The Alexia Chronicles

THE NEW PROJECT ARISES

Jebediah F. heard his telephone ringing as he shut down his complaining old tractor, which needed a lube job. Made it in the house on what would have been the last ring. The call began, “Abe Falconer here” with a report on Jeb’s boy, young Zebulon. Not sure how to take the news, Jeb listened. Did not ask many questions. Just listened and thanked the man for taking the time to counsel the eighteen-year-old about his – uh – problems.

Jeb’s thoughts mixed when he was told, “You son’s evaluation touched every important issue.” Falconer’s wicked sense of humor almost let him say tissue. “His honest responses to what I posed for him led me to a conclusion that he’ll tell you all about,” he blustered. “My advice is grounded in experience that few men have, so hear him out. He’s a fine young man on the verge of a life-changing choice. Meanwhile, take it easy and demonstrate to your Zeb how much you care for him.”

What did that mean exactly?

*

A kerfuffle followed word from the “Reverend” that Jeb’s boy would be “divinely perfect – with some more training.” The ad hoc committee scrambled to convene again in Capitol City’s State House joined by their investigative friend. All the busybodies made it. Arguments seesawed as hastily-proposed possibilities were weighed against risks in the State’s political arena.

“There’s no going far with this very fast,” Officer Bruno counseled. “It could blow up in a big way.” He sought Sebastian’s agreement and got a nod.

“The Committee to Re-elect doubts we can develop a program that can go statewide in time to help the campaign. Plus – Bruno, I hope you don’t mind my telling this – the Guv’s on the fence about word of it becoming public until a hundred-percent’s worked out. And, there’s your religious angle, Abe, which might mix up or confuse sinners and blessings.”

Not to be sidetracked, Sheriff Rick from nearby Sheraton reminded everyone of his willingness to “scout” recruits, say, with his friend Thomas B. helping, “You know, to keep the Alexia model always out front. We’re ready to go,” he said, tweaking his crotch.

“If I may, gentlemen,” Rev. Abraham Falconer inserted, “We’ve got a lead directly to the needy lads of Alexia through Thomas here and Jebediah and his son Zebulon there. Rick, you’ve been up there, too. There’re already boys whose names – and dads – are known. If Thomas here gets the mayor on board and if the judge’s house isn’t on the market yet, the town can let me use it to start. Say the judge’s ‘old friend’ is coming to town to take up the slack – strictly as an act of kindness, you understand, a tribute to Alexia’s fallen warrior in the battle to keep delinquency at bay. You know I mean none other than their renowned Judge Clarence.”

The plastered-on, self-confident smile of the conman looked convincing. “We won’t need a statewide campaign. Needn’t bother the governor.” A similar smile broke to all.

Tony B., Rollin S., and Officer Bruno started. Their body language – heads darting side to side – set off an alarm in Sebastian’s thoughts. “Ah, there’s a problem, I think,” his index finger pointed. “Your name’s maybe too well known, Abe, in that other context, if you know what I mean. That trouble a while back. Not in this state, of course. But your face may be recognizable.”

A matter of some fourteen-year-old. They all knew. Some jail time, too.

On the defensive, Falconer rescued himself. “Wasn’t in the papers over here. Anyway, no problem, gentlemen. Simply say that, for personal reasons, this particular friend of the judge wants remain anonymous. No fuss. You,” he nodded to Thomas and Rick, “can take turns as go-betweens with the mayor and dads. Just have then send the boys over to the judge’s house, which everybody knows and where it’s safe. The boys won’t know me from Adam. I can play my part, believe me, and there’ll be some peace all around.”

Smug smile again.

“Oh yeah?” Tony raised an eyebrow. “What about Jeb and Zeb? They know.”

Indulgently, Falconer waved a finger, saying, “No, they won’t be in on any of this – well, not the dad except on the sidelines – because the judge’s friend will only be there for boys who missed out. Zeb had a whole year. Don’t you see? We can reconnoiter. Then, if the wind is right, we can figure out how to go statewide.” He assessed the atmosphere in the room, then appended, “The plus to this is there’s no ‘religious angle’ as you put it, Sebastian.”

