“Say it, idiot.”



The voice was young. Sinfully young. The high, mischievous voice of an 11-year-old troublemaker. Lena Oxton, prostrate on all fours with her skin-tight yellow bodysuit torn open at the crotch, was in a state that her many doting admirers could hardly have envisioned. Her surroundings were filthy - a poorly-kept dwelling with snack wrappers and dirty laundry everywhere, dimly lit and smelling of sweat and stale food. Her gorgeous body, delicate and flamingo-like in it’s slender length, was lit only by the glow of a nearby television and the jaundiced yellow of table lamps. It was an untidy place, roughly lived-in, with the aesthetics of an adventuresome clubhouse for naughty boys. Porno mags were scattered on the floor alongside unwashed dishes and cum-stained sheer boxer briefs.



“Cheers, luv! The cavalry’s- mmmph!”



The boy’s insistent hand left the Playstation 7 controller for the first time in hours and grabbed a fistful of Tracer’s signature short, brown hair, pulling her roughly forward. Her face was thus jammed into his naked, splayed crotch, and a pair of pink, hairless balls the size of grapefruits muffled the end of her familiar statement. Beads of rancid, video-game-marathon ballsweat aerosolized into Tracer’s nasal passages as she inhaled in surprise, bathing her nose freckles in scrotal folds and swampy, humid boyjuice. Most 11-year-olds would blush and stumble over words at the sight of Lena’s warm, animated face, but this child was a different animal, one far removed from the cult of personality she’d acquired as Overwatch’s most cheerful field agent. In this dilapidated house, instead of being celebrated, she was treated like human waste. And she loved it.



“Nnnngh… I love the smell of your knackers!” Lena moaned, eyes shut, rubbing her face into that nutsack like it was a treasured teddy bear. Her voice had some of her usual pep, but also an undercurrent of mewling devotion that was unlike her more public self. She sniffed again, inhaling loudly, pulling the loose skin into her nostrils even, wanting every waft of that cock musk to invade and brutalize her senses. She figured it was the least she could do for the rude, brutal kid that she now considered her owner. It had not taken long for Spike to prove he was different. Instead of asking for her autograph, he’d slapped the piss out of her the first time they met. Instead of being flustered by her cuteness, he’d grabbed her ass, called her a slag, and told her to start sucking his cock. He’d proceeded to spit on her, tear her bodysuit open and rape her like a stupid whore in a filthy bathroom. And god, she had let him, and cum her brains out with her face jammed against the back of an unwashed urinal.



She could still feel his cock inside her from that day - and he hadn’t even put in the whole thing! For an 11-year-old, he was huge. She remembered the way it had changed her permanently, so large and insistent that her body seemingly couldn’t refuse to accommodate every contour of it. From that moment on, young Spike had been her very unofficial boyfriend. His name was fitting, for the easiest way to describe him was to say that he had sharp edges. His pale, slender body was a gangly strait of gothic flesh in a diminutive package. He seldom wore more than a pair of black boxer briefs slung low on his pre-pubescent hips like a gunslinger, displaying his perfect skin and the thin tightness of his torso. Lena’s eyes were constantly drawn to his smooth pubic area and the sinews of his hips, which dove past his low waistband in a “V” delta toward the cotton-satcheled bulge of his fat cock. In the semi-darkness he so often inhabited, his eyes seemed to burn like emerald lamps beneath the jet-black shock of jagged hair that flew in stark contrast to his porcelain skin.



“Shut up, you stupid piece of limey shit,” the boy spat at Tracer, not removing his eyes from the large wallscreen, where he was ensconced in a thrilling match of Call of Duty Eternal Warfare: The Omnic Threat. His pre-adolescent voice only doubled down on the inappropriateness of the relationship. Though she was 26 years old and an adult, Lena couldn’t help obeying every word that Spike said, and mewled at his redress, sliding onto one shapely hip beside his chair. From there, she lay her head on it’s side, sucking one of his fat testicles contentedly, letting the sloshing orb fill her mouth, reaching between her legs to finger her tight quim through the revealing tear in her bodysuit. Beneath the small patch of her pubic hair, the lips of her puffy twat were needy, swollen out from the joining of her thin, toned thighs and slick with wetness.



“Oooh! I adore the way you talk to me, love!” The rough treatment was having a shameful effect on Lena, leaving her cooing like a love-struck strumpet. On the screen, an automatic rifle was gunning down omnics by the dozen. As a supporter of omnic equality and peace, Lena should have been appalled, but she was too busy fingering herself, with every headshot and splatter of electronic brains making her more wet. The part of her that felt relief in casting off all her responsibilities as an Overwatch agent was turned on by the Spike’s constant prejudice and violence. Her chronal accelerator and harness, the source of her powers, was cast against the wall, disused and covered in refuse. Spike had repurposed it as a place to throw empty soft-drink cans, snot-filled tissues and apple cores.



It was Lena’s preoccupation with suckling happily at Spike’s balls that allowed Widowmaker, her arch-nemesis, to get the drop on her. Stepping into the shadowy room wearing only her plunge-necked bodysuit and metal sollerets, Amélie LaCroix was a study in how much tits and ass one could wag around and still be a potent killer. She wouldn’t need her rifle for this, however. It would be a confrontation of a much more intimate nature. Silently, she maneuvered her high-waisted hourglass form into a position behind the lewdly prone Tracer…



...and then moved to kneel beside her, mirroring her pose on the other side of the boy’s chair. “Greedy bitch,” she admonished. “You thought you could have him all to yourself?”



