BB-112 Ravished Robby

FOREWORD

Robby is innocent and naive when he runs away from home at eighteen to seek his uncertain future in New York City.

He meets Mark, who introduces him to a life style for which he is ill prepared, and finds himself learning quickly about life as a runaway.

PROLOGUE

“You’re one hell of a sexy little motherfucker,” the man said, closing the door behind him and locking it carefully, shooting the bolt for extra security. “Yeah, you’re a cute little stud…”

The hotel room was small and dirty, with shabby furnishings, and even though the single window was shut, a cold draft of air penetrated its frame, rattling the cracked pane of glass and making the boy shiver. His hair, dark blond, straight, and silky, hung down almost to his broad shoulders; he was still too young to have to shave regularly yet, but he had the beginnings of a mustache on his upper lip, grown in imitation of his lover—or, more accurately, his pimp. His lips themselves were full and red, set in a habitual pout. The man’s hot, unblinking eyes moved over the boy’s body, down to the crotch and then up again, returning to his face and hair.

“You must be new, baby,” he said, obviously relishing the thought. “I see all of them and I make it with most of them sooner or later, but I never saw you before. Been in town long?” As he spoke, he reached out with a trembling hand and touched the boy’s hair.

“Yeah, a while,” the blond boy replied, biting his lip to keep himself from flinching at the man’s touch or otherwise betraying his nervousness and disgust, which were both mounting steadily now that the two of them were alone in the motel room, with the bed waiting nearby. He was afraid of saying either too little to the man or too much, of doing—somehow, unintentionally—the wrong thing and turning the guy off or disappointing him; and so he just stood there next to him, silent and passive and sullen, as the man’s shaking fingers moved down from his hair to his denim workshirt.

The top three buttons were already open, exposing a deep V of smooth pectoral muscle. The man’s hands slid further down the boy’s body, to cup his buttocks and knead them through the threadbare material of his tight faded jeans. Then he began to pull the boy’s zipper down and probe inside the opened fly…

“No underpants, huh?” he remarked excitedly, his fingers groping for the boy’s cock and balls. “Well, why would you have to wear any, right, baby? Not with a nice firm set of buns like yours, and that big cock sticking down your pants leg for everybody to see. I bet it’s really nice—”

His tone hardened as his fingers closed around the thick, pliant mass of the boy’s limp prick and squeezed hard, hurting him a little, although the boy didn’t dare to show it or protest. Staring into his eyes, his gaze fixed so firmly that it made the boy turn his own eyes away at last, he spoke with the cynical, confident air of a man who had been through all this plenty of times before. “Take it off, baby. Take it all off. Let me see it… “