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Nifty - Gay - Urination - Spikes Piercing Parlour - Spikes Piercing Parlour 14

 
Date: Sat, 24 Nov 2012 07:55:17 +0000
From: Rob Armstrong <robarmstrong26@hotmail.co.uk>
Subject: Spike's Piercing Parlour 14 - Hallowe'en Family Balling 5

SPIKE'S PIERCING PARLOUR, PART FOURTEEN: HALLOWE'EN FAMILY BALLING 5

THIS STORY CONTAINS THEMES OF INCEST BETWEEN FATHERS AND THEIR 18/19 YR
OLD SONS, WATERSPORTS AND DOMINATION. THESE CHARACTERS EXIST IN AN AIDS
FREE, CONSEQUENCE FREE, FANTASY PARALLEL UNIVERSE AND ARE NOT TO BE
EMULATED.

PLEASE SUPPORT NIFTY WITH YOUR DONATIONS AND KEEP THIS INCREDIBLE
RESOURCE GOING.


               CONCLUSION OF SERIES FINALE (part five)

               WITH THANKS TO MY READERSHIP


       Earlier that evening, Clay, Thor, Spike, Doc and Farello watched
their handiwork with pride and rampant desire as two teams' worth of naked
jocks were loaded into their positions in the standing stones - stripped,
boned up, weak with lust, putty in the hands of their captors.

       Clay snuggled back into his naked father, enjoying his dad's hands
on his dick. Thor ran his tongue over his son's neck.

       'Nice goin', boy - you and Spike played your parts well.'

       'Thanks, Dad - thought Spike wouldn't to let us in for rea...'

       But suddenly Clay broke free of the embrace and stepped forwards,
peering into the gloom ahead.

       'Where's Moose?'

       'Big furry linebacker with long hair?' enquired Spike. 'Yeah, saw
him sneak out a few minutes back. Probably tryin' to escape...'

       Farello was horrified. 'WHAT? But that homophobic little shit
could make more trouble for us than anyone if he's loose. His father's a
police sergeant in this district.'

       But Spike and Doc seemed totally unconcerned.

       'Trust me,' said Spike, 'He ain't goin' nowhere. He'll be back.'

       'But how can you be so sure?' asked Farello.

       'Yeah,' put in Clay, 'And how come Doc's oil stuff didn't work on
him? Moose is the last person I woulda said had the strength of character
to resist.'

       Doc rubbed his chin thoughtfully - and then went back to groping
Spike's ass.

       'It isn't down to character but dumb luck. The formula is
effective on 99.7% of the male population. Your Moose falls into the other
0.3%. Plus you said he's homophobic? Often a sign of closeted gay
inclinations. If he was already sexually excited before we hit him with
the oil vapour, that could have lessened the effects as well.'

       When Spike later reported Moose slipping into that fissure in the
rock wall behind the hot spring, Clay knew he and Doc had been right.

       'Tolja!' stated Spike smugly, 'There he goes, meek as a lamb.'

       'He'll come out to play when he's good and ready,' added Doc.

       Thor nodded, satisfied. 'Let's just hope Symansky and Rogers do
their part with the dads. I sewed the seeds, gave Howard's dad the card.'

       By now Clay's construction buddies and an assortment of Spike's
regulars had started to seduce the players, licking and fingering what
flesh was still exposed by those granite and dirt standing stones.

       There was a high-pitched, choking sob from one of the jocks.

       'Not my hole, man... oh Godddd... my pooor hoooole...!'

       'There goes the first cherry of the evenin'!' crowed Spike.

       It set off a domino effect of similar laments, up and down the
concourse...

       'Motherrr of Goddddd...' came the jocks' wailing cries, '...oh
Goddd that hurrts... take it ouuuu.... ohhhhh
yeahhhh.... arghhh... ungh...'

       ...as, one by one, each virgin jockhole was breached forever...

       Spike noticed Farello hopping from foot to foot eagerly. 'Go,' he
told him, 'Break in some jock ass, you done your part, so enjoy! But
remember you an' the others got one hour to get inta costume!'

       Cock dribbling, the light of rut-lust in his eyes, the coach
hurried off to breed the cunt of as many of his young charges as he could
drive his dick into.