The two elite agents sucked on the boy’s heavy ballsack with half-lidded eyes, rivulets of drool sliding down the swollen flesh, their mutual desperation betrayed by the eager slurping and sucking noises being made. Amélie, whose body temperature never fluctuated much above her surroundings, could feel the pulsing, churning swirls of sperm as bursts of heat against her lips as she performed her sordid act of ball worship, stretching her jaw to try to swallow as much sack as she could, wanting to prove herself more useful than Tracer. Lena, not to be outdone, bathed her side in hot, moaning breath, bobbing her head slightly back and forth, essentially fellating the sweaty, salty cum orb, interspersing wet, lengthy licks with fierce suction that pulled the scrotal skin taut. Through it all, the boy’s massive cock was waiting, half-hard draped over one of his thin thighs like a looming serpent. A normal kid his age might have shot his load already in such a situation, but Spike had barely turned his attention away from his video game. In some subtle way, being ignored and disregarded appealed to both Lena and Amélie.



“Mmm… your balls are so fucking big, mon amour,” Amélie cooed in her sultry voice, and of course with her smoking French accent it came out zo vucking beeg. She punctuated the statement with a deep kiss into the smooth, grapefruit-sized cum sphere.



“And so filled with cum!” Tracer added, her voice, though desperate and filled with emphasis, providing a contrast to Widowmaker’s low purr. Her sucking motions became even more exaggerated, her open lips battening on the boy’s ballsack while she bobbed up and down, slurping wetly and hollowing her cheeks out with humiliating ball-suction. “Nnngh… I want it all over my face!”



Widowmaker’s eyes narrowed. “Putain stupide, it is my turn!” she objected, and moved her gorgeous, high-waisted body to rub suggestively against the boy’s thigh, crawling whorishly over him. “Why would master use you as a toilet when he could have me?” As with most things, all of her words sounded even dirtier in a French accent. Master became mastaire, but in any inflection the meaning was the same. She considered herself the property of the violent and abusive sociopath 11-year-old that had subjugated both her and her English arch-rival. Kissing up Spike’s smooth, boyish thigh, she reached hand over to his cock, which was flopped across the opposite thigh, nearer to Tracer. Well over a foot of arm-thick meat, and only half hard. Completely hairless, moving from a lighter hue at the base to a blood-filled pinkness nearer the foreskin-covered head, it was a grotesque addition to the boy’s otherwise pale, athletic body. As Spike was all of 4’9” tall, it was long enough to hang past his knee.



“Please, let me clean the filth from your dick,” Widowmaker moaned, sliding one hand between her legs, her pussy warming up just enough for the blue to mix with pink, juices running down the insides of her thick thighs. Her strategically-torn bodysuit exposed her crotch completely, and she closed two fingers around the nub of her clit as she begged. These same fingers had ended more lives and changed more world history than most could ever imagine - but now they were reduced to rutting in her tingling twat while she begged to disgrace herself even more.



Lena’s expressive eyes went wide as Amélie made her move on Spike, trying to be his ‘favorite’ for the night. Not about to take that lying down, Lena also wormed her body forward, arching her back and rubbing her tits over the boy’s knee. Her trademark contoured bomber jacket, once a treasured possession, was now buried under a pile of laundry somewhere, covered in cum and piss stains. Her bodysuit was torn completely at the top, leaving her ultra-perky tits, with their cymbal-shaped puffy nipples, to rub over Spike’s thigh and cock without impediment. “Forget that blue-skinned bint,” she hissed, eyes fierce and wanton. “I’ll be your sewer, luv! Let me suck the smegma off of your smelly cock. The longer you’ve gone without washing, the better I like it!” Her face was earnest and determined, an expression that would have been funny if it weren’t so disgraceful considering her words.



Spurred into action by Lena’s slutty rejoinder, Widowmaker took the next step by pulling Spike’s half-hard cock toward her face. It was long enough that it dipped down at an angle past the point of her grip, requiring her to lift it higher so the tip would hang before her before her face. The crown of the boy’s cock was dripping yellowish-white goo, as it more or less constantly did. A thick, puffy turban of foreskin wrapped the apple-sized tip completely, culminating in a hanging protrusion that looked like the sleeve of an unworn shirt. Widowmaker let this rub over her face, smearing her features with accumulated filth, before poking her thin nose into the smegma-clogged opening and inhaling. Her eyes immediately rolled back into her head and there was a squirting noise as she splattered her own thighs with wetness.



“Nnnnngh!” she moaned, knees trembling. In turn, Lena shifted her body closer, refusing to be outdone, placing the two fit-bodied females hip to curvaceous hip on the sticky floor, their cunts and assholes exposed completely in the rear view as they leaned forward to service the unparalleled feast of dick before them.



“Just because you’re French doesn’t mean you’re the only one who likes stinky cheese!” quipped the horny Brit, and reached out to pull the sweaty shaft back in her direction. Eyeballing the foreskin, she slid her her tongue inside the opening as far as she could. The cock was so large, and Spike’s cockhead so big, that her entire tongue fit inside the dirty sheath, allowing Lena to dig sluttily inside it, feeling untold drifts of rancid cock detritus pile up on her pretty pink tongue. Before she could withdraw the copious treat, Amélie recovered from her cock-stink reverie and joined in, leaving both Oversluts with their agile tongues buried in the boy’s filthy foreskin. They moaned, fingered themselves, eyes half-lidded or rolled back with utter depravity, feeling their wet mouth-appendages gather bubbly lumps of gooey smegma as they rolled them around, sometimes even bumping them together in their quest to clean Spike’s 11-year-old kiddie cock as thoroughly as possible.



