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## CHAPTER 7 "Bad Guys Headquarters"

The Ice Cream Man looked down as he pulled his cock out of his last victim. He'll never forget that slut. Jason Weidler, that little slut who was always running his mouth—when it wasn't crammed full of cock.

Jason had actually gotten off kind of easy, in the grand scale of things. After the Ice Cream Man had nabbed the boy while he was selling him a "Bubble Play" one afternoon, he had only lived in The Freezer—the safe/dungeon where he kept his boys—for six months. Other boys, like little Adam Kennler, had lived there for years. And he'd treated other boys so much worse. Jason Weidler didn't have to drink spit by the gallons or guzzle piss or survive on a diet of cum and vitamins, like the twins had. No, he was strictly used as a fuck hole—sometimes his mouth, usually his ass.

He was just so good at taking the Ice Cream man's fat cock; it was perfect. If only he'd known that one day, Jason would bring about his downfall. If only he'd known, as he popped his cock out of the boy's ass and let it smack hard against his own abs, that in just a few hours the kid would escape and rat him out to the fucking Pig Police force in this town.

He'd never forget Jason Weidler, but he'd also never forget the man who'd brought him down—Officer Marco Pazzo.

"Boss?"

The Ice Cream man was dragged away from his memory, back to the present. Post-Epidemic.

 He was sitting behind the Principal's desk in the elementary school he and his gang had taken over as their "headquarters." Naturally, the men from the prison happily followed his lead. He was, after all, the man who had been arrested for the most boy pillaging in world history. He'd been so terrifying during his reign, parents were locking their sons up to keep them safe. But he'd still managed to divide and conquer 48 little boy cherries, thanks to his cover as an Ice Cream Man—and the fact that he was so personable. And so Goddamn good looking.

 And now, 19 years later, he was free in a world full of boy sluts.

He looked older than he had when he was arrested—but he was only 23 then. Now he was 42, and age in prison had suited him. A few more wrinkles, some gray at the temples of his dark, thick hair—but his body was out of control. And he'd gotten a lot more tattoos in prison—some that were even more fucked up than the one on his cock. But that was still his favorite—that ice cream cone that was tattooed on his cock. The point of the cone was all the way at the base, and then, many inches later, sat his fat cock head.

He'd been proud of his cock back when he was a free man, raping boys. In fact, in his underground gay following (he had quite a big one back then), rumors about his cock ran wild. Every closeted perv back in the 1990s knew he had an 11 inch dick with a cock head that was the size of a baby's fist. Pics of his dick had somehow leaked from prison, and they were all over the internet by the time he had been locked away.

Now, however, his cock was simply insane. It had grown a full two inches, to the evil number of 13, but it was the head that really shocked him. While his head had looked like a kiddie scoop of ice cream atop his cone tattoo, now it looked like a legitimate XTRA LARGE scoop. About the size of a baseball.

So with his reputation, it had been easy for him to take over and lead the men from the prison here—instinct told him it would be a jackpot, and he was right. By the time they'd arrived, they'd gathered a group of 15 boys. But the real surprise was that when they got there, the elementary school was still functioning somewhat.

Most of the teachers and students had abandoned the building or never arrived for school on the day of the Epidemic. But when the Ice Cream man and his gang marched into the school, they were met by three teachers and the janitor. There were also 15 boys there who had been dropped off early. The school employees had secured the kids in the rooms and were denying them their needs.

When the Ice Cream Man quickly told them the gist of his plan for the elementary school, the teachers had mixed reactions. Two of the teachers—the math teacher and the history teacher—panicked and tried to flee. They were grabbed, tied up, and locked in the gymnasium.

The janitor, a Hispanic guy in his 30s who was surprisingly well built for having such a shlubby job, was on board. Shockingly, so was the English teacher, a young guy in his early 20s, mousy, with glasses, quiet, but with an evil glint in his eye.

"You awake, Boss?" It was Artie, his new right-hand man. Artie was clearly a little upset that he wasn't top dog anymore, but when an Evil Alpha like the Ice Cream man was in the mix, there was no other way. Artie was lucky to be his second-hand man. He'd turned Bobby—Artie's tattooed cousin—and Dante—the giant, dumb nigger—into his muscle. The mad scientist was his personal advisor. And he, the Ice Cream Man, was the king of King Elementary school.

"Yes, I'm awake."

"You uh, told me to come get you when our count was ready. Well, it's ready." Artie held out a sheet of lined paper with a list of names scribbled on it.

"Great." The Ice Cream Man leaned forward to grab the paper, then bent down to the microphone on the desk in front of him. He pressed the talk button and cleared his throat.

