Chapter 20

The next few minutes are sensual rather than erotic. We cuddle a bit more. I trace a finger around the rapidly closing pucker of his anus, and reach for the washcloth to gently wipe away the traces of santorum that had formed from our exertions. I gently roll Jimmy off me, running hands down to massage his legs and checking the cut on his side from the riding crop. I no longer have any interest in breaking Jimmy, though he’s fun to play with. No, my target will be a girl, an innocent, and I think Jimmy will help me.

I rise, and go to the sink to clean my toys, scrubbing the purple dildo and my hands with anti-bacterial cleanser. Jimmy doesn’t stir, he’s spent and dazed and possibly not quite believing what just happened. I finish my cleaning, have a quick rinse in the shower and put on fresh shorts and a halter neck. I take a clean washcloth and clean Jimmy up. I’d thought about making him ride home covered in the products of our activities but my dominant streak is played out for now, following that last orgasm, and I just want to get him home and avoid trouble.

I pick up his clothes, noticing the damp mark has dried to a pale, crusty stain. I worry about that briefly then decide that no parent of a teenaged boy is going to be surprised by a cum stain. I ease him back into his clothes; he’s compliant but still not really with it. I leave the collar on for now.

I guide him back to my car, holding his hand like a boy half his age. He is silent on the drive home, staring into the distance with a half smile on his face. As we pull up on the far side of the hotel car park his doesn’t move.

“Jimmy?”

He turns to look at me, pulled from whatever deep day dream he was in. His eyes take a moment to focus on me. I lean in and kiss him, briefly but hard on the mouth, nipping at his lips. I break off.

“Keep in touch, bell boy”

I remove the collar from around his neck, my fingers stroking the line where it has been resting.

“Y-yes, Mistress Santos.”

As I drive home I experience a brief panic as I imagine Jimmy going to his folks and telling them what happened. The thought soon leaves me smirking to myself as I try to picture Jimmy trying to explain to Mom and Dad, much less the county sherrif’s department, exactly what happened. Not a chance. Besides, my little bellboy enjoyed himself far too much for that.

I get home around 7, fix myself some food and sit down with my laptop to get some work done. I have reports to finish up and documents to read ahead of tomorrow’s appointments. A couple of girls with eating disorders, one boy whose mom caved in his dad’s skull with a claw hammer after years of abuse, and a 15 year old who was drugged by her uncle and pimped out to cover his gambling debts. The court documents detailing her rape are horrific - oral, anal, vaginal, a fistula that needed stitches and months of aftercare - but I feel myself getting wet again. I picture her - in my mind’s eye a tall slender girl with coffee-colored skin dressed in her Sunday best, hair braided and pulled back in a neat pony tail. Her assailants are big, very dark (hey, my imagination is racist as Strom Thrummond, don’t judge me) with cocks that would make a horse jealous. She is semi-conscious in their arms and easily manipulated. They tear her dress from her, exposing demure white panties and a plain bra. Large, stubby fingers mash against her crotch, grinding the fabric against her clit and between her lips. A small grunt escapes her lips as other hands haul on her bra, pullng it from her and mauling her pert young breasts, flicking roughly at the red-brown nipples and puling them out two, three, four inches from her chest before letting them spring back. The three men take her one at a time, each claiming the right to violate her mouth, pussy or ass. Then they all do her together, one lying on the bed forcing her pussy down onto his dick, another ramming her little ass from behind and the third almost dislocating her jaw as he abuses the girl’s throat. They cum together, and leave her unconscious on the bed, oozing cum from every hole.

As the image fades I realise how franticly I’ve been fingering myself, combining with the heat to leave me sweating once more, though my soaking panties tell me that a heck of a lot more than sweat is involved here. I have to get this out of my system. Mr Chesterton wasn’t enough. Jimmy wasn’t enough (though entertaining). It needs to be a real innocent. Beatrice. Or Sophie. I’m going to break one of them. Hard.