gale cried out as the wind whipped through the neighborhood, scattering children’s toys and shingles to the four corners. Rain battered against the roof and the sides of the house. It was as if some ancient monster was beating its eldritch fists against sheetrock and masonry, trying to claw its way inside.

Jeramie lay bundled up under his covers. He didn’t believe in fairy tale monsters anymore. Since his Daddy started pounding his tight little faggot boypussy, Jeramie didn’t have nightmares. He never felt afraid so long as Detective Lecleaux’s warmth was pressed deep inside of him.

Tonight, however, Jeramie was asleep in his own bedroom. Daddy was in the room next door sleeping with his mom. Faintly, against the pounding of the rain and the rattling of the thunder, Jeramie could hear his father’s light snoring. He could almost picture the slow rise and fall of his father’s muscular, hairy chest.

Thinking about Daddy made Jeramie’s body ache. He wanted to be next to Daddy so badly. His hands needed to explore his father’s chest and stomach, to run his fingers all the way down to where Daddy’s hard cock stuck out from that thick patch of hair. He needed to cup Daddy’s huge balls in both hands and feel how heavy with cum they were.

Thoughts of Daddy made his little boypussy twitch. Jeramie knew that sensation well. He had been taking Daddy’s cock for a while now. That hard meat had carved a path inside of him, forming a groove where the thick, manly cudgel fit perfectly.

Jeramie started to get out of bed, but another clap of thunder shook the house, so he stayed put. He wasn’t usually this afraid of thunder. It was loud, certainly, and that brought with it a degree of caution. But this storm was different somehow. Jeramie could sense it.

The storm was bringing something to Pembrooke Falls—Jeramie’s hometown—and Jeramie wasn’t sure that he liked it.

To calm himself, the eighteen-year-old sleuth began counting the seconds between the lightning and the thunder. Jeramie had learned this trick years ago. One second equaled approximately one mile.

Of course, the storm was right on top of him. He could figure out that much without counting. Primarily, Jeramie wanted something to keep himself occupied. The storm would blow over eventually. He simply had to ride it out.

Gradually, Jeramie became aware of a sound. It was difficult to make out at first. The thunder and the rain together made it hard to hear. Jeramie raised up off his pillow and listened closely. For a moment, though, he thought that he’d heard footsteps.

Every so often, he would hear it again. The thunder would shake the house and mask every other sound, including the rain hitting the roof. As Jeramie continued to listen, he made out a step or two.

Someone was making their way up the staircase from the first floor, stepping in time with the thunder. Except, every so often, they would miscalculate. Jeramie felt sure of it.

Daddy was still asleep. Jeramie could hear his father’s light snores more easily now. It was like his senses were dialed up, on fire and alert for the slightest change. He could make out the footfalls on the soft carpet as they ascended the staircase. Whoever it was turned at the top and headed down the hallway toward him.

Jeramie tried to think, but it was like a fog had encased his skull. He couldn’t put together a plan of action. Nothing on his body wanted to cooperate either. Jeramie struggled to move, as though his bed sheet now weighed a ton.

A blinding flash of lightning shot down out of the sky, streaking past his window. Jeramie turned his head at the exact moment. The window on the right side of his room next to the closet was lit up. Light spilled out toward the bedroom door where a hulking shadow stood.

Jeramie’s eyes widened in shock. He thought he felt his heart skip a beat. The breath in his lungs seized up. His entire body went rigid.

It was Kent, the convict who had broken into his home a couple of weeks ago.

“Hello, bitch!” said Kent. A wide smile, exposing white teeth beamed, spread across the giant of a black man as he took a step into the room. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

Something jumped through Jeramie’s body. It felt like a small electric shock. Whatever it was, the sensation did the trick. At last, he could move. Jeramie had enough time to rise up before Kent was on him. The enormous Black convict reached out with two massive hands, seizing Jeramie in both of them. Jeramie tried to scream, but one hand came down hard over his mouth.