"ATTENTION ALL ADULT STAFF MEMBERS. PLEASE REPORT TO THE TEAHCERS' LOUNGE IMMEDIATELY."

He gave a little giggle and clicked the microphone off, then rose from the desk and headed down the hall toward the teacher's lounge. Artie diligently followed him. As they walked down the hall, he thought carefully about his plan. Hopefully Dr. White was as smart as they looked. After he'd explained how the disease affected boys, The Ice Cream man had seen exactly how it had to be. First, he needed to know which boys had "exploitable" needs. He wanted to know which boys could be made to suffer if they were denied their needs in some way. Yes, he hadn't changed a bit—he still firmly believed that sex shouldn't be enjoyable for boys, only for men. Who's to say if he's right?

He entered the teachers lounge to find all the men assembled.  Around the round table in the center of the room sat Bobby, a tattooed ex-con with a violent edge and muscles to spare. He was wearing nothing but a black tank top. Next to him sat Dante, the dumb black giant, who was still wearing his orange jumpsuit, though his massive gorilla dick was hanging out. Beside him sat Dr. White, the insane scientist who somehow understood how the epidemic worked. Next came the janitor—Jose—in his blue jumpsuit, and finally the English teacher, Mr. Drew, in his neat little button down tie and shirt.

Finally, there was little Owen, Artie's son and Bobby's nephew. He'd already been through hell and back, but the Ice Cream man's cock was feeling a little cold. Since the boy was already in full-on zombie mode having been denied his need for SO LONG, the boy just came right over, dropped to his knees, and began to suck. Even though the only thing he wanted was a sweet, gentle kiss, he impaled himself on the Ice Cream man's 11-inch monster like there was no tomorrow.

It was time for him to begin his speech. He stood in front of the round table of his gatherers, grabbed Owen by the head, started bucking his hips, and began his speech.

"All right, gentlemen. As you know, we've got a very busy school here at Cock Elementary. We have fifteen needy little students who require constant attention and education. Unfortunately, they are also very rowdy boys, and I think we all agree that boys are best when they are seen and not heard.

But before we can get to the boys, we need to really get to know each other. So here's the agenda for today's Teacher's Meeting. First, we're going to introduce ourselves and talk a little bit about who we are and why we're here."

Owen was gagging away, starting up that frothy noise.

"Now I don't want to hear anyone talking out of order, so we're going to use the Talking Hole. This is the Hole."

He pulled Owen off his cock and showed the boy's zombie face to the men around him. The little White Trash boy's mouth was hanging open, and he was moaning like a real zombie.

The Ice Cream Man held held Owen's mop of dark hair in his hand as he slowly turned the boy's face around. Owen could only drool and moan some more, so desperate was he for his need.

"When I pass you the Talking Hole, you take it and have permission to talk. Feel free to fuck its hole as you do so."

He thrust the boy toward the man to his left—Dr. White. At first Dr. White didn't seem to react at all, but that was kind of common for him. The man was a mad scientist, after all.

After a moment he blinked, smiled, and slowly stood. He grabbed Owen's brown curls and yanked him over.

"I'm Dr. White," the man began. "I suppose now that we're all together, I can reveal more about my proclivities. I was once a great man—A GREAT MAN I TELL YOU!" Dr. White was prone to outbursts. As he shouted, he yanked Owen by the hair, as though the boy were a ragdoll.

The Ice Cream Man studied Dr. White. He was still in his orange jump suite, but it was completely unzipped. The man's body—remarkably toned for a man in his 50s, thanks to prison—was covered in a thick layer of gray-black hair. He stood with a weird hunch forward, which caused his thick, EXTREMELY veiny cock to press against his pecs.

"I once worked in Washington, you know." The doctor seemed to have calmed down, and was now longdicking The Talking Hole. "I worked for a very secret organization. A very secret organization indeed. I doubt any of you have heard of it. IFSIR? Anyone know of IFSIR?"

The doctor looked around at the other men, as if he expected them to respond to such an odd question. He shrugged and went on. "Suffice it to say...I have some inside information about the Epidemic. I use the word Epidemic, because that's what is happening. Something has been released in the world, and it's caused chemical and hormonal changes in the brains of boys and men. "

"Ah, yes, I was hoping you'd get to that," The Ice Cream Man said with a smile. "Please, can you tell us more about that. Go on, tell the men what you told me when we got here."