It was this needy, depraved cock-cleaning display that caused Spike to finally toss aside his Playstation 7 controller and grab each agent by the hair, pulling their faces away from his prick helmet. Both women were disheveled, their faces slick with pre-cum and sweat, their eyes looking dazed, lost in revelry. His jutting, hardening prick hung enormous, equidistant between their two faces. It was sinful to see his small hand controlling both of their heads with a handful of hair, but that’s exactly what the boy did, looking down at them with uncaring, emerald-eyed disdain, as if he were watching cockroaches instead of humans. They extended their tongues to him, Tracer and Widowmaker side by side, hip to hip, their bubble butts visible behind them, their bare, perky tits hanging in the moist air. Their tongues, agile and thin and suggestive of far too much, were covered in greyish-yellow lumps of bubbly smegma. It was hard to say which of the women had collected more. It was piled an inch high on their tongues, the smell exploding up their noses and fueling the dripping of their exposed pussies. Their arms fell limply to their sides and they moaned animalistically.



“Nnnngggghhh…”



“Mmmmmlllgg….”



“Chew it,” Spike ordered, and he was immediately obeyed. Like cash register drawers on the close, both tongues were drawn in with haste, and suggestive chewing noises and sounds immediately followed as Tracer and Widowmaker competed to show Spike which one of them could more satisfactorily feast on the chowdery remnants of sweat, cum and piss they’d slurped out of his foreskin. The stink and overpowering taste of the goo overwhelmed their senses and sizzled in their brains, removing all rational thought. Their chewing motions became even more exaggerated.



“F-fuck it tastes like shit,” Lena moaned, gargling the mess as it mixed with her saliva, chewing it with open mouths smacks, dipping her fingers in her mouth and rubbing the contents around her lips. “It’s amazing.” “I love… mmmph... being raped by your filth!” Widowmaker offered, showing her wide-open mouth to Spike and gargling in the back of her throat. “My face… my body… destroy them both. Ruin them, master.”



Ruin zem, mastaire. Said like that, what pre-teen sociopath/sadist could refuse?



Spike’s hand darted out and slapped Amélie in the face, turning her abruptly to the side. She mewled with pleasure at the abuse. “You like eating smegma, don’t you, you fucking piece of shit?” he asked.



“God, yes, master. Thank you for slapping me!”



“And me! I like it even more than her!” Lena added, her voice partially muffled by the cheekful of sludge still in her mouth. Spike’s hand let go of her hair long enough to paintbrush her face as well. A splatter of vaginal wetness sprayed the floor as Tracer had a minor orgasm just from being backhanded like a hooker. “F-fuck... feels so g-good!”



“Now swallow, you worthless pigs.”



Their gulping motions were as exaggerated as the rest of their worshipful actions, showing Spike every detail of their accepting his waste into their bodies, their angular chins pointed up, allowing him to see every detail of their bobbing throats and sculpted facial features as the results of their cleaning efforts traveled down into the confines of their respective taut stomachs. Folding her hands over her thin and shapely midriff, Lena shuddered again, her cheek still red from being slapped. “It feels so… good to have part of you inside me,” she moaned, almost orgasmically. “Please never wash your dick again! I’ll be your personal cock-cleaning service!”



“No, let me!” Amélie asserted, eyes alight with purpose. “I can take more abuse than this thin little girl!”



Spike only laughed cruelly, his cock still bobbing on front of your faces, slick with spit, the foreskin pulled back slightly, revealing his heavy pisshole, still leaking rivulets of foul pre-cum. “I bet you dumb whores would love that. You want a tryout, Lena?”



“Y-yes, sir!”



“Say ‘Cheers luv, I’m a stupid piece of cock-sucking shit!”



Lena gulped, then her face twisted into a humiliating fake happiness as she intoned the phrase with her trademark Oliver Twist accent. “Cheers, luv! I’m a stupid piece of cock-sucking-”



*CRUNCH!*



Spikes hand flew again, punching Tracer squarely in the face and causing her to keel over with a thump. Her goggles split in half and flew to opposite sides of the room. The boy laughed cruelly, the first time he’d really become animated since the two dumb bitches had arrived for their daily service. “You don’t know how many people have wanted to do that since you first started making the fucking news,” he taunted, then followed by viciously mocking her.



“Sweep yir chimnee, guv’ner?” Spike chirped, in an uncannily accurate imitation of Tracer’s voice. “I’m Lena the stupid slag! I get randy when I suck my mate’s big fat gorilla dick! It’s ace!” He laughed, and Amélie laughed along with him.



“You see, master? She is down from one punch. She does not deserve you!” The femme fatale punctuated this assertion by rising from her position and bending over suggestively at the waist, showing off her amazing ass and long legs, pulling apart her cheeks, showing the 10-year-old every detail of her asshole and wet quim. Both were buried in the valley of her perfectly-formed assmeat. The purple-blue hue of her cold-blooded body only made the pose more exotic, and if she had any heat remaining inside her, it was clear exactly where it was. “My body is already… experimented on. C'est... cassé. Détruit. Violé. Now it is yours to rape.” Her eyes smoked with the suggestion of a thousands nights to come where she could be taken to the brink, used as a toy and discarded. Her wet, leaking twat and the contours of her perfect form made her case. And yet, Amélie should have known that the world’s sexiest woman could no more manipulate this boy than could the world’s sexist insect. Before him, she and Lena were both less than human.



*THOCK!*



Her answer came in the form of a powerful punt right between the legs, the boy’s sharp calf mashing her clit and crushing the wet lips of her sex. Amélie’s eyes bugged out and she groaned, clutching her wounded twat and rocking back and forth on one hip as she lay on the ground.