       Doc wasn't far behind him.




       Back up in the studio, Spike and the Larsens set about putting up
the black drapes and transforming it into the coat check area.

       Len Wiseman was there, putting the finishing touches to his black
kohl eyeliner and stuffing padding into the bra of his mummy costume.

       'Contrary to popular opinion,' he griped, 'not all gay men actively
enjoy dressing up as a woman!'

       'Sorry, Lenny,' Clay said with a shrug,'You're the only one with
the right build to pull it off - or the acting skills.'

       'Quit bitchin', Cleopatra!' growled Spike, 'Ya ain't the only guy
here who enjoys takin' it up the shitter, so get offa ya soap box!'

       'Can it, Captain Eloquence!' retorted Len, fearless as ever, 'Last
time I checked I was the only one with balls big enough to come out!'

       And Spike canned it - actually chuckling under his breath. Thor
and Clay looked at each other in wonder. NOBODY but Lenny could have
gotten away with that. The rapport between this unlikely duo was proving
quite the revelation.

       Another guy appeared, wheeling in the clothing rails. Clay saw it
was the hot young bear cub he had spied Lenny sitting with before the game.
Odd. He wasn't the type he thought Lenny would have gone for.

       The guy was pretty overweight, but it suited him. The open collar
of his plaid shirt revealed a furry body. He was very handsome, a lush
beard lining his jaw, his hair trimmed to a close crop - and the most
beautiful, startling green eyes that Clay had ever looked into.

       Clay was poleaxed. He had to gulp before he could speak.

       'Erm... so Lenny,' he had to clear his throat, 'Harrumph! Aren't
you going to introduce me to your date?'

       Lenny glanced round from his make-up mirror. He looked from Clay to
the young bear. He spotted instantly the connection between them...

       ... and beamed with pleasure.

       'Go easy with this one, Romeo,' he instructed Clay softly, 'He
needs VERY careful handling - he's one of the gentle ones.'

       The bear cub colored and gave a sweet, shy grin. 'Lenny and I
are't each other's dates, we're just buddies...'

       Clay went white. It was the shy smile that did it. That, and the
gentle way in which the speaker corrected a misconception.

       'They're not comic books,' Clay quoted, 'They're graphic novels.'

       Oreo Joe's smile widened. 'You remembered.'

       Clay shook his head in disbelief. 'My God, Joe - I never would
have... Hey, Wiseman, I thought you didn't do makeovers?'

       Lenny pretended to be having trouble with his fake boobs. 'Yeah,
well... a haircut and contacts do not a makeover... erm... make. Anyway, I
had great material to work with.'

       Clay nodded, drinking in the sight of Joe Foster. 'Yes, you did.'

       And suddenly - unaccountably - it was Clay who felt shy and unsure
of what to say.

       Joe stated firmly that he wasn't planning on staying for the
festivites down below - he was just here to help for the set-up - and he
resisted all of Clay's persuasion to the contrary. What Clay, Thor and
Spike had planned simply wasn't Joe's scene.

       But as Joe was leaving, when everybody else was occupied, Clay made
sure he got a kiss goodnight.

       And that Joe did grant, with pleasure. It was a kiss that bolted
thru Clay's tongue, thru the centre of his being, and earthed finally thru
his feet.

       In years to come, in spite of all the hot action that followed,
that kiss was the memory Clay cherished most from that night.





       Hours later, Thor and Clay, dressed as pornographic superhero and
his boy wonder sidekick, were entertaining an audience of devoted regulars
and some new dad-and-jock fans in the wet bar.

       Father and son appeared standing knee deep in the piss tub. Dressed
only in silvery masks and short capes, they pressed the undersides of their
throbbing fucksticks together and performed their signature 'human
fountain' routine, where they both let fly with a heavy load at the same
moment.

       A double geyser of hot yellow piss gushed up from their crotches,
straight up into the air, before raining down upon their tanned bodies, and
into their open mouths.

       There were whoops and cheers from the floor, and even from one or
two of the jocks handcuffed to the long urinal. Their dads were so
inspired by the display that they immediately hurried over to their boys to
give them a much-needed drink straight from the faucet - to say nothing of
a good hosing down.