The doctor's steely blue eyes lit up with insanity. He loved talking science. "You see, you see, the boys, they—well they have become obsessed. Think of them like addicts. Each has its own need, and if that need is not fulfilled, there can be disasterous results. DISASTEROUS. Boys can starve to death or worse. But...you see...what they didn't anticpate was...you can use this chemical change to...better your own situation. You see, if you completely deny the boys their need and any form of sex at all, they will waste away. HOWEVER! If you use the boys sexually, but DENY them their need, then they will...well...zombify. Taken little Owen here, for example."

Again Owen's drooling, blank, completely stupid face was shown to the crowd.

"Owen here is DYING for a kiss.  He just wants to be kissed like a man—lots of tongue and spit. He wants a real romantic make out `sesh with daddy, doesn't he? But he's not gonna get that! NO! He'll never get that. Instead, he gets the opposite of a make out sesh—a rough throat fucking on dick! And now look at him! HE'LL DO ANYTHING WE SAY! HAHAHAHAHAH!"

The men all waited for the doctor's insane, minacle laugh to die down.

"Yes, thank you, doctor." The Ice Cream Man yanked Owen's head bak to him. "I passed the Talking Hole to you first for a reason. I wanted us all to understand exactly what the situation is here. We are going to take six of these boys and zombify them. They will be just like our little Talking Hole here. But in order to really get them in this mood, I'm going to need each one of you to take on the challenge of converting one boy. Once assigned to you, you will go spend some one-on-one time getting to know him. In two hours, we'll all report to the auditorium, where we'll put on our first production of the year. You'll each take the stage with your boy and show the rest of us what you've done to not only deny him his need, but give him the very OPPOSITE of what he needs."

After a few quick questions, The Ice Cream man began to assign the men to individual rooms. "Dr. White, you head to the science lab, room 203." He knew the mad scientist, with his angry, rigid cock and his sick brain, would have fun with the little boy stashed away in there.

Next Dante introduced himself. The big, dumb nigger could only grunt really, but he sort of explained how he'd been thrown in prison for violent crimes of some sort. Brutal stuff, judging by the few words the retard could sputter out. But The Ice Cream Man wasn't really interested in Dante's story. He was more interested in the massive, bull cock standing out more than a foot from the hulking man's body. That thing was dark as night, which meant it would go perfectly with the thing that was tied up in Room 119.

The Talking Hole was passed to the young English teacher next, Mr. Drew. The guy looked like he wasn't a day out of college—teachers were getting so young these days. With his blonde hair, blue eyes and boyish look, he seemed like just the kind of man you would want to teach your little boy how to read and write. But there was something in his eye—something very twisted and sick—that most parents would pick up on. But The Ice Cream Man knew exactly what it was, and he knew it meant Mr. Drew, with his long, skinny cock and MASSIVE dick head, was perfect for the piece of meat in room 310.

Jose, the janitor, sat next to Mr. Drew. Unlike the English teacher, the janitor was obviously a disgusting perv. He was big, not nearly as big as Dante, but still a nicely sized guy. Round muscles showed under his blue janitor's zip up, which was completely unzipped. Out from his waist thrust a dark, uncut, veiny, lengthy piece of Hispanic meat that looked positively deadly. He sent him off to the child in room 104.

Then there was Bobby. Dear old Bobby, who had to be kept in solitary confinement because of his anger. Bobby was an energetic, tattooed man with a thick cock and more anger than he knew what to do with. So he'd do really well in room 222.

That left just The Ice Cream Man and Artie, the former leader of the pack, in the room.

"And me, boss?" Artie said, a hopeful look in his eye.

The Ice Cream Man threw Owen at his father's feet. "You already have your zombie."

Artie looked down at his crumpled son at his feet. "That thing? No way—it's been used by everybody. I want something new!"

"Sorry, buddy. One boy per man. Now leave me alone, I need to go tend to my own boy."

"But—but—you said five boys!"

"Yep. Five boys. You'll see what I mean." With that, The Ice Cream Man coolly walked out of the room and headed to room 310.

 

***


An hour later, the men were gathered in the school auditorium. The boys had all been secured back stage in the dressing room, padlocked shut. In the audience sat all of the men, now mostly naked, beaming. They had each spent an hour with their special boys, and were obviously more than ready to demonstrate what they had learned about their sluts.

The Ice Cream man jumped up on stage, and for a few m inutes just stood there and jerked his dick, letting precum fly everywhere. The men all were so overcome with lust that they could only watch their God masturbate on the elementary school stage, wanking their own cocks of course.

Finally the Ice Cream Man calmed down and addressed his audience. "Men! It's time for our show to begin! I'm going to call each one of you up on stage. When I call you, go back stage, find your boy, and come give us a presentation. When we're all finished, we'll return the boys to their room, and we'll all take turns helping to complete our mission: to turn ALL BOYS INTO SEX ZOMBIES!"