“Shut the fuck up,” Spike simply said. “You sound like a fucking retard. If I want to be reminded of your country of frog douchebags and wine-sipping faggots, I’ll tell you. Otherwise, keep… your mouth… shut!” Now standing, the boy loomed over her and punctuated the last words by raising his voice and booting Amélie in the ass, causing her to jiggle with the impact. He was totally naked now, his body alternately smooth and scrawny in all the right places. His dragonfly-green eyes glimmered above the dark circled that surrounded them. A spurt of lumpy cum splattered out of his pisshole as he stretched and cracked his back, his mass of jagged black hair washing over his ears and neck. A reaper mind and the countenance of an incubus, savage, vicious, and lacking mercy. The type of boy who would get a lip ring as soon as he turned fourteen, a skull tattooed on his shoulder after high school. Lena and Amélie whimpered from the floor, unable to articulate what was obvious - that the forbidden beauty of male pre-adolescence and the forbidden depths of amoral sadism had come, for them, in the same package.



Spike turned his back to them and walked over to look out the window, legs spread, half-hard cock hanging pendulous between his legs. Recovering from their respective beatings, the duo of disgraced agents crawled behind him, mewling like kittens and extending their tongues to lick at his taut ass, galvanized by his tender years into being the equal of Tracer’s in the bubble department. They worshipped him silently, dragging their tongues over the pale crescents of his 11-year-old ass, Widowmaker on the left, Tracer on the right, slurping and sucking at the flesh.



“May I please lick your asshole, master?” Tracer said, her nose red and her expressive, beautiful eyes watery from the impact of the boy’s fist. “It’s the only thing I’m good for!” Widowmaker caressed Spike’s compact butt, squeezing it worshipfully and with a lewd and hungry sense of speculative lust. “No, let me, master” she objected. “I want to… make out with your shithole. Please just… sit on my fucking face!” Her voice was a thirsty French-accented slur, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she licked and rubbed her nose on the buoyant butt of her pre-pubescent owner. Spike only stared silently out the window. It had grown dark, but the moon was full, overpowering the dingy, half-open blinds in the dwelling and casting his light skin in even more stark relief. Absently, the boy reached behind himself and grabbed the hair of both kneebound sluts, bringing their faces together in the vicinity of his asscrack, knowing the implied order was obvious.



They spread him like two famished hogs at a trough, pressing their faces and tongues into the boy’s sweat-glistening crevice, their tongue-tips meeting around his asshole, perfectly hairless and fading from his white skin to blood-engorged bubblegum pinkness toward the center. Together, Tracer and Widowmaker sucked and licked at his rim, each of them keeping one soft buttock spread so they could slurp more readily, their eyes heavy with lust. They pressed their noses together and rubbed them against the sensitive ridges of his young anus, sniffing loudly, hauling droplets of days-old, video-game-marathon sweat up into their sinuses.



“Me first, bitch, you know your tongue is ice cold and it bothers him,” Lena growled, using her bubbly hips to nudge Widowmaker slightly to the left and claim sole ownership of Spike’s hole. Sticking her tongue out as far as she could, she pressed it into the loosening pucker and started to lick around the inside of the boy’s bowels, loving the swampy taste of his sweat and ass-juices, her pussy wetter than ever. Amélie had to content herself with arching her back even more, dipping her torso lower to suck at the boy’s heavy, hanging balls and cockshaft. No sooner had she flicked her tongue out at his pisshole than the orifice delivered a splatter of steamy pre-cum onto her lips, causing her to mewl and finger herself even harder. Widowmaker sucked and slurped lewdly from the boy’s balls to his taint, moving back and forth, her mind caring only for the perfection of her cock-worship.



Tracer fastened her wide mouth around Spike asshole, spreading him with her two hands. Her tongue still exploring his moist inner walls, she began to suck powerfully, taking such hard pulls on the boy’s puffy, smooth anus that the hole was pulled toward her mouth. She was literally sucking his ass while Widowmaker milked his massive cock downward and all over her tits and belly, the constant spurts of virile, thick pre-cum giving her uniquely-colored skin a dolphin-like sheen.



“Fuck, you’re a shit-eating whore, aren’t you?” Spike hissed at Tracer, using onehand to jam her face harder into his asshole.



“F-fuck yes! I love the taste of your shit!” It was all the frantic Overwatch agent could pull her spit-covered face away from his pucker long enough to say. She was about to dive back in when Widowmaker shoved her aside with one bulging hip and spreading Spike herself.



“Don’t listen to her, master,” hissed the purple-hued femme noire, gripping the boy’s butt suggestively. “I’m the only one worthy to be your toilet. Can you imagine? To keep the deadliest woman in the world locked away, chained up as your personal latrine - using my throat as your septic tank any time you wish. You do not even have to get up from playing your games, mon chere.” She punctuated her words by sliding her long tongue around Spike’s hairless, sinfully underage asshole, before pushing it inside for a while to slurp the steamy juices from his inner walls. “Just... utiliser mon visage… sit on my worthless French cunt face, master. Make me suck your ass every moment of every day, and do what comes naturally.”



She continued to perform a serious pedo-butt-sucking of her own, and Lena joined her. Together, their long tongues did the tango inside the boy’s sphincter, their hands rutting in their crotches, their hot breath (or in Widowmaker’s case, room-temperature breath) washing over his massive dick. Lost in the moment, they lubed each other’s gleaming breasts with their spit and Spike’s leaking issue. When they pulled away after minutes of filthy ass-sucking, Widowmaker spotted a fleck of shit on Lena’s lower lip, and kissed her rival deeply, her hatred for the other woman overpowered by her desire to defile her body with Spike’s waste. They sucked on each other’s tongues, their breasts pressing together, nipples rubbing and hardening. Their thighs and pussies were soaked, as was the ground beneath. All in all, the intense two-woman ass-slurping session had lasted nearly fifteen minutes, and Spike’s huge dick was nearly at full mast from the depraved attentions he’d received.



