Brady and the Bad Men

(Mb) (oral) (humil) (nc) (inc)

I am in a small side room with my six-year-old son, Brady. He is quite upset and scared. I have spent the last hour, once again, trying to calm him, but he has been agitated ever since I first informed him of what we will have to do. Now, he hops nervously from one small foot to the other as he sniffles. This is something he does when he gets an anxiety attack. He is a very bright boy for six, a golden, beautiful little angel boy.

“Daddy, I don’t wanna do this. Let’s go home, Daddy. I don’t wanna do this.”

His pure, beautiful bird-like voice fills the quiet of the rather dark somber anteroom. I sit on an old straight-backed chair, and little Brady stands facing me between my legs. His little hands grip my legs in fear.

“Son, we’ve talked this all over again and again. You know you’ve got to do this. You’ve got to help Daddy out. Daddy owes a lot of money to some very bad men.”


“I don’t like bad men, Daddy. I don’t wanna see them.”


“I know, son, and it’ll all be over soon, but you’ve got to help Daddy out, or the bad men will take me away. You don’t want Daddy taken away, do you?”


Little Brady moves in closer and throws his arms around me. I kiss his forehead and soft cheeks. He is so beautiful.


“Don’t leave me, Daddy. Don’t leave me like Mommy left us!”


He is crying pretty hard now. I feel so sorry for him. How in God’s name could I have agreed to this? But what choice did I have? I had already fucked up big time. When my wife Diane died, I went off the deep end. I got into drinking and gambling. You can guess the rest. When I could not pay up, I got into my current mess. If I did not want to end up dead, I had to go through with this.


I had talked little Brady through the whole thing. I told him it would all be over in a couple of hours. Everything would be okay again. Louis, the guy I owed the money to, was a sick, sadistic, perverted prick. I had begged him not to involve my son.


I should tell you a little bit about myself. My name is Ryan, and I am twenty-five. I am a well-built, good-looking guy, and I now realize that I still have a chance to make a good life for myself and my son. But I totally fell apart when Diane died. I gave up on everything. How fucking foolish of me. Girls find me very attractive, and I am still young. I can still have a good life if I can just get out of this mess.


A guy with a voice like gravel sticks his head in the room.


“Five minutes.”


I feel a tremble go through the little body of my son. He looks up at me with those big trusting eyes of his.


“Daddy?” he says in the questioning way of his. His voice is like music.


“It’s going to be okay, Brady. We just got to get through this. Now, you know what to do. We’ve talked through it. Afterward, we’ll go have pizza and ice cream.”


I knew that afterward, Brady would not feel very much like pizza and ice cream, but the little lie might help him get through this. For some reason, at this moment, my mind flashed back to Diane. It flashed back to making love to my beautiful young wife. God, she was beautiful. Brady had the same large trusting eyes, the same smooth, flawless skin. I remembered making love to Diane. I remembered sucking on her luscious tits and wedging my big dick in between her soft, slightly puffy cunt lips. I remembered she used to complain that my dick was too big, that it hurt when I fucked her. Oh, she wanted it, and she got used to it, but I think the size of my fucker made it always a bit uncomfortable. Even when she sucked my dick, she had trouble. She would almost choke on it. She never would let me fuck her in the ass. I explained to her that ass fucking was the fun new fad among young adults of our age and that all my buddies were fucking their wives or girlfriends up the ass, but she said my dick was just too big. I loved her so much that I did not push the issue. Besides, we did fuck in the normal way just about every day, sometimes twice a day.


I remember one time when Brady was four years old, he walked in on me fucking Diane. He walked right up to the side of the bed to get a close look. We were both really embarrassed, but I was mid-fuck and just could not stop, so I continued to plow my wife’s cunt while Brady watched. Later we laughed about it, and I explained to him that Daddy was just loving Mommy. Brady asked why, when I stopped moving in and out of Mommy, she kissed and licked Daddy’s “thingy.” I told him it was because Mommy loved Daddy and loved his thingy too. I remember Brady asking if his little thingy would get as big as mine when he was all grown up. I told him maybe it would.


It was warm in the small dark side room, and we both grew a bit sweaty. Brady clung to me out of nervous tension.


“Okay...the kid is on!” barked gravel voice.


“Daddy?” whispered Brady.


“Just do what we talked about. Everything will be okay, Daddy promises you. I’ll see you real soon.”


A door opened to reveal a large dark black space pierced by a blinding follow spot. I gave my son a gentle push, a loving push. With a little sob and his hands balled into fists, my six-year-old son Brady walked totally naked through the door. I could hear the heavy breathing of the men gathered in the room. Flashes on the cameras popped as the “official photographers” snapped photos, which would later be sold to the customers. My six-year-old son, lit by a bright spotlight, walked totally bare-ass naked into the room. There was a smattering of applause, but also the sound of trouser zippers being undone.