The audience erupted into applause as the Ice Cream Man leaped back into the auditorium seats to join them. As he took his seat, he shouted, "OK! Let's begin with the youngest. Mr. Drew, show us what you got!"

The young English teacher who had only just recently joined the ranks jumped up immediately and disappeared back stage. He reappeared moments later dragging a little boy probably around 7 or 8 years of age by the arms. Mr. Drew was wearing a big grin, as if he hadn't been called to teach kids at all, but rather drag their limp bodies around naked.

Mr. Drew had a little fun with his intro. He was still wearing his work clothes—a well fitting button down, khaki pants, a stylish tie and his black, plastic framed glasses. He did a little strip tease for the men, including the kid, who lay there in a crumple on the stage floor.

The little boy had a mop of brown hair and equally large brown eyes. He was maybe a little tall for his age, but fucking skinny as can be. He watched with tired eyes as his former English teacher, current master, stripped naked. Mr. Drew wrapped the tie around the boys neck for fun, threw his shirt on him, then ripped off his pants. He was standing there now in just his tighty-whities and his wife beater. His glasses he took off and put on his little victim. Then he stripped the underwear and put that over the kids head, yanking it down so it looked like a beautiful winter scarf on the boy.

"Gentlemen!" Mr. Drew said, addressing the audience while stroking his long cock. It was one of the longest in the room, but what really made it interesting was it's enormous head. The big purple helmet was huge, but it looked WAY bigger because the rest of Mr. Drew's dick wasn't all that thick. A real mushroom cock.

"This is Dean Dunlap, my little slut. Dean is one of the smartest boys at this school. He's a bit of a bookworm, and always eager to answer questions. He sits in the front of my class, and he's always going...well...I'll let him show you."

Mr. Drew walks over to the boy and gives him a nudge with his big foot. "Your line, kiddo. Show them what you do when you know the answer in my class."

Suddenly, the kid sits up, and his eyes look bright for a moment. It's as though he's completely hypnotized—he comes to life, waving his hand in the air, as if he really does have the answer to a question in school. He's apparently unaware that he's completely naked and on stage in front of a group of ex-con perverts.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! Pick me!" the little boy cries. Then, just as suddenly, the light vanishes from his eyes, and he crumples back to the floor.

"As you can see, it's fucking ANNOYING!" Mr. Drew said, still smiling. "Fortunately, my treatment of the little guy takes care of his annoying voice problem. You see, little Den here wants cock head. He LOVES cock head. When I showed him my dick, he did nothing but leap onto my cock head, latch on like a leach, and suckle till the pigs came home.

Don't worry, I took it away from him as soon as I realized he ONLY wanted cock head. I figured there would be a better way to give it to him—something that would get him close to his need, but ultimately deny him what he wants most: cock head on his tongue. Allow me to demonstrate."

With the sort of finesse only an English teacher can muster, Mr. Drew reached down and grabbed little Dean by the ears. He pulled the boy up, one ear in each of his big hands, until the boy was kneeling on his own.

Then the young teacher reached forward and grabbed the boy's mouth, yanking it open. The audience gasped when they saw Mr. Drew insert his cock head into the boys mouth—he was giving the boy his need! Exactly what their leader had told them not to do!

But then he kept going. He kept going and going, until it was clear that that scary mushroom head of his was going much deeper than the boy's mouth. Imagine an ostrich trying to swallow a grapefruit whole. That is what little Dean looked like. The lump of his teacher's cock pressed on, deeper and deeper, making the boy gag and spit uncontrollably.

"Oh? Oh? Do you know the answer now, you annoying little slut?" Mr. Drew yells as he sinks further into the boy. Finally he bottoms out, when the girth of his cock head is just above little Dean's sternum. The boy's brown eyes are bright and wide again, this time with fear and desire for that cockhead to go I n reverse so he can suck on it some more.

"Now for the finale!" Mr. Drew cries. Then suddenly he wraps his hands around the boy's neck. "You see, if you throttle him, it's basically like using a fleshlight!"

The teacher gleefully starts to strangle the child impaled on his cock. As he does so, you can tell he's experiencing the most intense pleasure imaginable. Imagine the anger Mr. Drew has pent up, and how great of a release it is for him to be able to throttle his little star pupil. He really goes to town, because he's not just strangling the kid, he's also jerking himself off.

Meanwhile, Dean is turning a funny shade of purple that gets a good laugh from the audience!

"Oh boy. Here we go!" Mr. Drew cries, as though he's leading his student through another adventure in the English language. But in reality, what he's doing is unloading about 54 teaspoons of the scum he'd been saving in the bottom of his balls eve rsince Dean walked into his class on the first day.

