Helping a Butterfly

Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

*****

Chapter 1

Derek Doucet hated his father. Hated him with a white hot hatred. He hated his mother, hated her for leaving him with his father. Hated her for promising him that 'as soon as I get all famous, I'll send you a plane ticket to join me in Los Angeles'. But the plane ticket never came. Instead, a year after Lynne Ann Doucet left them; a plain cardboard box came, containing the ashes of Lynne Ann Doucet.

Derek looked around nervously as he entered DeGarde High School hoping that no one noticed him. The small plastic bags containing the crystal meth seemed to bulge obscenely, at least to Derek's perception, as he made his way down the dark hallway to the men's' bathroom located in the rear of the high school's dilapidated gymnasium.

The high school was located in DeGarde, Louisiana, nestled in the lush, beautiful Atchafalaya Basin. None of the lush beauty of the surrounding locale seemed to make it into the dank, crumbling high school, despite the promises of the local politicians.

"Derek, my man," Deajon Washington smiled when the slender eighteen year old entered the foul smelling room.

"Deajon," Derek swallowed nervously, looking around the dimly lighted room.

"Um, hey, um, look here," Deajon said, already gesturing with his hands. "See, it's like this, um, my sister? She needed..."

"Deajon, I don't give a fuck about your sister," Derek said, thin voice shrill. "You got the fifty or not?"

"Look, I hit you up tomorrow, know what I'm saying?" the burly football player pleaded.

"Then I'll hit you up tomorrow, know what I'm saying?" Derek said and turned to leave.

"Look, look, I got twenty; my momma let me hold twenty," Deajon begged, sweat beginning to pour down his dark face.

"Fifty. Not twenty, not thirty, fifty," Derek said and left the room.

"Ducket, what're you doing in here?" Coach Brighton bellowed, startling the slender boy.

"Pissing; that's what bathrooms are for, right?" Derek shrilled, truly frightened of the fat, balding slovenly man.

"Yeah, I'll bet," the man sneered at the boy, with his long red hair, streaked with blonde highlights. "Skip along now, Precious."

Derek scurried out, sure that the coach could hear the plastic bags squeaking as they rubbed against each other.

"Fucking faggot," the coach grumbled, watching the boy's slender form running to the front doors of the gymnasium.

"Warrington, what the fuck you doing, boy?" Coach bellowed as Deajon splashed cold water into his face, washing away the sweat.

"Sir, nothing sir," Deajon bellowed in response.

Coach Brighton tried to run his beleaguered football team as if they were a well-oiled military unit. The DeGarde Bulldogs were not a well-oiled military unit, though. They were a ragged, haphazard group of youths, most of which were only in football uniforms to impress the female population of DeGarde High School.

The man approached a filthy urinal, unzipped his baggy shorts and let loose with a stream of urine. A thunderous fart escaped and the man laughed at that.

Deajon left the bathroom, still sweating profusely, the need for his drug building in intensity.

He spotted a younger classmate loitering in the hallway, trying to impress a bored looking cheerleader. Deajon grinned; the girl was truly stunning with pneumatic breasts, long tanned legs, and white blonde hair. He himself had tried on more than one occasion to impress Peggy, but the girl was only interested in girls.

"Hey, bitch, you got that fifty bucks you owe me?" Deajon demanded, picking up the unfortunate youth by his throat, slamming him against the wall.

"Deajon, what the fuck, huh?" Peggy snapped, walking away.

Deajon found the boy's wallet and pulled out the twelve dollars he found in it.

In the library, Derek relieved himself of two of his father's baggies. With a furtive look around, the five foot, four inch boy left the library and went to his homeroom class.

There, Tara Johnson slipped him a wadded up bunch of bills and huffed impatiently as Derek carefully counted the clumped together bills.

"There's only thirty two here," Derek said.

"Um, really?" she feigned surprise.

"Um, really," he responded.

"Um, listen, um, how about I..." she husked in what she hoped was a seductive voice and pantomimed oral sex.

"Uh huh, and I tell my connection what?" he asked, thrusting the bills back at her.

By lunch time, Deajon had managed to scrape together fifty dollars and made eye contact with Derek as Derek entered the cafeteria.

"Know what gets you fucked up even faster?" Derek asked Deajon as he handed him the small bag of meth. "Try smoking it, know what I'm saying?"

Derek knew the rush would be quicker, and also knew that the effect would be significantly shorter.

Derek didn't know where Tara managed to get the other eighteen dollars, nor did he care; he was just relieved to have rid himself of all ten bags of meth. Joe had threatened on more than one occasion to kill him, his only child, if Derek came home with less than five hundred dollars.