       The Larsens shared each other's piss load in a long frenching
session. When they were done they took in the scene all around them and
high-fived each other.

       They had done it. The evening was a runaway success. Spike's
original vision had been brought to life. Fathers and sons were fucking
everywhere. The smell of animal rutting challenged even the stench of piss
in this place.

       So typical of sports-driven dads, men were getting competetive
about their sons' sexual abilities and versatility - and were more than
delighted to prove their claims. Fathers had their sons bent over,
generously holding their asses wide for any big-dicked passer by who cared
to seed their boys' cunts.

       'Look at all the dick my boy can take,' was the new boast, 'Can
your kid take the length of that big guy's whanger?'

       'My kid? My kid can take two dicks at a time - watch this!'

       'Dad? Dad, what the fuck? Mr Jameson's already fucking me!'

       'Just keep ridin' on his dick, son. Keep goin', Jameson - no don't
pull out! Just gonna sliiide on up behind my boy...'

       'Argh! Dad, stop that - SHIT! Pull out, pull out, you're splittin
me apmmmmmmmpfff!'

       'Ssshhh, son, don't fuss, I'm tryin' ta make a point to that
overbearin' jackass over there...'

       'Mmmmmmpffff!'

       'Oooh yeah! Nice, tight boycunt. God, Jameson, your dick feels
incredible, glidin' up alongside mine up my boy's chute...'

       'Mmmmmpff... mmmmmm.... mmm... nnngh... nnngh... nnngh...'

       'That's it, son, if ya relax I can take my hand off ya mouth!'

       'Nnnngh... ohhhh Dadddd... so fulllll... so fullll...'

       'Hey, Jameson - kiss me while we dick my boy, ya handsome fuck!'

       Wet, slurping sounds... tongues everywhere.

       'Oh, yeah, son, shove ya tongue in as well - my kid's a great
kisser, Jameson, ya gonna love his salty spit...'

       More frenching, spitting into open mouths... licking, tonguing...

       ...until...

       'Ah, shit, willya look at that? Bastard's done started fistin' his
boy, now. Son...?'

       'Dad... no! No... ohhhh Goddd... I said nnn... argh... four fingers
already?...so easy... yeahhhh... do it Dad... go for the thumb... stretch
my hole like spandex.. ...let's show those assholes... oooof!
...unghhhh...'

       And so it went on. Some of the more seasoned boy-fuckers had to
restrain overenthusiastic fathers from doing damage to their sons' holes in
the spirit of macho rivalry.

       Thor and Clay were just wondering where Spike had gotten to - he
was missing all the action - when the man in question burst in from the
direction of the latrines.

       He and the three sports coaches were carrying none other than that
scourge of the underdog and terror of the nerd - Moose Bruckner!

       They carried Bruckner at shoulder height like he was a fucking
table. The guy struggled and writhed, but it was hopeless in the grip of
such a massively muscled quartet.

       All eyes turned to this new scene and everyone followed them over
to the bar towards the back of the dungeon.

       Each of Moose's captors took a limb and secured it firmly with good
strong rope, until the bully was spreadeagled on his back.

       The crowd of onlookers cheered as his enormous, furry torso rippled
and heaved, fighting against his bonds, slick with sweat from his
efforts...

       ...his dick never subsiding for an instant...

       'Get the fuck offa me, you queer bunch of homo fags...' he wailed,
the deeper notes of hopelessness clear in his voice.

       'Homo fags?' Spike snarled - a pretty fearsome expression at the
best of times, but in his current getup, utterly terrifying. 'As opposed to
what, genius? STRAIGHT fags? God, ya too fuckin' stupid to be left
wanderin' free. We gonna bitch ya, fucker, an' get ya collared before ya
do yuhself a damage...'

       Moose was sobbing now.

       'Not my ass, man... pleeease, don't stick my ass... glommm!'

       Moose's head was clear of that end of the bar. At Spike's signal,
Symansky had pulled it back by his long mane of hair and plugged his open
mouth with his dripping fucktool.

       Splutter! Choke! Cough! Cough! Retch!

       Thrust - thrust - thrust - thrust -

       Gurgle! Regurge! Choke! Strangle!