Turning, the boy grabbed both women by the hair and started to drag, like a victorious caveman. Of course, at 4’9 and maybe 95 pounds, the wiry youth couldn’t pull either girl along with then scrambling on their knees, but this was a duty to which they eagerly took. Neither wanted to be the one to slow him, not because they feared punishment, but because they feared rejection - the case where the slow or disobedient girl might be discarded, leaving the victor with all of Spike’s attention. Punishment they could handle. Punishment, they actually craved, so twisted had their boy-fucking, cock-addicted minds become.

It was to the bedroom that Spike took them, over the none-too-clean tile floors of the kitchen hallway. The bed was unmade, and posters on the walls depicted weapons and acts of violence. Here was an ominous symbol with an omnic and a gun, next to a Celtic cross over the words “The only good omnic is a dead omnic.” Fetishistic pictures of alternative women were all over the walls. Over the bed, most notably, was a poster of a blonde-haired, blue eyed woman being brutally choke-fucked by a tattooed cock. “BITCHES AIN’T SHIT” the bold lettering read. Cum-strained boxer shorts, reeking of ball-juice and dried stiff, hung over the bedposts. Tracer and Amélie had been in the room before, of course. Many times. They spent nights alternating sleeping with Spike’s dick in their mouths, while the other slept on the floor, collared and chained to the bedpost.



This time, they were thrown unceremoniously onto the black bedspread, the room lit only by moonlight and a weak, dingy bulb on the ceiling that the spiders had long ago spun a shroud. The boy, eyes, gleaming, twisted their hair to get the women to turn onto their backs, their heads hanging over the end of the bed, lining up almost perfectly with his brutal 16 inches of hairless, perfect pre-pubescent cock. Lena and Amélie, growing excited, moaning like pigs. Tracer’s heart quickened. Widowmaker, incapable of such things, nonetheless felt a sense of “aliveness” that surpassed even a killshot.



“Fuck my worthless face,” Tracer moaned, opening and fishhooking her mouth like a whore as if to prove the point. “Use my throat like a toilet!”



“No, me first, master!” countered the long-haired vixen, cupping her tits and tugging furiously at the pert nipples. “I can’t wait any longer! I can take your cock better than this… this... English bitch!” Spike laughed, cracking his knuckles. “Well, we’ll see who wants it more,” he said, and his works hung ominously for a second in the semi-darkness as he let his leaking cocktip bob against both of their cheeks, watching as they strained their tongues and lips to orally service it while maintaining their positions.



“Me!”

“No, please… me, master!”



In the end, it was Widowmaker who got first run, and when it happened, it happened suddenly. Spike poised his heavy cocktip at her plump and inviting lips and shoved inward with little or no hesitation, drilling nearly a foot of boy-cock into her gullet before anyone could even blink. He gripped her heavy breasts in his small hands and kneaded them roughly, his fingers making deep indentations in the flesh, pulling the nipples into cone shaped and twisting them, using the mounds as handholds while he filled her. Amélie’s surprised moan was obliterated by the fleshy sound of dick invading her throat, and her neck, slender and bird-like normally, bulged out obscenely as her face was reamed deep and hard by an 11-year-old cock as thick as her bicep. Spike began to fuck in and out, withdrawing almost all the way before driving back in to a depth of about a foot. Amélie’s normally sultry and cultured voice was nowhere to be heard, replaced by a series of indiscrete, humiliating gagging and glottal noises as saliva poured out of the seal between lips and dick and down her forehead, into her hair. Spike’s balls banged into her eyes, smearing throat-slime and pre-cum everywhere. When he pulled away, long strands of gag-cream still connected his heavy ballsack to Amélie’s face.



He slapped and groped her tits while she fingered her cunt roughly. “You’re a piece of shit,” Spike hissed, pounding away at the Frenchwoman’s tight throat. “It takes so long for you to warm up, it’s like fucking a dead body.” He drilled deep on his next thrust. Bubbly spit and cum poured out of Amélie’s nostrils as her eyes rolled back in her head, and then Spike withdrew.



“S-skull...f-fuck me…” she wheezed, coughing. “It’s the only thing this ruined body is good for!” She sputtered and a yellow-white mouthful of bubbly goo poured out of her mouth and slid toward the floor over her upside down features. Spike laughed, using her dangling ponytail to wipe his dick, and stepped to the side and putting his leaking cockhead up against Tracer’s lips.



“Say it!” he said, and hocked deep before spitting in Lena’s eager mouth. She chewed and swallowed his phlegm like a pig, kneading her breasts and fingering herself all the while.



“The world could always use more her-”



GLLLCH!



The brutal pre-teen boy buried himself as deep in Lena’s throat as his tight hips could manage, bulging her neck out obscenely and even causing a cock-shaped protrusion to push upward in her stomach area. The British Overwatch agent was so thin and perky that there wasn’t much room inside her for such a brutal dick… and the results were clear as Spike surged forward. Lena was unable to take as much of the cock as Widowmaker, but she was desperate to try, reaching around behind Spike to caress his ass, wanting him to push harder, not caring if she was hurt, if she choked. He began to pump away as deep as he could go, banging at the narrowing obstruction of her throat.



