Extreme Stories » Spookiest Halloween Ever
I am so fucking horny each time I hear the doorbell, I have to do everything in my power not to let my cock pop right out from under my ripped up jeans. It is not just all the adorable little boys that are showing up at my house to collect candy, it is that I knew, at any minute, it would be my son, and he would be coming back with a lot more than sweets.
Around midnight, I start getting worried, though. I have run out of candy, and I knew my boy should be back by now. What is going on with him? What are the guys doing? I have been nervous all night as it is the first time I have sent my son out on his own to fulfill his Halloween duties.
I get up and pace a bit while trying to figure out if I should head out to start searching for my kid. Then I caught a look at myself in the mirror and knew that it is a bad idea. I am all bloody and pale, and my muscles are bulging out of my ripped shirt and torn up jeans. I can see my big calf muscles showing, and my biceps are looking mighty fine.
I am dressed as a zombie, you see, so I am pretty scary looking. Of course, I can be intimidating without my makeup and costume—I am a big man—but this is definitely a serious costume for me. I am not going out in public like this, and I am feeling too tired and lazy to wash off the makeup, so I decide I will just have to wait it out until the kid came back.
Finally, at around two am the doorbell rings. I knew it could not be any other kids since it is so late. I rush forward and rip open the door. I cannot wait to see what costume my son ended up in tonight, but to my surprise, there is no costume. There is barely a kid there. It is more of some sort of shivering animal. My son is completely naked, fetal on the doorstep, shivering (from the cold? or something else!) and beside him lies the big pillowcase that I had sent him out with to collect candy. It looks quite full.
“Oh, my god,” I shout as I quickly scoop the boy up and bring him inside, quickly checking to make sure the neighbors do not see him, “what the fuck happened to you?”
It is a rhetorical question since I know the kid is in no shape to answer. He looks like he has had a rough night, which is not surprising, but maybe a little rougher than I have anticipated. I guess that is what happens when kids are not supervised.
Okay, so shoot me, maybe I should have checked the kid out more thoroughly, but I am anxious to get to his bag downstairs that I sort of just throw him on his bed and give him a quick look-over. A few bumps and bruises, a little blood, his tiny body looks exhausted and paler than usual, and his dirty blonde, curly hair is matting to his head in some places with god knows what. I would soon find out.
“You’ll sleep it off,” I say to the kid.
I pat his head a bit while trying not to get too much of the goop in his hair on my hand. Then I switch off the light and head down the stairs. Yeah, I know, I sound like I am a bad dad, but I have more important matters to attend to.
These matters are downstairs in the pillowcase my kid brought home. I open it up, and inside I see what I have hoped so much would be there: three videotapes, marked with numbers one to three, but then, as I dug a bit deeper into the bag, I noticed something else—a fourth video.
“What the fuck?” I say out loud.
Why the fuck is there a fourth video in my son’s candy sack? I only picked out three guys. I push away that thought and allow myself to revel in what is before me. Just the site of these videotapes makes me drop my pants and whip out my poor, pent-up monster cock. I take it out and go to town on it with two fists, enjoying the feeling of my calloused hands on my eight-inch tool. Yes, folks, I have a thick eight-inch cock, and I use it on my son. So sue me.
I stand there jerking my dick, covering it in some zombie paint, as I rifle through the rest of his pillowcase. Mostly, it is just candy—looks like the kid had managed to visit a few houses that were not “haunted” along his route. Speaking of which, the little map I had drawn up for him on a piece of orange construction paper was still in there. I used a black crayon so that if anyone found it, they would think he had drawn it himself unless they turned it over and looked at the back, where I had written out (also in black crayon) the instructions for my son:
1. Follow this map EXACTLY.
2. Visit any house you like along the way that looks like it’s giving out candy.
3. You MUST visit each of the three houses with an X before I let you back in the house. Those are extra fun HAUNTED HOUSES.
4. You must videotape your approach to the house, and then give the camera over to the man who answers the door.
5. You must get one piece of candy from each of the HAUNTED HOUSES. DO NOT LEAVE UNTIL THEY’VE GIVEN YOU THE CANDY.
6. Do not eat any candy until you get home and I say you can unless one of the monsters you meet at the HAUNTED HOUSES tells you to.
7. Be safe. Look both ways before you cross the street.
8. Remember to say THANK YOU when you get your candy.
Happy Halloween – Daddy
Reading over the note gives me an odd feeling. My brain is telling me that what I had done was awful—to send a kid his age out on his own on Halloween night knowing that he was going to end up in considerable trouble with some scary strangers. After all, I barely knew anything about any of these strangers that I was sending him to since I had met them online. I checked out their houses from my car, but I didn’t want to meet any of them. Why? I don’t know. Call me a bad dad, but something about not knowing exactly what kind of danger I putting my offspring into had made my cock throb harder than it ever had before.
Knowing that I had just essentially thrown him to the wolves on the scariest night of the year threatens to make me cum before I even pop in the first video, but I know I have to wait. I want to save my load for after I watch for when I am going to have some quality time with my kid.
I dig through the rest of the candy in his bag, but it is just sweets for the little guy. No sign of the three costumes we picked out together a month ago. I had sent him out in his three favorite little getups and given the men at the Haunted Houses a heads up about what he would be wearing so they could plan accordingly. Another pang of guilt ran through me, and once again it makes my drooling cock bounce and throb in my fist. I had let my boy get so worked up about those costumes. I had encouraged his excitement because I had enjoyed his happy face as he ran through the aisle of the costume shop while he tried to decide which three were his absolute favorite.
I should clarify—I had enjoyed the smile on his face knowing that the three costumes he picked would be adding to what would happen to him on Halloween. The three costumes that got his little heart racing and caused big, toothy smile would be part of the torment that my boy would suffer on All Hallows’ Eve.
However, the costumes are completely missing, which is mystifying to me. What possibly could have happened to my son that would make his costumes not worth returning to his dear old dad? I shudder at the thought, and my cock flings a glob of pre-cum against my thigh.
Enough pondering—it is time to watch the videos. I am so excited I cannot wait, and even though it is close to two thirty in the morning, I am planning to watch them all while my baby slut upstairs takes a much-needed rest. I pop the first cassette tape in and plop down on the couch, enjoying the feeling of my big, low-hanging nuts bouncing on the sofa as I wait for the video to queue up.
I see a shot of a normal one-story suburban house like you would see in any neighborhood in any medium-sized town. It has a big front porch with fake cobwebs on it and a jack-o-lantern grinning evilly. From behind the camera my son is breathing heavily as he ascends the steps, then reaches up to ring the doorbell.
“TRICK OR TREAT!” he says excitedly in his tiny little boy voice, as the door swings open.
Behind it is a man in his late forties dressed as an army soldier in full camos. He has a camo hat, shirt, and pants, all in brown, green and khaki, which matches the paint he has smeared all over his square-jawed face to conceal his identity. You can tell he is sexy-hot underneath. His dark, intense eyes look so bright and white in contrast with the dark makeup.
The boy moves the camera up and down the man as I told him to do, giving me a good look at the man. He’s big, just like me, but broader in the shoulders. He has a military build, and it would not be surprising if that costume is actually his old uniform. He has thick arms, and for the fun of the costume, he has ripped the sleeves of his shirt to show off his biceps and tattoo sleeve.
“Hello, sailor,” the man says as he reaches out for the camera.
There’s a bit of a shuffling as the man grabs the recorder from my kid and turns it around. I nearly jizz myself looking at my kid in his costume as I had not seen him in it—I wanted it to be a surprise, so I was in my bedroom when he got dressed and headed out on his Halloween hunt. Good god, he is fucking adorable. The little boy slut is dressed in a cute, innocently white, sailor uniform. It is complete with the bell-bottom pants, blue and white scarf, and tiny little white cap. He is smiling as he gives the man a cute little salute. He clearly does not know what he is in for yet.
“Come on in, sailor,” the stranger says as he escorts my kid inside into the dimly lit living room.
He places the camera on the mantle of his fireplace aiming it perfectly at my son and him. For the first time, I see them together, and I am struck by just how much bigger this man is than my kid. I was always big for my age, and as an adult, I am really intimidating in size. I do not know why my son did not take after me—he has been small since he was a baby and is just a tiny little thing now. This man is even bigger than I am and towers over my little boy, who is standing there in his sexy uniform, anxiously wiggling his feet. The man walks over to the table and picks up a bowl of Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups, takes one and hands it out to my son.
“Tha—” my son starts to say as he reaches for it, but he is cut short when the man yanks it away from him.
“Did I say you could take that candy, sailor slut boy?” he barks at my kid.
Okay, yes, this man definitely was in the military at some point. Either that or he’s really getting into character because he sounds just like a scary army sergeant. It makes my kid tremble—he does not handle getting yelled at well. But, after all, it would not be Halloween without a little fear.
Then, the horrifying stuff begins. I hear an unzipping sound, and the next thing my videotaped son and I know there is a cock in the room. And it’s terrifying. The Halloween monster hanging out of the army man’s fatigues is not even hard yet, and still, its girth is insane. It rises to attention slowly in front of my son, and that is when I realize that it too is covered in camo body paint. WOW.
My son has gone completely stupid, gaga-eyed over it. As if he weren’t choking down my eight-inch dick every day. Kids are pathetic, no.
The thing is long and veiny, but what is most impressive about it, now that it is at full-mast, is the head on it. The thing is the size of a small apple, and though the whole cock is thick, the dick head really sticks out as just being way too big.