       Symansky pulled out for a moment. He pulled Moose's head up again
so he could watch Spike grab the jock's dick firmly... as his devil's
forked tongue flickered out and danced over the shiny helmet.

       Spike gave Moose an open-mouthed, needle-toothed grin of hunger.

       Moose wailed in superstitious dread...

       Spike touched... just... touched... the tips of his fangs to the
tender flesh around the rim of Moose's helmet...

       Moose froze in place, hardly daring to breathe...

       A little pressure from Spike's jaw now. The
flesh... dimpled... not quite breaking... as Spike moved his jaw in a
slight... chewing... motion...

       A high whimpering tried to escape the back of Moose's throat...

       ...and then Spike began to swirl that tongue back and forth across
the sensitive glans... swirling in circles... brushing up and down...

       ...one tine of that tongue beginning to slither down into Moose's
piss slit... drilling... drilling....

       Moose's cry began to break free from its bonds...

       And then suddenly Spike opened his jaws wide and plunged Moose's
dick all the way down his deep, deep throat like a starving anaconda...

       This time Moose's head went back of its own accord, as Spike
vacuuumed his dick, stroking it up and down, massaging it with is throat.

       Moose's hips began to buck...

       ...and that was when Spike pulled off his now red and angry member,
a narrow steel sound suddenly appearing in one hand, which he swiftly
plunged down Moose's piss tube before he could draw the next breath.

       At the sight of his steel-raped dick, Moose's eyes flew wide and
his jaw dropped open in soundless shock.

       Spike slowly rotated the tool in its new home and began to gently
work it up and down, jacking Moose from the inside.

       Farello and Rogers fell upon Moose's nipples and began feeding.
Symansky once again took advantage of that open mouth and continued raping
Moose's throat. They heard no more from Moose for the next few minutes,
other than the gulping and glomming of a novice throat struggling to adapt
to the thick, hot coach meat that battered and filled it...

       Thrust - thrust - thrust - thrust -

       Gurgle! Gurgle! Huagh! Gurgle!

       Thrust - thrust - thrust - thrust -

       Gurgle! Glomm! Gulp-gulp! Nomm!

       Thrust - thrust - thrust - thrust -

       Nomm! Nomm! Nomm! Nomm!

       Thrust-thrust-thrust-thrust...

       Nomm-nomm-nomm-nommmmmmmm.....

       Now Moose's head was coming up WITH Symansky's dick, trying to
follow it, hold onto it, in spite of the painful grip Coach had on his
scalp....

       Spike, meanwhile, withdrew the sound... and replaced it with a
thicker one...

       Symansky watched that steel upgrade drilling into Moose's piss slit
and the sight sent him over the edge. He barked and thrust just one last
time, pulling back slightly so as to be sure it was the jock's mouth that
got flooded with his first taste of mancream...

       Semen spilled out of Moose's mouth, but a good deal he swallowed
reflexively. In a daze, he allowed a thick film to remain coating his
tongue...

       The first he knew of what was coming next was the unmistakable buzz
of electric hair clippers...

       ...Moose's blood ran cold...

       'Nuh...' he uttered thickly, 'Nuh.. nuh... not my hair, man...'

       Spike laughed like the very Devil he emulated, as he switched
places with Symansky at the jock's head and brandished the clippers.

       When Spike gripped his long hair and ran the clippers slowly,
inexorably through Moose's scalp, the jock let loose a scream of visceral,
almost physical torment - as if, instead of a mere haircut, he were being
scalped like an unlucky fronteirsman in the old West. The cry came deep
from his soul, ripped from his core... his essence... his very manhood...

       In all but the physical sense of the word, regardless of what was
to follow, this was the true moment of Maurice 'Moose' Bruckner's
deflowering.

       A hush fell, the crowd feeling the magnitude of the moment.

       And then, when Spike triumphantly held a fistful of long dark hair
aloft, they errupted in a blast of cheering and whooping - a few of the
more tasteless even giving vent to Apache warcries.

       Expertly shorn, his head naked save for a uniform zero crop of
stubble, Moose lay trembling and beaten, his face blotchy, tearstained.

       And then out came the straight razor - and even that ghost of his
former magnificence was denied him. In no time his scalp gleamed, pink and
shiny.