"And that, my friends," Mr. Drew says happily, "is how you must ALWAYS use this boy!"

The audience cheered as Mr. Drew sauntered off, this time dragging his student by the hair.

"Next up! Bobby!"

The hulking, heavily tattooed ex-con leapt up like he'd been stung and bounded to the stage. Unlike Mr. Drew, he was fully nude already, save for one strip of his old orange jumpsuit, which he had ripped off and tied around his bulging right bicep.

Bobby didn't waste any time. He marched back behind the stage and soon emerged with not one but two boys. He had one under each arm—kind of how you might carry piglets. The two things were squealing like piglets, too, and squirming. They were clearly not as zombified as the boy Mr. Drew had brought out.

But there was something special about these two boys. They weren't just any two boys—they were twins. Identical. Blonde. Twins. Both were tiny, of course, and pale, of course, but their hair was pretty different. One had long, curly locks, the other had his buzzed cut. It was hard to say what look was more adorable.

"This little shits are the twins. I don't fucking know their names. Curly and Cunt, as far as I care."

The men in the audience go wild. They love this shit more than anything else—Bobby's nasty attitude.

"Anyway, these whores like cum. Lots of cum. But they ONLY like it fresh from the source. I found that out pretty quick by cumming on my feet and shoving my toes in their mouths. They ain't satisfied unless they have the cock head in their mouth, squirting directly down their throat. Cum any other way, and they're devastated."

The audience is quiet now, listening to the prisoner explain his methods.

"The problem is, these little cum dumps actually did manage to get a few loads before they got to school. I'm not sure how—the idiots can't talk about anything but cum. But I checked their gullets by shoving my cock down their throats until they gagged and spit up, and sure enough, there was plenty of cum down there."

"Boo!" cries the audience. "SHAME!"

"Now, now. Calm down. I got `dis shit. See...I figured that since these two kiddos already got all the cum they wanted, and they got it all straight from the source, perhaps we could find a way around their little problem. See, with so much cum in their systems, they should be able to live on the nutrients of the stranger jizz for a long time. Meaning they could each become their own "source." Instead of getting cum from cock, they'll get it from each other. Allow me to demonstrate."

Bobby deftly laid one guy, "Curly" we'll call him, down on his back on the ground. The little zomboy just lay there, naked on stage in front of a bunch of adult prisoners, completely unmoving. Bobby reached down with his big fist and yanked open the boy's mouth.

Next he took "Cunt" and bent him on all fours over his brother. The boys were face to face, with about a food of space in between them. Bobby gave the audience his signature evil grin.

"Now, in order to really get everything flowing, you need to...well...fuck `em. I know it's not their need, but when you have a kid in this position..." Bobby raises his eyebrows at the audience, and everyone laughs, because his expression just says, "Can you blame me?"

And of course, no one can. Everyone watching is screaming out, "FUCK THAT KID!"

And Bobby does. He takes his long, thick, veiny prison cock and shoves it unceremoniously into the little blonde slut. The boy is so zombified he doesn't exactly scream, but he does let out some sort of weird, kind of stupid whimpers and grunts. Apparently Bobby interprets this as a sign to start humping the kid, hard, fast, and DEEP. Each thrust is really going in there, pushing hard, because Bobby is doing his damndest to work up the frothy cum in the kid's stomach and send it out his throat.

You'd need a long tool to accomplish such a feat, but Bobby is more than equipped. Though the people in the audience can't see it, it's easy to imagine what's going on. Each deep thrust is churnking up more of that day-old cumgunk in the kid's guts. The ninth thrust pushes the ball of cumin the boy's tummy up into his lower intestinal track. Another sideways jab of Bobby's cock sends it richocheting up through the kid's stomach and into his esophagus...

And then. The final thrust.

The audience jeers and boos—the scene is quite disgusting, though ultimately horny as fuck, because that final thrust sent the cumball up the kid's throat and out his mouth. The frothy, white ball of stranger cum went from one twin's mouth to the next, seamlessly. Little Curly was so hungry for jizz, he just gobbled down his brother's vom like a little baby bird.

But it wasn't satisfying, because it didn't come straight from a cock. However, little Cunt did get a nice, creamy load from Bobby as he watched the little guy spit up his precious stomach contents into his replica's mouth.

Bobby gave a final grunt as he flexed his big, muscular ass, clearly squeezing out the last bit of his prisoner sperm into the vomming little boy. Then he pulled out quickly, letting his heavy, spent cock slap his hard thighs. He dropped the boy on top of his brother, and everyone sorta watched in a daze for a moment as the two little guys made out. They kissed and sucked each other's mouths furiously, trying to share the regurgitated sperm. But it still wasn't what they wanted. Those twin sluts wanted to suck scum from a dick like a straw, but unfortunately they had wound up with the bad guy gang, and this was the best they were going to get.