“What’s in it for Thomas and me?” Rick butted in, clearly in want of side benefits.

Falconer’s index finger held back any answer to that self-serving question. He leaned forward to confide, “Zeb’s primed for future work with me as my ‘acolyte.’” Eyebrows rose suspiciously. “That’s right, and he’s keyed, too. I’ll draft him – preliminarily, mind you – into helping me with those Alexia boys. They’ll trust him since he was ahead of them in high school and with His Honor.”

Thomas cautioned, “Hold it Rick. Everybody – just hold on there.” Cellphone out, a scrolled number found, he held the device to his ear. “Why Mellie, so nice to hear your voice. This is Thomas, Gerald’s brother….Yes, Sheriff Rick’s friend,” he grinned at Rick, whose eyes went up. “Is Mayor Clayton in?...Okay. Tell me, have they had the sale of Judge Clarence’s things been organized?...No? Still in the house – so, like the furniture and everything?... Good…. Phone still works?...Nice…. House on the market yet, even listed with an agent?...That’s good. You’re so helpful. Thank you. Say, if you’re making those sugar cookies anytime again let me know….You will if I bring Sheriff Rick back to town? I’ll see what I can do – and please ask the mayor to give me a call when he can. Bye now.”

A touch self-satisfied by his quick action, Thomas B. said, “I think I can pretty much promise a go-ahead from the mayor. To keep it simple, I can work through him, maybe even with my brother now that Gerald Junior’s out of his way here at school. Or, maybe not – he’s shy about this, I think. Could be has something to do with my sister-in-law. Anyhow, shouldn’t take long to make the contacts and to install Abe in the house. No need to trouble you, Rick, for a while. You tend to Sheraton. I’ll keep you in mind if something comes up.”

Thomas’ assertiveness made sense although it ruffled a few proverbial feathers. He was from Alexia, knew its key players, and could be counted on to tamp Abe Falconer’s pretensions to promote, for now, his brand of old-time religion, or whatever it really was. “I’ll keep him honest,” he promised Tony as the group broke up.

Rollin looked askance. “Or try to,” he confided to himself.

Nobody paid particular attention to Falconer and Thomas B. loitering behind. If so, he might have overheard a deal being struck, one to involve young Zeb and Thomas. Something about, “I want a crack at him before you stretch him like a sewer pipe.”

Clumping up the staircase, Sheriff Rick and Officer Bruno were heard discussing a foray upstate to Treydon, where, he was saying, “Captain Wright’s got this boy, Carl, on the swim team he coaches….”

Behind them, Tony expressed a particular doubt to longtime pal, Rollin, “Abe’s strictly an ass man. Definitely not into sucking. As far as I know.”

“And Don claimed he’s really big,” Rollin laughed, “Of course, hustler Don dubbed my cock a solid ten-incher after I fucked him.”

Tony’s Pfffft! echoed in the stairwell.

In the daylight after the others had gone, Sebastian stood to one side as Thomas shook Abe’s hand. “Let’s crank up ALEXIA CARES next week, okay?”

“I’ll need some supplies, so I better go shopping,” Falconer said as he closed the door of his fire-engine-red Cadillac and drove off, tail lights looking for all the world like bulgy eyes of a snake.

*

“Little Dan” G. wandered aimlessly out of the store run by Joshua S. He had a new rod and reel paid for by his dad. A hand scratched absently-mindedly at his jeans. “Some fly-fishin’ will get your mind on other things, son,” he had been assured. From across the street Zeb was calling his name. Zeb, that lucky son-of-a-bitch. What’s he want with me?

“Hey, Li’l Dan, gotta minute?”

Purchases in hand, the rangy boy did have a minute. In his case, “Little” only meant he was younger than his dad. They managed a handshake.

“Have you heard what’s going on over at Judge Clarence’s old house?”

“Like whut?”

“Our folks, I mean our dads – yours and mine and some others – have got us a friend of the judge’s to come to town for a few days over there. You know, to work with us that way. I mean, I know all about it and, like right off, he helped me some and I told him I’d heard you’d missed out on the judge and – like your dad said – have been real needy, so” – he grabbed a breath – “he told me to go find you, like, now! Wanna go?”

