The Nephew

The little boy who was helping him find his dog lay chloroformed on the thick plastic that covered the New York Giants bed-sheet and half of the tiny bedroom, his knees tied tightly to his elbows with thick rope, his lips sealed together with the duct-tape that circled his head in several clean loops. Mark checked the lock on his door again, threw the half-empty enema bottle in the trash can, then dropped his boxers to his feet. Side-stepping one of the several stacks of books on the floor - textbooks, novels, chapbooks of poetry, comic books, graphic novels, porno mags - he slid onto the bed on his knees, his hard, little dick hovering above the boy's tiny, wrinkled sack of balls.

He put a jagged fingernail to the boy's anus and scratched up and down. He watched the boy's face for a reaction but received none. It was amazing how much he looked like her even though he was just a nephew - same hair color, wide eyes, turned up nose, and mousey lips. Leaning forward, he kissed the boy on the lips as he dug harder at his asshole. Then bit a hole through the boy's left cheek. At which the child's eyes stammered open and a vague scream tried to escape through the several layers of duct tape, as if the kid was yelling to his mother from the depths of a black hole.

Mark grinned and spit the flesh onto the boy's smooth chest, right between his nipples, which seemed much too close to each other, and licked the blood that tasted like everyone else's blood from his lips. He thought about removing the duct tape, but no, Sarah would definitely be at the door after the next howl. So he squeezed the boy's nostrils together until his body stopped squirming, his eyes began to shine with stillness, his unsuccessful yelps abated - at which he let go and watched, grinning and bug-eyed, as the boy regained consciousness and began to cry once again, the tears from his left eye running over his temple and diluting the blood that pooled under his ear.

He dipped his finger into the hole in the boy's cheek and lubed his diminutive dick, which may have been bigger and harder than it had ever been, with it and the pre-cum that had smeared the boy's genitals. Scooting closer, he touched the glans to the boy's asshole for a second, then fell forward with a pump of his hips until he was all the way inside. Five pumps and he delivered a load of semen into the boy's rectum, his eyes fluttering, his ass tensed as the boy's head swiveled from side to side.

Without pulling out, he grabbed the scalpel he'd stolen from the medical supply store from his nightstand and sat up, thinking briefly of Irwin Cook and the man's pathetic screams. His dick hardened again - Jesus Christ, was it even harder than a minute ago? - as he put the scalpel to the boy's sternum and drew an invisible line to the base of the boy's floppy inch of cock - a line - no, a piece of art! - that took a minute to open with all the force of the boy's pulsating innards and spewing blood.

He watched the boy's eyes and nostrils, the former blinking rapidly, the latter swelled so large that he could have fucked them and not felt a thing. Then began to pump the tightest asshole he'd ever had around his dick again, slithering his fingers into the crevice of the boy's abdomen until he thought he could feel his spine. He dug down and through the slimy coils of intestines, towards the movement of his pistoning cock, until at last his slender fingers were around it and he could feel it throbbing through the boy's colon.

He squeezed hard and pumped harder, sure that his cock would explode if he didn't come soon. He watched what had been 5 or 6 years of life expire in the boy's light-brown eyes, at which he finally came - he swore he could feel the cum hit the palm of his hand - and removed his cock and his hand at the same time. His cock looked as it always did and his hand looked as it had so many times in the past. He wiped the latter clean on the boy's legs, then cut the rope around the boy's knees and elbows with the scalpel, which he lay in the boy's open abdomen, unsurprised when the legs and arms didn't fall onto bed but just remained crooked in the air.

Mark jerked off once more to the images he'd just witnessed - nay, created - ate the cum in his hand, then sat on the edge of the bed. He laughed as his breathing resumed normalcy. And thought of Bette and all the things he wanted to do to her. And of Dill and the thing he wanted to do to her. And of Nick and the things he wanted him to do with him.

After a final kiss, he carefully wrapped the boy's beautiful corpse in the plastic, securing it with the last of the duct tape. Then shoved it into the duffel bag he'd bought at the Army-Navy surplus store a month earlier. He pushed it under his bed and looked around his room. He took quick piss in the bathroom across the hall, pulled his boxers back on, grabbed a comic book from one of his stacks, jumped into bed, and began thumbing through the latest adventures of that pussy Superman.