My kid has gone silent. He seems to agree.
“All right now, kiddo,” the man barks in a scary military voice as he begins to stroke his throbbing sergeant cock. “You know the drill. You want that piece of candy, you’re gonna have to work for it, sailor! So here’s how it’s gonna work. You’re gonna have to come over here and not just slobber on this cock, but choke on it. You are gonna stuff each and every inch down your throat, and I will fuck your mouth until you fucking snarf up cock snot! I wanna see you gag up my sperm out your little pink nostrils. You hear me?”
“Y...yes…sir,” my son hesitantly replied.
“Did I say you could speak, cumslut? No! So shut the fuck up and begin!”
The sergeant approaches my son, whose eyes are wilder than ever, and uses both of his big thumbs to pull my boy’s mouth open. I am proud to say my son did not resist. When he said he understood, he is probably telling the truth.
The cock insertion began, and he slowly slips the monster into my son’s mouth. You would think that he would take it easy and work my kid into it. Well, maybe it is the way that my kid is adapting to the thick cock in his tiny mouth. I mean, already at only four or five inches of that thing, he is doing his little hiccup routine. That one where he makes this funny snorting, gagging, almost vomiting sound, topped off by a cute little hiccup. What a champ! You go, sailor!
Inch by inch the commanding officer presses on, using my son’s ears to help get the last few inches into the warm orifice. He throws his head back and laughs hysterically as he feels the boy’s nose buried in his pubes.
I look at my boy’s lips. They are stretched as wide as I have ever seen them, his little face is turning red from lack of oxygen, and his lips are not pink at all. Oh no, his little lips are green, brown, and black—they’re slathered in the paint from the sergeant!
That paint begins to run as my boy gasps, drools and gags. Spit is flowing out his mouth like a waterfall, pooling at his little white knees in a wet green and brown pool of boy saliva. It is getting all over his costume, too. The sergeant stops laughing. Neither my child nor I am ready for what happens next—immediate, instantaneous, extreme skull fucking.
Seriously, he gives no break at all. Alternating between fistfuls of the boy’s hair or his little ears in both hands, the sergeant gives the child a skull fucking that he is going to remember. I have never done what the man on screen is doing to my child. Who is the man on screen with his cock buried all the way in my son’s convulsing throat, then out and then back all the way in again? Why the fuck do I care? I am getting off, right? What else matters? Sorry, son.
This goes on for minutes, all the while my son’s eyes water and his nose drools snot as he makes his hiccup noise as his throat is impaled on that fat fist of a head. The guy fucking my son’s face—whoever he is—is still in character.
“Suck my dick, you fucking faggot sailor! You’re gonna shoot my cock snot out your nose if it kills you, ya hear me? Aw fuck, I hope you have figured out how you’re gonna do that because here it comes!”
The sergeant lets out a roar, but then he falls oddly silent. I am focused on my kid, whose eyes are wide in surprise and fear, waiting for the stranger’s load to flood his mouth. And then he does. And I’m so proud of my boy. You know why. Because here is how it goes down: for the first few seconds, my boy tightly squeezes his eyes shut. I see his throat trying to work down the load that’s obviously pouring down his throat. I can see the sergeant’s balls churning as they expel the massive load, and he just moans and groans as he feeds my son.
Then it happens—a snort, a gag, a grunt, and a groan, and it works! My kid straight up snarfs cum out his nose. Imagine if you will, a tiny child on his knees in front of a stranger who is spurting cum out of his nose. The cum does not just dribble out. He is coughing and gagging too much for that. It shoots out of his nose in adorable little spurts. I doubt that it feels pleasurable, but it feels good for sergeant. I can basically time his shots of sperm as you see them fly out of my son’s nostrils like a little dragon.
And then, just as quickly as it started, it’s over. The orgasm stops, the cum slows to a steady dribble out my son’s nose, and the man extricates his giant cock from my son’s throat. The kid falls back on his back on the floor, exhausted. The now satisfied sergeant walks over to the mantle and picks up the camera. He points it down at my son so I can get a good look at him.
My offspring is lying there, panting, gagging and drooling. His costume is a mess. What was once sparkling white is now coated in his drool, and the man’s jizz and body paint. No wonder that costume didn’t make it home.
“Here’s your candy, sailor.”
I see a Reece’s Peanut Butter Cup fall into the frame, landing squarely on my son’s tummy. My son looks at it and then rubs his jaw.
“My mouth is too sore to eat, sir,” he says meekly through his gags.
“Then save it for later. I don’t care. Just change your costume and get out.”
The camera flicks off.
Holy. Fucking. Shit. I cannot even begin to tell you how many thoughts are running through my brain. I have just seen the hottest porno ever created, and my cock was well aware of that fact. In both of my fists, my cock, already rubbed raw, is throbbing, drooling a literal pool of pre-fuck on the carpet below. It is the hardest cock I have ever felt, and it is my own! But the real mind trip was whom and what I had just seen.
First of all, this huge cock I am holding created our first-time porn star, like literally—that slut came out of these nuts!
Secondly, who was his co-star? That man was incredibly hot but so incredibly twisted! How could he fuck his cock into a little boy’s soft, warm mouth and intentionally squirt sperm the wrong way up his nasal cavity?
This was the first house on my boy’s route, and I picked it because it was supposed to be the easiest. By no means was that man easy on my son. I guess it might be because I had sent him some of the pornos my boy and me and forgive me, but I’m not exactly the gentlest fucker. My kid will tell you all about it if he’s ever able to speak again following that brutal assault on his vocal cords.
Only six months ago, when my wife died, my son had never even seen me naked. Since then, in such a short span, the kid has grown up so much. Admittedly, I gave him a crash course in cock, but it was the best way for me to deal with the grief of losing my wife.
And I think our first adventure in incest was good for my son’s grief, too. He had been so close to his mother, and he was devastated by her loss, so I found a way to fill the hole she had left inside him. Of course, it probably wouldn’t have been his first choice to have the tool I used to fill that hole was his own daddy’s very angry, very big, very scary cock.
Fuck this is getting me too horned up. I walked to the bottom of the stairs, still jacking my dick.
“Hey, son, just watched your first vid! What a fucking slut you are! Now that I know you shoot cum outta those cute little nostrils so willingly, we’re gonna be doing that a lot—maybe first thing every morning. Okay, back to my programming!”
I didn’t know if the slut could hear me in the state he is in, but I did not care. I had to get that off my chest, and my son is always there to lend an ear (or hole).
So with that, I rifle through my son’s bag of candy and find videotape two. I plop down on the couch and start rubbing my “zombie” cock as the tape queued up
What is it about Halloween that makes me so evil? Okay, so maybe I am kind of an evil guy all around. I mean, I do enjoy putting my young son into dangerous situations and watching him work his way out of it. That is not good fatherly behavior any time of year, but why am I so much worse on Halloween—maybe it is the darkness of the holiday itself. It is a pretty fucked up day when you think about it. Perhaps it is because all day I see little cuties dressed up in costumes, and I cannot do anything about it, so I make it worse on my son.
Those are likely contributing factors, but I think I know the real reason I get extra mean on Halloween. It is because ever since he was old enough to remember what Halloween is about, the holiday is his favorite day of the year. He even loves it more than Christmas. Starting in September, he starts blabbing on about it, telling his mom and me what he would dress up as and asking us how much candy we would allow him to eat. The boy has a real sweet tooth, and I use to get mad at my wife for letting him gorge on candy. I do not want my son to become some fat-ass.
But now that my wife is dead, I definitely do not have to worry about my son gaining weight. I keep him on a rigorous, high-protein diet. Most of his meals consist of my jizz, a handful of vitamins and maybe some veggies. He whines about being hungry a great deal, but it keeps him in fantastic shape, and I know he likes to look good for his daddy.
So yeah, his excitement about this holiday gets me worked up, and I know it makes me sound cruel, but I definitely contribute to getting him excited. In addition to letting him pick out three costumes, I am also talking up his candy all the time. I kept telling him how much he was going to get and that I am going to let him eat it all on Halloween night, just like he always wanted. Of course, he would have to go through the wringer first, but I did not feel like sharing that bit with him until Halloween night.
Speaking of which, I guess it is not Halloween anymore. It is nearly two thirty in the morning, and I have only watched one of the four tapes of my son performing disgusting, perverted acts with men.
As I wait for the next video to start, I thought I heard something. It is like a spooky moan—like a ghost or witch or something. I suppose the Halloween spirit is just getting to me because the second time I hear it, it is clear that it is coming from upstairs. My little boy is trying to call me.
“You’re supposed to be resting!” I holler at my boy.
I climb up the stairs, my rock hard cock flopping in front of me. It has green zombie paint all over it. What a messy holiday this is turning into. I turn the corner into my son’s room to find him lying there on his bed in the fetal position. He is shivering. Apparently, he was too lazy to even lift up the covers and get under them. He looked cold all naked there on his bed, but if he is too dumb to cover himself up, I am not going to help him.
“What is it, boy?” I said.
Slowly my boy rolls over to face me. His face is so pale it is a little scary, but that is what Halloween is all about. The whole reason I put my son through these dangerous situations is that I want him to have a good Halloween scare. And I want him to be frightened out of his wits.
Judging by his wide, shocked eyes, it is clear he is still terrified from his night. I cannot believe he is still awake, but that is what sluts are like, you know. They cannot sleep if they are still obsessing over the sex they have had. And by the looks of him, my boy has had a lot of sex tonight.
My boy mumbles something, but I cannot hear it. I walk over to him.
