Disclaimers, ratings and warnings are in Part 1.

THE BADLANDERS

PART TWENTY FOUR

Owen McKenzie Paris loved little boys.

He had no scruples of any kind, had never been never abused as a child, neither in words, emotions or deeds physical and sexual. Born into the aristocracy of Starfleet as the only son of Vice-Admiral Andrew McGowan Paris and doted on by his grandfather, the illustrious McKenzie Paris, he lived a charmed life.

Never had he any specific or unusual fetishes as a young boy, nor did he play with little pink dolls, in some ancient and ill-perceived quarters, an early indication of a boy's particular preferences and leanings in later life.

They encouraged him to be the best, enthused about him in their own circles and in front of him, about their pride in this young blood who would one day become president of the Federation. He would be the best of the best. They could see the signs early on. They had class, they had confidence, they had power.

But Owen Paris knew early on that the power he developed or inherited, could be used as valuable tools, as bargaining chips, as leverage, as blackmail, as hostage over anyone who crossed him. Because he had never been denied anything from his parents and grandparents, being confronted with this from outside his family circle suddenly and sickly became ways in which he could bend those unfortunate individuals to his will.

If he couldn't get what he wanted, he spoiled what he wanted for anyone else.

And that included using little boys as his sex mates, not just to intimidate the child's mother, but to have a great hold over her, her husband, her friends, her lovers. He developed a perverse obsession of making anything that seemed remotely unapproachable or dignified, approachable or undignified and once the perverseness had become part of his desires, it became his way of life.

He tasted his first boy when he was fifteen. The boy was one of the very junior kids in the school attached to his high school. Even at that age, he had begun to be feared and revered. It had been something untried when he took the boy, not sure how his own body would react, but he soon found that it was not unpleasant. The kid had been shocked out of his wits but even then, Owen knew how to intimidate anyone.

Even so, his preferences were never restricted to children. He used his sexual drive to get anything, to barter for anything and to subjugate anyone. His father had been the first to notice and any kind of remonstrations from the parents were met with complete disdain. He had their thirst for power and he was going to get it, use it, abuse it any way he thought he could, because it gave him a kick to see the subjugated squirm. He loved that. Seeing them squirm, leading them on, reeling them in and once he had them, they were in his bed and he between their legs if they were women, or up any hole if they were men or boys.

That first boy way back in his high school year gave him a taste that never ever left him. He couldn't keep himself from wanting to touch a child in public, even his best friends' sons and daughters. The kids had that gamin look about them that caused his loins to quiver with sick lust.

In his years as Captain Paris, he had married Elizabeth Illingsworth who stupidly fell in love with him. But he didn't love her, not in the sense that he felt he could grow old with her. For one, she gave him back his respectability that had started to wane after he had been found with his friend Gamische Bon's young son. He had just been about to pull in the kid - a strange race - Kondaby - with rich profusion of hair and purple eyes that made his heart quicken and his cock grow hard just thinking about the kid. Bon himself had caught him with the boy in his bed, naked and him ready to prod his dick up the kid's tight little ass.

After that, they warned him, told him to get counselling.

Whoever thought a Paris needed counselling? What were they? Blind or something?

So he married Elizabeth Illingsworth in order to create his own supply, his own blood. What could be better than that? Rowena was born first. Elizabeth was happy. Then Thomas was born. And he was happy.

Owen smiled wickedly. Elizabeth eventually killed herself and Rowena, stupid woman. He took good time in letting her die watching him take Tommy, only seven years old then, but already his seasoned toy boy. God, it was good! He had everything now. And the boy, angry like hell at first, kicked up a racket when his mother died. Wanted her to take him with; wanted her to kill him too.

And so he changed his game with Tommy. He cajoled, soothed, offered solace, then gradually drew him into his arms, kissing the kid all over his face, feeling his cock grow hard just thinking how he would spend the next few years with his own son. He had to wait until after Elizabeth and Rowena was buried before he could start up again.

By God, he taught that boy everything, the ungrateful wretch.

Now he wasn't getting younger, although he was a good deal fitter than most men half his age. His crotch still itched whenever he came near any woman whose tits looked inviting to him. He still itched just looking at the boy, eyes blue like Tommy's, hair just as blonde. They still attracted him the most. Though when it came down to it, these days he wasn't going to be choosy. He couldn't be choosy.

