The Killing Games

by Antony J Woodward

  After a while, Jon’s desire increased tenfold and he hoisted Chris off. He deposited him on his feet and began to tear at the boy’s shirt. Chris helped him, they shed his clothes in perfect teamwork as they travelled backwards to the bed. Chris hit the bed with the back of his legs, Jon’s fingers hooked into the jeans and boxers and tugged them down and off. He then threw his dressing gown to the side. His dick was glistening and throbbing with the desire to breed. He parted Chris’ legs and placed himself between them.

  “Oh yeah son, Daddy’s missed you…” he growled. He burrowed down and pressed his lips against Chris’ neck, licking and kneading the flesh with his mouth.

  The intensity of his body heart and the feel of his groin against his own turned Chris on, even if the dirty talk had failed.

  “Oh yeah, Daddy’s gonna fuck you real good…” he whispered in Chris’ ear.

  There was a brief feeling of a hand brushing its way down his body, but it was seeking the erection that longed to penetrate him. Chris’ erection was ignored, but in the heat of the moment it didn’t matter. Suddenly the dick was pressing against his hole, but there no lubricant and his anus resisted.

  “Oh son…” Jon moaned. His lips moved up and pressed against Chris’, his tongue slipping around against his. There was a grind of his hips and suddenly Jon felt a little yield. The copious amounts of precum that had been oozing out of his dick since the moment he saw Chris had come calling was now coating Chris’ hole.

  “Daddy’s gonna fuck your boy pussy…” he growled. He pushed again, feeling Chris yield just that little bit more. Chris was surprised that there was any ease to it, but the precum must’ve been doing its job. He waited for Jon’s next piston and he manoeuvred into it. Almost penetration.

  “Oh son… I’m gonna fuck your pretty little boy pussy so hard…” suddenly Jon’s hands were on his hips, he ground his hips forward and pulled Chris onto him simultaneously. There was a pop, then a burn and he was in.

  “Fuck!” Chris writhed.

  “Oh yeah. Good son…” Jon groaned as he eased the boy’s ass down around his dick. It was almost too much for Chris, but Jon didn’t care. He pulled and eased himself to the hilt. “That’s it, stretch for your Daddy’s cock…”

  Chris could feel hot plumes of pleasure crackling up and down his body. He didn’t care much for the role-play, but he did the primal nature of the sex. It felt good to be around the guy’s dick. Everything that had hung on him had vanished into ether. All that mattered was this hard deep fuck.

  And Jon knew it, he grabbed a good grip of Chris’ thighs and began to fuck him. Every thrust of the dick inside him made Chris moan, made him groan and pulse with desire.

  “Good boy…” Jon purred, he worked up a solid and speedy rhythm. His pounding was so good that Chris could feel his balls tingling and the danger of ejaculating writhe through him. He tried to hold back, but the mounting pressure within him was reaching exploding point.

  “Oh…” he moaned, and then Jon slowed it down. He took it from the boil, right back to the simmer. Slow, gentle thrusts of his dick inside the young lover. Chris’ eyes opened and he saw Jon was sweating and battling his desire to mercilessly pound his ass.

  For a moment he wanted Jon to just do it, to let go, to give in to the animal desires.

  But Jon stooped down and planted his kiss on Chris’ neck.

  “God…you’re so tight…” he groaned like it was almost too tight.

  Chris’ responded by wrapping his arms around him and pulling him tight.

  “Fuck me…” he whispered.

  “You want Daddy’s dick do you?”

  “Yeah, give it to me…” Chris whispered.

  “Oh yeah, you’re gonna take that Daddy dick…” and he straightened back up. He began to pound mercilessly, slamming his cock deep into Chris’ ass with wild abandon. It was brutal, it was violent, it was passionate - it was everything Chris needed. He let himself go it, let himself lose control willingly and just let the sensations fill him.

  “Oh yeah, your boy pussy…” whatever terrible sentence was coming out of Jon’s mouth cut abruptly short. “Fuck!” he reached the point of no return and couldn’t stop the ejaculation. He exploded in a shower of hot semen, dispensing deep in Chris’ butt.

