Nico Herst You're the Worst!

Part One: A Police Officer Comes to Visit

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"Things are just friendlier in Meadowdaleville. Even our police are awfully neighborly..."

~H.R.

A turkey was loose, which made it a police matter.

Turkeys are outlawed in Meadowdaleville. The townspeople rallied together over a hundred years ago and slaughtered every turkey in they city limits and the neighboring woods. It seems silly, but that hatred has become somewhat of a source of local pride. Which is odd for such an open and compassionate little town. People will still say, "Hi," and ask about your day when they pass you by on the street, but if they catch you eating a turkey sandwich you're likely to be shunned without a word. Perhaps it's not really questioned because it rarely comes up, except when the local high school football team the "Meadowdaleville Pilgrims" goes up against the "Cratetown Turkeys." Everyone shows up to those games, pitchforks in hand, but it's all for show. Nonetheless, you can hardly tell that to terrified and resentful Cratetown residents being shouted down by the usually docile Meadowdaleville citizenry.

In fact, the sports rivalry between the two towns was only ever aggravated by Meadowdaleville's collectively vibrant ornithophobia. Which means that every year, after Meadowdaleville inevitably wins the game, the irate teens (and often adults) of Cratetown will drive into the town at night and unleash a turkey on the town. These retaliations would go on for about a week, and the police would receive numerous calls to chase these birds down by hysterical Meadowdalevillites.

There are those on the police force who relished that particular time. Going around and shooting the hideous birds down with any firearm at arm's length, and then dumping the carcasses in the middle of Cratetown without being caught could be thrilling.

Officer Slate wasn't interested in that kind of thrill. Despite being considered one of the most diligent and capable men on the force he was ready to take a break from turkey chasing. Oh, he hated the things just as much as anyone else in town but he'd received a very special lunch invitation that day and wouldn't miss it for the world. He was, after all, a good neighbor before he was an officer of the law.

He parked in front of a home he knew well - belonging to the Herst family. An average house in an average suburb. You know the type with the uniformly shorn lawn, white picket fence, all enclosing a quaint 2-story home. Their neighbor, Mr. Shirfser, was outside watering his plants and looked up when he saw the officer approaching the Herst's front door.

"You be sure to give those damn filthy buzzards hell, Slate! Those Cratetown loonies will be the death of us, I swear," Mr. Shirfser declared, shaking a fist covered by a gardening glove.

"I'll be sure to do that Alan, don't you worry."

"If I see anything I'll call Doris down at the station to be sure you all know about it. No one can say I don't do my part! The laws the law." Mr. Shirfser punctuated point by patting his chest.

"I believe you, Alan, I believe you. You take care now, and tell Rachel I said hello."

Mr. Shifser mumbled something about "dirt birds" and resumed watering his flowers. Officer Slate shook his head and knocked on the Herst's door.

A man with short brownish-blonde hair, glasses, and a mustache opened the door. He was wearing a patterned sweater vest over a buttoned up shirt, slacks, and an apron over both of those. If anyone looked like someone's father it was Greg Herst - who smiled broadly at Officer Slate, immediately recognizing who it was. But most people knew Officer Slate, he was well liked and very easy to spot. He was shorter than most, only about 5'3, and his black hair had begun to go steel grey at an early age. The women of Meadowdaleville swooned over his blue-grey eyes and toned athletic build. His body type broadcasted "capable of defense" while Greg's said "I do my own taxes, and like it," despite them both being the same age. That's "early 40's" for those taking notes. Don't worry, there won't be a test later.

"Andrew! Come in, come in," Mr. Herst beamed as he waved Officer Slate through the door,"I'm still cooking things up while the Twins are at school. You know how it is."

"Can't say I really do, Greg," Officer Slate replied, removing his policeman's hat as he walked over the threshold of the Herst home,"how are those rascals of yours doing?"

"Oh, fine, fine, their senior year is going real well." Both men walked into the living room of the modestly decorated home. It had all the charms of a ghost house, where you knew that those who occupied it were not the ones who decorated it and would be unlikely to change a single thing.

"Is you're, uh, oldest son still in residence?" Officer Slate asked with a knowing smile.

"Where else would he be?" Greg mumbled good naturedly and rolled his eyes, "NICO! Get out here, son. We got company!"