“You ain’t going nowhere, lil’ man!” The strength in Kent’s hands held Jeramie fast. He could feel them squeeze his smaller body. The darkness of his skin—like obsidian—stood out against Jeramie’s pale flesh. “Not until I’ve gotten my piece of boypussy again!”

Jeramie felt himself being lifted into the air. Kent dragged him out of the bed. Jeramie was thrown against the foot, lying face down with his legs hanging off.

“And this time,” Kent said, the hunger in his voice evident, “I ain’t sharing this faggot cunt with nobody!”

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He decided to go look for Shaffeur. There was a possibility that the star dodgeball player hadn’t gone back to class yet. If so, Jeramie could ask him directly.

“Here’s hoping Shaffeur hasn’t finished changing,” he mumbled, beginning the short trek.

The locker room was located on the right side of the gym, near the Visitor bleachers. Jeramie noticed a strange noise as he drew closer to the entrance. The door was cracked ever so slightly. Whoever shut it didn’t make sure the door was closed all the way.

Even better, Jeramie recognized the sounds.

“Fuck me, Coach!” cried a familiar voice, deepening the boyslut detective’s suspicions.

The locker room carried the unmistakable fragrance of young males. Despite this, Jeramie detected a faint trace of something denser. It was heavier and held a much stronger musk which tickled the hairs in his nose.

This confirmed what Jeramie already knew was happening. He could hear deep grunts from far on the other side of the locker area. Heavy breaths came through the thick, moist air. There was the noticeable sound of thick hairy flesh smacking hard against the smooth, tender thighs of a much younger man.

“Please! Please! Please!” cried Shaffer, begging for more. “Fuck me, Coach!”

This left no doubt in his mind. Coach Ramirez was fucking Timothy Shaffer. And, from the sound of things, this wasn’t their first time.

A hot shiver of lust rolled down Jeramie’s spine. He felt the world tilt around him. The smells coming from the locker room were intoxicating, especially for a lusty little slut puppy like himself. Jeramie could feel his cock grow hard in his shorts. His faggot boypussy flexed and puckered, suddenly alive and slick with need.

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As Foxx hauled Jeramie into his room, Dirk called out, “Don’t take too long. I gotta take me a man-sized piss.”

Kent and Foxx both ignored him. Neither bothered to close the door to Jeramie’s room. Once they were inside, Foxx tossed Jeramie onto his bed. The eighteen-year-old bounced on the mattress twice, coming to a stop on his belly to stare right at the two escaped convicts.

“Keep an eye on him,” Kent ordered. “I’m gonna get dressed first.”

Jeramie spotted a pile of clothes over by the corner. The other two were still wearing their convict uniforms. They must not have had time to change, Jeramie reasoned. Kent was the only one with any actual clothes to wear.

To Jeramie’s shock, the Black man dropped the towel he had wrapped around his waist. It fell to the floor with a heavy, wet sound. Jeramie had time to register that before something else captured all of his attention.

Kent was, by far and wide, the biggest man he had ever seen!

There was not an inch of fat anywhere on Kent’s whole body. Every single spot contained muscle. It was like looking at a moving statue carved out of solid stone. Each time Kent moved even the slightest bit, a part of him flexed.

Jeramie couldn’t help himself. His youthful eyes raked down over Kent’s massive body. The man had to be at least six-four in height and well over two-hundred pounds of muscle. One bicep looked to be twice the size of Jeramie’s skull. The young man doubted that he could have gotten both of his arms around one thigh. They were just that thick.

Jeramie felt his throat go dry. He tried to swallow in order to wet it.

Foxx caught the look Jeramie was giving Kent and burst out laughing. “Hey, Kent. That lil’ faggot is pervin’ on you something fierce. Check it out!”

Kent turned his head and saw Jeramie starring. “Hell, what’s the matter with you, boy? You ain’t never seen a real man’s body before?”