“You’re shittin’ me, right?” Curiosity about what his dad said was swept aside like so much dust. Way more important than fishing.

“It’s for real.”

Had he been shot in the butt by a BB-gun, Little Dan could not have jumped any faster to his conclusion. “Hot damn, let’s go.”

They took long strides, then practically ran.

Without so much as a knock, Zeb showed him through the kitchen-side door. “I found him,” he declared as they quickly crossed the linoleum.

A deep voice from within said, “Good. You tell him what’s up and why, and get him ready.”

Little Dan eyed Zeb and whispered, “You mean, you’re gonna be in here, too?”

“No, in there, in the bedroom. We’re goin’ in there.” As they strode the few paces necessary, one of Zeb’s farm-strong arms guiding, he explained, “It’s like this, I’m his ‘novice acolyte’ – it’s like an assistant – ’n’ I help with your blindfold….”

“Blindfold? What’s that about?”

Zeb whispered, too. “It’s like a secret. The judge’s friend is kinda shy about bein’ here. Doesn’t want anyone to know – except the chosen ones. That’s you, you’re the second. I was the first and, oh Lordy, it was outta this world. ’Course – let’s get your clothes off – I was ahead of you so my treatment was, you know, like more advanced. Yeah, put your things over there,” he indicated the dresser and a nearby chair. “It works like this: You let me fix you up with this here blindfold ’n’ lie back on the bed. Go on, you’re gonna be great. Like that. Lookin’ good. Take some breaths. Relax. I’ll be back in a second. Y’can play with yourself to get things going.”

Definitely not relaxed but giving himself a flip or two, Little Dan wanted to know, his voice rasping, “Where’re you going?”

Zeb’s footsteps brought the feel of a warm washcloth to his midmost parts. He had come this far, no backing out. Feels nice. Kind of embarrassing, thought, to have another boy washing his hardening dick and nuts, and worrisome when Zeb’s hand pushed down between his legs – where Little Dan was least certain things would go.

“You don’t want to be stinky, do you? Gotta do a good job.”

*

“You did a good job, my boy,” the Reverend Falconer put and arm around his assistant’s shoulder. In a show of what passed for affection, he hugged Zeb and tilted his head for a peck on the lips. “You still taste of him.”

A large hand surrounded Zeb’s testicles. He needs to be reminded of his place.

“I know, I swallowed everything but he was so quick to want to go, I didn’t have time to brush my teeth.” Anxious to please, Zeb rattled on, “You saw the way he jammed on his clothes, grabbed his fishin’ stuff, and made for the door. It was all I could do to get your blindfold back.”

“Not to worry. Once he felt my hands all over his body, he never knew when you took over. You did exactly what we planned: You used your mouth while I did the touching. Obviously his first time being naked and blown and having his balls juggled a little and his ass fingered. But like a good country boy, he couldn’t hold back.”

The next of the Reverend’s electrifying kisses demanded more of Zeb’s mouth. The grip of his testicles remained firm. “When we score a half-dozen, you won’t be a novice anymore.”

Breathless Zeb thrilled to the reminder that, when – not if – Little Dan returned, Zeb would be the one to fuck him first.

“Time you rewarded me for giving you this chance,” the commanding voice said. While Zeb prepared himself according to instructions, a vision of Little Dan was in Falconer’s thoughts. Not too cocky. Nice enough young ass, loosened a bit by some country-boy cornholing. Zeb had no trouble although he wasn’t near firm enough with him. Did some good, though. Next time, I’ll plow that rut and sow him deep. I’ll fertilize his imagination. Face down, so he’ll concentrate. Won’t get away so quick either. Might require some orange juice.

Corners of his mouth turned down, he, looked off wistfully. He’ll go for it.

Hearing Zeb call him “Reverend” broke Falconer’s reverie. “I’m just like you wanted me to be.”

On his back with his head hanging off the bed, Zeb looked ready to receive a new blessing – the full anointment of his throat. He waited under Falconer’s appraising look.