  Chris’ felt himself reach the point of no return seconds after, as Jon slowly began to exhaust and run out of energy to fuck him Chris ejaculated. He blew a load that fired over his head, the second amount splattered onto his chest. He’d cum without touching his dick, which was a first.

  “Oh yeah…” Jon groaned hazily. He had slowed to a complete halt, but his dick was still hard inside Chris. “Oh fuck me… your boy pussy…”

  Chris was breathless and not really paying much attention to the cringe worthy dialogue the older man was offering.

  “That was fucking amazing…” Jon leant down and nuzzled his mouth into Chris’ neck. He agreed it was pretty amazing, but he didn’t say so. Instead he just let himself slowly fade back into reality. The haze and glow of sex was enjoyable, but he wasn’t reluctant to return to the cold harshness of the basement. He felt like he’d had an epiphany. Suddenly Pierre didn’t seem so frightening. Just because he had developed feelings for a boy, didn’t mean he’d grown weak or soft. He was still the same person, capable of shutting shit off and getting things done - he could just make that choice to have feelings.

  “Did Jason call you Daddy?” Chris slowly turned his attention to the slightly clammy man between his legs, who’s penis was slowly shrinking inside of his ass.

  Was that the root of the role-play?

  “He did…”

  Chris nodded, that made sense. So perhaps Jon was playing pretend that Chris was Jason? Trying to recapture those old feelings…? So he’d hadn’t quite let go of him after all. He was now enacting it with someone else.

  Then Jon said something very unexpected, “Stay the night, please…”

  “I thought this was just a fuck?”

  “It is… I just don’t want you to go,”

  “I remind you of Jason?”

  “In some ways… in others not so,”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well… for a kick off, your pussy is a lot better than Jason’s ever was…” he lifted up and planted a wet kiss on Chris’ lips. What a strange thing to say…

  -----------------------------

  Chris did stay the night with Jon, they even had very vigorous morning sex of which Chris could feel the phantom sensations of still. It had been a fun distraction, but when he opened the door into his studio he was very prepared to resume his own life.

  It was just before lunchtime and his phone lit up. It was a text message from Pierre, “I know you’re probably freaking out, but I had a good time last night x”

  Chris took a seat at his easel as he thought of exactly what he wanted to say. He might have previously been horrified that he had no grasp on the correct words to say, but now Chris felt a little at ease with the idea. Young Chris had been very obsessed with rules, with structure. Now Chris was embracing the chaos, he was forgoing the grand plans. He was going to let himself fall free into the chaos and enjoy whatever came his way.

  “Me too x” he replied. It was probably a shit answer after not replying all morning, but at least it was an answer. He didn’t know exactly what to say to Pierre, but that was ok.

  He placed his phone down and decided if he truly wanted to paint, or whether he had just come here out of habit?

  He didn’t feel any inspiration, in fact he just felt an urgency to run free.

  He stood, perhaps he should give Pierre a call? Maybe they could do something together?

  Or maybe he just really needed to do something mindless like watch TV? God how banal!

  He was just exiting the studio when an alien object caught his eye. It was a large brown parcel, lined up against one of his paintings. He didn’t recognise it in the slightest… where had it come from? He crossed to it, picked
it up and was surprised by how heavy it was.

  Its contents moved slightly under pressure, he turned it over. It was slightly soft. He peeled a little bit of brown tape away and - what the hell?!

  He was looking at a pack of cocaine.

  “Fuck,” he dropped it. What the fuck was that doing here? Why was there a huge pack of cocaine in his art studio?

  He spied a little card that had fallen free, he picked it up.

  “Please look after while I’m out of town…” he didn’t recognise the handwriting, but he just knew it was Samuel Le Bont’s. The bastard, he’d left drugs in his studio!

  Chris was furious, rightly so. What the hell was he supposed to do with this? He had no idea how much cocaine was in that package, but on the account it was roughly the same size as an A5 piece of paper he assumed it was a fucking lot. For a second he thought he might dump it, perhaps Sam had planted it here as a trap?