And so, emerging from the second floor landing is the lumbering...er...I mean statuesque titular figure of the story - young Nico Herst. Yes, young at only 23 years of age standing in at just a smidge over 6'4 our healthy hero looks out over the railing with massively broard shoulders stooped. Oh how they stoop even more when he notices who the "company" is, "You called me dad?" He asks, hoping that perhaps it'll all be a mistake and that he can return to his ill-lit room.

"Yes, I did son," Mr. Herst replies with a hint of sternness, he then turns to Officer Slate and says, "I'm going in the kitchen to get lunch. You two have a little talk and I'll be back in a wink."

Officer Slate nods and Mr. Herst rushes back into the kitchen. "Come on down, Nicholas," the officer calls out,"your father invited me for a little taste test and I have those damned birds to search for once I leave here. Let's move it."

You could hear the reluctance to come down those stairs, even in Nico's footsteps, and Slate knew that. It made things better, in fact. You see, Nicholas Herst wasn't like other young men his age. He wasn't much like men of any age, truth be told. Nico wasn't just tall and broad shouldered, he was a mountain of rippling, taught musculature. His prominent pecs strained his bright red sweatshirt, complete with nipples so big that you could even see them through the material. What made Officer Slate chuckle each time he saw the young adonis was too ridiculous to be believed. Nico was packing a fucklog so massive that it was impossible to comprehend, but seeing is believing. Nico had a member so big that it was easily the thickness of an adult man's head, with the bulbous head bigger than that. Andrew Slate was also well aware that underneath that barely contained hog was an equally impressive pair of cantaloupe sized nuts. The boy was a freakish ubermensch, and he knew it. Walking down the stairs with his package obscenely bouncing around in time with his steps clearly embarrassed him. You could see it in his, usually downcast, dark brown eyes. The lumbering oaf must be humiliated as hell to have to see company in a sweatsuit bulging with muscles. Muscles that, despite their impressiveness didn't give him anymore strength than all but the weakest men his age - he was more art exhibit than he-man, and he knew it.

"Hi, Mr. Slate," he said without looking at the man. He just stop in front of the grinning officer while staring off to the side.

"Come here, little man," Officer slate teased. Nico bent down enough to let the older man ruffle his head of dense black curls. Slate then used his other hand to brazenly grasp the underside of Nico's cock. The younger man gasped and Officer Slate took the opportunity to pinch his cleft chin, holding him in place, "I swear you get bigger every time I see you, little man. What has your father been feeding you?" Slate bounced Nico's burgeoning crotch pouch in his hand like he was judging a melon, but the young faux-jock only glanced at him and kept his eyes averted. The much shorter male couldn't help but smile even more, again chuckling, because he knew that whatever made Nicholas Herst so weak in muscle strength had instead supercharged various parts of his body and made him deliriously sensitive to stimuli.

However, being that Nico considered himself a red-blooded heterosexual american male, what was being done to him was nothing short of invasive and demeaning.

"You look at me, boy," Slate commanded. Nico did. Officer Slate tilted his head and arched an eyebrow.

"Yes, sir," Nico quickly replied. Sweat began to gather on his brow.

"Now, as I said," Slate began, in a quiet tone so that only Nico could hear, and never letting go of that chiseled chin,"your father invited me over for a little taste. You're going to be an upstanding young man like always and help your ole Uncle Andrew and your dad out. Capiche?"

Nico nodded his head. The older man gave him a quick, friendly, kiss on the lips and released the young adult.

"Off with the shirt."

Nico briskly removed his sweatshirt, and revealed a sight that made Andrew whistle. He really did have the body of a greek muscle god. From his perfect forearms, to those plump biceps, and the officer knew that the youth was packing a firm set of abs. Right now that was hidden behind the tight wifebeater Nico had slipped on. Likely to keep his sensitive nips from brushing up against the soft sweatshirt fabric. The young man almost stood at his full height and looked to Slate for further instructions.

"My goodness, have you done a single pushup? A sit-up? Even a jumping jack since I last saw you?"

"No, Sir," Nico whispered as he looked away. Andrew remembered the kid when he was still skinny as a rail. Handsome for a teen, but still a beanpole. The oldest Herst son had done little to earn the body he had and he knew it. It must have seemed like a curse.