Good thing he got rid of his enemies. He had the whole Federation doing his bidding. It took quite some doing killing Voyager and its crew, but he wanted them all out of the way. They weren't going to spoil his fun. Vulcan was as good as taken over again, and the Cardassians were ready to put any woman and boy in his part whenever the whim took him.

But right now he had a particular taste for another boy, and Indiana was a good a place as any to go looking for one. He smiled to himself. Good thing he got Phoebe under his control. Good thing. That one hated her sister like nothing.

********

Phoebe rocked awake when there was a loud banging on the front door. Pulling on her robe, she quickly padded to the room at the end of the passage and peeped through the half open door. There was a soft, muted light next to each single bed and she sighed with relief when she saw they were still fast asleep.

Then she hurried to the front door when the banging increased.

She opened the door.

He stood there, smiling at her and before she could close the door, he was inside.

"Not letting me in tonight, Phoebe?" he said, smiling.

His hair had long gone grey, though he was still good looking, still managed in his bizarre and warped way to attract women. He was charismatic, but beneath that charisma lurked the ugly potency of evil. What was he? she always wondered as she looked into his blue eyes. Tall and not so slender anymore, he was strong and she had little power against him.

"Sorry, Owen," she murmured.

"Well, now I am touched. Where are the children?"

She went hot, then ice-cold. His eyes were steel, narrowed as he appraised her. She moved so that she stood between him and the long passage that led to their room. He touched her breast, squeezed it hard. She winced, instinctively moving away from the pain. Then she felt herself pushed away, and watched him stride down the passage. She followed him quickly. 

"Owen, please...leave them. They are sleeping, for God's sake..."

But he wasn't listening.

He stopped at the door that stood ajar. Because she was much smaller than Owen, she could actually see past him, from under his arm because one hand rested high against the door jamb.

The boy was sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes sleepily, his blonde hair tousled. When he looked up, his eyes were very blue. She heard Owen give an inward moan, knew what was happening even though she stood behind him. He was aroused. Just watching the kid got him hard.

"Ethan, son, are you awake?" Owen asked.

But Ethan didn't answer. Lainey was still sleeping soundly in the other bed. Ethan looked scared, kept his eyes on her.

"Ethan, honey," she said as she dipped under Owen's arms and rushed to his bed, quickly thumping his pillow and making him settle down again. "Go back to sleep, okay?"

"Grandpa is here..."

"Yes..."

She knew Owen was watching her from the door, knew he was biding his time. As she leaned over Ethan, she whispered, "I left the kitchen door open. Take Lainey with you. You know where to go, okay? I'll take Grandpa to my room."

Her words were hushed, barely above a whisper. But Ethan, all of eight years old, listened only and blinked instead of nodding. She patted his cheek. "Good boy..."

She turned and walked to the door, calling for very low illumination as she reached Owen. She pressed against him, slid her hand between them and cupped his crotch. He was hard, the entire area boiling with heat. She pressed into him.

"Let me make you comfortable, Owen," she murmured lasciviously, kneading him gently, letting him groan as he began to take in her smell. "Very, very comfortable..."

"Hmmm. I could do with some comfort," he murmured against her ear, pressing her close to him and stepping into the hall, "before I enjoy my dessert."

She pushed the door close behind her and walked with Owen to her room, near the front of the house. By the time she reached her door, she had already removed his jacket and her dress was lying on the floor. He groaned as he lifted her in his arms and kicked her door open.

Her threw her down on the bed. While she removed the rest of her things, never taking her eyes off him, always keeping him in her line of vision, he removed his pants, boots, underwear until his engorged cock popped out, swinging from the force with which he pulled his pants down. He had a mass of chest hair and though she recoiled, she couldn't keep her eyes off his thick shaft that came ever closer to her until he stood right against, flicking his cock against her face..

She had to smell him, smell the strong maleness that emanated from him. The distended tip throbbed. She took him in her mouth, worked her way up and down his shaft. He gave a low moan. It was what he liked, his form of foreplay. Taking the erect organ in one hand, she lifted it, and began to kiss and lick the base, all the way to the tip and down to the base again.