  But then Chris thought of the parcel, it was an awful lot of cocaine to lay a trap with. If it was a trap it would no doubt end up in police custody and he could imagine it would be quite the significant loss. Too much to lose like that. Unless it wasn’t really cocaine, but then why would Sam want Chris to protect it?

  He came to the conclusion that the white powder in the package really was cocaine, and Samuel Le Bont had forced him into storing it for him. He didn’t know why, perhaps if he had gone to Sam’s at ten o’clock he might’ve found out. Now Sam had taken the choice away… the bastard. He needed somewhere better to hide it, as tempting as it would be to dispose of it instead…

  It wouldn’t do to leave several kilo of cocaine where his aunt might find it.

  It would only complicate things more…

  --------------------------------------

  Jean sat in his car lost in private reflection, a cigarette burnt away to itself in one hand and his other was wrapped around a cup of coffee. Rain was hammering down on the car, so hard he could barely see out the windscreen. Ever so slowly the windows were steaming up, a visible indicator to his rising mood. He was annoyed, and growing more so with every minute he stewed. Le Bont had taken off, bounced out of town on “official business”. Right when Jean needed him to start making his moves. The little punk-ass shit wasn’t playing along to the plan, and his patience was whittling away fast. It seemed he’d backed the wrong fucking horse, whatever potential he’d once seen in the boy was long gone.

  When Jean had found out Samuel had murdered his boss, the utterly dislikeable cretin Sharptooth, he thought there had been potential. He was wrong.

  And Jean didn’t like being wrong.

  And right now everything was wrong; the Fairy Killer was still on the loose, the Hitman killer too. It was all just one big never-ending mess.

  He took an angry drag on his cigarette and glanced around the street, as if on cue he saw her. The slender blonde Samuel Le Bont had taken to banging. Alexis - was that her name?

  A strange girl with a pair of dark blue mercurial eyes, a little unstable just like Samuel. In that regard they were perfectly suited. He finished the cigarette as the girl stepped back under the canopy outside the café. She was rooting through her satchel for her umbrella. Her grey tartan print dress and black suede shoes was not appropriate for the weather. He started the car and pulled up next to her.

  “Want a ride?” he called.

  Her eyes rose up in alarm, but it quickly shifted to something else. A swift and sudden shifting from alarm to panic, like he’d caught her red-handed. Jean, in his short-sightedness, didn’t see that.

  “What do you want?” She retorted sharply. She knew who he was and she certainly didn’t trust him.

  “I just want to talk… About your boyfriend…” he answered warmly.

  “Talk to him yourself…” she rejected him coldly. She glanced back into the café, praying she wasn’t followed out by someone she certainly didn’t want Samuel’s crony to see.

  “That’s the thing Alexis, he’s vanished…”

  She didn’t answer. She just regarded him moodily, like the teenage brat Jean reckoned she was. “I don’t know where he is,”

  “Then suit yourself, get piss wet through…” and Jean began to roll his window back up.

  She cussed to herself, she hadn’t packed her umbrella and was going to get soaking wet like the bent cop stated. Goddammit! She was hurtling through the downpour and puddles before she knew it, she slammed the door shut as she hopped into the car.

  “I don’t know where he is… he just took off…” she answered flatly. She fastened the seatbelt and gave the cop an expectant look. He pulled off and began to drive.

  “Sweet Jesus it smells worse than an ashtray in here…” she grimaced.

  “Help yourself,” he gestured to the packet protruding from the cup-holder. She did so.

  “He has friends up north,” he used the term friends loosely, “is he visiting them?”

  “I told you I don’t know, why you so interested?”

  “Because our little Samuel has an appointment he doesn’t want to be late for…” Jean answered vaguely. He stole a glance at the girl next to him, smoking one of his cigarettes while giving him dirty glares. The smudged black eye make up and straggly blonde hair wasn’t his thing, her tits were too small too. He gave her a five, a possible six if her pussy was shaved and tight.