“What’d you say, son?”
He repeats it, but he is still too weak, so I press my ear right to his lips.
“One more time, boy.”
“Please...one...candy…please, Daddy,” he hoarsely stutters.
Aw! The boy wants one piece of candy! Well, after giving me such a show, I decide that he deserves a little token of appreciation. I run downstairs, reach into the bag and grab the first piece that I can get my hands on, and then run back upstairs.
His eyes widen when he sees the candy in my hand—a sweet tart. It is not much, but he looks pretty goddamn happy to see it. I guess, after the darkness he has been through tonight, a little pink piece of sugar is pretty much the most hopeful thing in the world.
“Here ya go, kiddo,” I say as I walk over to him.
Just as he had for the stranger that destroyed his face, he opened his mouth wide to accept the gift. What a trained little slut I have—and all this in only six months! I start to put the candy in his mouth, but then I look in his mouth, and I cannot believe what I’m seeing.
His throat and mouth are still absolutely destroyed even though it has been hours since the encounter with the soldier that fucked his face. With the hand that is not holding the candy, I reach forward and grab his lower jaw, hooking my fingers over his bottom teeth. I yank open his mouth further than any dentist would recommend getting a good look. Apparently, children’s throats do not play well with massive adult cocks. It is really ripped up. His uvula is the size of a peach pit, and I cannot imagine what is going on down in the recesses of my son’s gullet.
And once I have that thought, I realize I need to know, so while my little champ whimpers, I start reaching back, thrusting aside that swollen uvula to see what it is like down in the deeps. Despite his skills, my son still has somewhat of a gag reflex, and I can feel it going into overdrive as my thick fingers turn the corner down into his throat.
“Oh shit,” I say as I feel it down there.
His throat is squeezing on my fingers tight as fuck, almost cutting off the circulation. His body is producing saliva at a rapid-fire rate, no doubt trying to cleanse the wounds from a brutal face fucking. It is like a hot, wet pussy.
“No way, no candy for you,” I say as I withdraw my fingers. As I do, I pull a big string of cummy spit out of his throat, and I wipe it on his lips. “No candy! Candy isn’t good for sore throats. You need some cough medicine, sweetie.”
I leave him there, tossing the sweet tart in the toilet as I head to his room. He cannot have candy at a time like this. I fish around in the medicine cabinet and find the medicine. Dayquil, hmmm, this stuff will probably keep him up, but it seems he does not want to sleep anyway. And besides, I like the way Dayquil fucks with his head.
I head back to his room and start to measure out a portion of the orange stuff for him, but then a terrible idea comes over me. Maybe it’s the orange color of the medicine—so reminiscent of Halloween, but I feel that I need to do it, even if it is especially evil. I pour the Dayquil out and over my cock and then fist my dick to lube it up real good.
“Open wide,” I say to my boy, “time for your medicine!”
Before my son can protest, I am in his mouth and pushing forward. I have to know how that bruised and beaten throat feels on my cock, so I push and push without stopping, ignoring his moans as I go deep.
Now, my son hates Dayquil, so it is no wonder he starts gagging like a motherfucker once I get back in his throat. He’s flailing and thrashing as I push, but it’s only because he hates his medicine so much. And boys need their medication, right? So you understand why I had to keep pushing and pushing and pushing.
Unfortunately, his velvety gullet is too much for me, and after about fifteen minutes or so of this, I have to pull out because I am afraid I will cum. I do not want to cum yet because there are still three movies waiting for me downstairs. And then, once I have edged to all of them, I will come back up and unload my sperm. I start to walk away from him, but through his gasps and coughs, I hear him say his favorite phrase.
“Candy, Daddy, please.”
“Oh, all right,” I say
I am annoyed that he is distracting me from my movie viewing. I head down to the bathroom, bend over, and pluck the little round candy from the water. There’s some piss in there from earlier, but that’s nothing new to my boy.
I walk back to his room and flick the candy in his direction. I linger for a moment, seeing what he will do. He looks up at the candy, which is stuck to his headboard. He reaches for it with his hand, but his trembling little arm is too weak and falls back to the bed. So instead, he cranes his neck, sticks out that pink tongue that makes him so popular and licks off the candy. It dissolves on his tongue, and I know it must taste more like piss than sugar, but he seems content with it and falls back onto his pillow to resume his recovery.
I head back downstairs and flop down on the couch. All this talk about candy has made me hungry, so I pull my son’s pillowcase full of candy up onto the couch and dig in. The kid got so much candy this year that he will not miss a few pieces if I have a little snack. I grab the remote as I pop a full-sized Snicker into my mouth and turn on the TV.
The second videotape begins.
My son is not the brightest bulb in the box, which is why it does not surprise me that he starts this video out by carrying the camera backward. He may be dumb, but this time it works out because it gives me a full view of his second costume.
It is probably very familiar to you—it may be the most popular costume of all time for little boys—Spiderman. I picked out one that was a size too small for him, so it looks like it is painted on. From where I can see him, I can just see a close up of red and blue, but I know how the costume looks on him. I let him wear it whenever he wants. It’s so tight in all the right places. There is not a full mask, just a hat piece that comes over his eyes. It makes it a bit hard for him to see, but it is absolutely adorable.
My son figures out that the camera is backward and flips the camera around. Now I can see the house I’m sending him to. Unlike the first house, which was on a residential street, this one seems to be tucked back in the woods a bit. I didn’t visit any of these houses or meet any of these men, mind you. They were all guys who I just found online. I had no idea what was in store for my son. If the first video was any indication, I was in for a significant shock.
The house was old and rickety, not neat and new like the first one. The porch creaked under him as he took up the steps. There was no doorbell, so my son just rapped his little fist on the door. I hear him clear his throat, and I remember that at this point in the night, his throat must have been on fire. When the door opens, my son lets out a little scream, and I give out a gasp. The figure in the doorway truly is terrifying. He is bigger than the last guy and coal black except for a scary white spider painted on his chest. He’s dressed as Venom, one of the archenemies of Spiderman. It is truly frightening—he even has the scary mask with the insanely sharp and large teeth and the grotesquely long tongue. It looks so real!
Then I realize that the long, pointy tongue is real as it starts to waggle at the boy, licking the teeth of the mask. The camera begins to shake, and I realize my little boy is paralyzed in fear. I am really giving him a good scare this Halloween!
Suddenly the camera turns, and I realize my son is running away. That little shit! So rude! Was this tape going to be a bust? However, I soon hear big footsteps behind him, and then the camera jerks and falls to the ground. It drops to the ground facing the house, and through the leaves on the ground, I can see that Spiderman’s super speed did nothing to save him from Venom. My little boy has been picked up, tossed over Venom’s shoulder, and is now being thrown into the house. Venom follows him in and shuts the door. I curse, realizing that I’m going to miss out on video number two because my shit-for-brains kid dropped the camera. I start to shut the video off when I hear the door to the dilapidated shack open up. Venom is back without my son, and he’s walking toward the camera. He picks it up and stares into it, and the sight is genuinely frightening. His big, long tongue is just waggling at the camera, and his teeth are terrifying. He’s letting out a low, creepy laugh.
My son must be scared shitless.
Then, thankfully, Venom brings the camera inside. I see the interior of his house—which is sparse and messy—but eventually, he opens a door that leads down into the basement. It is lit in dim red light, which gives it a really slutty quality. Wow, this was going to be good.
He situates the camera on a flat surface, then swivels it so that it’s facing my son. And that’s when my mouth drops open in shock. Along the back wall of his dingy basement is a giant web. It’s made out of black rope and has cuffs and cranks attached to it. It is definitely a spider web, but it looks like it was plucked out of an S&M freak’s wet dream.
And in the middle of that spider web is you know whom. My son is tied in an X formation with his little arms stretched above his head and his legs spread wide. He is up right now, and he is wiggling and struggling like a little fly caught in a web. It is clearly useless.
My heart skips a beat when Venom appears on camera with a long, scary knife in his hand. What is he going to do with that? I don’t have to wait long to find out.
“Stop struggling,” the man says in that scary Venom voice of his.
Once again, my boy is paralyzed in fear. Venom moves forward and traces the knife down from my boy’s neck to his groin. I can see my boy trembling, and I realize that this move has not cut my boy, thankfully, but instead sliced my son’s favorite costume in two. No wonder my boy is so upset!
I watch as Venom slowly removes every stick of clothing on my boys’ body, except for the red mask cover the boy’s eyes. I know it must be almost impossible for my little guy to see, what with the mask and the dark lighting. That must make it all the spookier!
As Venom slices at my boy’s clothes, I make a shocking discovery about the Venom costume. He’s wearing tight, black, rubber pants, and his mask is pretty scary and real. But the body of the costume—his torso—is not covered in a stitch of clothing. No, the man is black as night, and it is not body paint.
Damn. I have handed over my pale, little white boy to a man whose skin is so dark that it honestly looks like a black costume. He must have painted the white spider on his bare chest. I cannot wait to see what his cock would be like! Finally, my trapped boy is nude. He has stopped struggling and just hangs there, looking defeated. He is figured out that this is not a situation Spiderman can get himself out of.
Venom disappears off camera and then comes back with a massive trunk. He puts it down near the web, opens it, and then begins fishing in it. The first thing he pulls out is a short whip. It is one of those that are just a handle with a bunch of pieces of leather all tied together.
“Oh shit,” I say.