       By now Symansky had exchanged the sound in Moose's dick for the
next grade up...

       Out came the clippers again and Spike changed the guard. This time
Moose just watched, defeated, all fight gone from him, as Spike began to
systematically clip and then shave every hair from his body.

       He didn't even try to make a break for it when they loosened his
bonds to turn him over and do his back. For this, Moose was kept on all
fours on the counter top, ass up, head down in submission.

       Men masturbated their sons and the jocks their dads as they watched
the unfolding ritual. Their team captain was being stripped of everything
that had made him the alpha male. The top dog. It was primal, the
toppling of a king... the ultimate subjugation...

       ...and it made them all horny as rutting hogs...

       It was with mixed feelings that Clay looked on, as boned up and
dripping as the rest of them, but he alone refrained from jacking his dick.
Moose was undoubtedly receiving his just desserts... but they had been
friends once.

       Who knew? Perhaps one day they could be again. Clay's own first
experiences in this dungeon had been the making of him. Perhaps they would
be for Moose as well.

       A new shout went up from the bar. Spike held up a butt plug for
all to see. The business end was a long slender teardrop of black rubber,
the neck attached to a long devil's tail, similar to Spike's own. It was
fully animatronic, powered by D-cells, the tail swishing and the plug
itself not only vibrating but twitching, bending and flexing.

       No wonder Spike had a big smile on his face all evening.

       He switched the thing off for a moment and lubed it up generously.
Fresh tears coursed down Moose's face as he felt the tip kiss his brown
eye, but he otherwised made no complaint.

       His face creased in pain as the toy pushed through his ring and
glided up his anal passage...

       And then, when the plug was properly lodged... Spike threw the tiny
switch to activate it...

       Spike had to step back sharply as the tail came to life on its
random programme of movements and darn near took his eye out.

       But the wasn't the only thing that got animated.

       Moose was wide-eyed and panting as that toy rocked and rolled
inside of him. His features scrunched up small in pain and then widened
out again in surprise. In, out, in, out...

       And then his panting deepened to a low grunting. He lowered his
upper body to the counter top and left his ass in the air, dancing...

       Rogers fastened a leather slave collar around his neck. Spike and
the others untied him and hauled him down from the bar.

       The crowd parted and made a path to the urinal as Moose was
frogmarched over there. The other slaves were set free and Moose was made
to sit in the trough alone, right on top of that butt plug, ass deep in a
river of piss. His tail swished, flicking cold piss in his face. Again
his arms were spread wide and they handcuffed him to the piping above his
head.

       For the first time, Moose was clearly displayed in his new
nakedness. The macho ape man was gone. In his place was a slave, a pinkly
gleaming bald adonis of massive muscle.

       Spike fastened a smaller version of his horned headdress to Moose's
head and the image was complete. A collared, slave demon.

       For the next twenty minutes, Moose was the sole subject of that
urinal. All focus was on him, and the assembled crowd gave generously,
pissing over Moose from head to toe, washing all the last loose hairs from
his recently shaved body.

       Moose's admirers unloaded over him - sometimes two, three men at a
time. It was interesting to see that every one of his teammates -
including Clay - stepped up to baptise the Moose into his new life as a pig
slave fagboy...

       ...butt plugged and a steel sound still lodged in his dick...

       But he wasn't there quite yet. So far he merely accepted the never
ending golden shower as a just punishment...

       'Oh no...' he could be heard to mutter, half-crazed since the loss
of his hair, '...pissin' all over me... even my
buddies... ooooh... ahhh... that fuckin' rubber thing rapin' my ass... my
poor, straight jock ass... no fair... uhhhh... ahhhh... it twitches deep up
inside me, man...'

       But then a little old bear with a massive furry paunch, man tits
and saggging ass walked up. Instead of spraying Moose with his piss, he
turned around and planted his old asshole on Moose's face.

       For a moment the ghost of the old Moose could be heard.

       'Mmmlf.. FUCK, get offa me ya filthy ol' pervert!'

       But his heart wasn't in it... and the dirty old guy bore down
hard...

       ...As Clay had once been obliged before him, Moose now had to make
the choice between rim or suffocate...