Kent flexed his arms, which caused multiple muscles all over his body to pop out. Jeramie’s eyes did so as well. He felt his mouth fill up with saliva. Rather than having a dry throat, Jeramie now feared he might drown in his own thirst.

“Fuck, don’t let me feel left out, papito.” With no forewarning, Foxx stripped out of the upper half of his prison uniform. “Like what you see over here?”

Kent rolled his eyes at the other man. Foxx, however, moved closer to his partner so that Jeramie could have a better look. The convict flexed his body, showing off every single muscle, as well as the tattoos that adorned his flesh.

Foxx was, in Jeramie’s assessment, just as physically fit as Kent. The difference came down to a difference in height and the size of their bodies. Kent was the bigger man on the whole. Foxx was slightly shorter and more compact. They were each, however, loaded with rock-hard muscles that bulged when they moved. More importantly, they had been in prison for a long time and were desperate to unload.

“Too bad,” Kent said proudly when Jeramie’s eyes continued to wander back over his way. “Can’t steal the spotlight for too long. Lil’ man must have a weakness for dark meat.”

To emphasize his point, Kent reached down to grasp hold of his cock. “See this?” Kent taunted. “This here’s what makes a real man. You like it?”

Against his will, Jeramie ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, wetting it so that it shone in the dim light of the weak winter midday sun. Seeing this as a challenge, Foxx reached down and grabbed hold of his waistband. A quick push dropped both the uniform’s lower half and the boxers underneath.

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Jeramie hadn’t been lying. He fully intended to interrogate the men in the park to find out whether or not they knew anything relating to this latest case.

He simply had a better way of doing so than walking around.

Once he was sure Ricky was out of sight, Jeramie went straight for the restrooms. The air stank of urine, sweat, and bathroom cleaner. The walls had tiles on them halfway up, and the paint on the upper half was cracked and peeling.

Jeramie walked past the set of sinks, heading for the last stall on the far right. His feet skid along the dirty concrete floor, making a ‘swish’ sound. Once inside, Jeramie locked the stall door and began peeling off his clothes. He didn’t want to get them dirty, and any stains would look suspicious later.

The air inside the restroom carried a chill. Jeramie’s exposed flesh began to break out into goosepimples as he stripped down. Naked, Jeramie stood on his tiptoes and hung each piece of clothing on the hook attached to the stall door. Then, he sat down on the toilet and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long.

The inside of the restroom shook slightly as the door swung open, hitting the wall behind it. Footsteps echoed across the floor. Jeramie waited, holding his breath and crossing his fingers and toes. He had pulled his feet up to rest on the toilet seat.

Sure enough, the door to the stall next to his opened. Jeramie looked over at the wall on the right. A hole had been cut near the bottom next to the toilet paper dispenser. It was big enough to fit his arm through. Someone had drawn arrows around it in magic market. There were some very colorful instructions as well, the sort of words that Jeramie’s teachers would be appalled by.

Jeramie didn’t need the instructions, though. He already knew what to do.

The man in the next stall was peeing. Jeramie eased himself down off the toilet and crept over to the hole. The man on the other side was Latino. His pants were down around his knees, and he was holding a cock that looked very big, even though it was flaccid.

Jeramie’s eyes flicked down briefly to the shoes the man was wearing—a pair of old work boots that had seen better days. All too quickly, though, he was back to staring at the growing cock in the man’s big hands, licking his lips as the stream of piss died down.

Quickly, he tapped his foot twice on the ground. When that yielded no response, he tried stomping it twice. The Latino man turned, as though startled.

“Hey, mister!” Jeramie hissed.

Slowly, he ran one finger down along the lower half of the gloryhole. The man blinked in surprise, and after a moment’s deliberation, turned to slide his cock all the way in.

“Suck it,” the husky older man commanded.

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“It’s true!” someone from behind them called out.