"Alrighty, Nicholas, turn around so I can get some restraints on you. Don't want you thrashing around too much," Officer Slate commanded, using his pointer finger to indicate that Nico should turn around. Nico's eyes widened and he almost opened his mouth to protest when Slate put his fist up to his own mouth and cleared his throat. Nicholas sighed, shook his head, and slowly turned his back to the commanding cop. Slate took that time to remove his own shirt, never taking his eyes off the "task" at hand. He was also wearing a white wifebeater, which was fine - he just didn't want to get his uniform filthy. Slate's body, not nearly as muscular as Nico's but still impressive, was fought for with a strict fitness routine and dietary discipline that mirrored how he governed the other aspects of his life. He removed the handcuffs from his belt, took one of Nico's arms, and secured the wrist. Nico was silent during all of this but glanced over his shoulder at the proceedings. Still holding out hope that it might all go away, as if Slate were really just here to arrest him and take him where ever monsters go. The "chink" sound of his other wrist being secured in the cuffs dismissed that fantasy. His body involuntarily shuddered. "Alright, little man, on the couch."

The officer pushed Nico towards the couch, and the young man slowly sat down with his eyes on the cop standing over him. Officer Slate nodded and sat to the left of him, he guided Nico to slouch back into the sofa and prop his legs up on the coffee table. All the while the short cop's eyes never lost their look of intense focus. Nico on the other time was faced with several distractions - thinking about what was happening to him, making sure the handcuffs didn't end up poking in his back (they, thankfully, were not tight on his wrists), and the presence of that massive dick of his. With his feet on the coffee table that meant his crotch was arched toward him and that meant he, and Officer Slate, had a full view of the elephant trunk between his legs. He'd tried to stuff it in in a way that would minimize how much it showed but his outrageously large testicles always seemed to prop it up - or push it towards the lining of his sweatpants as they were doing at the moment. He really began sweating now. This was too much. He wanted to run out of the room, out of the house, and away from what was happening to him but he had no where to go. Everyone would pin him for a freak on sight. A tear slowly fell down his cheek and he tried to steady his breathing.

"Shh, shh," the cop chided,"I'm sure your dad will be out of the kitchen any minute now." As he said this he took a swiss army knife from his key ring and held it in from Nico's face. "Don't move now," he said without smiling, but his voice was still friendly. Nico looked from the office to the small knife. Slate pulled up the neck line of Nico's shirt and placed the knife under it. He cut a ragged line down the middle of wifebeater without any sense of urgency. "Aren't we a sight," the older man breathed as he swept aside the sides of the now ruined shirt with his hands - revealing Nico's beautiful pectoral mounds. Lightly smattered with hair in the center and flanked on either side by those cap-off-bottled-water thick nipples the boy tried so hard to keep out of sight. Now, Officer Slate smiled, Nico's whole life now seemed to be made up of keeping everything about himself out of sight. Andrew licked his lips and bent over the one nearest him. He gently blew over it and the reaction in Nico was immediate - the young man turned his head and grit his teeth. Yes, whatever was afflicting the young man had trapped him in a body that would consistently betray him. The focus left Slate's eyes. "We're all good in here, Greg!"

Nico's father entered the room and Nico averted his head to look in the other direction. Slate, an astute observer of body language, glanced at the boy and gave him a quick pat in the deep valley between his pecs. All of this went unnoticed by Mr. Herst who was still wearing that apron, but now also held a large metal bowel in one arm, using his freehand to mix whatever was in the bowl with a large wooden spoon. "Sorry, Andrew, sometimes I get so caught up in what I'm doing. You know how I get in the kitchen."

"Yeah, I know."

Mr. Herst sat down next to his son and didn't bat an eyelash when he saw the state his boy was in. Truth be known - whatever you just thought of what Officer Slate had done to Nico was nothing compared to the callousness of the boy's own father. When Greg saw the state of the sliced up wifebeater, he exclaimed, "Ah GOD, Nico, what have I told you about wearing your undershirts during the day? Didn't I say they were only for sleeping?" He let go of the spoon and grabbed his son's face, squeezing Nico's cheeks together and forcing him to look at him, "What the hell is wrong with you? Do you just enjoy making life difficult for your brothers and me? Ahhh, god, and look you left your sweatshirt on the floor. Geeze, Nico could you be anymore..."

Officer Slate cleared his throat again and arched an eyebrow. Greg stopped immediately looked from the officer's "let's move on" expression to the one of wide-eyed terror on Nico's. Of course, the boy felt his affliction made him a failure as a son and a human being. Mr. Herst roughly let go of his son's face and gave him a hard pat on his flawless abs.