       The tubby old bear suddenly sighed in pleasure at the first touch
of Moose's tongue. And in no time he was gasping, as Moose found his inner
slut and practically sucked out the contents of the old timer's
shit-chute...

       The rim session musta gone on for ten miutes, easy, during which
the old guy's eyes were nearly crossing. He lifted off Moose's mouth every
so often so everyone could enjoy the self-flagellating commentary that
Moose was keeping up...

       'Oh nooo... skanky old guy-ass in ma fuckin'
face... mmmmllppp... sluuuurp... doin' me dirty... me... a fuckin'
jock... fuckin' cap'n of the fuckin' TEAM, man... mmmmmnnnnfff... could get
prime cheerleader pussy any time I want... 'stead o' this skanky ol' homo's
shitty ass in ma face...'

       Spike regretted not planting a mic at the urinal to record it, it
was so priceless...

       'Old enuff ta be ma grandpaw... mmmmnnnnfff, thlurrrrp,
lickkkk... punishin' me... punishin' his grandson, cos I been
bad.... mmmmmmnnnff... I been so damn meeean to all of
them.... thluuuurp... cos I'm jus' a worthless shit-bag... yeahhhhh... do
it, grandpappy, I got it comin'... I deserve ya shitty old ass in ma
face.... mmmmmnnnnfff... thluuurppp... oink... thluuurpppp... sluuuurppppp..... yeahhh.... unghh... do
it grandpaw... shit in ma
mouth.... mmmmmffff.... oink.... scarffff... oink, oink... woof! Woof!
Lick! Lick! Nommm-nom-nom-nom-nom....'

       The old guy ground his ass in Moose's face, while he reached down
and worked the sound up and down in his dick...

       'Yeahhh.... grandpa ass... gonna visit my own grandpa every day
from now on... give him a bed bath with ma tongue... lift his legs up and
eat his dirty ass out... nom-nom-nom-nom... Woof! Jus' like I'm eatin'
you, grandpappy...'

       When the old bear finally pulled off, turned and pissed in Moose's
red face, Moose opened wide and stuck out his tongue so as not to miss a
drop...

       'Glug-glug-glug-glug... mmmmmm.... yeahhh.... gaaaaargle...'

       There would have been a free-for-all then - but Spike had plans, so
he and Symansky stepped in and quickly uncuffed Moose from the pipe.

       The dragged him instead over to the piss tub and threw him in.

       Moose cried out, churning the yellow waters of the bath as he
wallowed in them, nearly drowning himself in gallons upon gallons of fresh,
steaming hot manpiss.

       The free-for-all was now a go - as everyody directed their jets
into the tub. Lost to shame by now, Moose splashed around going from this
dick to that, eager to have at least a taste of everbody's piss before
their supply ran dry.

       The tide mark rose higher and higher. Guys were running to and
from the bar with bottles of water to reload their bladders before the piss
orgy passed.

       Thor and Clay were there too. Moose fully fellated both of them -
their piss bypassing his mouth entirely and heading straight to his stomach
- before accidentally pulling them in on top of him in his enthusiasm.

       Then were were three of them in the tub and piss was sloshing over
the sides, soaking into the dirt floor. Pigs on the outside placed their
mouths at the rim of the tub to catch the overflow.

       Thor, Clay and Moose's bodies intertwined, thrashing around,
frenching and swapping mouthfulls of piss back and forth. Symansky jumped
in as well to join them and the waters frothed and churned as if there were
piranha in there.

       Spike, Doc, Rogers and Farello stood back, cigar's in mouth, hands
on each others' dicks, taking in the crazy hot action.

       Doc blew smoke into Farello's open mouth. 'So... can I cook? Or
can I cook?'

       Farello passed the smoke back. 'I should know - I had a pretty
good taste of your cooking myself a few weeks back.'

       As the two began frenching, Spike commented, 'You sure can, Doc -
though in Moose's case, that wasn't no special formula. That was all him!
Kid's the biggest, most natural pigslut I ever saw.'

       And talking of which...

       Spike clapped his hands and his voice boomed via his mic through
the sound system.

       'Enough, ya pigs! Playtime's over... for now!'

       There was a chorus of rebellious 'awwws' - but you didn't mess with
the Devil.

