Why didn’t he scream for help? Because he knew that anyone entering the car would see him see his shame see his degradation. He couldn’t bear that. I placed a hand behind his head and drew his face into my crotch. He whimpered and then his nose and mouth were pressed against my huge hard dick lump in my jeans. Could he smell my prick through the denim material, hungry, anxious, drooling to be unleashed? I made certain his face felt the outline of my fucktool. Then just as quickly I pulled back and sat down and took an apple from my bag and slowly ate it.
He looked at me not believing mouth open body slick with sweat, hair plastered to his forehead, his chest heaving titties hard and pink, tummy fluttering. Legs spread, feet bent, toes curled. I ate the apple and studied his sleek coltish young body. This was going to be very, very good. This boy whose name I did not know whose language I did not speak, this healthy, normal, athletic, teenage boy was about to get fucked in the ass.
He was about to have a hard dick shoved up between his young ass gloves, into his tight virginal rectum an act from which he would never recover, an emotional and mental wound that would never heal. He was about to be fucked like a girl like a twat. He was about to be used like a cunt. He knew it. I could see in his eyes that he knew it and there wasn’t a fucking thing he could do about it. Clack! Clack, clack, clack, clack, clack.
END