All ten bags sold, the five hundred dollars in his backpack, Derek left the school. He didn't care about the four classes he would not attend that afternoon; he had been marked as 'Present' that morning in his homeroom class and that was the only attendance that would be taken that day.

"Fucking took you long enough," his father growled as Derek let himself into the small rental home he and his father shared.

They'd had a large, beautiful home just a few short years ago, but Lynne Ann had pulled out a second mortgage, behind Joe's back, and then ran to Los Angeles with the money from the mortgage, the maxed out credit cards, and all their savings.

Derek handed over the bills and held his breath as his father counted it.

"And five, very good," his father sneered, stuffing the money into his pocket.

"There anything to eat?" Derek asked.

"Fuck, here," Joe snapped and peeled off a sticky ten dollar bill. "Fucking go down to Popeye's, huh?"

Derek took the money and scampered out of the house.

That night, Derek stayed in the shadows of the buildings along Highway 27, selling more bags to the prostitutes that hung around outside of Club Fantastic's, a strip club in Bender Louisiana.

A man grabbed him in an attempt to rob him. Derek screamed in horror as Joe suddenly appeared and beat the man savagely with a tire iron. With a final kick to the bleeding man's head, Joe left the man in the darkened doorway of an H&R Block office.

"Fucking be more careful, stupid little bitch," Joe screamed at Derek, savagely kicking Derek in the belly.

"Yes sir," Derek gasped, fighting down the violent nausea.

"How much you got left?" Joe demanded.

"Three bags," Derek groaned and vomited his dinner of greasy fried chicken.

"Three... What the fuck are you doing?" Joe screamed, slapping the boy across the face.

"Come on, little bitch," Joe snarled, grabbing Derek by his long red hair and pulling him down the street.

Derek was grateful to spot two more prostitutes and they bought two more of the bags. A whining, sniveling boy that looked even younger than Derek bought the last bag.

Joe continued to slap and verbally berate his son as he shoved him toward their battered pick up truck.

"Fucking tell you to move it, fucking move it, pussy," Joe said as Derek sobbed.

Joe kept Derek up as the two mixed together to ingredients for another batch of methamphetamine. Finally, at two o'clock in the morning, Joe let his son go to bed.

Chapter 2

Seven thirty the next morning, Derek stepped into the shower and lathered up his three inch erection with shampoo. He gripped his slender cock between thumb and index and middle fingers and stroked himself to a rapid climax. He pinched his large, sensitive nipples with his free hand. With a groan, he shot a good sized load of his semen onto the wall, and then hung his head. He was ashamed of what he fantasized about as he stroked his small cock.

"Hey, see if you can move twelve, huh?" Joe asked, pulling the syringe out of his arm.

"Twelve? Dad," Derek whined.

A slap to his face stifled his whining.

Deajon had tried smoking the product and was very nearly in a rage when Derek entered the dingy bathroom for the first sale of the day.

"Mother fucker; about time, dog," Deajon said, trying hard to catch his breath.

"Uh huh," Derek said, frightened of the wild look in Deajon's eye.

"Look, man, did that shit, that smoking it shit?" Deajon said, pulling out two one hundred dollar bills. "Fuck, need more of that shit, feel me?"

Derek almost sobbed in relief; that was four bags and he knew he had enough customers for the other eight.

Tara looked positively ill as she waited for him and he made the same suggestion to her; that she try smoking it instead of snorting it.

Derek was finished his sales run of the day before lunch, but decided to stay through the school day. He knew he would get a free lunch at school whereas there would be nothing to eat at home. If Joe bitched, Derek would just remind him that he'd had two extra bags to sell that day.

At three thirty, Derek left the high school and ambled toward the rental home, in no real hurry to see his father.

He paused to watch the DeGarde Bulldogs practice, and smiled at the cheerleaders' half-hearted cheers. He caught Peggy Comeaux's eye and the beautiful girl smiled and blew him a kiss. She and a few of the other girls laughed out loud when he blushed hotly and turned away.

Derek slowed his walk as he saw Mr. Glasspool's Mercedes-Benz parked in front of the house. Mr. Glasspool was the owner of the house they rented and he made Derek extremely nervous. The man seemed to stare at him, glaring angrily. The man was ex-military and still carried himself with ramrod straight posture and still spoke in loud, military bellows.

Derek stopped abruptly; the front door was splintered, hanging by only one hinge. He looked around; a few of the neighbors were outside, looking at him, looking at the house.

"Dad?" he called out, voice wavering.

"Get in here, boy," Mr. Glasspool's voice boomed out.

Derek cautiously approached and found Mr. Glasspool in the room where he and his father had prepared the meth the night before. The room was in a state of disarray, with several scorch marks on carpet, walls, and ceiling.

"You know your father was making meth in here?" Mr. Glasspool fixed Derek with a hard stare.

