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Murdoc Niccals, thirty-two years old, is once again faced with the unspeakable things you have to do when changing another grown man’s diaper. Oh well. He’s been doing it for six months now. He’s getting pretty good at it. In fact, whenever he brings Old Potato Sack Stuey back to his parents, they praise Murdoc. Stuey always looks good after getting out into the open and taking trips with him.
If they only knew.
“Why can’t you just die?” he says dreamily, looking down on the skinny boy on his kitchen table. “I mean, why can’t you have a stroke or something? I can’t kill you, see, they’d find out. But you could die in some natural way. Move!”
But of course, it’s Murdoc who has to move Stuey to finish his job. He’s cleaned him up, and now a perverted part of him considers peppering the boy’s arse with baby powder. That would be funny. But what’s the point? He won’t know that he’s being humiliated, right?
Stuey, with his t-shirt up and his bright red socks on his feet and nothing else on his body, lies perfectly still.
He’s pretty. He really is, as much as Murdoc hates to admit it. If he was that pretty, he thinks jealously, his life would have gone very differently. Girls would flock to him. Maybe even his teachers would have liked him.
Pshaw.
With Stuey, he gets a lot of looks from girls wherever he goes. But it’s Stuey who gets the long stares, and Murdoc who gets the approving smiles. From girls who are looking for caring family material.
Ugh.
“You’re so fucking pretty, you look like a girl yourself”, says Murdoc. “Wouldn’t know what to do with a girl, would you? Twink.” He thinks about the position they’re in: Stuey sprawled on the table, and himself standing between the boy’s legs. “I could fuck you now, you know that?” Murdoc gives the table an experimental thrust. The table and Stuey wobble in a very amusing way.
And maybe it’s the frustration of six months, or maybe it’s just how fucking pretty Stuey is, with his soft blue treasure trail and his long legs, which are only covered in a light bluish fuzz, and that half-open mouth and sleepily closed eyes… but Murdoc snaps. There’s a voice in his head (one that never makes good suggestions) that tells him: you really do want to fuck that boy.
And it scares him. He has kicked, beaten, pinched and shoved Stuey, he has tripped him and locked him up in the trunk and pulled his hair, but this – THIS is bad. Really bad. Yes, he hates him, but… he wouldn’t do THAT to him.
Would he?
There’s heat pooling in Murdoc’s stomach, and it only burns hotter because it’s such a horrible idea. The ultimate revenge for six months of humiliation, having to drag that moron around, being seen with him. Changing his fucking diapers.
Murdoc hasn’t noticed that his hand has come up to Stuey’s crotch. Now he’s unable to stop as his finger runs over the boy’s limp cock, and balls, and taint, and then over his puckered hole. It’s infuriatingly pink and rosy, just like the rest of Stuey. Even his arse is disgustingly pretty.
Let’s see how he likes it.
Murdoc runs his finger along the rim, and then he hears a sound: the tiniest, softest sigh. He looks up, and sees Stuey’s mouth fall open.
“Slut”, he says, and grins, and tries to push his finger in. There’s desperate muscle resistance. He pushes harder, and Stuey’s face screws up in a frown. Murdoc bends over him and pushes his finger into the tight muscles again, just to see what’ll happen. Stuey’s pained whimper is just what he wants to hear, but then he decides that it’s enough.
“Oh, don’t worry, pretty boy”, Murdoc whispers in his shell-like, pink ear. “I’ve got plenty of the good stuff here. Don’t move.”
Murdoc has some of the best stuff here. He’s a dirty man, he’s met a lot of dirty girls. He’s met the odd dirty boy, too. Anyway, he’s tried out all kinds of brands, and he knows what’ll work best. And how to use it.
When he comes back with the bottle, and sees Stuey spread-eagled on the table, the front of his jeans feels tighter every second. Oh Satan. He’s going to hell, and he knows it.
His lubed-up finger slips into Stuey without the slightest resistance. Stuey seems to almost come alive. He tilts his head further back, he sighs like an angel, and his cheeks begin to flush.
“This isn’t the first time you got a finger up your arse, eh?” Murdoc whispers into his ear.