"We'll talk about your behavior later, young man," Greg said as he sat up a little straighter, "the reason I called you here, Andrew, is to taste this new chocolate recipe. I'm thinking of offering something new down at the store. With all this talk of organic this and organic that I thought I'd try switching up ingredients and seeing if the taste is any better. If it is I think it'll be a big hit with shoppers!"

"And how does junior here," Officer Slate gestured at Nico with his head. Nico looked from the officer to his father with vivid concern. Slate continued,"fit into all of this exactly. Just so we're on the same page." after he said that he traced his bare finger down the center of Nico's torso, watching the rise and fall of the youth's chest as his anxiety grew. He knew he wasn't helping, but Officer Slate had a devilish streak in him.

"Like this," Greg stated as he lifted up the spoon and ladled beautiful brown chocolate onto his son's exposed chest. Nico's eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets as the warm liquid met his sun-kissed skin.

"D-dad..." he stuttered.

"Quiet, Nico," Mr. Herst warned.

Officer Slate gave Nico one of his warm smiles, and oddly enough Nico felt slightly better. Like going from horrifying anticipation to manic sense of dread. I guess that's better, I don't know because I've never been a hyper cocked muscle toy for two grown men, one of which would be my own flesh an blood father. Don't judge me for being limited in my life experiences! So rude! Anywho, the young man's look prompted the officer to say, "You know Greg, I surely do love when I get invited to your home. Especially when I get to spend time with little man here, all grown up."

"Uh-huh," Mr. Herst mumbled as he paid special attention to drizzling warm chocolate onto his adult son's perky (and getting harder by the moment) nipples. The action elicited an ecstatic groan from Nico. His giant fuckstick was visibly reacting as well, getting harder and tenting outward. For having a dick that big, Slate mused, the boy could get hard as fast and as quick as you please. Mr. Herst soon exclaimed, "That'll do it," and put the bowl on a table on the side of the couch. He and Slate examined the sticky mess that was Nico's sweet chocolate covered chest. Nico's breath was coming out in quick spurts as he looked from one man's face to the other and contemplated how he could find himself in outrageous situations like this. Leg's on a coffee table with his broad chest exposed and covered with fucking chocolate (organic, don't forget organic) and his enormous donkey dick about ready to burst out of his sweat pants. He knew the two men who about to descend on him and he tried ready himself, but he knew it was no use. He hated his body and how he seemed to no control over it. Nothing he did seemed to rope in the sensations bound to surge through him and shake him to his core.

"Should we say grace?" Office Slate asked with a smile.

"I think my mouth son here should say grace for us, Andrew." Mr. Herst fixed a stoney glare on his adult child,"Nico. Will say grace for Officer Slate and I?"

Nico, again, looked from one face to other - one smiling like the devil (but oddly compassionate) while the other looked at him with the threat of violence reflected in the owner's light brown eyes. His father moved slightly towards him and the young man launched into the dining prayer he'd learned as a child -

G-god is g-g-grace, God is g-good

Let us...Let us thank you, for our f-f-f-food.

Tears were forming in the sides of his eyes as he recited the familiar prayer. His father seemed lost in thought, while Officer Slate reached over and scooped up a falling tear drop with his finger. He gave the young man an encouraging nod.

Bah-By his hand, we all are f-f-fed

Gah-g-give us now (Nico took a deep breath) our daily bread.

Nico barely got out his Amen before both men descended on his hard nipples. Wet tongues were brandished across his sensitive nubs, and if they were smaller perhaps he'd have felt everything less, but with his affliction the sensation was so great that the young man's mouth opened wide and a might moan of pleasure escaped. Both of the older men knew this would happen, one reveled in it while the other thought it was the boy's own fault for being the way he was. Mr. Herst took special pains to ensure the big dicked monstrosity felt every lap of his tongue, circling his tongue around the tender nip and softly teasing the very top with the tippy-top-ending of his tongue. This embarrassment would teach the ungrateful burden not to mouth off in front of company. Nico's control over his senses slipped wholly and quickly as he couldn't help but thrust his chest out more, primally trying to get away but only making things easier for the men. His eyes were rolled into the back of his head the two authority figures began nursing on his brazen pecs. He involuntarily kicked outward and this led to the freeing of his burgeoning dick. It had gone to full mast with no trouble at all, literally flopping out and reaching the beginning of the valley of his muscle pecs. The youth's precum mixed in with whatever chocolate had dribbled down his chest, and despite the handcuffs both men had to hold one his arms to keep him full bolting or thrashing around too wildly.