Hilo Blow
Story codes: Mb12g11, inc, cons
Summary: A mutual man-boy bj in a bowling alley restroom leads to a close encounter of the trois kind.

The following work of fiction is written by Admiral Cartwright (a pseudonym) and presented for entertainment purposes only. Copyright © effective 2018. Distribution of this material or of any predecessor(s) for profit and/or with this information abridged shall constitute a violation of intellectual property law and may result in some serious shit. Unless, of course, you ask the author first.

Praise for Hilo Blow


“Excellent story; of course, all of your stories are great.”

“Normally I am not into adult male–little boy stuff, so I was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed this story.”

“Really, really hot.”

“Oh, that was a goooood one.”

“It takes me back to the 70s when I used to ride bikes with my friends just to meet up with them at their house, where they all had sisters. Mmm … tasty little sluts!”


Note: I made up the name ‘Hilo Bowl’. Any resemblance to an actual Hilo Bowl should be your own story.

Hilo Blow



There was a running joke in my hometown: why do the birds fly in circles?

Because they only have a right wing.

Oh, sure, things have loosened up a bit over the years. When I was growing up, however, gays and bisexuals stayed firmly entrenched in their closets; I saw people ostracised just for seeming different or if there were mere rumours that their lifestyle was not within ‘the norm’. Pick-up spots for men were few and far between, and arrests for public sex were not uncommon.

So it was a sad day indeed when Hilo Bowl was torn down. A throwback to the pseudo-Polynesian flavours of the era, the old girl had become an anachronism in every sense, and business slowly got worse and worse.

There were days when I would see more people in the men’s restroom than on the lanes. Management knew what was going on—some employees used the anagram ‘Hilo Blow’ with varying degrees of amusement and disgust. Amazingly enough, given the local politics, they mostly turned a blind eye; true, if someone complained about walking in on a blowjob in progress, or something, they’d run occasional sweeps for a few days, but after that they’d let it go. Most guys got the hint; if the outer door was heard opening, they would retreat into the toilet stalls before the inner door moved.

Management also removed the stall doors, perhaps thinking that guys wouldn’t do what they couldn’t hide. This had precisely the opposite effect; the reflective walls made it easier to determine whether the guy next to you was interested.

A hard cock was a pretty solid hint.

One particularly slow day near the last was exceptional. I’d sat with no action for an hour and was just starting to pull up my pants when the door opened. Watching the reflection off the wall, I saw a boy walk up to a urinal, pull his willy out, and start stroking it. He was a tall, healthy boy, not overweight in the slightest but clearly big for his age and clearly not yet a man, but a boy. A boy stroking his cock. My cock came back to life as I wondered if he was proportionally built.

I didn’t have to wait. He turned toward the stalls, his hard boy-cock jutting from his pants, and walked toward me, then past me to the last stall, then past me again toward the urinals, watching as I had taken matters back into my hands to show that I, too, was hard.

Even more clearly a young boy, about twelve I guessed, he barely had a sprinkling of pubic hairs. He also had an impressive cock—and I’ve seen a lot of cock—about six inches worth.

I looked up into his face and returned his smile as he continued walking back to the urinal, stopping there to stroke himself for a few seconds. Another runway walk from him, and this time I was leaning back, openly stroking my hard-on. His third walk ended when he went into the stall next to me and sat down.

I hadn’t made any move toward him yet. Frankly, I was a bit nervous; this kid was clearly underage. What if someone was waiting to catch me trying to do something?

When the kid sat down, however, that was my chance to see whether he was serious. I stood up, shuffled with my pants around my ankles into his stall, and presented my hard cock to his young face.

He was serious. Oh, holy fuck, was he serious.

It’s generally true that women are better than men at eating pussy, and men are better at sucking cock. I’ve never known a man who couldn’t deep-throat. Now, a 12-ish-year-old boy had added himself to that list. There was no real nuance to his technique, just tip to root, tip to root, over and over, as if this was his first cock in weeks.

And he was going to get a big load for his efforts.