Bobby and his boys cleared the stage, and the Ice Cream Man called out the next few men. Jose the Janitor came up with a little boy who adored armpit sweat. The dirty Latino janitor found out that the boy could be almost—but not totally—satisfied by sweat from other parts of the body. He gave the boy a sampling of under-the-nutsack sweat, a healthy helping of the salty body fluid that was coating the thick, wiry hairs of his spic butthole. Jose looked like the kind of guy who didn't like to shower that often, but his little fucktoy—who had now earned the nickname Pubert—sucked on his disgusting anal hairs like they were coated in sweet nectar and honey.

Anyway, Jose finished up by demonstrating how much the kid loved the sweat that was trapped under his heavy, brown foreskin. The kid lapped and lapped at it, trying desperately to get that taste that really could only exist in an adult male's armpit. His little kitten tongue had an adverse effect, however, when Jose exploded some spicy Mexican cum all over that pink little licking tool.

Up next was Dr. White, who did a lovely demonstration on a trembling little red-headed boy. It was truly a fascinating science experiment, as the audience learned that the little spitfire had a penchant for drinking piss.

"He loves to guzzle it all day, as long as it's fresh from the source," Dr. White said in his crazy voice, dangling his big dong over the kid's zombified face.

Then, suddenly, he bent the boy over and withdrew from his labcoat (the only article of clothin the doctor was wearing) an interesting metal device that he shoved intot he boy's anus, eliciting a help. He began to crank the device, and it soon spread the boy's hole, making it wider and wider and wider. Why there was such a device in an elementary school is anyone's guess, but it was sure getting the audience riled up.

Once the boy's butt was dilated nice and wide, the good doctor leaned back, aimed his dick, and began pissing. He had quite the stream worked up, and soon the boy's hole sounded like a deep, hollow bowl as the piss filled it up. The audience fell silent—it was truly amazing how much the sound of the doctor's piss filling up the child's bowels sounded EXACTLY like a man pissing into a toilet bowl.

But the show didn't end there. When he was done pissing, he shook the last few drops out into the sobbing child, then gave a hysterical laugh and pulled out a large beaker. He set the beaker on the floor, then picked up the kid and turned him over, dumping him out. It was a messy endeavor, but impressively enough, most of that hot piss poured righout of the kid's sore, stretched anus and into the beaker.

"And NOW he gets his drink!" the doctors said with a laugh. Everyone in the audience had a good laugh too when they saw the sad, scared, and hungry look on the little tyke's freckled face. But slowly, that little boy tilted his head back and opened his mouth.

Glug, glug, glug. The recycled piss was nice and frothy for the thirsty little go-getter, but he managed well enough. He lapped at it, guzzled it down, even gargled it without being told to. But eventually he was disgusted that it tasted like ass! No gradeschooler in his right mind would like the taste of ass, right?

Well, unfortunately for the redhead, whose name was never revealed, he spit out his delicious drink, which earned him a rough shove to the floor.

"CLEAN IT, MY PET!" the doctor yelled.

The audience was in stiches watching the little guy lap up his dirty ass piss, gagging as he did so, but eventually getting every drop. When his job was done, he was dragged off stage, still reaching out for the long cock in his face, hoping he could milk some sweet nectar from it. He couldn't.

Finally it was the Ice Cream Man's turn. He'd been getting super worked up watching the show. He was proud of the men he had assembled. He'd taken over this pack, established himself as the alpha male, and his minions were showing that they were ALL up to the task of completing his mission—to turn all "normal" little boys into zomboys. It was a dream come true, and it made him hornier than he'd ever been in his entire life. And the Ice Cream Man had lived through some horny situations, as we all know.

Fully naked,  his cock an amazing 13 unlucky inches long, he leapt on to the stage and for a good 30 seconds just stood there grinning and jerking off toward his cheering followers as they sat in the auditorium audience. Finally, after the whooping and hollering died down, he addressed his fans.

"Gentlemen! Iam truly impressed with your creativity! You have all done a wonderful job, and I think we're going to be quite successful in our endeavor. Look at all the wonderful and fun ways we have of using boys who will never complain, whine, cry, or say no! Halleluiah!"

"Halleluiah!" the men cried back, applauding.

"There are many more boys to find out there—and many more men. We will find them all, until all men have seen that OUR way is the right way and all boys have been turned into completely braindead cocksluts FOREVER!"

