How to Create a Fuckboy

Whenever El Greco's wanderings brought him back within 150 miles, he'd come by for a fuck and to discuss progress on the film arm of our enterprise. On occasion, he'd grant the bitch a fuck, for which she was fawningly grateful. She eyed some of our other clients, like Carson, but of course, she never got to use any of them. Fuckboy was getting all the action; all she could do was watch the men come and go while she played with her cunnie. Her horniness was downright pathetic.

I told Fuckboy to try to keep her busy. Our Dad used to tell us, "Idle hands are The Devil's workshop." When the cooking, laundry, cleaning, and grocery shopping weren't enough, he found her other chores like keeping the two cars washed and waxed. I still had Dad's Reatta, now 17 years old now! And for shopping, the bitch drove a 2003 PT Cruiser she bought secondhand when she was still waitressing.

At the end of each month Fuckboy and I went over the books together, for his math lesson. He first added up our monthly expenses: mortgage, homeowners insurance, electricity, heating, groceries, lawn maintenance, pool maintenance, car expenses (gas, maintenance, insurance), school expenses (we were using the Calvert curriculum), incidentals (like clothes), taxes, dental insurance, college fund, emergency fund. Then I showed him our gross income. He was getting a lot fuckin better lesson in economics than he would get in public school. One time, as he compared the two figures, he remarked, "Sir, maybe I should work more hours."

"No way, Fuckboy. If you think you're going to get out of doing schoolwork that easily, you're fuckin mistaken. No, I'll keep looking for other ways to expand the business. El Greco is already planning another film. And the sale of stills is starting to pick up."

"Maybe we could sell the bitch?"

"What?"

"Well, she's got the whole fuckin day to cook and clean and all. After supper she just sits downstairs, probably playin with her pussy."

I thought about my sister's rampant sexual desires. Shit. Why hadn't I thought of that. The kid's a genius. We've been squandering a potential gold mine right under our own roof. "I think you're on to something, Fuckboy. I always knew you were smart. Got a real head for business. Let me work on it. But just one thing."

"What Sir?"

"If we do find anyone willing to pay for her ass, I'll set the price!" We both laughed remembering the fifty cents we got that day.

"OK, Math time is over. Time for writing." Together we drafted an ad to put up on Craig's List, something we couldn't do for the business up until now. "Hey hot rod fans. My big hungry bottom knows how to make your rod really hot. Give me a call. Veronica." Fuckboy thought "Veronica" was a sexy name.

I put in a new phone line with an answering machine. I screened all the calls and told her who to answer and what to say. Fyodor came and redid her bedroom in cheap bordello. The sliding glass door meant she could receive customers without disturbing us upstairs. Finally, I took her out to buy a wardrobe, the sluttiest lingerie we could find. It made Fuckboy and me both sick to see her, but we knew this was what breeders went for.

"I'm glad I don't gotta wear junk like that for my clients."

"No, Fuckboy. Your beautiful bare ass is all you need to make the men happy. But poor Veronica needs all the help she can get."

A lot of guys began to come by, mostly one-timers curious to try the new whore cunt in town, but she began to get some regulars. El Greco laughed at the inflation in her rates.

Harrington was usually booked for Saturday, and he continued to insist on having the bitch watch as he fucked her son. But now that she was Veronica the whore, he began fucking her as well. They played the same double rape scene every week. He would first do the Fuckboy while she would beg him to please stop. Then he would fuck her while the lad would plead, "Please, Sir, don't hurt my poor mother." He liked playing out the scene in Veronica's room in the basement. Since it reinforced the image of her as a cheap slut, he found it easier to humiliate her there than upstairs in the wholesome looking Fucking Room.

One time when she was giving a piano lesson, the boy remarked, "I'm glad we decided to let you get fucked, Bitch. You've been much easier to deal with now that you're getting laid."

"Well. I feel like I'm really contributing something to our family now. Thank you, Honey." She went to kiss him, but remembered her status. "Sorry, I meant thank you Sir.

I agreed that her mood was definitely better now that she was getting in on the action. There were a few drawbacks. Unfortunately we had to give her a couple days off each month; that's the problem with having females in your stable. Fuckboy said he was happy he didn't get periods. In addition, the busier she got with the whoring, the more she began to neglect her other responsibilities. We had to make our own fuckin breakfast.

When the bitch did get up, usually around noon, she would present her night's takes to Fuckboy, since he was in charge of personnel. He scrutinized her schedule and if he thought she was holding out on us, he whipped her ass. We'd sometimes see marks that told us other men enjoyed abusing that big ass as well.

At least we could count on one great dinner a week. Every Wednesday, the Beckers came by carrying hot dishes in thermal covers. While Mrs. Becker watched her husband get his cock sucked on the cowboy bed, the amazing aromas would begin to fill the kitchen. By the time he finished fucking the boy's hungry asshole, both Fuckboy and I would be hungry for the delicious repast waiting. We always invited the Beckers to stay for supper and they always declined. "No, dinner time is family time. We wouldn't think of intruding. You do so much to warm our hearts, we're just happy we could provide a little warmth for your insides." Mrs. Becker must have spent the entire day every Wednesday preparing for their one hour visit. As a spectator, she seemed to enjoy the fuck as much as her husband. She often lay on the bed caressing Fuckboy's head in her lap, running her fingers through his hair, smiling at his twinkling eyes, while her husband pumped away inside his asshole. It truly was a touching scene. It could have made a Norman Rockwell cover. I felt sorry for the Beckers not being able to conceive. Now in their fifties, it was too late. But each week, they were able to feel what parenthood was all about.

Next: Peter Pan