I grabbed the tops of the stall dividers to steady myself and let go, pumping stream after stream of hot semen into his mouth and throat as he continued to take every inch, every time. My cum was proportionally powerful, leaving me slightly light-headed as this boy sucked and swallowed, his throat working overtime, his hands gripping my arse.

Damn.

He stood up instantly as I backed away, and we traded places, his hard cock bobbing for attention as I sat down. He would get as he gave, all six boy-inches pushing the head and more into my throat, again and again. When I started tickling the underside with my tongue, this youngster actually started fucking my face, gently but certainly grabbing the back of my head.

As if he needed any help, I grabbed his arse and pulled in time with his thrusts. A series of not-quite-high-pitched grunts escaped his throat as his boy-cum escaped the tip of his cock at an impressive velocity, coating my mouth and throat with a decent-sized load for the kid’s age. Seconds later, he put his hands on my shoulders as I felt his knees buckle.

“Fuck, mister, that was a good one.”

“Mm-hm,” I responded, his young cock still down my throat.

“Thanks, man, gotta go!” he smiled as he backed away, stuffed in, zipped up, and walked out.

I washed up, checked my visage in the mirror, and stepped onto the concourse. Hilo Blow—I mean, Hilo Bowl—was a 32-lane center, and exactly five of them were being used. One of those five immediately got my attention.

The boy had just rolled a strike. Sitting at the scorer’s table was a young girl. Girlfriend? Sister? I couldn’t tell from behind and about a dozen lanes away from where I was standing—but my interest was piqued.

I grabbed a copy of the Bowling News from the front desk and took a seat at a table on the concourse, close to the kids’ lane but not too close. Stealing a periodic glance, I could see that the girl looked like a younger version of the boy and with longer hair. At one point, I saw him say something and she turned to look directly at me. I smiled and waved; both smiled and waved back.

Well. This could get interesting.

I pretended to resume interest in the newspaper spread out on the table in front of me. A few minutes later, the girl walked up to me. In a voice that was probably a little too loud, she said, “Dad, can we get an ice cream?”

Could get interesting? Wrong verb.

Hoping I hid my surprise well, I fell right into character. “I’ll get ice creams for you and your brother when you’re done bowling.”

“Why not now?”, she pouted, playing her role to the hilt. If nothing else, she’d just confirmed the kids were indeed siblings.

As a bowler myself—and not a bad one—I didn’t have to improvise my response. “They’re not allowed in the bowling area. Ice cream drips. Remember?” I added, cementing ‘dad’ status.

“Oh, yeah,” she smiled, and joined her brother on their lane, where they had a short chat and went back to bowling. I went back to ‘reading’.

About fifteen minutes later, both kids strode quickly to my table. “We’re done,” the boy said.

“Okay, get your shoes and we’ll go,” I said, pointing at their rentals.

We were walking out about a minute later. As soon as I confirmed that no one else was within earshot, I turned toward the kids and said, “okay, what’s the deal?”

“Carla wants to fuck you. Me, too.”

And, things just got very interesting.



“Where do you want to go?”

“Well, auntie’s home,” said the boy, “so, maybe, your place?”

Alarm bells went off; sure, this kid had just given me an amazing blowjob—and got one in return—but my paranoia came raging back. “Can’t, my girlfriend’s there,” I lied. “There’s a decent motel down the street, how about there?”

Carla and her brother looked at each other. “You’re not going to murder us, or anything?” she asked.

I tried my best to look hurt. “Are you serious?” I half-chided.

Her brother laughed. “Nah. We’ve done this before.”

“Wow,” I said, honestly stunned. “Okay, let’s go, then.”

“What about our bikes?”

I looked at Carla, whose brother had just told me they’d done this before. Wouldn’t she just tell me they needed to go get them?

Maybe I’m just paranoid. Good reason to be, though.

The bikes almost fit into my trunk, so I tied the lid down with a bungee cord and we were on our way. Just as we reached the motel, Carla piped up, “Hey! Where’s our ice cream?”

My turn to laugh; I kept driving ahead and we stopped at a DQ.