I have never done this with my kid. He does not even know what S&M is. He does not understand that some men enjoy whipping and torturing little boys, putting them through intense pain, but he is about to find out. Part of me wishes I had said no whipping or abusing the boy, but then I look down at my cock and realize that I’m painting myself in pre-cum. I chew on some more candy as I begin to jerk off watching the show.
The man teases my whimpering little son for a while, just lightly dragging the leather up and down his body. I even hear my son giggle a little bit because it must be tickling. Then, Venom stops, pulls it away, pauses for a moment, and then—SLAP! SLAP!
My son screams out as the whip lands directly on his tiny, flat little tummy.
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
Three more hits, without even pausing! One more on his tummy, then two more on his little squirming, twiggy little thighs.
Fuck, how is it that watching my little boy being tied up and whipped makes me so goddamn horny? What is wrong with me? Apparently, it’s not just I that gets horny from it. As the man beats my son, he also pulls out his giant, black cock.
Giant isn’t even the right word. The thing is so thick, and long it’s downright terrifying. It is curved up in a nasty way, but what’s really amazing about it is not its size, it is the color. It is even blacker than the skin on the rest of his body—except for the head, which is bright red. It really looks like some sort of gorilla or donkey cock. Yikes.
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
The sounds of the whips on my son’s body are joined by the sound of the man jerking off as he tortures my kid. He even whips my kid in the face a few times. Then he stops and leaves my boy panting there, hanging limply, red all over. He disappears off camera, and I realize he’s come around to control the camera’s lens. It zooms in on my boy’s cock and—oh, my god—you would not believe it, but all that whipping has made my boys’ tiny little cocklet rock hard.
I leap up from the couch and run to the bottom of the stairs.
“You didn’t tell me you were a pain pig, slut!” I yell to my boy and then laugh.
I head back to the couch, not wanting to miss the show. By the time I get back to the couch, the man is putting the whip back in the trunk. He then walks behind the web and starts to climb up it. As he does, my boy bounces a bit on the ropes, because he is bound so tightly. Venom climbs up and up until his pulsing cock is right next to my boy’s face, coming through from behind the rope and resting on his cheeks. For a moment, I think I see a tear rolling down from my son’s eye, but then I realize that the cock is just steadily oozing pre-cum on the little cock slut.
The man is a contortionist! He bends down, looking like a real black spider so that my boy’s mouth is just above Venom’s cock. He looks right at the camera, sticks out that terrifyingly long tongue. It looks almost fluorescent against his dark skin. He leans over and sticks his tongue right in my little boy’s ear.
The look on my son’s face had me laughing and jerking harder than ever. He was staring out the corner of his eye, too afraid to turn his head fully. He was literally trembling, but his cocklet was still rock hard as ever, but at the same time, his face is indicating his disgust. I am guessing because he has about three inches of thick, wet, adult tongue in his ear canal.
The scary man withdraws his tongue and begins to speak in a low, growling hiss. To be honest, it makes my heart skip a beat it’s so creepy. This guy is really hamming it up, and my kid is totally falling for it!
“All right, Spidey,” the man says to my naked child. “Listen up. I’m here to teach you—and your daddy—a little lesson.”
Uh, oh, I think. My heart starts to pound harder. What had I gotten my kid into?
“Do you know what a boygasm is?” the man hissed.
My boy says nothing. He just shakes in his bonds.
“Answer me!” the man screams in a sudden, loud voice, and he gave the web a good shake making my kid jostle around like a ragdoll.
“N-no!” the boy said. “Does it hurt?”
“That depends,” the man said. “There are many ways to have a boygasm, and we’re going to discover a few of them. After I finish my lesson, I’m going to give you a piece of candy and kick you out. So get ready, boy, for the scariest ride of your life starting now.”
Suddenly, the man leans forward, grabbing one of the horizontal ropes that make up the web and yanked it up and over my son’s head. He lowers it down until it is running right across my little boy’s neck.
“Too tight?” the man said.
My boy could only cough in response as his face turns bright red and his eyes bulge out. Apparently, that was enough of a reaction for Venom, who leaps down from the web, circles around front, and picks up the whip again.
My little boy struggles, but the rope across his neck is tight, and he is not really able to move much if he wants to breathe. His eyes are practically bugging out of his head as the man approaches him, raises the whip, and begins beating the boy’s hard little cocklet over and over and over.
Had there been a smidge more air going to his brain, I am sure my son would have yelled, but he did not. He just took the beating on his junk without making a peep. His little lips turned blue—that is how much he liked it!
As Venom beats my son, he leans forward with his big, black foot and presses a pedal on the floor, which begins to shift the web backward. In no time, my son is on his back, and his ankles are high in the air. The man did not miss a beat whipping my boy’s cocklet as he rotated him. I really appreciated how much effort he put into this special spooky night. He must have rigged this up just for my kid. And he obviously put some care into what I would see, too. The camera angles are perfect, and the image is crisp. Like real porn!
Once the camera was flipped back, I had a great view of my boy’s little pink button of a butt hole. I had told the guys not to fuck him, and they had promised not to, but to be honest, an e-mail promise sent from a boy-loving stranger on Craigslist isn’t exactly the most honorable vow.
However, what I saw on that camera completely changed my mind because right there in front of my eyes I saw my child’s little kiddie cunt winking seductively. With each whip to his hard little cocklet, the boy’s asshole puckered and kissed the air. That small pink rubber band of his was just calling out to me. ‘Please, Daddy,’ it said. ‘Make it hurt.’
As if to answer this call, the whipping got harder and faster. It was unbelievable how quickly Venom could move that whip. This man was clearly a skilled sadist. My son just took it. He struggled to breathe while still giving me that cute little sphincter wink. I couldn’t believe his little butthole could keep up. Just when I thought my boy was going to break from the whipping, the man stopped. He stood back for a moment, and then suddenly began to laugh.
“Here it comes!” he announced.
I don’t know how the man knew, but he was right. Just at that moment, after taking a severe ball beating, my boy began to have his very first dry cum. The little guy was thrashing around like he had the strength of ten men. His minuscule body was wracked with waves of freakish boy pleasure as he experienced his very first orgasm. My mouth hung open, and I had to stop touching my dick as I watched the show. I was too afraid that I would cum.
Think about your first orgasm. What was it like? Was it a normal wet dream? Maybe some fun humping something. Well, my little son had a completely different experience for his first cum. Instead of some curious and cute little story, my son would always remember that his first orgasm occurred in the darkened basement of a very deranged, very cruel nigger, who liked to see little boys writhe as they screamed and cried.
Speaking of screaming and crying, that’s exactly what my son did as soon as his boygasm subsided because the instant he fell slack against the ropes of his prison, Venom was behind him and removing the rope from his neck, letting the air come rushing back in.
The sound of my boy’s yell of confusion was so loud I had to turn the TV down. It was a noise of pure animalism, and it was music to my fatherly ears. Eventually, it died down, but my son’s experience with Venom was far from over. He lay there, panting in the ropes while Venom backed off for a bit and let him catch his breath, but only for a moment. Venom was back on screen, smiling at me through that fucking scary mask.
My boy tried to lift his head up a few times to see what Venom was doing, but it was useless. His little orgasm rocked him so hard that he could not even keep his head up. It reminded me of when he was a little baby in my arms! Not much has changed!
Venom smiled at me once more, and then he stuck out that long, scary tongue. Seriously, it looked like the thing came at least three inches out of his mouth. It was insane. Slowly, Venom dropped to his knees, so his face was between my little boy. He slowly rotated the web, so instead of looking at my sons’ hole straight, on, I had a side view. I could see his little legs in the air, then his little left ass cheek, but not the hole anymore. I could also see the profile of Venom’s face as he lined his mouth up with my son’s little pucker.
And then I saw that tongue go out. I knew the instant that it hit my boy’s hole because my son let out a scream and whimper. By the third or fourth lick, those shocked, scared screams were unmistakable moans of pleasure.
I watched the stranger lap at my boy’s hole, feeling intensely jealous that I had not had a chance to do much of that with my kid, but also immensely horned up that some man I had never met was tasting my little guy’s pucker.
My little Spiderboy started to thrash again. I could tell the slow licks were getting to him, and so could Venom, apparently because soon those licks turned into pokes as he began to flick his tongue in and out of his mouth like a reptile.
“Oh!” my boy moaned in surprise as his asshole was penetrated by Venom’s tongue.
Venom gave the camera a sick smile as he kept the tip of his long tongue in the boy’s hole. Then he began to push it forward.
“OOOOH NOOOO!” my son cried out as his hole was invaded by the long, relentless pink tongue, but those were his final words because as he took more of the stranger’s tongue, he lost his ability to speak or protest. Once again, he was just moaning in pleasure, as he took more and more tongue.
Soon my son was getting a good old-fashioned tongue fucking. I’d never seen such a flexible tongue. It was almost like a snake the way it crept in and out of my boy’s hole without stopping. The kid must have had at least four or five inches of pink in him when the next boygasm started.
What set my boy off, however, wasn’t just the tongue in his asshole. No, because that boygasm started just as Venom reached up with his hands and tweaked my little boy’s tiny red nipples. Hard. Real titty-twisters. The boy yelped in pain, but he began to boygasm right then and there.
That was when I realized I’d raised a real pain pig. As he got his nipples abused, my little hero rode out his second orgasm. Such a young age and he was already having multiple orgasms—though I’d heard somewhere that little boys can have more than one, just as women do.