"Uh," Derek stammered.

"I didn't think so," Mr. Glasspool said. "You didn't know anything about it, did you?"

"I uh," Derek stammered.

"Right? Nothing at all; he never let you come in here, right?" Mr. Glasspool strongly suggested.

"Uh right," Derek agreed.

"Good, good," Mr. Glasspool seemed to approve.

He put a strong hand on Derek's shoulder.

"Go on, get you some clothes together; you can't stay here," Mr. Glasspool ordered.

Derek went down the hall to his bedroom. Mr. Glasspool gave a disgusted snort at the squalor of the room. He lurked nearby as Derek packed a few items.

"Anything else?" Mr. Glasspool asked when Derek finished.

"Um, no, not really," Derek admitted.

A quick glance in his father's room, which was in even worse disarray than his own bedroom, and Derek grabbed the box of his mother's ashes.

"My mom," he explained and Mr. Glasspool nodded in curt approval.

"Come on; taking you down to the police; tell them you know nothing about the meth lab, hear?" Mr. Glasspool ordered.

Three hours later, Mr. Glasspool put Derek back in his car and drove to a modest home in Kimble, Louisiana.

"Bathroom right there," Mr. Glasspool ordered, shoving Derek toward a large room just off a large bedroom. "I'll fix us something to eat while you get yourself cleaned up."

Derek found flowery smelling shampoo and soap and availed himself of the fragrant items.

After toweling himself off, he found only a tee shirt laid out on the large bed. He slipped it on and pulled down on the hem, which just reached to mid thigh.

"Much better," Mr. Glasspool said, entering the bedroom. "Come on. Dinner's on the table.

"Thank you, Mr. Glasspool," Derek murmured, still tugging on the hem of the tee shirt.

"What'd you call your father?" the older man asked, fixing Derek with a hard stare.

"Um, mostly Joe," Derek said.

"Uh huh, why don't you call me 'Daddy?'" the man suggested.

"Daddy?" Derek asked, surprised.

"Uh huh, I'll be taking care of you," Mr. Glasspool said. "Only makes sense to me, since you didn't call your father 'Daddy,' right?"

Derek ate the soup and sandwich and guzzled the large glass of milk, then fidgeted while 'Daddy' slowly ate his own meal. His buttocks rested on the hard wooden chair, which made him fidget all the more.

"Come on, let's watch a little television," Daddy said and Derek followed him into a large den.

"And here you go," Daddy said, pouring them both a glass of cognac.

"Oh!" Derek coughed as the liquor burned at his throat.

"Slowly, slowly," Daddy said. "Good God, boy, you rush through everything?"

Derek took his suggestion and sipped the remainder of the liquid. He wasn't sure what they were watching; it was extremely boring to him though.

"Come on, ready for bed?" Daddy asked, collecting both their glasses.

"Okay," Derek agreed, holding the hem of his tee shirt down over his small penis.

"Why you keep pulling at that?" Daddy asked, indicating the tee shirt.

"It, um, it's too short," Derek complained.

"So?" Daddy asked. "What of it?"

"It um, you'll see my um, my cock, Derek said, blushing hotly as they again entered the large bedroom.

"Your what?" Daddy laughed a harsh laugh.

"My cock," Derek said.

"Let's see," Daddy said and reached over and pulled up the hem, exposing Derek to just under his sternum.

He smiled at Derek's embarrassment.

"Boy, that's not a cock," he smirked. "Hell, boy, that's barely even a pee-pee."

He unzipped his trousers and pushed them down his muscular legs.

"This, boy, this is a cock," Daddy said, lifting the hem of his dress shirt with one hand and hefting a large cock with the other.

Derek's mouth open in shock as Daddy displayed a six inch slab of meat.

"And that isn't even angry yet," Daddy smiled. '"When it's angry? It's nine and a half inches long and three and a quarter inches around."

He shook it at Derek.

"That's a cock," he said, then kicked his shoes off, and then pulled trousers and socks off his legs.

He unbuttoned the shirt, gathered all items of clothing and marched nude to the bathroom.

A moment later, he returned, gave Derek a little nudge toward the bed, then turned off the light.

"You um, you're sleeping in here too?" Derek asked as he got into the bed and felt the bed shift as Daddy got in on the other side.

"Of course," Daddy said.

"Oh, um I..." Derek stammered, truly uncomfortable.

"How else I'm going to take care of you?" Daddy husked and pulled the eighteen year old boy close.

Derek struggled as Daddy thrust his tongue into his mouth.

"Quit," Daddy hissed, grabbing Derek's small cock and testicles in a fierce grip.

"But..." Derek stammered as Daddy again drove his tongue into Derek's mouth.