The voice shattered the silence. Jeramie felt his body slack. His eyes kept facing forward, watching the gunman shake his head.

“What?” the masked man barked.

“Jeramie never gets in trouble on the bus,” another voice added. “He’s the only one Mr. Barksdale seems to like.”

Privately, Jeramie doubted that very much. He wasn’t about to contradict any of their statements, though. The gunman was considering their words carefully now.

As if on cue, Mr. Barksdale hit a pothole, rocking the bus slightly. “Okay, fine!” the gunman barked, waving his gun. “You, go up to the front and see if you can help the old fart keep the bus steady.”

Jeramie nodded once and hopped up out of his seat. He was forced to squeeze by the masked man. The gunman didn’t want to move. As he did, Jeramie felt his rear brush against the gunman’s front. He could feel what the gunman was packing in there.

He could also feel the cock there jump when Jeramie made contact. Jeramie filed this information away for later. It would probably be useful, if what he had deduced so far proved accurate.

“Mr. Barksdale?” Jeramie said softly, getting the older man’s attention as he approached the front.

The bus driver glanced briefly toward him. Jeramie didn’t waste time, opting to climb right in Mr. Barksdale’s lap instead of waiting for permission. The old man seemed surprised, but didn’t protest.

“Just relax,” Jeramie whispered, softly as he could. “I have a plan.”

To his surprise, Mr. Barksdale was hard too. This made things much easier. Smiling to himself, Jeramie reached down, taking hold of his shorts and giving them a slight push. He could see via the mirror that no one was watching him. A couple of students had been staring when he climbed up into Mr. Barksdale’s lap, but their attention was diverted by the gunman, who had resumed waving his weapon around.

“I was trying to get him to drop the gun,” Mr. Barksdale whispered while Jeramie wiggled around. “But I’m scared he’d fire it inste—what are you doing?”

Jeramie had reached underneath his rear, freeing Mr. Barksdale’s swollen cock from his work jeans.

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Mr. DuPree was dressed in his usual Sunday suit, a pair of slack pants with shined shoes and dress socks. A slick coat covered a blue button-up shirt. His tie hung out at the moment, as though Mr. DuPree had been worrying with it. His brown beard had a few flakes of white, and he had a slight paunch sticking out in front.

Overall, though, Jeramie thought Mr. DuPree was quite handsome, in his own way.

“I wanted to ask you,” Jeramie began, “if you had any peppermint. I’m fresh out.”

Mr. DuPree always carried peppermint around. He claimed that it helped him sit still during church services. He kept plenty in his coat pocket, and would offer it to anyone if they asked.

“Oh!” said Mr. DuPree, lighting up a little. “Of course. Here, just lemme check real quick…”

Jeramie waited, watching Mr. DuPree closely. The first pocket he checked was empty, but the second one had several pieces. Mr. DuPree pulled out a fist full and held it out for Jeramie to choose.

“Help yourself,” said Mr. DuPree.

Jeramie reached for the pile in Mr. DuPree’s hand, then hesitated. The movement was on purpose. He looked up then, right into Mr. DuPree’s vivid blue eyes.

“You know,” he said, “I found a piece like these in the kitchen.”

Mr. DuPree’s fingers closed around the handful of peppermints. His hand jerked back reflexively. Jeramie took note of the movements and smiled, giving Mr. DuPree another one of his cherubic grins.

“It was on the floor,” he went on. “Someone had stepped on it.”

“I…” Mr. DuPree began, sweating. “You shouldn’t have been in there, Jeramie. Not after a fire. It’s very dangerous.”

Jeramie’s smile widened. “I was helping my Dad,” he explained, pretending to look sad at the admonishment. “Besides, it wasn’t a real fire. Just burned meatloaf.”

“Oh,” said Mr. DuPree, and he relaxed a little. “Yeah, I suppose…”

“Funny, though.” Jeramie moved in closer, pretending to go for the peppermint again. “The oven was still warm.”