It was a lovely sight. Though I could not see my son’s little asshole puckering, I enjoyed watching his sorry excuse for a dick twitch helplessly. What was going through my son’s mind at that moment? Was he thinking he should be ashamed that before reaching the third grade, that he was experiencing such an adult moment? Or was it pure, unadulterated pleasure that racked his little body on those ropes in that stranger’s basement?
These are the kinds of questions a father must ask himself. I started jerking myself again as my little boy came down from his second boygasm. He looked exhausted as he hung there, panting through his mask, his slender tummy rising and falling. He was clearly coated in a thin sheen of sweat, and he apparently could no longer support his own weight, as he was completely slack against the ropes.
“Did you know little boys can have many, many orgasms in a row? It is exhausting and somewhat painfully pleasurable, but it’s possible.” The man was speaking to no one in particular—but his words were enough to bring about tears in my son (and a few tears of pre-cum out of my cockhead.)
“P-p-please...no more. I just want my candy!” my son said in between pants, but his tiny voice was barely audible. It was so quiet that I had to rewind and listen to it over and over with the audio turned up.
His words seemed to have no effect on the stranger I’d sold my son too either. He just started humming as he rummaged through the chest again. I couldn’t wait to see what he was going to pull out next.
My mouth dropped open when I saw what it was. The man had withdrawn a long, slender, metal rod. On the very end was a metal ball just a bit larger than a golf ball. The rest of the rod was about as thick as a bottle of poppers and about thirteen inches long. However, what was really shocking about it was the cord that came from the bottom of it, which was hooked up to a box with a dial on top.
My son started to shake as soon as he saw it, but he was still too weak to fight as the man turned a few cranks on the web, spreading the boy’s legs savagely wide. My kid was practically doing a split—good thing I’d worked with him on his flexibility.
My flesh and blood started sobbing as the man began to lube up the instrument with what looked to me like Crisco. I don’t think the kid knew what the toy was, but his little slut instinct apparently made it clear that he was in for something intense.
“It’s time,” the man said with finality.
Then he approached my boy, pulled the toy toward, and started to press the ball end of the metal device up against my boy’s cunt.
The noise my son made when that big, rough, metal ball invaded his tight little semi-virginal pussy made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Talk about spooky! My kid sounded like a mixture of a dying raccoon and a female porn star as he started to the metal rod to the hilt. But he only had about an inch of the ball up his ass and twelve inches to go.
Needless to say, the rest of the ball and the rod that followed were eye-opening experiences for my boy, quite literally. I hate to admit it, but I truly enjoyed focusing on the fear, pain, and sorrow in his long-ago bright blue eyes as he felt that metal ball rearrange a few internal organs. The man suddenly stopped, and he and my son both looked down at my kid’s stomach in shock. They both had opposite but equally arousing reactions. My kid let out a wail as if he had been shot, while the man started laughing hysterically. He came back over to the camera and zoomed in on my kid’s tummy so I could see what he saw.
My kid was still panting, and each time he inhaled, something amazing happened. With each shallow, shuddering inhalation, that magical little ball appeared just above his navel. You could see it clear as day—there’s no way to hide your shame if you’re trolling for dick before you have mastered the alphabet!
“Jesus, now that’s slutty!” the man said with glee.
Then he did something unexpected, he flicked that little metal ball. Pretty hard, too. The dying raccoon sound was back, but louder this time. Apparently, that had hurt my kid quite a bit, but then do you know what happened?
My son spiraled into another spontaneous boygasm. His shriek of pain slowly became a vibrating moan of intense pleasure as he rode out the tidal wave of his biggest boygasm to date. His whole body shook, and his little cocklet was wagging up and down, smacking pubic bone. This earned him a few more whips on his hard, twitching cocklet, but my kid was too in the orgasm to react. In case you lost count, this little whore has now had three full-body orgasms—all within fifteen minutes.
“All right, kiddo. One more boygasm, and you can have your candy. Are you listening to me?”
My little boy looked up with big, sad, vacant eyes. He looked absolutely exhausted. The ball in his stomach was still visible, but it was clear he was too checked out to listen. So the man did something sure to get his attention. He walked over to my boy and with one shove of his fist, rammed the rest of the rod into my boy’s body. My son was awake then! He stiffened up, his eyes awake and alert as he mouth let forth a great wail of pain.
“PLEASE!” he shouted in his high little boy voice. “I can’t do anymore! I’m too tired! I want to get out of here and go get more candy! PLEASE!”
The man chuckled at this. “If you had been listening, you would know that you’re almost done. You have to have one more boygasm, and you have to do it yourself.”
“Wh…what?” my son wavering voice answered.
His eyes went wide, and he looked so scared and confused. Apparently, the man didn’t feel like explaining himself. Instead, he went over and began to untie my son. He undid his arms first, and the boy fell forward like a rag doll. The kind man caught him and held him in one arm, breathing into his face through that scary mask, as he undid the other legs. Then he dropped the kid to the floor.
My exhausted little camper lay there in a huddled mess on the floor, too weak to even reach back and try to pull the invading metal rod out of his ass. Luckily the man in charge was kind enough to kick the box with the dial on it toward my son. He then bent down, picked up my son’s tiny, pale hand, and set it on top of that dial. He turned the dial only slightly.
Instantly my child started to spasm on the floor. After watching the boy flop around like a fish for a while, the man turned it back off. It was now clear that the dial was designed to shock my boy’s guts from the inside.
“You have five minutes to boygasm, or else you’re staying here forever with me. You’ll never see your daddy again.”
My heart started to pound. Was he serious? Obviously, my kid had made it out of there, but I wondered if I had put my son in a situation that might actually end up with him becoming a permanent slave to a black master. Why did that thought make my cock grow harder?
Either way, my son clearly believed the man.
“No!” he shouted as he looked up at the man with pleading eyes, but all he saw in return was the blank, frightening stare of the Venom mask and the giant, black cock bobbing over him.
“Yes. You’re down to four minutes. Use the dial.”
Slowly, my child sat up, still impaled fully on that rod, and reached for the little box of doom. It took him another half a minute to work up the courage to turn it even slightly, and once again just the slightest turn made him flop around all over. Eventually, he regained composure and managed to shut it off.
“Three minutes!” Venom hissed.
“Oh, god,” my son wailed.
Then I saw him do something very mature. He sat up, took a deep breath, and made a very adult decision. He really sacrificed himself for the game I’d created for him, and I’m eternally thankful for it because what he did was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
With tears in his eyes and fear written all over his face, my son reached forward and turned the dial all the way. If the slight turn of the dial had made him flop like a fish, then the full turn made him look like he’d been grabbed by an invisible ghost and thrown around the room. My kiddie whore lost hold of the dial in his convulsions, which means he just had to take it as the evil instrument my friend gave him cooked about ninety-eight percent of his intestinal tract.
He rode electrified rod like a fucking cowboy at a rodeo. I think he may have secretly thrown the dial because he was enjoying the electro-torture so much. In any event, the man let him take it for the full three minutes my boy had left before he had to boygasm.
But I’m proud to say he made it. Just as he was approaching the end of the time limit, my new friend grabbed the box and turned the dial off. The sound of the snapping and sizzling was delightful, but to my surprise, my boy didn’t stop flopping around. In fact, he was still screaming. That’s when I realized he was boygasming—HARD.
Venom realized it too and quickly bent down to yank the rod out of my boy in one swift and cruel pull. My boy didn’t even notice—once again, he was selfishly wrapped up in his own boygasm.
I got a nice view of his gaping little hole. It was hard to miss seeing that the anal ring, as well as the seven inches or so of my boy’s anal canal that I could see, was bright red from the ouchies. Somebody get this kid a Band-Aid!
All good things must come to an end, as my son learned on that dungeon floor. Eventually that final and most potent orgasm came to a close, leaving my mess of an offspring lying on the floor, but he perked up only slightly when the man said, “Time for candy.”
The guy disappeared off screen for a moment, then returned a bite-size Milky War bar. He unwrapped it and then held it out to my kid.
The boy was too weak to lift his head, but he did manage to open his mouth. For just a moment, I saw a glimmer of happiness in his eyes as the candy popped into his mouth. However, that only lasted for about a millisecond, because just after, the boy got something equally brown and tasty—Venom’s cockhead.
I genuinely have a lot of respect for Venom. Not only does he know how to put my child through the wringer and give him multiple pain-induced boygasms, but he could also cum in a kid’s mouth without even touching his dick.
I don’t think my son got to enjoy the Milky Way much, because his lips were quickly plugged up and his mouth was swiftly filled with cum. He coughed and sputtered as he ingested the evil spider’s cock slop, then embarrassingly spit up both the cum and the chocolate in his mouth.
The video ended with a close up of my only child, his burned anus still winking, covered in the cock snot of some total stranger, but he did have chocolate all over his face, so I suppose he was enjoying Halloween as any child would.
I enjoyed the video immensely.
I hear more of the spooky moaning coming from upstairs. I can’t go check on him now—I’m too anxious. There are still two videotapes, my cock is still oozing cum, and my kid is once again trying to get all the attention on himself. So annoying. I march to the bottom of the stairs.
I shout up, “You’re fine!”
All that returns is a high-pitched whine and a few sobs, which I’m going to take as a, “Yes Daddy, I’m fine.”
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and give myself quite a fright. I had forgotten that I still have my bloody, green/gray zombie makeup on. With my cock still jutting out of my ripped, bloody jeans—a pole of peach and purple flesh stained with some of my green makeup, I look like any child’s ultimate nightmare. And I guess that’s what I am, really because my son has already met two nightmares tonight. He got his face battered in by a military Adonis with a penchant for making boys shoot cum out their nose, and then he had been brutally beaten, whipped, electrocuted, and forced to boy cum by a twisted black man with a mean streak.