Sitting at a wooden table enjoying our desserts, the three of us had our first opportunity to really talk. The boy’s name was Carl, demonstrating that their parents were not very creative—or were perhaps honouring an ancestor. I didn’t ask.

Nor did the kids ever mention their parents. Carl said they had been living with an uncle, who’d introduced both of them to the joys of sex a couple of years ago.

“How old are you?” I couldn’t resist.

“Thirteen next month. She’s eleven.”

“Eleven and a half, arsehole,” she corrected. I snorted; she smiled. Carl grinned and rolled his eyes.

Carl continued their story. Their uncle was a closet boy-lover, but it was Carla who, at age nine, was the aggressor. She’d already been stuffing whatever she could find up her vagina, and uncle’s cock was perfect. They rutted regularly, even as the man kept trying to get Carl interested in taking part. One day when Carla was trying—and failing—to deep-throat their uncle’s cock, Carl saw the opportunity to finally one-up his little sister, pushed her out of the way, and took all seven inches on his first try.

“I was more surprised than they were,” Carl smirked. “I didn’t really want to do it, but I loved it.”

The three had been fucking and sucking each other ever since, until their uncle got too sick to continue; he’d been dead three weeks now. Their aunt was living with the kids in her ex-husband’s house until it could be sold; when that was done, they’d all move back to her place in Oregon.

This was not sitting well with the kids. “We love her, but Jesus Fucking Christ,” Carla said, showing off her potty mouth. “She never lets us outta her sight. We hardly been able to fuck in three weeks!”

Carl saw my confusion and added, “Uncle told us stories about ‘Hilo Blow’, he called it. When he started getting sick and couldn’t fuck us any more, he said we might be able to find a man there.”

“Yeah, once,” Carla scrunched up her nose. “He was kinda old and fat and ugly.” She looked me up and down.

“But you’ll do,” she winked.

We must’ve laughed all the way to the motel.



Carla, it turned out, was a randy little fuck. I’d only barely closed the door to our room—I got one with two beds, just in case—before she’d thrown all her clothes onto a chair. Carl was right behind her, already hard as a rock. By the time I’d stripped, my willy was standing proudly as well.

“Oh, my god,” Carla sang, turning to her brother. “His cock looks just like uncle’s!”

“Toldja.”

Dibs!” Carla suddenly yelled, then grabbed me by the arms and pushed me onto the closest bed. She climbed up, straddled me, lined up our respective sex organs, and sat down hard.

“Ahhhh, fuck yes,” Carla sighed, as if having a hard cock in her eleven-year-old pussy—oh, sorry, eleven-and-a-half-year-old pussy—was the only thing missing from her life. Carl began stroking his willy as his sister began a sweet rhythm up and down, her hands on my chest.

But not for long.

Carl gently pushed his sister to sit up straight, and he climbed over my chest, his back to her, his impressive cock—six inches and not yet thirteen years old—in my face. I grabbed his buttocks and took him deep, not an easy task at that angle. Slowly, I sucked and laved Carl’s pulsing erection; we’d both come earlier and I figured we’d be able to last a while.

He quickly made a liar out of me, squirting his second load into my mouth, as big as his first. Ah, to be that young again.

I didn’t swallow, though; I wanted his sister to see. Motioning for Carl to move off to one side, I opened my mouth and showed Carla her brother’s cum. She squealed and leaned forward, kissing me open-mouthed, tasting his cum for the first time in, well, I had no idea. Carl leaned in and joined our kiss as I grabbed his sister’s arse and increased our pace, trying to push this horny young girl to a big cum of her own.

Her high-pitched grunt was a lot like her brother’s as she crossed over, making a liar out of me a second time as I, too, shot off, all the way deep into her orgasming little pussy. I swallowed the last bit of Carl’s cum as I groaned, my second orgasm of the day giving me my own personal light show behind my clamped eyelids.

WHEN I OPENED my eyes, Carla was on her knees between her brother’s legs, trying to deep-throat him and still not getting it. My first thought was that I must have nodded off for a while; my second was, Jesus Christ, this kid’s hard again?!