       Spike and the others hauled Moose out of the tub and dragged him,
his ass still twitching with the butt plug, over to the showers.

       'Gotta get him all nice and clean for his big finale,' Spike told
them.

       All squeaky clean now, Moose was taken back to the counter top of
the bar. The shower seemed to have returned something of Moose to himself
and he began to struggle afresh as they tied him down on his back again.

       'Nah... lemme... lemme go...'

       A haze of cigar smoke hung over the bar as Spike and Coach Rogers
worked. Hot wax dribbled down from Spike's candle, splattering onto the
boy's nipples and causing him to arch his back in both pleasure and pain.

       'Ah, shitttt...' Moose whined, 'my tits, man...'

       Then the largest of the sounds was inserted into Moose's urethra
and Coach Rogers began to jack him with it in earnest now. The hairless
jock began to writhe and moan in pleasure. With Moose thus distracted,
Spike donned sterile rubber gloves.

       Clay knew what was coming and his pierced nipples throbbed at the
memory of it.

       But Spike was not inclined to be kindly to Moose as he had been
towards Clay. There was no freezing agent in the antiseptic today. Spike
just ripped the soldified plaques of wax off Moose's nips, and then raped
his virgin nipples forever with steel.

       Moose howled, the full sensation of the puncturing needles punching
thru his nubs and setting his tits on fire.

       He was at least lucky that Spike had, once again, pulled off his
trademark simultaneous piercing technique and there needed to be no second
ordeal for his nips.

       'You fuckin' pierced me, man...' Moose wailed, 'Fuckin' turned me
into a pierced faggot pisslovin' bitchboy... can't ya turn up the dial on
this thing in my ass none?'

       He was clearly fine. And ready for stage two.

       Spike and Rogers swapped places. Rogers undid Moose's wrist
bindings and sat him upright. Moose ground his ass into the counter top,
trying to get deeper penetration from the butt plug.

       Rogers held him tight around the shoulders, trapping his arms in
place. He held him fast so that he could watch...

       Spike removed the last sound from Moose's piss slit...

       ...and a third needle suddenly appeared right at the frenum of
Moose's dick - the centre point of his helmet on the underside. This time
Spike did take pity, and swabbed his flesh with the same numbing agent the
last sound had been coated with.

       Rogers held on as Moose bucked.

       'What... whatcha DOIN' to ma dick, man?'

       And a second later he screamed again - more at the sight than the
sensation - as Spike punched the needle up thru the frenum and out the top
of his piss-slit. He worked fast and a few seconds later Moose had him a
Prince Albert.

       Though Moose screamed and screamed, his dick got, if anything,
harder. And eventually he was all screamed out.

       'Piercin' ma dick now...' he moaned, never one to miss the obvious,
'Ma poor dick... I musta been real bad...'

       'Oh you been real bad, all right,' Spike pointed out,'and now ya
daddy's gonna give ya some home correction!'

       The light of salvation sparked in Moose's eyes.

       'My Dad's here?'

       Visions of his father leading a SWAT team were snuffed as he turned
to see one of the slave chairs had been wheeled in from the leather
dungeon.

       His father was strapped in tight - stark naked except for his
police hat, tilted at a drunken angle. Worst of all was the dazed, near
cross-eyed grin on his face.

       'Oh, ya daddy's been here fuh hours,' Spike explained, 'Got a tip
off that somethin' was goin' down here tonight at old 'Spike's' and came by
himself to investigate - wanted to grab all the glory of the bust.'

       Moose didn't need to know it was Spike himself who had engineered
the tip-off. Sgt Bruckner had something of a reputation as a corrupt,
bribe-taking, credit-stealing sonofabitch - and therefore easy to
manipulate.

       He'd been proving how easy he was to manipulate in a sling all
evening. His hole was now more malleable than window putty.

       It was clear to see where Moose had gotten all his body hair from.
The man was a frickin silverback - salt-and-pepper edition. His powerful
build had gone a little to seed from his desk job at the precinct but he
was still impressive.

       But unlike his son, he was plainly NOT immue to the Schultz
formula. His dick was pointing straight up, straining for relief.

       Moose's ass began to grind on the butt plug again...





