Fuck Me Ragged - "Cherries."
Fuck Me Ragged Part 2 - "Cherries."
You're probably wondering what happened to that poor little bunny from the day before. Well good for you. You have a soul. Go and Tweet about it, why don't ya.
Truth be told... nothing. Nothing happened. Bob let Kev fiddle with his radio - something he never let anyone do under any circumstances. He followed the cub's barked-out directions, pulling off the street a short ways from where he'd picked him up, driving into a quaint middle class neighborhood lined with trees, sliding his van gently between the parked cars of the narrow subdivision like an uncut cock going up inside a well-lubed asshole. And at the end of the street, still a good ways away from the boy's house, Bob pressed the brakes, reaching across Kevin's lap to pop the heavy door handle for him.
"Out ya go."
After some hesitation, Kevin's footpads touched down on the concrete street, turning his baby blues back on the fossa in the darkened cabin.
"Thanks Mister."
"No problem."
"Um... so..." Kevin fiddled with one of his ears - something Bob immediately knew he'd enjoy seeing from then on. "Do you... uhh... live around here?"
The fossa shrugged. "Pretty close. Short drive."
"Will I ever see you again?"
Somewhere far away, audible to Bob's ears only, a slot machine's reels landed on all cherries.
"Why?" the man said, leaning across the passenger seat, threads of smoke curling from his nostrils and the corners of his lips. "Do you want to see me again?"
Kevin's little lips seemed to mouth the older man's words. He nodded solemnly. "It's a pretty long walk from my school," the cub lied. And Bob knew it was a lie too. If he was right - if it was the school he was thinking of - little Kev probably walked to and from school every day. "So if you wanted to, like... pick me up, or whatever... that'd be cool."
Bob's eyes narrowed to teasing little slits. The boy was trying to sound so nonchalant. So dismissive.
"Heheheh. . . don't think yer mom wants you taking rides from strangers, remember?"
Kevin thought back to what he'd said before. He grimaced, seeming to regret his choice of words. "I-I won't tell her!" the bunny squeaked defiantly.
Somewhere far away, audible to Bob's ears only, a slot machine's reels landed on all bars.
"Well... who knows?" Bob churred with a dismissive shrug of the shoulders. "I really only go down that street every once and a while, to be honest. Found a faster route not too long ago. Less traffic. BUT..." he took a long drag off his clove cigarette. "... like I said, you never know. Might see you. Might not. Maybe I'll stop. Maybe I won't."
A fog of disappointment clouded the bunny's face. The fossa reached across the center console, grabbing the boy's 50-pound bookbag with two fingers and holding it out to him. "Here. Don't forget these. Fuck knows I don't want 'em. Haven't needed books since 7th grade."
And just like that, the door closed with predator on one side and jailbait on the other.
As he backed into a nearby driveway and turned back, Bob caught the boy's sad gaze in his sideview mirror. Priceless. It was like getting a row of 7's and screaming lights - having the cage manager walking over to slap you on the back and light you up a Cuban. He pulled off, his van slipping out from between the parked cars like a half-hard cock dislodging itself from a battered, stretched, partially distended asshole.
And just like that, Bob drove home. He made himself a bowl of tomato soup in the microwave and ate some crackers. He cranked out 200 curl-ups and an unholy assload of burpees. He booted the old Dell and rubbed one out to some vintage early-2000's Jenna Jameson. He flopped down onto his futon. He went to sleep.
And that, boys and girls, is how you pedo.
Always leave 'em wanting more.