This got the loudest chear of all, though there was also a very soft weeping coming from the wings. All those little boys back there who were so horny and slutty, so close to getting what they needed. It's a pitiful story, isn't it?

"But enough jibber jabber!" Ice Cream Man clapped his hands together to get everyone's attention. "I made you all prove yourselves worthy, and so I, too, must show you that I know how to treat boys right. So let me introduce you to Gimpy, the little boy I've been working with. Come on out, Gimpy!" The Ice Cream Man called out in a playful way, a big grin on his face.

Click-click. Click-click. Click-click.

Everyone in the room gasped loudly when they saw what came limping out onto stage. It was by far the smallest boy yet—so small he looked sickly. He had short, curly brown hair, big puppy down brown eyes, and alabaster skin.

But what really got everyone's attention was the fact that this kid was on crutches.

A little tyke, completely nude, hobbling along stage on crutches. Not the kind you give kids who sprained their ankle—no, these were the real deal. This kid had something wrong with his legs, and he had those crutches with the little holes for his arms and the handles down below. These were lifetime crutches, cause this nude little slut was permanently crippled.

As he dragged his naked little body across the stage, everyone could see how bad his situation was. His left foot was basically dead, dragging along behind the right one, which wasn't much better.

The men in the room had a telepathic thought, all at once, and it kicked all of their libidos into overdrive: the kid was a "walking" rag doll.

"Hey, Gimpy!" the Ice Cream Man said as the little guy approached. The tiny boy stared up at the naked, obscenely hard ex-con with big, empty eyes.

Then, with no warning, Ice Cream Man swiped his foot forward, taking out both of the little guy's crutches. Gimpy crumples to the ground, letting out some retard call that probably would translate to something like, "I need EVERY COCK IN THIS ROOM TO REORGANIZE MY INNER ORGANS!" But we all know handicapped boys are slow, and this one seems to be more dimwitted than most.

At least, that's what you'd have to say looking into his bloodshot, wild eyes as he watched in horror while the Ice Cream Man grabbed his useless feet and gave him a good yank, forcing the boy into a full split. You see, he's so small, and the Ice Cream Man is so big that he doesn't even have to stretch his arms to his full winspan to split the boy in two.

The little guy was on his back, turned diagonally so everyone could see Ice Cream Man's big, hairy ass as he took his position between the little gimp's worthless rag doll legs.

Though his feet and legs were useless, the little boy's upper body seemed to be in working order. Because as the Ice Cream Man begins invade the little zomboy's pretty cunt, that little grade schooler was flopping around like a slut-fish out of water. He reared up and twisted, doing his best to cope with the fact that he was currently taking one of the biggest, scariest, vieniest, thickest, most angry (and most famous) cocks in the world. Poor little Gimp.

As always, the Ice Cream Man was getting a kick out of watching his tattoo disappear. First the little kitty cunt "accepted" the head of his cock—the scoop in the ice cream. Which everyone knows is the best part, because it hurts the most! I mean it, the best part of the ice cream is the ice cream, right?

Next came the cone.  Not as delicious, but still so good. He loved watching his cock slide further and further into the ruined anus before him, watching that hungry little slut ass gobble up the cone until just the point was left.

And then the point of the cone disappeared too. But apparently, when the Epidemic happened, the Ice Cream Man's cock grew straight out in size. So before, when he would slip the cone it, the point was at the base of the cock. Now, the point was about six inches up on his dick, meaning this little tyke had a long way to go.

Ice cream may be sweet, but nothing compares with watching a full grown, stud of a man, an ex-convict, use the full length of his horrifying cock to rip apart a yelping little retard gimp.

Yelping was how it started out, anyway. But eventually, as Ice Cream Man really started to give it to the slut in earnest, those yelps turned into these weird, gross frothy slop noises and hungry growls. It was quite vile.

"Anyway," the Ice Cream Man said calmly as he pounded his little boy. "As you can see, this sucker's weakness obviously isn't getting fucked, sinc ehe's taking a royal slamming right now and is still totally zombified. No, this little cunt likes to have TWO dicks in him at once! Can you believe his greed!"

The men all booed at this.

"Now, obviously, it would be delightful to give this kiddo what he wants and double dick him, and I'd probably stand side by side with any of you as we tore him apart together. But that's out of the question. However, I did figure out a way to get closer to the little guy's need without going over, which will make him even more of a zombie. Can I have two volunteers please?"

The men all practically rushed the stage, but the Ice Cream Mean, still pumping Gimp full of grade-A prison cock, yelled at them to sit down, then calmly invited Artie and Jose up to the stage.