“Remember, you’re not to be afraid,” came in a gospel baritone that Zeb felt in his soul.

“I’m trying. You told me to practice holding my breath like I would for the right kind of baptism where you have to, to wash away the sins.” Zeb tried to sound confident. “I did. Since before.”

“We’ve got an hour for you to get it right and I’m sure you will. I’ll see to it. Time, boy.” He took in the sight of the teen’s expectant mouth, its pink tongue extended. “Like a good novice, you do what I tell you and I’ll take care of the rest. Concentrate. Your jaw’ll stay open, so don’t worry about that.”

Zeb responded to the instruction to let his tongue all the way out and to open the back of his throat. What filled his oral cavity was large and in as far as possible yet short of the point to make him gag. “Get a feel for it, Zeb. Breathe normally. I’m not going any further. I’ll hold still. You, my trusty lad, just move your tongue all around – like that. Then settle down and do it some more. Keep breathing, because this is up to you for a while. When you need to swallow, well, do. Then go back to learning how to deal with what I’m offering you.”

A modicum of confidence later, Zeb made a sound to indicate he wanted to say something. With interest, Falconer backed off. “Yes?”

“I need to swallow and to roll my neck around. That’s all right, isn’t it?”

“Of course, but we’ve just begun.” He’s catching on.“Same exercise as before. Open. Extend tongue. Take me in just the same distance.” Go slow, Abe.“Good, Zeb. I can see your cock’s stirring, and that’s a good sign.”

Something about the man’s superb voice convinced Zeb. His head managed a nod.

“That’s progress. This part’s tricky. Your gag reflex trigger’s just at the tip of my cock. I’m not going to ram it, but I’m going past it just enough and will hold it there, so take a few breaths and nod again when you’re ready. This is the hard part, Zeb, so I’m counting on you. Whatever happens when you start to gag will go away if you keep swallowing and swallowing. Remember, swallow hard. And don’t try to breathe.

He wants to. I want him to. He will.

“This is where you show me what you’re really made of, my future acolyte.”

The noises and treshings were awful. Falconer, passion ablaze, held his cock in place and Zeb’s arms against the bed. The more the boy tried to dislodge him by twisting his head side-to-side, the more it hurt his throat and made him gag the harder. Reflux could not pass and had to be sent back down. No miracle beyond the boy’s impending faint provided relief. As Zeb verged on losing consciousness, Falconer let him breathe but only in position. “Take in some air. That’s enough, now surrender your pride. We’re so near.”

Almost there!

Zeb hardly heard the words before his uvula gave up its fight – and his whole mouth, his head, too, stilled. He thought he might choke but did not, and he could breathe. He could breathe! So what if his throat was sore? This was a clearing in his promised path.

Falconer amused himself by humming the opening of “Go Down Moses” as he witnessed the effort underway. “Keep breathing. Take it easy. I know you’re getting back your senses. I’m going past this place as soon as your tongue gets back into action, Zeb. You won’t be able to breathe for a few seconds, but I’ll let you, then we’ll share the experience again. The journey through your portal will be smooth because there’s marvelous mucus in place for me to glide on.”

Give him a break.

“I’m releasing your hands so you can guide me right down your gullet and push me back as you need to take a breath before – hear me well – before you determine the rate for me to fuck your throat. By now, you’re on your way as a believer in yourself, Zeb. Your father and I will be so proud of you – you, my coming acolyte.”

Such was the future acolyte’s susceptibility that he obeyed, found a way to time his necessity for air, and experienced his mentor’s orgasm gushing inescapably into his stomach.

A signal moment for both.

Falconer gathered into his large embrace the exhausted Zeb – “My true believer, my own, precious, precious follower” – consoling him, praising him. With stealth, he raised Zeb, reversed him on the bed, tucked a pillow under his head, and kissed him repeatedly, stroking his forehead, wiping off its rivulets of sweat, and lifted his legs.

The steely glint in Falconer’s eye might have thrown Zeb into recoil. But unexpected tendrils of emotion cocooned the new acolyte. New tenderness entered his life. He could not stop it. The dollop of saliva that landed directly on the man’s re-ramped cock was all the lubricant needed to pierce and fill the boy’s unresisting rectum. Hardly noticing his being skewered, Zeb moaned a little and sank into a further befogged, loving state wherein all of him became a vessel for receiving and containing his idol’s sex. There was that and only that.