Daddy's hands roamed over Derek's back, arms and chest as he kissed the boy.

Derek shuddered, repulsed by the feeling of another man's tongue in his mouth, another man's hands on his body.

Uh huh," Daddy scoffed.

"I hate you," Derek screamed.

"Uh huh; that's why your little pee-pee's all hard, right?" Daddy chuckled and stroked Derek's small erection with thumb and forefinger.

Derek sobbed in shame as Daddy bent and sucked on his large nipples.

"Tell me you don't like this," Daddy taunted and again kissed Derek's lips.

Derek gasped and groaned as Daddy suddenly took the small penis into his mouth. Within seconds, he was spurting his semen into Daddy's sucking mouth.

Mm hmm," Daddy mumbled, pulling his mouth off of Derek's cock.

Derek protested as Daddy's mouth pressed to his own.

Another fierce grip of his testicles and Derek opened his mouth to cry out. Daddy pressed his mouth to Derek and fed Derek his own semen.

Then Daddy put two fingers into his mouth, wetting them.

"Here, spread them legs," Daddy ordered and Derek complied.

"Oh! Don't! That hurts!" Derek protested as he felt one of Daddy's thick fingers tickling his anus.

"Uh huh, how you know?" Daddy taunted. "Huh? Ever done this before?"

"No," Derek denied.

He squealed as Daddy's thick finger pushed into his rectum and tried to push Daddy's hand away. A slap to his face stilled his feeble attempts and he sobbed as Daddy thrust the finger in and out of his bowels.

Soon Daddy added the second finger, wiggling them and spreading them and thrusting them in and out.

"Here," Daddy said almost gently. "Get this good and wet, huh?"

"What?" Derek asked and squealed in surprise as he felt the hard bulbous head of Daddy's cock at his lips.

"Come on, boy, huh?" Daddy groaned. "Fuck, just give it a few good licks, huh?"

Derek sobbed as Daddy's cock pushed into his mouth.

"Aw yeah," Daddy groaned and began pumping his fingers in and out of Derek's sore rectum.

Derek figured out, the quicker he satisfied Daddy, the faster he could end this horrible assault.

"Oh yeah, aw yeah, oh that's good; you like that, huh?" Daddy groaned as Derek sucked forcefully at the fat cock head, small tongue lapping at the piss slit.

"Oohh!" Daddy groaned and suddenly Derek's mouth filled with a thick bitter substance.

With another groan, Daddy slumped over, pulling his cock out of Derek's mouth.

Derek protested as Daddy's cock spat three more jets of semen, splattering his face and hair.

Aw yeah, you fucking liked that, huh?" Daddy softly asked, laying down next to Derek and gathering the eighteen year old into his arms.

"No; fucking hated it," Derek sobbed out, face burning with shame.

"Uh huh; that's why you're still all hard, right?" Daddy asked, giving Derek's small cock a light stroke.

Derek didn't answer as Daddy used his fingers to scrape the semen from his face.

"Come on, open up," Daddy ordered and fed the fingers to Derek.

Derek felt the bed shift again and then heard a drawer being slid open.

"And we'll just..." Daddy murmured and Derek could feel the bed jiggle slightly.

Come on," Daddy ordered and Derek felt him pull him.

"What?" Derek asked as Daddy put him on his knees.

"Now," Daddy said, pushing on Derek's back.

"No!" Derek cried out, realizing what was about to come.

Fuck!" Daddy bellowed, angered as Derek struggled to get away. "Hold still!"

Derek screamed as one of Daddy's powerful hands gripped his waist and the other hand spread his buttocks.

He screamed again as he could feel the fat knob of Daddy's cock press against his tightly clenched anus.

"Oh yeah, fight it, little bitch," Daddy taunted.

Derek gave a blood curdling scream as Daddy's cock began to gain entry.

"Aw!" Daddy sighed as the head popped past Derek's sphincter.

Derek could feel his stomach in his throat as Daddy slowly, deliberately wormed his cock into his bowels

Suddenly Derek stiffened and then sobbed in shame as his small cock spurted a hot stream of semen.

Uh huh, uh huh," Daddy chuckled and began laboriously pulling his fat cock back out.

Within moments, Daddy was sliding his cock in and out of Derek's tight anal sheath, fucking him. Again Derek sobbed in shame as he came again, spurting his semen into the tee shirt.

"And, oh God yes!" Daddy cried out and Derek felt the cock in his bowels swell and then spurt a white hot stream into his guts.

Chapter 3

Derek winced as he got out of the bed. He sat on the commode and again sobbed in shame as he swore he could feel Daddy's semen dripping out of his bowels into the water. With a soft fart, a turd dropped out and Derek winced as the action did hurt his very sore anus.