  “Well you oughta bring it up with Samuel yourself,” she huffed. She sounded a little jealous and resentful. He didn’t acknowledge it with a response, instead they drove in an uncomfortable silence.

  “Take the next right,” she finally said as they began to near her house. She would’ve been apprehensive about the dirty cop knowing where she lived, but it was futile to try and hide it. He would figure it out if he wanted to, that’s what cops did.

  “What’s your story… why are you hanging around with Samuel?” he enquired. He sounded almost fatherly and it made her want to balk. She stubbed out the cigarette and gave him her darkest glare yet.

  “Because my father taught me the only way to be safe in this world is to be close to someone powerful…”

  “Your father taught you that?”

  “Yeah… after he was kicked off the police force despite doing his job and being a good man! He told me that it didn’t matter. Every fucker is corrupt and why beat them, when you can just join them…” she growled.

  His eyes narrowed, her father was a cop?

  “Who’s your father?”

  “It doesn’t fucking matter, you’re the exact kind of corrupted fuck he lost against…”

  “So what does he do now? What great criminal did he become?” Jean hissed his buttons thoroughly pressed.

  “He didn’t… he just died instead,” Alexis snapped back sharply.

  A heavy silence fell like an iron curtain.

  After a few moments, she gave out a new direction. He stole a glance and she was crying angrily beside him.

  “I’m sorry,”

  “So am I. I know it’d have been easier if you just reckoned I was some drug-whore, or some hooker he was pimping out… I have my reasons to hang with Samuel Le Bont and they’re fuck all like you think…”

  He pulled up outside her house.

  “I don’t think you’re a whore,” he remarked softly. He wasn’t quite sure what can of mental anguish he’d opened up, so he was treading carefully. “If he gets-”

  “-in touch, blah blah blah. I know…” she remarked stonily. She slowly shifted her attention back to him, her wet eyes were angry yet cold.

  She took hold of his hand, quickly pressed it up inside her skirt between her legs. His hands touched naked labia and he recoiled in surprise. She smirked, held his hand there for a minute and then dropped it. She swung herself out of the car, slammed it shut and disappeared into the rain.

  He was perplexed, in a way that Jean seldom was. He’d met his fair share of crazies, but she was something else. Volatile and surprising. He pressed his fingers to his nose and he inhaled the faint
scent of her vagina. It smelt good, but he knew better.

  As much as he’d have like to have followed the blonde nut job inside and fucked her senselessly, he knew not to. It would only complicate his relationship with Samuel and right now he needed Samuel to fulfil his promise. He put the car into gear and drove off, unaware that Alexis watched him from her front door.

  Her dark eyes watched his car disappear.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN:

  The bassline was throbbing in his teeth and Chris had no idea why he’d agreed to Pierre’s suggestion they go nightclubbing. Perhaps he’d thought it would be fun?

  He could barely hear himself think, let alone talk to anyone.

  He was sat in the corner of the club people-watching. Pierre was on the dance floor losing himself in the music and dancing. He was a pretty poor dancer, too many limbs flying in the air. Beside him Alexis was flirting heavily with some shady looking guy. It had never been the plan for her to come, but she’d invited herself much to the boys’ dismay.

  Her hands were all over the new guy who looked like a rat. He was weedy and bucktoothed. He was equally enthralled with her, his hands touching up and down her thigh suggestively.

  Chris sipped his alcoholic beverage, a sugary pop based concoction, and steeled himself further against the aggravating electronic remix of a decent song. He saw Pierre attract the attention of an older gentleman, who closed in and placed his hands on Pierre’s hips before he began to grind himself into him. For a moment the two of them danced in unison, almost like they were lovers and then Pierre slipped forward and away. The man went to follow after, but Pierre slipped up against a girl and danced around her. He placed this stranger between him and the male, it seemed to do the trick. The older man hovered, but ultimately turned away. Unfortunately the girl, who was dressed in a green sequin boob tube, grabbed Pierre and gyrated her breasts into his face. It took Pierre a few moments to escape her sweaty bosom, then he slid across the dance floor and found himself a new space to dance badly.