They stood there, watching, drooling as Ice Cream Man really pounded the living daylights out of little Gimp.

"All right, men. Are you ready? I need each one of you to grab a crutch."

Jose and Artie exchanged a look, then each did as they were told. They walked back to the Ice Cream Man holding the little boy's crutches.

"Put them in him."

The room fell silent. Jose and Artie just stared at each other, not moving.

"PUT THEM IN HIM!" The Ice Cream Man screamed, and began to quicken his pace. "PUT THEM IN HIM RIGHT NOW OR YOU'RE OUT OF THE PACK!"

Artie didn't need to hear that threat more than once. His son was part of this pack, and somehow he knew the Ice Cream Man wouldn't hesitate to kick him out and keep Owen as his personal fuck toy.

So, not knowing what else to do, Artie came forward, the crutch pointed out from him with the rubber knob on the bottom end pointed right at the kid. He sidled up next to the Ice Cream Man, and looked at the view in front of him.

There was no way he could do it. The little boy's pink asshole wasn't even visible. It had been completely pushed inside the little guy's guts. I'm guessing about three or four inches of extra skin was being forced to turn into an anus. It was almost as if the Ice Cream Man was literally fucking the child inside out. No way. No way was that crutch going in there.

But then the Ice Cream Man did something that made all the men in the room realize he truly was the PERFECT man to be running this faction of post-Epidemic life. Whilst still ramming the kid inside out, he reached forward, took his big thum, and shoved it in alongside his cock. He rotated it and gave it a hard YANK, and suddenly, the little boy's ass opened up even further.

Artie got a big smile on his face. There was just barely an inch of space there...and the rubber end of the crutch was only about two inches wide. So he took the crutch, lined it up with that hole, and then with his other hand RAMMED his fist into the top end of the crutch.

POP

The boy yipped like a puppy that had been hit by a car, but it worked. The forceful ramming had gotten the boy's crutch—that necessary tool to help him walk—up his ass. It was unlikely the boy was going to walk again, even if God miraculously cured his leg issue, but that was besides the point.

The reaction in little Gimp was amazing. Though it was clearly hella painful, the boy didn't writhe and scream. He barely made a sound. Because he was getting close to his need. He had two things inside him—which is how the little slut liked it. However, one of those things wasn't warm, fleshy, pulsating or veiny. It wasn't a cock, and so the boy wasn't satisfied.

He DEFINITELY wasn't satisfied when the Ice Cream Man reached down again, on the other side of his cock, and once again hooked his thumb into the boy's tearing anus. This elicited some hilarious wails from the kid, and the audience was in stitches once again.

Jose may have been a dumb spic janitor, but he know an opportunity when he saw one. He followed Artie's lead, and with a slam of his hand on the crutch, he got the other one in.

Now, the littlest boy of all had two crutches and one GIANT cock up his ass, and he was in a state of total zombiness. There was no returning for him, it was clear.

The men must have all sensed this, because soon they all rushed the stage. They were patting the Ice Cream Man on the back and taking turns playing with the crutches. Bobby figured out he could make the little retard yelp like a puppy if he did this funny jiggling upand down thing with the crutch. Dante had fun shoving one crutch as far into that little kiddy's guts as possible. He only stopped because the Doctor interjected, saying that though the boy was certainly cavernous and had interal organs that could take a beating, it might be too much to actually push a crutch up and out little Gimp's throat.

This would have gone on for hours, but the men were suddenly interrupted by a loud bang at the back of the auditorium.

They all froze to look. Ice Cream Man, who had his back to the sound, quicly slurped his cock out of the boy's ass. They all lined up on the edge of the stage to see who had opened the big door in the back of the auditorium. They didn't bother to remove the crutches from the little retard.

There were two figures, silhouetted by the light shining in from outside. One of them was tall and skinny, and that figure seemed to be dragging another figure, which was much larger and bulkier.

"Who goes there?" the Ice Cream Man called out.

Finally, the tall figure stepped forward and revealed himself. He was a lanky teenager, not a day over 18. He had a tattoo on his pectoral—a pacman.

"It is I, PACMAN!" the teen shouted, grinning, his long slender cock standing at attention. "I want to join your gang. And I brought a gift!"

The boy tugged on the figure he was dragging, and he tossed forward another teenager. This one looked to be about the same age, but he was clearly zombified. He was big—really big—the college football type. He was completely naked except for a tattered baseball cap that he wore backwards. He was splayed in the aisle, his big, beefy, muscular ass on display, looking delicious and ripe.

"Oh my god!" Artie called out, looking at the zombie teen. "That's my neighbor's kid! That's Hunter!"

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