Brady could see nothing in the darkness with the bright light in his eyes. On little bare feet, he stumbled forward. I saw the tiny tight smooth round little boy ass cheeks move up and down as my six-year-old son slowly walked forward. He stopped on the mark he had been told about. He just stood there like a statue. Then, slowly, he turned in a circle giving the men in the room a chance to get a good look at his entire naked little body. As his back and ass turned toward the audience, I saw his tiny pink dicklet and baby nuggets—so soft and small, and sweet and vulnerable.


I also saw little Brady’s tiny chest heave as he burst into tears and began to sob. The men loved it. The more he cried, the more they cheered, laughed, and applauded. I could hear fists stroking big thick dicks in the darkness—the unmistakable sound of men masturbating hard as tears dripped from the chin of my darling boy onto his small smooth chest. I looked at his tiny, barely discernible nipples. He was so fucking innocent.


When he completed his turn, he stood once more, facing the majority of the audience. I could see his entire body shaking with fear. Now, hands reached out of the darkness to touch the little boy. They squeezed his arms and legs. They patted his shoulders and back and then his baby ass. Hands squeezed his little melon-like ass cheeks and then probed into his baby ass crack. He rose up on his tiny six-year-old toes as the first fingers poked his asshole. He cried as a finger entered his ass pucker.




Other hands felt his baby dicklet and nuggets. His velvet-soft little bag was fingered. Fingers frigged the skin of his small dick back and forth. Other fingers plucked at his little boy nipples. His breathing grew erratic and labored. I hoped to God he would not faint or have an anxiety attack. He was obviously in severe shock. Then the hands retreated. Thank God.


“You’re on!” gravel voice spat.


It was my turn. I was on. I stood up and walked toward the light. I, too, was totally naked, my huge thick flaccid dick swinging with each step over my large nut sack. I felt sweat dripping from my ass crack. My muscular ass globes tensed and tightened. How I hated walking into a room of male perverts totally naked. I felt my own nipples begin to harden and tingle. I felt a flutter in my stomach. How had my little son managed to do this? How could I get through this?


Step, step, step, my big bare feet padded on the threadbare old carpeting. I could not see the faces of the men in the darkness because of the follow spot on me.


“Daddy?” came Brady’s voice out of the darkness.


“I’m here, son. I’m right here.”


I stood next to my little son, both of us bare-ass naked, and he grasped my hand. His own hand was so tiny in mine. I had to let go of his hand again almost at once so that I could turn in a circle as he had done. I turned slowly.


“Look at the fucker on that dude! Shit, he’s almost a fucking freak. He’s bigger than that black stud we had here a couple of weeks ago.”


“Jesus, his balls are like grapefruits for fuck’s sake.”


Believe me, I did not appreciate the comments. I felt sick to my stomach.


“Look at those fucking ass globes!”


As much as I hated displaying myself for these sickos, I dreaded completing the turn even more. It meant we were into the next phase of the performance.


I stood still as hands entered my spotlight and began to feel me up. They pinched my ass and rubbed my stomach. One hand scooped up some of the sweat dripping from my ass crack, and I heard someone sucking on the fingers. I wanted to puke. Hands lifted and weighed my nut sack. They squeezed and tugged on my balls, stretching them out and letting them flop back. Other hands fingered my thick cock. They fingered it until, without my control, my dick began to get hard. I always get rock hard at the very slightest stimulation. I remember in high school being embarrassed because I would throw huge boners in the locker room. I would even leak and drip. The guys all razed me because of it. Fingers pulled my nipples out from my rather muscular chest and then let them snap back. I have also always had really sensitive nipples. Diane often said my nipples were more sensitive than her tit tips. Then the hands went away, crawling back into the darkness like some tentacle creature slithering back into its cave.


Now my chest heaved, and I found it difficult to breathe. Okay, that part was over. This was so fucking sick. Next to me, my naked six-year-old son looked up at me.


On to the next part, the part I had talked through with Brady over and over, but been too much of a coward to practice with him at home. Now I regretted that. Sick as that would have been, it would have spared us much pain here and now.


Brady and I turned to face each other. Then I stepped into him. I took a deep breath, and I began to rub my swollen dick all over his innocent little face. Dick leak covered his nose and cheeks and even his lips. I rubbed my dick and my sweating balls all over his trusting little face. He lifted his face slightly to give me better access. He was doing his part to help save his Daddy’s life. I could hear the cameras click, as I stepped back just a few inches so I could rub my leaking cock head over the boy’s pink full young lips. He was crying again, and his tears mixed with my dick leak to create a kind of glaze that covered his face.


I realized that I was hyperventilating and feared I would pass out. I rubbed my leaking dickhead into each of his eyes, then I turned him to face the meat-beating crowd. Then as instructed by Louis, I turned the boy to face me once again, and lifting his head, I kissed my son on the mouth. I had hoped that this part would be okay since I kissed my darling boy before bedtime each night, but this kiss had to be different. I had to put my tongue into his soft little mouth and swap spit with him. I had to lick my fuck leak off his face and mingle it with our kissing spit. No father should ever have to kiss his son like this. It is a terrible sin—a sin against everything right in the world. We stood there swapping spit for, at least, a good five minutes. Several times, Brady tried to pull away, but I made him hold the kiss, terrified of what would happen to us if we disobeyed. At last, his face was licked clean of fuck drip, and his lips and tongue were coated with it. Spit dripped from our lips and chins.