“You can’t even suck dick as good as this dumb whore, you worthless cunt!” Spike spat, and give Tracer’s nipple a rough twist. She only moaned around his lip-stretching meat, dry heaving. Gurgling, she expelled a lumpy mixture of spit, throat lube and pre-cum from the tight cock-seal of her mouth, obscuring her own face. Her eyes rolled back in her head and rivulets of fuckjuice started to leak into her corneas. Spike pushed harder, cutting off her air, pumping brutally into her mouth. The sounds coming from their coupling were obscene, wet choking and gagging noises that needed no translation. After several minutes of this, Spike pulled out.



“I ought to throw you in the garbage,” he hissed, spitting on her already-wrecked face. “You can’t even swallow twelve inches!”



“N-no, master!” Lena objected, her voice hoarse from the brutal fucking. “Please, do it harder. C-cut off my air! Rape me until I get brain damage and I’m a fucking retard!”



GLLCH!



Spike did not need to be asked twice, and drilled as far as he could into Tracer’s mouth, his young, slender hips powering him forward, gripping her by the chin and head like he was fucking a melon, taking every bit of leverage he could. He reached the obstruction in her throat again and powered through it, pressing forward inch by inch until his cocktop was up against the entrance to Tracer’s stomach and his spit-loaded balls were swabbing her face. She hitched and an explosion of syrupy, regurgitated cum exploded from her nostrils and out of her mouth around his cock before he pulled back out.



“Fuck, I love choking on your dick,” she moaned, gasping and leaking sperm out of her mouth. "Treat me like shit! Make me fucking puke!” Spike drilled back in, fucking harder and faster this time, and Tracer reached around him, encouraging him to face-fuck her more brutally. There were wet, fleshy sounds as her windpipe was rearranged and her stomach battered by the invading cock, the bulge in her neck and upper torso sliding up and down in time with Spike’s thrusts. The boy’s heavy, cum-loaded balls banged off her face. Twice more, Spike withdrew and Lena turned her head to the side to let a torrent of spit and cum barf grotesquely out of her mouth, splattering the floor. When her body tensed in orgasm from the brutal treatment, it seemed her young partner was at his limit as well, and he surged forward as hard as he could and lodged his massive cock deep as deep as it would go in Tracer’s throat, reaching new depths, literally drilling his cock into the warm, inviting sac of her stomach. There was an airy crunch as Lena’s nose splintered from the impact of his pubis.



“Nnngh!” growled Spike, teeth gritted. His balls twitched and his urethra seemed to pulsate as a an age’s worth of backed-up cum began to deliver itself straight into Tracer’s body. The prone brunette was barely conscious enough to moan, the utterly degrading sensation of being filled starting to overtake her. The spurting, cum-sputtering sounds of Spike’s orgasm were audible from inside Lena’s body as her innards were hosed down with lumpy, yellow genetic filth that had been fermenting in the boy’s heavy nutsack for weeks. The ball-porridge puffed out her stomach almost instantly, stretching it. Tracer’s taut belly bulged as though she were in the early stages of pregnancy. Greyish-yellow sludge exploded out of her nostrils as the backed-up wad flowed up her throat. Eyes rolling back into her head, she finally lost consciousness, shuddering to another orgasm. Her bladder let go and she pissed all over the bed and walls in an explosive arc. With the boy’s 16 inches of god-cock buried inside her tiny body, Lena’s body shuddered with seizure-like convulsions… and still the spurts of cum continued, puffing her belly up even more. Formerly a decorated force for justice, she was now nothing but a flesh sack for an abusive boy’s stinking seed.



Spike’s withdrawal left her catatonic, and he groaned with satisfaction, the same sound one might make after taking a satisfying and long overdue shit, as he fisted his slime-coated prick and dumped several coiling strands of nasty jizz over Tracer’s rape-wrecked face. Lena’s tongue was out of her mouth, her eyes rolled back, snot and sperm running from her nose, her features plastered in filth. The room was immediately filled with the stink of sperm. Uncaring for her condition, Spike pressed his pisshole up against her vacant eyeballs and spewed ropes of his coagulated, gelatinous cum into them, defiling her even more, in every way possible.



“Stupid whore,” he spat, then tilted his dick over to Widowmaker to fill her mouth with the remnants of his orgasm, which was finally subsiding. Letting her fasten her pert, dark lips over his pisshole, he strained the last, thickest remnants of his sperm into her mouth.



“Nnngh… your cum… tastes like rotten dogshit,” she moaned, fingering herself and chewing wads of lumpy pre-teen cocksauce. “It smells so bad...like a dead animal baking in the sun...merde… I… I adore it, master. So much.”



“Then have as much as you want, you filthy skank,” Spike taunted, and pressed his pisshole up against one of her nostrils. With an upward stoke on his sweaty dick, a grunt, and a twitch of his smooth young balls, a burst of porridge-thick semen splurted into Widowmaker’s sinuses with an audible sputter. She immediately jammed four agile fingers into her soaking twat, barely able to comprehend the seminal stink that was boiling in her brain and clogging her nose.



“It fucking stinks, nnnnngh!” The long-limbed seductress arched her back, lifting her bubble butt off of the bed while masturbating with cock crud filling her nose and puffing out her cheeks like a chipmunk. She sniffed, chewed, snorted, moaning and grunting like a big, cumming all over the sheets, spraying a jet of her own juices into the wall to mingle with the catatonic Tracer’s piss. When Spike slapped her face with his heavy cock, she mewled and came even harder. The boy repeated the action, again and again, beating her nose, lips, and cheeks with his mammoth meat, slapping the shaft against her tits, teabagging his balls on her cum-soaked face.



“You really are a sick cunt,” Spike observed, pulling back at last, leaving Amélie to look up at him from the bed. Her throat bulged and then settled as she sucked down the mouthful of thick, lumpy ballsnot she’d been chewing. Any less time spent with her teeth breaking up the chunks and it would have been stuck in her throat.