Stuey’s breath is fast and shallow, and then, lo and behold – for the first time in all those months, his cock comes to life. Murdoc takes it in his hand without thinking.
“I bet a pretty boy like you’s been fucked before”, Murdoc tells Stuey. “And if not… well. You’ll see. I bet you can take one more, eh?”
He squeezes out more lube, he coats another finger. This time, the tight muscle resists a longer, and when he finally pushes through, Stuey whimpers painfully.
“Shhh. Shhh. It’ll only hurt for a minute”, Murdoc whispers.
But Stuey eases up like a pro. And now Murdoc goes for the treasure. He finds it, and starts to rub circles over the area. And Stuey’s cock stiffens again and lifts up from his belly, and his cheeks flush a deep red, and he sighs softly every time Murdoc pushes into his prostate.
The sweet, milky scent from the boy’s skin is intoxicating. He even smells like a girl, for fuck’s sake! And he feels… so tight that Murdoc can hardly move his fingers, but so buttery soft.
“Can’t wait to get my cock in you”, Murdoc growls into his ear, and then he thinks that this would be the time to stop, before he does something horrible (it’s not like he hasn’t already). But Stuey’s heat and tightness pull him like the moon pulls the tide. There is no resisting it. He has to fuck him, no matter if he’s going to split him up, or deflower him, or make him bleed, or whatever. In fact, that’s what he wants.
He pulls his fingers out, and Stuey groans questioningly. Then Murdoc manoeuvers Stuey to the edge of the table, opens his jeans, and takes out his own very, very hard cock.
More lube. He needs more lube.
The bottle almost falls out of his hands, he’s shaking so badly at what he’s about to do. But he can’t think straight. He coats his cock – very, very generously – and guides it to the little pink hole, which is also dripping with lube. Never mind, you can’t use too much. Wouldn’t want to damage that pretty, precious boy… He holds Stuey’s hips with one hand, and pushes his cock through the muscles with the other. Oh Satan, so… fucking… tight!
Stuey makes a crying sound, almost like a word, almost like he’s conscious, but he’s not. He’s just suffering a little. And then the most wonderful thing happens: he spreads his legs a little wider, and access gets easier.
Defloration, my arse, thinks Murdoc. That little sod has probably had more cocks than me!
He shoves the boy’s knees up to his ears, and pushes all the way in. Stuey groans again, but this time there’s no mercy. He’s getting fucked, and he’d better get used to it.
And his cock likes it, too. Murdoc’s got a pretty good angle, and every time he hits Stuey’s prostate, the boy’s insultingly pretty cock twitches.
“You love that, don’t you”, Murdoc babbles. “I knew you were a faggot. Little slut, you. You know what? I’ll give it to you every day now. ‘cause I can. ‘cause you’re mine.”
Stuey moans softly as if to say yes.
“Should have known you were good for something.”
Stuey’s breath comes faster and faster. He’s so beautiful. With his eyes firmly shut, and his mouth wide open, and his little pink tongue coming forward… his ribcage heaving, and his thin legs shaking… and his abs working. He’s close.
“Come on”, Murdoc coos. “Come on now, pretty boy, let’s have it.”
Stuey whimpers again, and his cum hits Murdoc’s chest, and his own chest, and his t-shirt, and his naked belly. Then he lies still, mouth still wide open, and shaken by Murdoc’s fast thrusts. But not long. Murdoc, with a sick and twisted feeling in his stomach, so aroused by what he’s done, comes off deep inside him.
As soon as he’s done, he pulls out and goes to the bathroom to wash his cock, and hands, and face. When he comes up to look in the mirror, he expects to see some kind of monster. But he’s looking just the same as always. Nothing’s changed.
Stuey is lying on the table, legs spread wide, his little pink hole flushed and dripping cum. His t-shirt is messed up by cum, too.
Murdoc cleans him up – again – and puts him into fresh clothes. Then he helps him sit up. Stuey seems to be exhausted. He falls limply against Murdoc’s shoulder. As if he needs comfort.
Murdoc, overcome by a strange kind of tenderness, lets him rest there for a few minutes. Then he pats the boy’s cheek.
“You and me”, he says, “we might become friends after all.”