FIN-120 Backwoods Bruiser

FOREWORD

Tiny ripped the flannel shirt plumb off poor Hank, Jr.

“Jesum Crow, Tiny! What in Hell you doin’? I ain’t got but this and one other! It’ll be Fall soon an’ I cain’t go ‘round in jest my overalls then!”

“Pull down yer dungarees, boy!”

“You been smokin’ loco weed?”

“I said!”

“I heard you. It’s only Monday, don’t forget. This bath has to last me until next Saturday! This fool idea of yer-in had better not get me dirty!”

“I’m gonna get you clean boy. I’m gonna wash you down—inside and out!”

Tiny began to stroke Hank, Jr.’s lily-white ass. It had never seen the light of the sun. Just the moon a couple o’ times when he had gone skinny-dipping.

And going skinny-dipping with Tiny had proven to be his fatal mistake.

Tiny stroked the perfectly smooth, perfectly round cheeks of Hank, Jr.’s ass.

Then, BOOM!

Hank, Jr. experienced the most painful thing he had yet experienced in his fourteen years.

“Tiny! What in the name of Christ do you think you’re doing back there?!”

Tiny had pulled his long, fat dick out of his dirty, faded over-alls and plummeted it deep into Hank, Jr.’s bowels.

“Ooh, boy! It feels so good and warm inside of you!”

“Ow! Ow!”

Hank, Jr. screamed in pain. He screamed for help! But they were safely tucked away behind the tool shed on a Saturday night when everyone was at the grange hall and there was no one to hear his cries for help!