Carla noticed me watching as she came up coughing from yet another failed effort. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” she asked earnestly. “You both can deep-throat, why can’t I do it?”

I actually felt sorry for the girl. “Some people have the gift,” I answered. “Some people have to practice. Here, let me.”

Taking her place between her brother’s legs, I directed her to lie atop him in a ‘69’ position—which clearly didn’t bother Carl, who took right to eating his sister’s recently spunked little cunt. Not that I could see anything, unfortunately.

“Watch what I do,” I told Carla, and showed her how to extend her neck and open her throat. I took Carl deep a few times, then backed away. Carla immediately leaned forward and tried it herself, going only slightly deeper than her last effort before she backed off, silently fighting back her gag reflex.

Fuck,” she yelled. “God damn fucking fuck!”

Laughing probably would’ve pissed her off, so I managed to resist. “Okay, it went down your throat a bit,” I reasoned, “so it’s just a matter of teaching yourself not to gag. You’ll get it.”

“When?”

“Soon, I’m sure. But for now,” I continued, “there are other things you can do that he’ll really like.”

I leaned back in to Carl’s healthy young cock and showed his sister what a tongue is good for: slathering it over the head, running the pad up and down his shaft, tickling his balls and making him twitch—much to Carla’s amusement—and tickling his shaft, making him moan into his sister’s snatch.

Carla took over and showed what a quick learner she is, mimicking my actions and improvising in tune to her brother’s responses. “I’m gonna cum, sis.”

I nudged her to stop. “Not yet,” I said, “I want to watch you two fuck.”

Carla started to climb off of Carl. “No, stay like that,” I told her, and motioned for her brother to roll out from underneath her. “Ooh, cool, I love doggie,” the girl squealed as Carl got on his knees behind her and slammed his healthy boy-cock home. Carla orgasmed immediately, squeaking “Yes! Yes! Yes!” in time with her brother’s thrusts as I stood to the side of the bed, taking in the smouldering sight of their first fuck in weeks, Carl’s cock shiny from his sister’s natural lubrication, my cock trying in vain to reawaken.

Gasping for air, the impossibly horny little girl collapsed off her brother’s cock, rolled over, and lay flat on her back, her splayed legs giving me a wonderful view of her gaping pink insides until Carl slid over, took aim, and resumed pounding into his sister’s young but well-used cunt, both of them rutting, squealing, and smacking the bed repeatedly into the wall between our room and what I hoped was an empty one. Carl, already on edge, shot off quickly, growling in the deepest tone I’d heard come out of him yet. His sister soon joined in their oddly harmonious chorus, her throes much higher-pitched.

Sated for now, Carl stood slowly off to one side and invited me to seconds. I frowned.

“It’s okay,” Carla smiled. “I’m on the Pill.”

“That’s not the problem.” I looked forlornly at my wilted willy; I’m hardly old, but I’m not going on thirteen, either, and I was done for the day.

Carla laughed and spread her legs wider. “So, eat me, then.”

She didn’t have to ask twice; my tongue was still functional, and her almost-hairless pussy was begging for a lashing. The combined flavour of Carl and Carla on my tongue was impossibly tasty as I brought this little horn-dog to yet another shaking, squealing cum, assisted by her brother’s tongue on her future breasts. It was almost enough to rouse my midsection again.

Almost.



At the kids’ direction, I dropped them and their bikes off a few blocks away from their house. For propriety’s sake, they each got a quick hug before they rode off into the sunset. When it was Carla’s turn to hug, she whispered, “thanks, mister, you’re a great fuck.”

Thanks, mister? Oh, yeah—I never did tell them my name.



A few weeks later, Hilo Bowl closed its doors for good. It was already being bulldozed the next time I drove by.

Not that I would have seen Carl and Carla again. They had to be in Oregon by now, trying to find as much time as possible to boink each other’s brains out without getting caught by their aunt and step-uncle.

I’m sure those resourceful little fuckers managed just fine.


Bonus scene



Too bad this guy’s a shrink, Carla thought. He’s cute.