Mr. DuPree’s eyes widened. Jeramie saw his opening, and moved his hand past the peppermints. His fingers went for the front of Mr. DuPree’s slacks. Mr. DuPree let out a soft gasp as Jeramie wrapped his small digits around the older man’s cock through the soft fabric.

“Like the oven had been turned up on high,” Jeramine continued, as though nothing out of the ordinary were happening.

Fresh sweat popped out on Mr. DuPree’s forehead. His mouth hung open, and his breath deepened. Mr. DuPree stared in shock for a moment while Jeramine’s hand worked his shaft up and down through the front of the older man’s slacks.

Jeramie could feel the shaft growing thicker, harder, in his hand. “You shouldn’t…” Mr. DuPree stammered. “Jeramie, that’s very wrong, you know! I could get in trouble!”

Mr. DuPree was doing his damnedest to sound authoritative, but it had no effect whatsoever on Jeramie. He merely smiled and pushed Mr. DuPree’s hand away so he could move closer.

“I like this candy better,” Jeramie said, sinking to his knees.

Mr. DuPree remained rooted to his chair. He didn’t stop Jeramie from undoing the button on his trousers with his tiny fingers. He didn’t move when Jeramie slid the zipper all the way down, nor did he use his hands to force Jeramie away when the little slut puppy fished his cock out.

Cold air blew over Mr. DuPree’s thick shaft once it was freed. It was quickly followed by Jeramie’s hot breath. The randy teenager heated the already smoldering man cock in front of him with a few quick puffs of air. His fingers slid back around the eight inches of meat, gripping it tight.

Mr. DuPree moaned. “Oh, God!” he whimpered. “God… no!”

Jeramie knew he had his suspect right where he wanted him now. His pink tongue slid out between his soft, puckered lips. The tip ran up along the underside of the shaft, sending a shiver up through Mr. DuPree’s much bigger body.

“Mmm!” Jeramie moaned, making sure it was loud enough for Mr. DuPree to hear. “Definitely better than peppermint.”

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“C’mere,” Daddy instructed, giving his left leg a pat once he was comfortable. “Climb up on Daddy’s lap, boy. I wanna talk about something.”

Jeramie obeyed immediately. His little legs settled across his father’s lap. One arm wrapped around Daddy’s broad shoulders, stretching as far as it could go. Jeramie’s smile was as big as a kid’s meeting Santa at the mall.

“There,” he said, grinning big as his plump little rear bounced on his father’s thick, muscular leg. “I’m all set, Daddy.”

Daddy was smiling softly as he reached up, brushing his fingers through Jeramie’s hair. “Good boy,” he whispered, combing the long honey-colored locks.

Jeramie and his father both had long hair. Some of Jeramie’s teachers told him that it made him look like a girl. He didn’t care, though.

He liked having things in common with Daddy. They both had the same green eyes and pale skin. Their faces were similar too. They each had a Roman nose, a cleft in their chin, and feet that spread slightly like a duck’s.

Certain things about them that were different didn’t bother Jeramie so much. He loved that his Daddy was so muscular. He also loved the thick hair that covered Daddy on almost every part of his big body. Jeramie especially liked running his tiny fingers through it, the same way that Daddy loved combing through his hair.

“Tell me about your case, Daddy,” Jeramie said beseechingly. “I’m very curious.”

Daddy chuckled, placing a chaste kiss on the top of Jeramie’s head, one that lingered just a little longer than necessary.

“You certainly are,” he agreed. “A very curious boy. Always have been.”

Jeramie tilted his head up. Daddy’s hand left his hair, drawing the fingers out of the soft, silky locks to cup his son by the chin. Slowly, Daddy brought his lips down.

A soft moan escaped Jeramie’s throat as their mouths met. Daddy kissed his son slowly, taking his time to caress Jeramie’s lips with his tongue. A fresh shiver went through Jeramie’s body.

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