“I think they just touched,” Damon said. “My dick just hit the tip of the dildo. I’m sure.”
“If that were true the boy would be dead,” said the director. Damon took the dildo out anyway and tossed it.
“Ug-g-g-n-n-ffffuuuh-“ said Nick. “Pozzzzzzz. G-g-g-goddd.”
”You just called me your poz god,” said Damon.
His cock was starting to be visible through the boy’s stomach. Damon was fucking him faster and harder. The boy had been virgin-tight: Damon had to fuck him hard to get the fourth inch in, let alone the eleventh. But he was really fucking him. The camera zoomed in on the 66-year old’s plum-sized balls as the full length of his cock forced its way into the young man’s hole.
”Help…” said the boy, reaching a slender arm toward Damon’s face. “Help my pussy… It’s breaking…”
”Pray to your poz god, boy,” Damon sneered. Precum leaked out of the boy’s hole. Damon reached his fingers in and scooped it up. “Have a taste of my cum. That’s poz cum, boy. My poz cum, and I’ve had the bug since it existed. That’s history you’re tasting,” he said, sliding his fingers into the boy’s gaping throat. Damon leaned down and let spit roll off his tongue into the boy’s mouth.
”Gross…” said the boy. His legs had gone numb. He could feel Damon’s cock in his heart. In his brain. Everywhere. And when he remembered that he was getting fucked on camera, he thought he was dreaming. He was losing his mind. Like Damon, he understood that if he’d taken his meds, he never could’ve felt this good.
“You’re gross,” said the boy. “Grandpa, I don’t want this,” he moaned into the boom microphone. He understood his role and played it to perfection. His tiny fingers clasped around his pretend-grandfather’s neck and pulled him into a kiss. The old man smelled like cigarettes and weed.
“Oh shit, I’m gonna cum,” Damon said.
The director barked for the camera to move for a side view. The old man’s stretching, wrinkled gut hung across Nick’s taut back as his stretching, wrinkled sack started to pulse.
”It’s gonna be fucking huge, zoom in on this shit,” Damon ordered the director.
Nick had lost his capacity to think with his brain. His undeveloped frontal cortex had short-circuited, and the evolutionary part of his brain—the one that sought both protection from an elder, and to reproduce—took over.
”Breed,” the boy said, repeatedly. “Breed breed breed breed breed.” He looked into the camera. His pupils were the size of dinner plates.
”Do it,” said the director, who’d already stained his sweats with precum. “Get him pregnant, Damon.”
”Shit,” he said. He’d passed the point of no return. His monster cock buried itself in the boy’s large intestine as his balls started seizing.
“Nice knowing you, boy,” said the director. “Hope it was worth the $50.”
”Take it! Fuck! Fuuuuuck!” yelled Damon.
The boy felt it in his stomach. His eyes rolled back into his skull as the old man poured an enema’s worth of cum into his guts.
“Did you just piss in me?” said Nick.
”No,” said Damon. “But I’m about to.”
The old man twisted his nipples as he worked his cock back to its full length inside the boy. He inhaled, put pressure on his over-full bladder, and released.
”Did you know,” asked Damon, sighing in relief, “that in this state they allow adults to adopt 18-year olds legally?”
The boy’s cock spurted. This could be his life. He thought he’d made a deal with the devil and that he was in heaven all at once.
He was right about one of those.