However, there was one man who was at the top of it all—one man who let those two strangers brutalize the boy. And that man was I. I’m my son’s worst nightmare, and that’s how I want it. I know it sounds awful, but ever since I started to see my son as a sex toy instead of a human, I have wanted to scare the shit out of him continually—and what better time to do so than on Halloween? Ignoring the kid’s moans, I reach into the bag and pull out the tape marked with a three. It’s time to get this party started.
Shit. It looks like Venom kicked my kid out before the boy had a chance to get dressed. The first thing I see when the camera comes on is my boy squatting on the porch in the dim light, rummaging through his pillowcase. Thank god that house was tucked back from the road. I can tell my son is frantic trying to get dressed. Fortunately for him, it’s late at night, and no one could see the porch from the road anyway. I can’t remember what the third costume was until I see my son pull it out of his pillowcase and slip it on quickly.
Then I remember. I had chosen to “recycle” one of my son’s costumes from a few years ago. I bought him two brand new costumes (which he has already ruined!), and I could not justify spending that much more money on the kid. So I had him tell me what his favorite costume was from years’ past, and decided to add that into the night. Unfortunately, it’s been a few years since he wore this costume, and it looks absolutely ridiculous. I also cannot believe my son picked this costume as his favorite. It’s the dumbest thing ever—just an ordinary sheet with two holes cut in it—a classic ghost. Except since he’s grown quite a bit since he wore it trick or treating with his now dead mommy, it is way too small. So small, in fact, that as I watch him try it on, I realize that the very bottom of his round, plump ass is visible when he moves. And you can just barely see the bottom of his abused hairless little scrotal sack. The kid is obviously self-conscious as fuck because he keeps trying to yank down the sheet to cover more of him. But it’s useless—my son is on display, and he still has one more house to visit.
Fortunately, the house isn’t too far, and like I said, it’s late, and all the good little boys and girls who aren’t trolling for cock have gone to bed, stuffed full of candy. I hear my son’s stomach growl. He’s so damn obedient, the dumb thing. He understandably wants to eat some more of the candy he’s gotten, but he knows the rules—no candy until he gets home. And at the rate I’m burning through the candy while I watch this video, it might be no candy ever. Not that he needs it. I like him scrawny.
Still tugging at the costume, he lifts up the camera and makes his way out to the street. I hear him unfold the map I drew him and make a turn down a tree-lined street. I’m so close to cumming in anticipation of the last guy—he’s the one I’m most excited about. But suddenly the kid stops, and the camera pans over to a house just up ahead and across the street. There is a group of boys—probably teenagers from the high school judging by their size—dressed all in black, some with red kerchiefs pulled over their faces. They are egging the shit out of the house, and I can hear them quietly laughing as they do.
My son doesn’t know what to do. He’s stopped there, because the house he’s supposed to go to is past those boys, and I know they scare him. He’s told me before there are some “older boys” in the neighborhood who like to pick on the little kids, and I am sure these kids are the ones he’s been referring to. Well, too late. The dumb kid stood there too long, and now the teens have noticed him. The group of boys moves forward under a streetlamp, bunching together as they point and laugh at my son. I can see them only sort of clearly—there’s a tall, skinny, white boy, a Latino-looking kid, and one big, square, shaved-headed boy who has to be a football player. I can hear them shouting things like, “Faggot!” and “Look at the little pussy in the dress!” at my tiny, terrified little boy.
The teens start to cross the street, and that’s enough to send my boy off running. They shout at him to come back, but my son takes off and cuts through an alleyway and around the corner. My slim boy may be beaten and abused, but he’s visibly clearly scared enough to hightail it. Still, his little legs are no match for the teens’ long strides, and soon they’re right on top of him. The camera shakes crazily as my son turns up a random house and bangs on the door. The teens are right behind him, and I’m sure they’re going to grab him when suddenly the door bangs open, and I hear a man’s voice.
“GET OFF MY PORCH! NOW!”
The teens don’t need to be asked twice. They scatter like cockroaches in a light, and soon the camera stops shaking as my boy calms down. He’s been saved. I wonder if this tape is going to be a dud after all, but then my son turns the camera to the man who answered the door.
Of course, my son’s shoddy camera work leaves something to be desired, so the first thing I see is the big bowl of candy corn the man is holding in front of his crotch. My son slowly pans up, and it is clear this man is a bit odd. He is dressed in a bright orange sweater, festive but conservative, and a pair of black slacks. He has a white collared shirt under his sweater, which gives him a button down, professional, look. When my boy scans up to the man’s face, my jaw drops so hard I think it might fall off, and I feel my cock actually squirt a little bit of pre-cum.
It is him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I cannot believe it is him. I recognize that handsome face. Anyone would. The sharp jaw with the blonde stubble, the wavy, sandy hair, the square, wire-frame glasses, he looks like a dad out of a 1950’s TV show. Everyone in our town knows him: Walt Beaumont. He is the man who, about five years ago, lost his son. The boy was playing outside in the yard—come to think of it, it was the night before Halloween—and he was snatched and never heard from again.
There are lots of rumors about Walt. Some say he lost his mind after his son disappeared. He used to be a man about town and always very friendly. I enjoyed chatting with him, not just because he was a charming, polite man, but also because he was so damn sexy with his classic dad face and a hot body to match.
However, some say his son’s disappearance was a bit odd. The boy’s body was never found. People say Walt knows where he was buried, or even that he was the one to make the boy disappear. It is a mystery that is for sure.
And now, my son is standing in front of this potential psychopath, on Halloween night, dressed in nothing but a sheet that barely covers his most intimate features. I see a wicked grin crawl across the man’s face before the camera shifts back down to the bowl of candy. The man is still holding the candy corn bowl in one hand, and his other is fishing around behind it. Then time seems to slow down as I hear an unzipping sound, and the man moves away from the bowl of candy. My son almost drops the camera and then steadies it as the screen is filled with a close-up of this man’s meat.
“Meat” is the only word I can think of because it looks so fucking heavy. The man is totally soft, but he’s got one of those cocks that look enormous even when it is flaccid. The man is uncut in just the right way. The skin covers his thick, hanging cock head, but it is pulled back just enough to expose the red cock lips of his cock through the opening. His cock is so damn thick it must be stretching his foreskin all the time. However, what is really impressive are the two nuts that go with it. The already churning, low hanging balls look like two hard-boiled eggs with the left one hanging lower than the right one. He has an excessive amount of ball skin, which allow the nuts to sit there, full and heavy, like hanging mistletoe. Wrong holiday, but you get the idea. Everyone involved in this scenario is surprised, I can tell. The look on the man’s face, which is now in the camera frame, is one of pure shock and delight.
I guess some of the rumors are true—this guy is a perv for kids. I hope that the whole murder thing is not true, but Jesus, what are the odds? I am totally shocked as well, because how could it be that my son chooses the one house in the neighborhood that just happens to have an insane, horrifying pedo living inside? I had picked out three pedophiles, confident they were the only ones within walking distance of my home, but my kid lands on the doorstep of the scariest fucking house in the neighborhood. It’s so fucking dangerous for him. My heart is pounding even faster than my cock is throbbing.
I can only imagine how shocked my son must be. After the bullying and abuse he’s been through tonight, he goes to a house—only to be confronted with cock too big for most porn stars.
“Howie?” the man says. “I can’t…I can’t believe it’s you! You came back!”
Howie. Shit. That was the one who disappeared. The man reaches forward, grabs the camera, and yanks my son inside. I’m so happy to have the camera back in the hands of an adult. My son’s handiwork with the cam was starting to make me feel a little queasy. I know first-person horror films have been popular since the Blair Witch project, but this is one scary movie I want to see clean and crisp.
Speaking of clean and crisp, the man’s house is immaculate. It looks like it has not even been lived in. The floors are gleaming, and the walls, which are decorated with picture frames and shelves of little knickknacks, are all in place. There’s so much stuff on the walls that everything clinks as he leads my trembling son into the living room. I see on the camera that these pictures are of Howie. In fact, it’s pretty clear the whole house is a shrine to the kid. I swallow deeply. It’s pretty clear this guy is not in his right mind. He gets to the living room and sits down on the big, green couch. He points the camera at my son, and I can see my boy’s wide, terrified eyes focused downward. He must be staring at the man’s massive, exposed meat.
“Son, I’ve been so scared. Daddy’s been so scared! Let me take a look at you. Are you hurt?”
This man clearly thinks my boy is his dead son, which is ironic seeing that my kid is dressed as a ghost. Walt props the camera on his thigh, so it is still pointing at my kid. Then I see him lean forward and start to inspect my son. Inspect is not quite the right word. His hands are all over my kid. Within seconds, his big, meaty paws are up under my kid’s thin costume, rubbing his chest and tummy, under his armpits, and then downward. His right hand cups my boy’s ass, and I know he can feel just how pert and plump it is. And his other hand grabs the boy’s already abused crotch and gives it a squeeze.
“Oh, Howie, what have you been up to?” the maniac asks as he feels my son up. “There are bruises and cuts all over you!”
My son does not have the ability to explain that those marks are from an intense session with a black sadist. That is because the man’s right hand has moved upward and is now feeling around in my son’s mouth through the hole cut in the sheet.
“And I can tell you’ve been eating candy. Your mouth is all swollen!”