Just look at him, totally mine – to fuck as much as I want.

In his element, triumphant again, Falconer laid claim to what – in his devilish mind – rightfully was his. The principle of eminent domain came to mind. What permission did he need to enter what he had taken as his own property? The boy was his by pledge and would serve as his first bridge to Alexia’s fine, strong teen-boy, farm-raised butts.

I’ll carve out places of my own in this burg’s history.

From drilling Zeb to what he thought as vigorous post-hole digging, Falconer thrilled at his conquest for long minutes while his mind roamed wildly. Faint rasps emerging from Zeb’s throat interrupted speculation.

He’s coming to!

A line of sweet nothings came to Falconer. He began murmuring them at the boy whose body he controlled, whose body shook limply at impact.

Eyes blinked, adjusted to the light. Some color rose on Zeb’s shoulders. His upper chest and neck reddened. A beneficent smile in Falconer’s face heartened the boy being fucked. He swallowed with difficulty. Exhaled raggedly. The memory of what he had been put through returned, at first in swirls.

Stirred within by Falconer, Zeb realized he had done it. His trial was over. Recent sex never brought anything like this. Glory be!

His body responded as his mind cleared. Satan must be gone. Vanquished. Or what rampaged between his legs would hurt. His eyes were glazing over, this time from the ecstasy of serving his master. He’s proving I’m cleansed of whatever was bad – and it feels so…good.

Zeb was nothing if not imaginative. Especially in the context of his future as had been pledged, no doubt, by his now-personal Reverend. Words he knew or thought he knew entered his recovering consciousness. They resembled something he remembered from the Book of James:

"Let my steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be complete, lacking nothing for the work ahead."

As Falconer pounded on steadily, he continued, “Our filling-in for Judge Clarence is merely a step toward the greater good, Zebulon. My satisfying you is just between us, for you. No one may know all, not your dad nor the townsmen. Except one, maybe. Remember Thomas from Sheraton, originally from here?”

Blank look. A sigh acknowledged some well-centered thrusts.

“Gerald Junior’s uncle.”

“Oh. Yes. Why?” Zeb began to meet the cock partway.

Intense eyes looked into his. “Thomas might be our first convert to what we want to accomplish – you know, later.

“Okay. Keep on like that. It’s heating me up.”

“If you will take him on as your first assignment by showing him your loving body’s service….”

“Me? Actually me? I can do that? You mean it, really? On my own?”

“Oh yes. In this very bed you will convince him to get behind our work.”

Falconer angled from far in-and-down both up-and-into Zeb’s awakened prostate. I’ll pulverize it to get this over.

Stroke-like flashes shot through Zebulon as orgasm wrenched the teen’s face from placid through several distortions of ecstatic agony.

“God!” Falconer roared, coasting to a halt. “You,” he heaved for air, “know how – whew! – to receive a man.”

“I’m ready, then?”

“For Thomas, absolutely. I hope he’s ready for you.”

Zeb’s was the smile of a saint.

“Clean up a bit and tidy the bed. I’ll call him.”

*

Thomas B., exhausted, sat in his Chevrolet. Parked in the shade of an old elm two doors away from Judge Clarence’s house, he stared emptily. All he could manage was to recall fragments of Zeb’s preacherly ramble about the work ahead. He offered a prayer on behalf of the “young fellows of Alexia, that they may feel the message the way he did, the way they would when guided to him and the Reverend by Thomas, who would be “a faithful servant to the cause.”

Dumbfounded, Thomas had stroked his chin until the “Amen” when he raised his head to watch the doffing of Zeb’s clothing. The moves seemed almost practiced in their simplicity. The boy was humming what unmistakably was the Sunday School song, “I will Make You Fishers of Men.” More preposterous – why hadn’t Abe clued him in to expect this folderol? – was the naked teen smiling sweetly as he lay face first onto the bed’s fresh sheets and said, “Come unto me that ye shall know.”