When he had enough - she knew it by the way he grabbed a clump of her hair and pulled her head back - she sucked him, moving quickly in and out to draw his first orgasm from him. It was soft, controlled, the way he climaxed into her mouth, holding her head tightly against him so that she could feel the fluid spurt into her, forcing her to swallow.

"Carry on, honey. Keep me diverted..." he ordered as she worked him into stiffness again, grabbing his butt cheeks and pressing him closer. Her mind whirled from the sensation of holding him, teasing him into erection again.

When he was hard again, he pulled her out. It was a relief to have her mouth free of him. But the relief was short-lived.

It was a good thing, she decided, that he had arrived so late this time. He flipped her on to her stomach.

"Come now, just like a doggie, go on all fours for me, Phoebe..."

Sighing, she drew up her knees, spread them, pulling a pillow for her elbows to brace and her head to have a little breathing space between her face and the mattress. She arched her back inwards or downwards into a sharp curve that threw her buttocks high and cause her pussy to present in full flair for him.

But these times Owen was never interested in her pussy as he grabbed her butt cheeks and pressed them open. He also never used any lubricant on her. His tip was big, primed and prodding her hole until she felt it give and he slid in. Owen gave a loud groan as he swiftly impaled her. Her body rock forward from the force. Phoebe bit her lip as she prepared for his onslaught.

Tonight he wasn't gentle. He never was gentle with her, but tonight was different. There was an urgency, more than just the diversion away from Ethan in the way he fucked her hole, burying his nails in her skin as he held her fast, pulled out to his tip and then plunged in. He grunted, an old man fucking and grunting like a pig. Her body rocked, but he kept on until her pussy began to swell from the way he kept up the pounding. She wanted him there too, but asking was never good, so she dripped while his cock rammed into her.

Her orgasm died as he climaxed, the let-down so fierce that she wanted to cry of the frustration. He collapsed over her, breathing heavily until he calmed again and pulled slowly out of her. Only then he flipped her on her back, opened her legs and buried his mouth in her cunt. She cried out at the touch, building up again until she spilled into his mouth.

And so she kept him busy for the rest of the night. She never dozed off, always keeping her eyes open, always working her way into a climax or faking one when she needed to. But she wanted to draw every angry, depraved seed from his body. She wanted to drain him until he was dry and exhausted. On and on she kept him with her, always keeping her eyes on him. He groaned, he squealed like a pig at times. He grunted, crowed loudly when he came, then kept grunting more as she maintained his erection. Then when he remained limp, she'd pull his head into her pussy and coaxed him to suck her until she cried out opened-eyed from the teasing orgasm that mostly stayed at the edge of the cliff.

In the morning, when the sun brought with it its first rays, lighting the early sky into dark blues until they became grey, then turning golden orange, she watched him get up, dress himself and then pat her pussy.

"I have to go now. Trouble at the office. Heard some rebels are on their way there..."

"I'll be here for you..."

"I know you will, bitch in heat..."

***********

Phoebe rose sluggishly as Owen closed the front door. She followed him to the door, still naked, watching from the porch as he disappeared towards the small launch pad where his shuttle touched down the previous night.

She breathed a huge sigh of relief as she returned to her bedroom, began clearing things away, spraying her room to get rid of the smell, opened the window wide to let in the fresh morning air. She put on her nightie again and donned her robe and slippers. Then she made her way to the kitchen door that led to the backyard.

The commbadge always lay on the counter just by the door and when she hit it, the low static told her it was activated. In the distance the shed was visible. It was a little lighter now.

"Phoebe to Ethan..."

"We're okay, Aunt Phoebe. Can we come out now?"

"You're cleared, Ethan. Hey, Lainey, good morning!"

She stood with her arms crossed as she waited for them to run from the shed. Two eight year olds, Ethan who was blonde and blue-eyed, and Lainey who had pitch black hair, bangs snipped evenly and hair bobbing in her neck.

When they reached her, her eyes burned for the first time with the tears she hadn't wanted Owen Paris to see.

Once again, she prevented Owen from getting to them.

She closed her eyes briefly, thinking of all the years she had hated her sister without ever understanding why.

************ 

END PART TWENTY FOUR

PART TWENTY FIVE

EMAIL

J/C FANFIC