“Says here your auntie caught you and your brother having—uh, well, doing things … things kids aren’t supposed to be doing.”

It was partly cloudy and 58 degrees outside the brand-new Beaverton office of Dr. John Schmeckel, but it suddenly felt like 85 inside, a smouldering glare from his young patient melting—melting something, Schmeckel thought, too taken aback to admit exactly what. Comically pulling his collar from his neck, he continued. “Says you were quite rude to—”

“Kids,” Carla interrupted, “aren’t supposed to be doing what? Sucking cock? Eating cum? Fucking?” She paused for effect, grinning wickedly. “Getting their hot cunts pounded hard by their brothers’ big, beautiful cocks? Not supposed to be doing stuff like that?”

“Unbelievable,” Schmeckel muttered to himself. “First patient ever, and I get an eleven-year-old nafka.”

“Almost twelve-year-old … whatever you said,” Carla smiled, melting Schmeckel further.

Carla rose from her chair and walked a little too seductively toward the young, openly perspiring psychiatrist. “Old enough to suck your—”

“Whoa, just what do you think you’re doing?” Schmeckel blurted, wide-eyed, trying to stand up. Carla pushed him back into his chair, which rolled into the wall behind. Lunging forward to compensate, Carla grabbed hold of Schmeckel’s shmekl and felt it coming to life in spite of its owner’s protest. “Goddamn,” Carla squealed. “Nice cock.”

Schmeckel looked around his office in a panic as this young patient reached for his belt. Desperate both to stop her and to do no such damn thing, he could only watch as Carla unbuckled his pants, unzipped to reveal his tighty-whities, and reached into their gap to pull out his expanding schlong.

“Wow.” Carla's hunger and admiration for this beautiful slab of meat was matched only by her confusion. “Where’s the skin?”

“Uh—” Schmeckel gurgled, his voice faltering. “The skin? What—oh, the skin … it’s, uh … it was … I’m circumcised …”

Carla shrugged, knelt, and bent forward, engulfing the head of her newest plaything, teasing the tip with her tongue, and letting it slide gradually into her hot mouth. Schmeckel’s cock was longer, thicker, and smoother than her brother’s, and Carla tried yet again to ignore her gag reflex.

It worked.

“Yes! Finally!” Carla almost screamed. “Eleven years, ten months, and”—she counted on her fingers—“and eight days, and I finally did it!”

“Did what?” Schmeckel croaked.

Carla giggled and swallowed his cock whole.

“Oh. Oh, yeah!”

Schmeckel’s patient continued doing one of those things she wasn’t supposed to be doing, occasionally gagging but mostly succeeding at swallowing seven and one-half inches of cock that bent slightly downward, accomodating Carla’s young throat. She looked up into the eyes of a mid-20s man whose expression had changed from profound fear, to profound appreciation and unbridled lust. Carla smiled as much as she could with her mouth full.

The doctor stiffened in his chair. “I’m coming. Oh, God, here it comes!”

Carla opened her mouth, rested the tip of the jerking cock on her tongue, and let her hand do the work. Somehow keeping his eyes open, Schmeckel watched through the stars dancing across his retinas as the first spurt of his scalding cum bounced off the roof of the young girl’s mouth and landed near her throat. The second squirt streaked along her tongue; the third painted a parallel streak. The fourth was more of a gob oozing from the tip, followed by another squirt, and another. Three more gobs of cum made their way out, pooling with the remainder of Schmeckel’s semen in Carla’s mouth, from where she let him drink in the sight before she drank down the biggest load of her young life.

“Mm, good stuff,” Carla sang as she went to work gently cleaning off her new best friend, exercising her throat a few more times as it softened in afterglow.



Writing in his notepad, Schmeckel said, “Your aunt has scheduled you to see me once every week.”

“What?! That’s not fair!” Carla pouted. “Only once?”

Schmeckel smirked. “Oh, and one other thing: stop getting caught.”

“What, with my brother?”

“Exactly. If she thinks these sessions aren’t working, she’ll stop sending you to see me.”

“Oh. Ohhhhhhhhh …”

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