“Your semen is… so amazing,” Amélie mewled, spinning around on the mattress so that her wet pussy was close to him. “You are such a young boy, master, but you are like... a god.” Laying her hips flat, she used her assassin’s flexibility to put her long legs behind her head, presenting her pussy in the most stark and lewd way possible. It was soaked and bubbling with wetness, with visible rivulets running down her thighs and over the slightly darker purplish-blue of her asshole. Hooking three fingers from each hand into her twat, Widowmaker spread her sex, showing Spike every detail of her cunt, all the way to the glistening, gasping mouth of her cervix. The wet, pulsating opening seemed to be begging for dick.



“Please,” Amélie begged, nibbling her lower lip. “Use my womb as… a sewer for your filthy, smelly cum.”



Spike pulled his dark bangs back from his forehead with one hand and laughed cruelly as she humiliated herself. “Bitch, why would I want to fuck your infertile, used up twat? How many frog scientists jerked off into your putrid gash before you slit your husband’s throat?”



Amélie moaned at his words. “I… I hope they all did!” she cried, desperately, her cervix twitching in the wet confines of her vaginal canal. “I hope they all fucking raped me! Who knows what memories they erased-”



Her lewd imaginings were interrupted by a syrupy snort as Tracer regained consciousness. Her belly was swollen with sperm, looking partially pregnant with the weight of sloppy, steaming issue that was stretching her stomach like a bloated condom-tip. “Stop... showing off... your dirty minge!” Lena moaned at her rival, her voice sounding stuffy-nosed due to her crooked nose. Somehow, despite the change in her facial landscape, her peppy cuteness managed to shine through, even with her eyes rapidly blackening. Lena rolled over onto her side, cradling her cum belly, burping lewdly and then puking a stream of thick, lumpy yellow sperm over the side of the bed and onto the floor.



“I’d hoped you were dead,” Widowmaker hissed, eyes narrowing in Lena’s direction. “But I have never been that lucky with you.”



Tracer rolled onto her back next, looking up at Spike with her tits exposed and her belly sloshing with kiddie semen. “T-thank you for fucking up my face,” she moaned, spreading her legs to show that she was soaking wet. “I can’t wait to go out in public with a couple of black eyes and tell them that it was a 10-year-old who did it, beating me like a fucking hooker. I want to tell them all that I came while you did it, while you were pounding my face like it was a cunt!” She was getting her own self worked up even further, and more importantly, stealing Spike’s attention away from Widowmaker once again. “I want every little girl in England to learn to love getting beaten like a dumb bitch!” The competition between the two women to see who could be the foulest size queen pedophile masochist pig continued on, and each participant was as relentless as in they had been in their previous jobs.



“You like getting hit, huh?” Spike asked, looking down at Tracer and smirking.



“God, yes!” Lena choked out. “Every women should get the shit beaten out of her at least once a week. To make her remember how worthless she is-”



WUMPH!



Winding up, Spike drilled a fist powerfully down onto the bed, landing it squarely on Tracer’s swollen belly. There was a foul heaving sound from within her body, and then a torrent of yellowish, jelly-like semen, still lumpy even after many minutes in her stomach, erupted from her mouth accompanied by as undignified a hurling noise as could reasonably be expected. Much of the mess splattered back down on Tracer’s face, masking it in wad. The rest fell on her tits, the sheets, and the floor.



“I love it when you show that bitch her place,” Widowmaker cooed, her pussy flexing, her legs still behind her head. “M-master, I… I can’t take it anymore. Please fuck me... with your huge child-cock! Make me your…your pedophile bitch!”



“N-no!” Tracer choked out, spreading her legs lewdly and rubbing the splattered cum all over her upper body. “F-fuck me! I want you to put a baby in my belly with your thick dirty cum!”



His cock rapidly rising again, a testament to his almost supernatural stamina, Spike crossed his arms and looked at the duo of cock-addicted whores who were begging him for a good cunt-pounding. He’d already throat-fucked Tracer into near chronal dissociation, so perhaps it was Amélie’s turn to be defiled. His balls twitched in anticipation of the forthcoming fuck. It was second nature to him to simply rape, uncaring about his partner’s condition or pleasure, and he had cultivated these women for just such an encounter. He stood near Widowmaker and placed his hands on her bent-back thighs while poising his fat cockhead at her gaping quim. The way she was spreading herself, it would be no problem for him to drive forward and drill his fat dick directly into her baby bag… and that’s exactly what he did, tensing his ass and thrusting forward with all his pre-teen body could muster. The outline of his heavy cockshaft was visible as he poured himself into the older woman, a tunneling presence beneath the taut perfection of her midriff, reaching her cervix… and crashing through it. Tracer cried out in frustration, wish it was her own moist cunt being filled… but the sight of Amélie being railed, and Spike’s tight young ass pumping away, was still enough to turn her on.



For her part, Widowmaker moaned out as her most intimate places were defiled by a cum-leaking horse dick. There was a mortal stretching sound, almost a crackling, as his cockhead ripped through her cervix and tented the back of her womb up like the worthless dickbag that it was. The bulge in her midsection rose almost far enough for her to wrap her plump tits around it. Widowmaker’s tongue rolled out of her mouth as she foamed and drooled, overwhelmed.



“R-rape a baby into me!” she gurgled, and so Spike changed his angle by fifteen degrees and pounded his cockhead up against one of her twitch oviducts, holding nothing back. “Fill my womb with your thick, smelly cum so I can give you a daughter!” She moaned orgasmically, almost screaming now. “Knock me up! Wreck my body!”



