It was a dark and stormy night

It was a dark and stormy night and one Seth “Frenchie” Williamson sat alone in his chamber. It was a simple room with simple furnishings–a penis pump here, a cosmo girl there–but the centerpiece (and the station at which Sethie spent his long nights) was the computer. Frenchie spent most of his computer hours blogging in third person or masturbating to an image of himself making out with one Tony Lockard at a “We Love Frenchie: Seth’s Friends Give Back” gala of questionable legitimacy, but tonight was a night like no other. Tonight, Frenchie would embark on an adventure of Brobdingnagian proportions–one of peril, justice, and more cornhole than he could shake a dick at.

For now, however, it was time for some pre-adventure dinner.

—–

Frenchie’s mother was what you would call “bangable”–she gave most of Frenchie’s friends (except Matt, the gay one) what you would call “a huge boner.” There were times when his friends would do what some might call “fucking his mother to make him cry,” but to those in the know, it was all in good fun. For his friends at least. And his mother.

On this night, Frenchie’s mom was rustling up a mighty feast of tofu burgers and V8 juice when, like lighting, Frenchie burst through her kitchen door looking for some eats.

“Now Sethie-baby, you know mommy’s rules about running in the house,” Frenchie’s mom said. It was a tired phrase and Frenchie was tired of hearing it.

“Mom, I’m not a kid anymore!”

Sternly, “Seth. If you live under my roof, you will obey my rules. Now sit down and eat your vegan dinner–just the way you like it. I’ll get you a Flintstones vitamin if it will calm you down.”

“Fine! Just make sure you pick out an orange one. Those are my favorite.”

“Sure thing, dear. “

And with that, it was dinner as usual in the Williamson house. Until…

—–

*BAM!* Frenchie was knocked unconscious and stuffed in a burlap sack. He awoke
and had just enough time to mutter something sarcastic about having worse experiences with sacks in the past before receiving the business end of a fist right to the cocksucker followed with a knee to the groin. It was a deep, visceral pain, but Frenchie was used to this kind of abuse by his uncle. In fact, he got semi-hard just thinking about it.

Sensing that this tactic was not working in his favor, Frenchie’s attacker opted to speak to Frenchie.

“Listen here you little shit. I know what you’ve been doing on your little computer at home. I know about the underage gay porn and your gay cyberterrorist pseudonames. I know you’ve got children locked away somewhere and your government wants those children found. Now either you are going to cooperate with us or we are going to–Aw what the fu–put your dick away. Dude what the fuck are you doing? Put it away. Now. I swear to God, I’l cut it o–Dude, seriously. What the fuck? Are you…are you actually masturbating right now? Like, in front of me? I just kidnapped you and y–Dude, dont sniff me. Don’t you dare fucking sniff me. Are you fucking serious right now? I’m a federal officer and you have your nose in my–OW. You just–HE JUST BIT MY ASS.”

With that, Frenchie was knocked cold for the last time this night. When he awoke, he felt the vibration of a moving car. It reminded him to change out the batteries on his vibrator when he got home. “Little Bunny Patterson” was getting a little lackluster in the vibratory department.

“Where am I?” he asked the driver, whose face could not be seen from Frenchie’s perspective.

“You’re in a car, oh Sexi One,” an obviously male voice obliged.

“…Sexi One? Wait, am I having that dream again? Are you Ted Kennedy? Are you going to pull over and have your way with me?”

“No, master. I am but a butt slave for you to do with what you will. I rescued you from those nonbelievers and I’m taking you somewhere safe–somewhere nobody will think to look for you.”

—–

The pair arrived just after midnight at a nightclub–a straight nightclub. Frenchie felt out of place and alone, but his “butt slave,” as he called himself, insisted that it was alright. They walked around the back and entered a door to the cellar. It was a cold, dark, long walk through the antechamber of what turned out to be a huge underground lair. Frenchie wondered if his hair would handle the moisture. Upon reaching the center room, Frenchie was overjoyed to see a huge gay orgy. All were receptive to his 2 inches of rock hard man-love and they celebrated his coming (get it?) with 200 gallons of sex oil. He was home at last…

TO BE CONTINUED