       It seemed like hours later when the party finally started to break
up, though in fact it was only about forty minutes or so.

       After Moose had finally surrendered his cherry and ridden his
father's drooling fuckrod, both Bruckners had served time in slings, side
by side.

       And nobody had reamed out Moose's ass harder than Len Goodman.

       By that time, everybody was pretty much partied out. People were
in such a mess, covered in one substance or another, that the wet room
showers were constantly on the go for another hour beyond that.

       Those who had been converted this evening staggered out in a kind
of fucked-out daze. Fathers and sons - most of whom had lost their
original clothing, had been kitted out in boiler suits and reunited with
their possessions - left the dungeons looking bewildered. But their arms
were still around each other and each pair grinned a secret grin.

       Moose Bruckner and his father were still frenching as they
disappeared up thru the tunnels back to the street.

       'Huh,' said Spike, 'They'll be back.'

       Thor nodded. 'They'll all be back, sooner or later, buddy.'

       And when Thor was right, he was right.

       That night was, indeed, only the beginning. The seeds had been
sewn here at Spike's, that Hallowe'en. Long buried desires had been given
expression at last, and the genie was out of the bottle.

       Up and down Manhattan, across the river in New Jersey, and outward
from there, the effects began to spread. Spike's prediction about hot
fathers and sons lusting after each other was proven to have more than a
little foundation.

       And if ya don't believe me, come along to 'Spike's' one evening,
why doncha? It's on the Lower East Side. Everybody knows 'Spike's'. they
can direct ya right to it.

       But only a select few know what REALLY goes on there after the sun
goes down.

       Bring ya dad along, if he's hot. Ya son got an eighteenth birthday
coming up? 'Spike's' is the perfect place to bring him an all his best
buds.

       But get everybody there good an' early.

       It gets kinda busy...



                            EPILOGUE

       HANK WOZNIAK still works construction, along with most of the
construction crew. However, their Friday night poker games have become
more interesting.

       AARON JONAS WILBY III divorced his wife shortly after the events of
Hallowe'en and lost pretty much all his assets to her in the settlement. He
still owns a townhouse on Park Avenue and is forced to run it as a high
class brothel, catering to wealthy gay men.

       AARON JONAS WILBY IV works as a whore in his father's brothel. His
engagement to socialite Meriel Upward has been broken off.

       JUNIOR ORTIZ and his family are working on bringing peace to the
street gangs of New York by the slow, carefull introduction of the various
factions to Spike's Piercing Parlour. Their slogan is 'Make Lust, Not
War.'

       The COLLINS FAMILY now live under the roof of Coach Rogers.

       MAURICE 'MOOSE' BRUCKNER and his father POLICE SERGEANT BRADLEY
BRUCKNER both work as whores at Wilby's brothel - Bruckner Senior on his
days off from the precinct. Bruckner Junior faces dismissal if he doesn't
get his soaring weight gain under control.

       JOE FOSTER runs his own highly successful clothing outlet for
larger gay men in San Francisco's Bay Area.

       LEONARD GOODMAN now lives and works in West Hollywood, refusing
roles as the heroine's gay best friend in romantic comedies. He is
covertly working on Hollywood from the inside, turning one action hero at a
time and blackmailing closeted executives into sanctioning gay-themed
scripts for mainstream release.

       COACHES SYMANSKY, FARELLO and ROGERS are still working in physical
education - though they have widened the training programme for their more
promising athletes.

       ERCAN ALTINYILDIZ deputises as manager at Spike's sex dungeons
during Spike's increasingly frequent absences.

       CARMINE 'SPIKE' RUSSO has been enlisted by GEORGE 'DOC' SCHULTZ as
an operative for the Pentagon on a top secret mission to investigate and
combat paranormal/demonic phenomena all over the United States.

       THORSTEN and CLAYTON LARSEN now live in the San Fernando Valley,
where they run their own porn studio specialising in gay incest. CLAYTON
also attends UCLA as a media post-grad and divides his free time between LA
and San Francisco, where he has a home with his lover JOSEPH FOSTER.

       Clay and Joe have been together for four years.



       END OF SERIES. I MEAN, LIKE... FINALLY...

 
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