Fingering herself furiously, Tracer couldn’t help but interject. “Don’t waste your cum on her!” Lena begged, eyes wide, looking plaintive even through the raccoon circles that were slowly developing. “Dump your fat load inside me! I don’t want to be part of Overwatch anymore! I want to be up the duff, sucking your dick every day with a big belly, ready to drop your kid!” She moaned to orgasm as she moved her face closer to garner more of Spike’s attention. “Nnnngh! I’ll be your baby factory!”



“Never mind that skinny bitch!” Widowmaker spat, her body rocking and tits flopping as Spike pumped away. “Shit in my womb with your big dick! Fuck me up so bad that I have nothing but miscarriages!” There was a popping sound as Spike’s cock tunneled into Amélie’s fallopian tube, obliterating it’s proper shape and turning it into just another rape ditch. The French masochist whore had the most brutal, soul-crushing orgasm of her life as her ovary was crushed like a fleshy walnut. She could feel his pisshole vomiting rope after rope of heavy, yellow, lumpy semen into her tubes, filling them with the underage sadist’s rancid, smelly cum. She thought about how barren he was making her, how utterly and completely worthless he was for any reproductive purpose, and it only made her orgasm harder.



“Fuck that!” Tracer objected, watching her rival’s mind-quake and wanting more of it for herself. “You can kick the shit out of me while I’m preggers! Beat me and fuck me until my baby is born fucking retarded! And if I ever have a healthy baby, scrape my womb out with your dick and drown it in your c-cum!” Watching Spike’s tight body hitch as he ejaculated deep into Widowmaker’s gaping pussy was enough to send Tracer over the edge yet again, interrupting the avalanche of English-accented filth pouring from her mouth and reducing her to moans. As it happened, after pouring a pint or so of thick cock chowder into Amélie’s destroyed womb, Spike pulled out and scrambled over to Tracer, drilling his cock into her much-tighter pussy, barely missing a stroke. The kid’s stamina was totally amazing. That, along with his cock and attitude, were the reasons that Tracer and Widowmaker had conspired to kill his parents (at his request). They wanted him all to themselves.



As soon as the sixteen inches of meat was out of her pussy, a nasty, bubbling womb-queef propelled a waterfall of gelatinous cum out of Amélie’s gaping purple pussy to run down over her asshole and onto the bed. She was at least as mind-broken as Tracer had been earlier, if not more, her tongue hanging lewdly out of her mouth, eyed rolled back to the whites, her most intimate places a sewer of cum, her womb and oviducts stretched and displaced. Looking down her twat as if down the barrel of a gun, one could observe her cervix completely gaped open, and her twin fallopian tubes gushing fountains of pre-teen jizz into the cock-ravaged cesspool of her womb. She had been made utterly worthless as a woman, and loved every second of it. Minute spurting noises issued from between her legs as her cum-loaded egg chambers vomited gouts of garbage-stinking semen out.



As for Tracer, a more petite body only meant more potential for damage. The boy hauled her shapely body, the figure that was her calling card, into the piledriver position, squatting and drilling down into her pussy with as much force as he could muster, letting gravity help him. Lena was so slender that the outline of Spike’s inhuman boycock was further pronounced, burrowing into her toned and tight body implacably, it’s location always visible from the way her midsection bulged out. At the terminus of his thrusts, his cockhead reached so far into her body that she could almost titfuck the bulge it made. When he crashed through her cervix and into her tight, petite womb, the sensation was so invasive and brutal that Tracer began shuddering, eyes unfocused, her voice reduced to a series of helpless gurgles. Leaning all of his weight on her, Spike drove down and hilted himself to the balls. There was a meaty, wet sliding sound as his cock pounded into the back of Tracer’s rape-ditch and continued upward, stretching her most sacred place into little more than a fleshy condom around his bulbous, cum-leaking fuckmeat.



“Glllllhhhcchhh…” Tracer drooled, a look of delirious joy on her face, her nose crooked and her eyes black. Getting her womb destroyed was the greatest moment in her life. All of the pressure of being a woman or a complex human being of any kind was gone - she was nothing but a toilet for a kid who used her however he wanted. He’d extinguished her most vital life-giving processes as easily as he might blow out a flagging candle-flame.



“T-thank...y-you…” she moaned, almost blacking out from the strength of the orgasm.



“Looking forward to sucking your mongo baby’s dick, you stupid twat?” Spike hissed, grinding his cockhead into her… tenting her midsection like she’d been impaled on a post.



“Y-yes!”



Grunting, the boy blew his third load of the day, pouring every last bit of cum left in his huge, smooth balls into Tracer’s wrecked body, choking her cock-crushed eggs with yellow, lumpy underage dicksauce. She screamed with ecstasy at this final blow, her upended position, with her legs splayed and at either side of her head, making her look like the complete sperm receptacle that she now longed to be at the expense of everything else in her life. As before, the lewd spurting noises could be heard even outside of her body, splurting dick-farts that indicated just how much thick spew was flooding her baby sack. Only after a minute or more did he pull himself free, his cumshot diminishing, allowing Tracer to drop flat to the mattress parallel to Widowmaker. Also like before, Tracer’s formerly tight pussy was reduced to a gaping, cum-queefing ruin, splattering a waterfall of wad down to the bedspread. Utterly defiled, the two rival agents lay shoulder to shoulder like corpses.



Smiling, 11-year-old Spike held his softening dick in his hand, took aim at their fuck-addled faces, and began to unload a thick stream of steamy yellow piss on their features, sighing as he did so.



“Fucking cunts,” he muttered. Looking out the window again, he saw the moon was full, and smiled like a wolf.