It was a Dark and Stormy Night Part 2 of 2

Seth Williamson always knew he was special. From the time he could crawl, he could make awkward sexual advances at an eighth grade level. By the time he could read, he was cybering with his first online predator. However, his talents were recreational at best and had no real foreseeable  purpose.

Until tonight.

This guild of men–this “Brotherhood of Buttstuffers” as it were, had but one purpose: to exploit and sell male children to the NAMBLA black market. They had been watching Frenchie’s progress from adolescence and nurtured his development. He was a pedophillic prodigy–a man amongst infant-touching boys. The Brotherhood needed him. They needed his talents. First, they had to gain his favor. The gay orgy was more than enough for Frenchie to love these men. And their anuses. Now, it was time to seal the deal.

——–

Frenchie had been working up a gay sweat for almost two whole minutes. Needless to say, it was a record in his anal-pounding book and he was satisfied with his progress. After another intense fifteen seconds of giving and taking cock in what could only be described as a ring of nasty, Frenchie passed out. When he came to, an elder Brotherhood of Buttstuffers scholar took him on a tour of the facilities. The walk provided a relaxing backdrop for the heavy mamma-jamma about to be laid on Frenchie.

The elder told him everything–the inner workings of the whole compound, the gay sex, where to find a good appletini on a weeknight, and–most importantly–Frenchie’s prodigal role as the future leader of the BoB. Frenchie was so excited, he got a boner. The elder was flattered, but declined intercourse in lieu of more important business. That and his hemorrhoids.

“However,” the elder said in a lisp (an impressive feat, as the word “however” has no s’s), “you must complete three tasks to prove your worthiness before we can give you the title of Head Nigga in Charge.”

Frenchie sighed his signature sigh. He had played video games before. He knew where this was going.

“Let me guess. I find something, I do some physical challenge, and I pass some stupid mental challenge,” he said. His words dripped with concentrated angst.

“Er…yeah. Sorry. I don’t make the rules. First off,” the elder lisped,” you have to find the Dildo of Ahmon-Rah. It’s in one of these three chests. The other two contain poisonous dick crabs.”

“Okay, that doesn’t sound so tough. I can do that shit blindfolded, son.”

With that, Frenchie rolled up his ruffled sleeves, did some toe-touches (He made sure his nutsack fell out of his daisy dukes and was in plain view of all present.), and closed his eyes. Frenchie could sniff out an anal sex toy across a football field. Finding this ancient dildo was no problem.

“What’s next, you old stud?” Frenchie winked.

The elder blushed coyly. “Well, that was impressive. Alright. The second task is fairly straightforward as well. You just have to physically survive ten minutes of Grey’s Anatomy.”

Frenchie reeled. “No. It can’t be done. That’s too gay even for me.”

“You must try. The fate of the BoB depends on you!”

Reluctantly, Frenchie agreed. “Alright, master. I’ll see what I can do.”

The elder led Seth to a heavily fortified part of the compound. The room he entered had walls of eight-inch-thick lead. It was a simple room–generally used to torture traitors to the Brotherhood. Frenchie was made to sit strapped to a chair facing a small television. The elder quickly left the room and told Frenchie over the intercom to just breathe. He would get through this. Soon, all that could be heard throughout the compound–even through eight-inch-thick walls–was the sound of screaming. For ten straight minutes.

Frenchie emerged, shaking and resolute. He didn’t want to talk about it–only asked for the next challenge.

“The next challenge is the hardest of the three,” the elder said in his french accent. “For this challenge, you have to convince a 12-year-old boy to send you a picture of his genitalia in under three minutes over aim. Any longer and you will be traced by Chris Hanson himself!”

Frenchie logged in as usual–screen name: Frenchie VIII, password: scottbaio6969. It was time to get to work. He found a pokemon chat and mentioned his level 50 Steelix, Dildondita. It wasn’t long before the children were like fleshy putty in his soft, feminine hands. With an “asl?” here and a “u liek mudkips?” there, the conversation quickly turned sinister.

Fenchie VIII: o u evr masturbaet b4?

tinytim2: ya liek evry nite

Fenchie VIII: cool me 2. its betta if u get sum1 else to do it 4 u. my dad does it 4 me.

tinytim2: no wai. cool.

Fenchie VIII: yaweh. i can do it 4 u if u want. mayb more. u just gotta send me a pic to make sure ur not some faker lol. lemme see ur nekkid butthoel.

tinytim2: i rly shouldnt, but u seem nice. i’m sure you won’t exploit me and sell me to gay older men or nething lol.

And with that, Frenchie had passed the third test with 30 seconds to spare.

“Incredible! I’ve never seen it done that fast!” exclaimed the elder.

“You’re dealing with a pro here.” Frenchie brushed off his shoulders in his classic limp-wristed style.

———

With that, Frenchie lived and had sex with boys for the rest of his days as the Head Nigga in Charge of the Brotherhood of Buttstuffers. It was a storybook ending. Kind of.

That is, until Chris Hansen and his Death Troopers descended upon the fortress and ruined the operation.

But that is a story for another day. Wink.