The logic of that sentence doesn’t really make sense, but I heard once there is no point arguing with a crazy man, and though my son is trying to say something, I doubt he is contradicting what he knows to be true. His mouth is still swollen, and he has only had a few bites of candy tonight.
“We need to get you cleaned up,” the man says. “Come on.”
They are on the move again, this time going to the kitchen. I see the man lead my son over to the counter and then rummage through the drawer. To my horror, he picks up a small, sharp knife.
“Upstairs,” the man commands.
My son starts to sob, but the man ignores him as he urges my son by the shoulder out of the kitchen and upstairs. Once upstairs, they get into the bathroom, and the man begins to draw a bath.
“Okay, kiddo, time to get you naked.”
He could easily slip the sheet off over my son’s head, but instead, he makes my son shriek by jabbing the knife forward, stopping just under the hem of the sheet. Then he begins to slice upwards. My son is shaking and whimpering. I know he can feel the cold, dull side of the blade against his waistline, maybe even the sharp point of it a bit. That must be a spooky experience! Or perhaps he’s upset his costume is getting cut in half. In any event, I can tell the man is enjoying the slow, intense reveal of my son’s naked, shivering, and pale little body. He keeps slicing upwards until he gets to my son’s neck where he stops.
My blood is pumping so hard that I would be terrified if I knew my boy was not safe and sound (well, sort of) upstairs. There is a long moment where I can see my son vibrating. He’s trying so hard to stay still, but it is impossible! Halloween is just too scary this year! After this long pause, Walt pulls the remains of the costume away, and I can actually see the man’s tears well up as he stares at my son.
“I’m so happy you’re back,” the man says.
Jesus, this guy is really fucked up. It hits me now that my son and the boy, who went missing all those years ago, do have some similarities. They are both small and frail looking, with big, wide eyes and messy blonde hair, but this guy clearly thinks my son is his son.
“You go take a shower, kiddo,” the man says, giving my son a swat on the ass. “I’m going to go get ready.”
My son does not question this ominous statement. He knows what it means when a man says he has to “get ready.” My son used to go pale at those words and try to run away and hide. Now he just accepts it, even coming from a stranger. The man snatches the camera as he leaves, which is too bad. I was very curious to see how my son would manage his alone time in the shower.
Instead, he carries the camera down the hall and into his little boy’s bedroom. Holy shit! The bedroom is a goddamn shrine. It looks like nothing has changed since his son disappeared. I can see his pictures all over the walls, along with a shelf of trophies and a few posters of jungle animals and trains. The bed itself is a train—just a single bed with a headboard shaped like the grill of a blue steam engine. Cute.
It’s odd, however, to see a fully-grown man sitting on the bed with his massive package out. The man props the camera on the bed next to him, so the screen is viewing alongside his thigh. It is a terrific angle to appreciate the size and girth of his cock. He looks like he is about half-hard, and the thing is already about as thick as my adult wrist. And Jesus, his balls just pool over his thigh. It’s clear that carrying around two balls that probably weigh a pound each when empty has stretched his nut sack to make plenty of room for all the sperm he churns out. He begins rooting through my son’s candy bag, and it doesn’t take long to find the two videotapes. He pulls them out, and I hear him say, “Hmmm” with curiosity.
He stands up and walks over to a part of the room I cannot see, and I hear the distinctive sound of someone popping a videotape into a VCR. He sits back down on the bed, and after a minute or two, I can tell it is videotape number two he has in the player. I can hear the deep voice of Venom, the sound of my crying boy’s squealing and whimpering, as he’s tortured in the stranger’s basement.
And, of course, as I’m watching this, I see Walt’s big, fat, semi-hard cock start to grow. And grow. And grow. Oh, shit, it is massive. It raises its head up like an animal looking up from a watering hole. As it rises up, the thick hood of foreskin pulls back on its own, and out pops a truly frightening cock head. The head is about the size of a pool ball and bright purple-red. Talk about spooky! The shaft is only slightly thinner than the head, and it gets even thicker down near the base. In fact, the place where his cock meets his pelvis is actually the size of my forearm. It is a cock that would be more like fisting than fucking. The man apparently does not need to keep watching because he grabs the camera again and is moving down the hallway.
I hear a high-pitched, quiet voice singing a song. It’s my son, singing his bath time song that his mommy used to sing when she gave him a bath as a baby. It’s always been comforting to him to sing, and I imagine right now that he really needs some comfort, which is too bad, because, in a very Psycho moment, the man walks into the bathroom and rips back the curtain, causing my son to scream. That scream is cut short, however, when the man grabs my boy, picks him up, and then carries him down the hall and back into the bedroom. As soon as he has my boy under his arm, he starts talking.
“Oh, Howie, I missed you so much. You were such a bad boy to run away. You made Daddy so scared! How could you do that to Daddy?”
He continues talking this way. In a way, it’s very fatherly and sincere. As he continues his speech about how bad my boy was and how scared he was, his actions are becoming more and more outrageous. First, he throws my son on the bed, letting him bounce as he drops to his knees and begins fishing around in a drawer that is part of the bed frame below the mattress. My son and I watch together as the man begins to unpack a few things from there. The first thing out gives me a shock (and from the look of it, my boy gets a shock too)—handcuffs, two pairs, a bundle of black rope, and a long wooden stick. I note he does not pull out any lube. Once he has everything, he gets up on the bed with my son. He is still fully dressed, with just his pants undone, so his cock and pelvis, which is covered in coarse blondish hair, are exposed.
“You’re gonna have to make it up to Daddy. Yeah, you’re gonna have to find a way to get Daddy to forgive you,” the man says as he bends my only son in half.
The boy’s little ass is immediately on view for the camera, thanks to the fact that the man adjusted it and put it on the dresser nearby. My son bends in half easily, but he has told me it is really uncomfortable. And this is actually more than half because the boy’s knees are basically up against his shoulders. Once the boy is in position, the man slips the long stick of wood behind the boy’s bents knees and then uses the black rope to keep my son in that exact position.
Shit. He is definitely going to fuck my kid. You do not put a boy in that position—so exposed and unable to move—unless you plan to fuck him. Now my son is no stranger to cock. Fuck, I have been shoving my cock up his ass for years now, pretty much every day of the week. He is a total fuck slut and can take a real pounding without too much complaining. I am not small either; I have a substantial piece of meat that boys his age absolutely hate, but I’ve got nothing on the monster that is now hovering over my son. The man is standing on the bed, and I watch as he reaches down and flips the boy up, so the back of his neck is against the mattress. It looks extremely uncomfortable because his head has to turn to the side to avoid breaking his neck. My son is such a good porn star—he instinctively knew to look toward the camera, and I now have a glorious view of his little face all scrunched up in pain and flattened against the mattress. The boy’s ass is now straight up in the air, and I know as the man looks down that he has a straight view of the pink entrance to my son’s innards.
“Oh, son! What have you been doing while you were away? You look terrible!” the daddy bemoans as he stares down at my child.
That’s right—the boy’s hole must look pretty special. Less than twenty minutes ago, that hole had gotten a really intense zap, and I imagine it is all irritated and swollen from that harrowing experience. Like any man, the daddy on camera cannot resist reaching out to see what it feels like. My son cries out in pain as he feels the man’s fingers on the most tender part of his anatomy.
“Oh, this is just awful! Oh, son, you never should’ve left Daddy!”
The man is totally ignoring the fact that the kid is squirming and squealing in pain as he runs his finger over the swollen sphincter over and over and over. After a few minutes of this, the man stands up again, and he grabs his throbbing monster of a cock and points it downward, directly at my son’s exposed hole.
“Oh no,” I hear myself whisper out loud.
This is it. It is happening. And still, no lube. My son is obviously conscious of this because his face is twisted in the anticipated agony that is coming.
Oh…please…it’s too big…please…don’t.
“Don’t talk back to me, boy!” the man shouts.
He brings his big, heavy hand to my son’s cheek, hard. It makes a loud, jarring slap, and my boy shuts up instantly. In fact, his eyes dim a bit, and I can tell he sees stars. He has never been hit like that before. Shit.
“You will take daddy’s punishment like the good boy you are!” he says as he bends his knees until his insanely fat cockhead is pressing up against the boy’s hole. “You will take this punishment, because it’s the worst one, and you’ve been a very, very bad boy.”
He still has his hand on my son’s face, forcefully pushing it into the bed. And I can see he is moving his hips, trying to get into my son. Bone dry. The kid is grunting and groaning—he is obviously terrified and in pain. The position alone would be enough to make any boy cry, but the fact that he’s been slapped silly and now has a flagpole of meat pressing at his little boy-cunt door makes his Halloween nightmare so much worse.
I have to stop jerking off when I see what happens next. Why is it that the truly horrible moments of my boy’s experiences are the ones that almost make me cum? What’s wrong with me as a father, when the worse it is for my child; the better it is for my cock and balls? I do not really give a fuck. I just think it’s an interesting question.
My son’s battered and bruised little poop chute is no match for this man’s cock. Also, he is outweighed by about two hundred pounds. I can see the man is super fit under his dorky sweater. God...he’s still dressed like a total Halloween nerd while he rapes my child!
I focus intensely on the cock head pressing at my boy’s fuckhole, and I swear to god, I shoot pre-cum up to my chest when the monster cock pops in. I imagine the pop of the cock head going in made some horrible, sickening sound, but I cannot hear it because my child is screaming. Not just screaming—howling. He sounds like a baby werewolf tied up and unable to move, but it is not the full moon that’s making him squeal—it is the moon-sized cock head that is now buried in his already ruined fuckhole. And it does not stop there. No, the monster continues to push, which only makes my son scream louder and louder. I imagine the neighbors can hear them, but on Halloween, who is frightened by a spooky sound effect? The man is still mumbling as he pushes down on my son’s face and fills the child with too much dick.