“Good boy, Brady. We’ll get through this okay,” I whispered to my sweet six-year-old son.


I fell to my knees and put my hands on my boy’s slender naked little hips. I leaned my head in, and I started to lap with my tongue at his tiny dicklet and balls. To me, it meant nothing. After all, it was my boy, and nothing about his angelic little body offended me. And yet, the whole thing was terribly shocking and obscene. It was a filthy depraved act—a father licking the genitals of his own baby son.


Brady’s whole body shook.


“Oh...Daddy”! he moaned and almost fell as his little legs grew weak.


I held him up by the hips and continued to lick his little pink dick and his small velvet bag. And his dick got hard. His six-year-old dick got hard. It was amazing. It stood out and quivered. When it was good and hard, I spun him around so the audience could see his hard little pecker, and I plunged my face into my son’s ass crack. I now had to lick my son’s asshole. It was now time for my tears to mingle with his ass sweat and the spit I deposited in his little rosebud. I could taste ass. I forced my tongue into his six-year-old asshole. Camera flashing as I wiggled my tongue up my son’s shithole. And fuck all, my own dick was rock hard and dripping again.




And now it was time, the last part of the show. Thank God, Louis had not insisted that I fuck my son. It would have killed him. I mean the size of my dick and all. I stood again and told Brady to open his mouth. The darling boy was so good, so obedient. I rested my dickhead on his lower lip. Then I gently pushed forward. My cockhead was too large for his mouth. I told him to open up as wide as he could. Straining, he opened his mouth as wide as he could, and my dick knob just fit inside.


A squirt of pre-fuck shot out and spattered his palate. I sawed my dickhead back and forth over his lips. I hoped this might be enough, but I realized, almost at once, that to try to compromise was useless. They wanted me to fuck my little boy in the face. I slid more cock in—only two inches—but he already gagged and complained. I had told him before he would have to breathe through his nose and control his breathing.


I could feel my cock filling his little mouth. I would never get into his little throat. It would kill him. Silence in the room as we stood like two statues. Three inches of my fat dick was now in my six-year-old son’s mouth.


I pushed.


Four inches.


Five inches.


My cock was easing its way over his tongue and down into his throat. We were both sobbing. He gagged and tried to pull back. I held his little head as he choked. I had warned him that this would be the hardest part. I began to pull back and push forward, fucking his face. He snorted, and snot poured out of his nose. My pre-fuck squirted from the sides of his mouth as I fucked back and forth, my dick skin sliding over his lips.


I pushed harder.


Six inches.


I still had almost four inches to go. Would they excuse me for not going all the way, seeing that the boy could not take it?


I pumped in and out so fast that my balls swung back and forth. Each time I tried to get a little more dick into my kid’s throat, but my fuckmeat was just too thick. Poor, poor, little Brady, would he still love me after this? Would he ever trust me again? I felt his little hands clutching at my hips and ass as I skull fucked him. I pushed down into his neck. My fucker was opening up areas that had never been stretched before.


And the sick fucking thing was that it was erotic! It felt so fucking good as if I was fucking a Waldorf red cake. The boy’s throat was like silk. His tears poured down onto my ball sack. My scrotum became coated with six-year-old boy tears. I lost it. I rammed his head into my groin. His wet little nose pressed against my pubic bush. He made a sound like a branch snapping in the wind. My nut sack rubbed his chin, and I was down his throat. I reached one hand down and felt his little neck. It was swollen with my pecker inside of it.


I had the best fucking orgasm of my whole fucking life. Horrible to say but true. My entire body felt struck by lightning. As per instructions, I pulled back and shot my second spurt of fuck onto my son’s face. He gasped for air, a look of pure terror on his little face, as my fuck slop splattered his nose and cheeks and eyes and mouth. Gobs of cum mixed with the boy’s own spit and snot, and whatever was in his stomach poured from his trembling little mouth. I shot the third glob right into his eyes. And then it was over. I had paid my debt.


It’s been three weeks, and Brady has still not totally recovered. I do not know if he ever will. Oh, he can go to school and function all right, but I see a dead look in his eyes. He still cuddles with me and is affectionate, but sometimes, he suddenly stiffens and pulls away, as if he sees a different side to me. Sometimes, I hear him crying in his room. I try everything to make it up to him.


I want to take him on a nice vacation, maybe to Disneyland or something. I have started moderate gambling again to try to raise the money for a holiday with my boy. So far, my luck has not been good, but Louis had given me a line of credit just to show there are no hard feelings between us.


This time I will control it. I know I can.


There is one thing that worries me, however. Lately, at night, when I masturbate, instead of Diane, it is little Brady I see in my erotic fantasies. I know this is just temporary and a result of what I was forced to do. But, I see the ass of my six-year-old boy. I see the ass of my little son, and I beat my meat thinking about fucking it!