Without ceremony, Thomas slipped off his shoes, shucked his pants and briefs, almost ripped off his pullover in haste to enter the Promised Land. He saw no lube, so thought of using spit. His trusty dick would need slickening.

The bed shook as Thomas straddled Zeb’s legs and used his knees to manoeuver himself into position. His pause alerted Zeb to say, “The path is open straightaway for you, Thomas. Enter that you may set your heart in the right direction.”

Catching the religious drift, Thomas recited, “For what we are to receive, may we be truly thankful” – and slid through the portal.

There was something special, an entreaty of sorts to Zeb’s words upon receiving the man’s ram-hard cock from point of entry to the dead-end so far reached only by Falconer. “Let me be worthy. Let me prove my worth, please, Stephen. Explore me with your weapon of good. I am your sheath in time of peace. But, to be prepared, you must spar with me to earn your place there. First the battle, then the peace.”

Before the peace settled completed over their cottony battlefield, Zeb said, “You really let me know it when the Spirit moved you.”

Thomas, in post-coital mellowness, moved his key in the Chevy’s ignition, about to leave, when he spotted Little Dan G. Where’s he going? The judge’s? Wonder if Big Dan knows. Guess he must. Smiling, he drove toward his residence in Sheraton.

Zebulon, straightening up the bedroom and about to put on clothes for his drive home to the farm, was caught off-guard by a voice from the kitchen, “Zeb, are you in there? It’s me, Lil’ Dan.”

“What do you want? Are you mad or something?”

“Me? No. It’s just….”

Unselfconsciously stark naked, Zeb opened the door that Thomas had closed. “Hi.”

Little Dan looked about to cry.

Sympathy flowed from Zeb, “What’s wrong? You upset? Something we did?”

“Uh, kinda.”

Confessing cleared Little Dan’s mind. Turned out, he thought he wanted to be fucked.

Sparked Zeb. Right off fervent to perform, he led the object of his recent fingering to the bed.

“There’s something you can do. See this?”

“Your dick?”

“If you suck it a little bit, it will be kinder to you than you can believe.”

“Um…I guess. Here?”

“First, let’s get your clothes off. You kneel over there. I’m gonna sit on the bed. You get me riled. I’ll get out of the way ’n’ you lean forward. I’ll get in behind you easy-like.”

Quiet authority from Zeb worked. Little Dan did as he was told, like any good farm-town boy.

Later, he told his dad, “Pa, the mouth part was okay. I kinda got into it, but it was when he took a lot of trouble back there, y’know, with his fingers and all that KY stuff. Way different from bein’ cornholed like we all do with spit. I mean, his dick – it’s okay to use that word with you, I think – his dick went in smooth-like ’n’ felt wonderful. When we got up all the way on the bed, he was loving my butt – how can I say – tenderly, I guess. He kissed my neck like nobody else ever did. Nothing hurt, Pa. Seriously. Zeb didn’t rush me.”

Big Dan listened with sympathy. He remembered what it was like when he was that age and having harmless sex to let off teen steam. “Yes, son. What else do you want to tell me?”

Little Dan looked up. If he wasn’t sure, he got over it and trusted his dad not to be upset. “He turned me over. We never did that when we were cornholing. I thought I was being like a girl and I said so. You know what he told me? He said that was the way to take it like a man. It was sharing our manliness face to face. And it was.”

A tone of awe entered Little Dan’s voice, “It felt so good when I put my legs around him ’n’ he was fucking me ’n’ kissing me with his tongue ’n’ his stomach was rubbing my dick back ’n’ forth ’n’ fucking me ’n’ fucking me….”

The way any Dad would do with an emotional, small boy, Big Dan used a tissue to wipe snot off his son’s upper lip. “How did you come?” he wondered.

“It just happened. Both of us at the same time. And Dad, he slowed down real slow and didn’t want to come out, but it just happened.”

“Did you go to the toilet?”

“Er, no sir. Everything’s still in me.”

“Well, you go to the toilet now and get cleaned up and we’ll have a good supper.”

Little Dan knew then that his was the best dad a boy could have.