“You bad, bad, boy. This has to hurt. You won’t learn your lesson if it doesn’t really hurt. You’re never leaving me again.”
“Oh, nooooo!” my son cries out.
God, this guy is not just ruining my son’s ass. He is also fucking with the kid’s head. My son probably thinks this guy is going to keep him forever. Hell, I would fucking believe it myself if I did not know my kid was upstairs. Tears are wetting the pillow where my son is laying—along with his wet hair and body. That sweat on his ass cheeks is the only thing he’s getting for lube right now as the man keeps pushing and pushing and pushing until more than half of his cock is lodged in the kid. That’s about the most cock my kid’s ever had, so I’m happy to see the guy stop.
But then he says, “Come on, baby. You know what to do. Open up your second wall. This is how daddy punishes you.”
Second wall? What the hell is he talking about? My son does not have a second wall. Oh, shit! There’s a loud pop, and my son lets out another one of his horror-movie screams. Something must have broken inside him—it does not sound right. Definitely not a sound the human body should make, especially not a human body that has only been on earth for only a handful of years. But it has the desired effect. Whatever snapped inside my kid’s body has allowed the rest of that mighty dick to sink home. In less than three seconds, he’s entirely in my son, and I almost want to laugh at the expression on both their faces.
The man is in absolutely rage-rape bliss. There’s a smile playing under the sternly fatherly look on his face. My son, however, is making a face like a dead fish. He’s got his mouth open in a silent scream, his face is red from the tears he’s shedding, and his cheeks are all smashed by the man’s hands. He looks like he’s having the worst moment of his life, which he very well may be.
The man surprises me again by cumming, right then and there. He does not announce it or anything, but I can it is happening. He’s clutching my son’s upturned waist, digging his fingers in so hard they’re white. He is throwing his head back, moaning loudly with a sly smile on his face, but the biggest tell is the way he keeps every fucking inch of that meat buried deep inside the kid. I cannot see any of his cock, which means that this stranger is depositing what appears to be a massive, long-lasting load about a foot into my son’s insides. Shit.
He rips his cock out of my son in one swift movement, which makes my boy make a funny kind of a grunting yelp while his ass lets out a loud suction sound. Damn. I cannot believe all of that cock was in him! The man looks down at my boy’s ass, which I can see is now gurgling up the cum. Damn, he must have shot buckets in the kid. My boy’s hole looks volcanic the way it’s just pushing out jizz, oozing like a wound.
“You’re so damn messy, son,” the man says, tsking. I can tell this is a guy who doesn’t like a mess—even one he made. “That is very naughty, boy.”
He reaches down by the bed once again and begins wiping up the boy’s ass with a kerchief. My son moans and whimpers—it probably still hurts, but I am guessing the cleaning up is better than what just happened.
“There we go, all clean,” declares the man when the child’s ass has stopped vomiting up jizz. “Now we can finish your punishment.”
My boy wails, and then screams as he gets a hard smack on the ass, then another and another. Then he’s flipped over, so he’s face down on the bed with his legs under him, like a little shivering ball of boy sex. His ass is now facing the man.
“Yes, son, don’t be dull. You know this. First, I get off in you so I can punish you for longer. Now get ready.”
I don’t know how he expected my boy to get ready. The kid was naked, hogtied on the bed, and his cunt was still gaping from the hell it had just gone through. And also, the boy didn’t have any time to prepare. None at all because by the time the man had finished that sentence, he was back inside my screaming offspring. The boy’s voice was getting hoarse, which was probably for the best—his screaming was getting a bit irritating. So dramatic!
This time, there was nothing slow and gentle about it. This man had apparently decided that my son was ready to take not just the massive cock, but to take it fast, deep, and extremely roughly. There was no doubt about it—it was rape, a vicious, brutal rape. The kind of rape that should put men behind bars, and that’s coming from me—a child rape enthusiast. I would not wish the pounding my son is getting on even my worst enemy. Which, in a way, is kind of like saying my son was worse than my worst enemy because even as I winced and watched, my hard throbbing cock was coated with a thick layer of pre-fuck.
I loved seeing my terrified child debased and ruined while in excruciating pain. It is how I wish he were all the time because it is how he looks best. Without pulling out, the man reaches forward and snaps one of the handcuffs around my son’s wrist. He does the same to the other hand. He attaches the right hand to the grill of the choo-choo bed frame, and the other he handcuffs to his own right hand. He’s now handcuffed to my son and still giving him the rape of a lifetime. Once he has my kid in place, he leans over—still banging away—and grabs the video camera. The way he reaches oddly, which twists my son, and he is literally unable to do anything about it because his legs are tied tight, and his one arm is stretched so far above his head it looks like his shoulder might pop out of its socket.
When he grabs the camera, he gives me an expert view of what is going on with my son’s hole. It is not a pretty sight, honestly. I cannot even see the pinkness of my son’s anal ring, because the cock is so massive that it’s actually pushing his ass in around itself. I am happy I have fucked my kid senseless before because I have learned that boys’ intestinal organs are extremely elastic and can take a very severe beating. Still—this rape was one that looked like it might put him in a wheelchair forever or worse. It really looked like his ass was going to collapse in on itself, turning him inside out.
The man lowers the camera and sets it underneath the action. It’s pointing upwards, and I have yet another amazing view. I realize now that the massive cock in my son’s guts is not the only thing that must be hurting him. The man’s bull balls are swinging back and forth like crazy, and every time they swing forward, they batter my son’s little ball sack. The sound is absolutely horrific.
My son has gone quiet—he has lost his voice completely, or he’s passed out from the pain. No—he is quite awake; I can see his toes wriggling. The dumb thing can’t even pass out when it would be good for him to do so. His silence, however, has amplified a different kind of distress call—the kind that comes from a tiny boy pussy that is forced to take a cock that is far, far too big. It’s not unlike the sound of a plunging toilet, but somehow wetter and more terrifying. Honestly, this is worse than a horror movie—though most horror movies do not make me throb like this. The rape persists unremittingly.
The man keeps shifting the camera so I can really take it in, and I’m so appreciative. My favorite moment comes near the end when he puts the camera right in my boy’s face. His breath fogs up the camera, and I’m staring into his eyes. Honestly, the look in his eyes is the most haunting thing I’ve ever seen. There is no person in there. It’s not even a shocked look—just dead. The horrible things I’ve put my son through tonight have not just hollowed out his torso; they’ve hollowed out his soul. It gives me chills, and it makes me jerk my cock uncontrollably. I fucking love the way the little cock slut looks.
I pause the movie there. I cannot take it anymore. I have to know what that devastated ass feels like. I take the steps two at a time, and when I get into my son’s room, it looks like he has finally passed out. He is still naked, of course, and even in the dim light, I can see the bruises and red marks all over him. I can’t wait for a second longer. I jump onto the bed, waking him up with a fright. The kid is prone to nightmares for some reason, so he is already startled when I wake him up, and he lets out an anguished wail as he feels me grab his ass cheeks and yank them apart.
“No, daddy please—no more!” he whimpers.
I take a page from the video I was just watching and reach forward and slam my hand into his face to hold him down and keep him quiet. I look down at his swollen, bloody ravaged boy-cunt, and I grimace. It’s just as disgusting as it looked on camera. It looks really gross, but I bet it is going to feel amazing.
“Happy fucking Halloween,” I say as I thrust forward.
His hole does not resist at all. Apparently, it has lost all muscular ability. It is so wet and gooey, it’s kind of like sticking your dick into a bowl of wet pasta.
“Oh…no…oh…it…it…hurts…daddy…no,” my sniveling son mumbles as I push deeper.
Damn, he’s really hollowed out. It just keeps going and going. Even when I bottom out in him, I can tell there is still space I could expand into, left over from Walt Beaumont’s horrible cock.
“Let’s go,” I say to my son, leaning forward and wrapping him in my arms.
I stand up, holding him against me. He is still moaning, and I can tell he is still out of it, which makes it all that much easier to carry him downstairs impaled on my cock where we return to the couch. I sit down with him and bend him forward, so he is balancing himself on my thighs. Then I reach for the remote, ignoring his pleas, and turn the video back on.
He’s now staring himself in the eye as I rape him. He can see how whorish he looks, how ruined his life is, while I continue to ruin his life. We watch together as I fuck, and I find myself picking up the same rhythm as the slapping sound I hear in the movie.
“I’m gonna cum!” the man shouts. “Hold on, boy!”
“Me too!” I shout!
Then we do it. The man on the film and I cum together. My cock is now filling up the space this man had carved inside my own son. We’re both watching as he is spermed by a psycho on screen, and my little bareback cumslut has the spooky treat of taking yet another load of his father’s jizz into his dick ditch.
“Fuck you, slut,” the man and I say together.
I laugh—jinx! We both allow our cocks to finish their business, and then together, the man on the screen, and I pull out. My son falls forward onto the floor, sobbing uncontrollably in the fetal position. I think the boy on the screen wanted to do the same, but his bondage does not allow him to.
“All right, kiddo,” the man says. “Now you know what we have to do. Time to go to the cemetery.”
Then the man reaches for the camera, and it goes black. Oh, fuck. What did that mean?
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