Fantasy Scenario 11

Young, dumb, and full of cum. It’s my favorite combination. Catch ‘em in their late teens or early twenties after all the hormones are functioning and they shoot huge wads of semen when you put ‘em down. It’s as if it were hard-wired into them, physiologically.

This one fits the bill. He looks about nineteen or so. I can see him on a bench on the other side of the empty playground. He’s had a lot of traffic, but he hasn’t left the bench. From where I’m sitting, I can only see his head, but unless he’s been giving handies, he’s not a whore. And if he is into handjobs, he’s had bad luck; no one’s been next to him for more than thirty seconds or so.

So if he ain’t selling his body, what is he selling? Drugs, most likely. He’d had a backpack when he came in. Can’t tell if he’s still wearing it, but it doesn’t really matter anyway.

I’m just curious how much money he has. He won’t need it when I’m done with him, but I might find it handy…

He’s been looking in my direction, off and on, for a while now. It doesn’t take long before he gets up and moves towards me.

Short red-gold hair; his face is broad and his nose is large. It makes me think Eastern Europe for some reason. His complexion is pale with a scattering of freckles.

He’s wearing a grey hoodie, jeans, and Converse red canvas hightops. The backpack is slung over his shoulder as he strolls nonchalantly by me. He stares in my face the entire time. As he walks away, I get up and follow him fifty yards further down the park path, into the greenbelt. He’s waiting.

He goes through his spiel, trying to get me to buy one of the bags of cheap skunk weed he was selling before progressing to pills and coke. But he’s not trying too hard—and his eyes keep coming back to the bulge in my crotch.

I flat out solicit him. I’ll pay him fifty bucks and get him high—my own stash, not his—if he’ll let me suck his dick. His eyes light up but I can’t tell if it’s from lust or greed. Again, doesn’t matter, as long as I get to watch that light fade as he dies.

He doesn’t mind hauling his dick out in the back of my van right there in the parking lot of the rec center. I want someplace a little more private, though, so I hand him a joint to smoke while I head towards an empty industrial park just on the other side of the highway.

By the time I get there, the special mixture in my joint has done its job. The kid lies limply in the seat, awake, but barely able to move. His speech is little more than an inarticulate mumble. He’s drooling slightly—there’s something about the combination of the drugs that induces a very slight paralysis. I think it has something to do with the hallucinogen, but I’m no chemist. But his breathing is shallow and rapid; panic is starting to set in.

He’s just realized that’s he’s completely helpless. He also knows what it means—something very bad is going to happen to him.

Tears ooze from his fear-widened eyes as I drag him out of his seat into the back. I show him a sharp knife just to terrorize him; I’m not planning to use it on him directly. It’s here so I can cut his clothes off, which I do very quickly. It doesn’t take long to slash apart his hoodie, jeans, and boxers. As usual; I leave his shoes on; I like it when they kick.

I throw him down flat on his back on the carpeted floor of the van and climb on top of him, laying full length. I grab a handful of his hair to hold his head still as I talk to him.

“All right, listen up, bitch. This is how this is gonna go down. I’m gonna shove my dick up your ass and while it’s up there, I’m gonna choke you to death. Nothing personal, dude, but I wanna blow a load into some dead meat. And that means someone’s gotta die. Just your lucky night, fucker. Don’t worry, though, you’ll shoot a wad, too. Dunno if enough of your brain will be left alive at the time for you to enjoy it, but I promise you—you’ll cum before you go.”

I grinned at this witticism. The kid moaned and shuddered but wasn’t capable of anything more coordinated. Even without the drugs, his fear would have incapacitated him at this point.

Perfect time for me to whip my hog out of my jeans and slam it into his hole. Fuck yeah. He was tight. Dunno if he was a virgin; I’d like to think so but I doubt it. I know it hurt; the only lube I used was my own spit and the kid was moaning even more loudly, tears welling out of his eyes and streaming down the side of his face. I propped the bitch’s hightops on my shoulders as I bent over him, still spearing his ass with my thick cock.

I held the nylon cord in front of his eyes. See, the Inquisition knew a trick or two. They made it a practice to show the prisoner the implements of torture before they were used on him. As the true horror of what was to come sank in, the prisoner was more likely to confess with needing to be tortured at all.

Not that I give a shit about confession. The more terrified the meat is, the better it milks the cum out of my cock. I want it to know what’s coming.

“See this? I’m gonna tighten it around your neck. Does dying hurt? Yeah, bitch, it’s gonna hurt. I’m gonna make it hurt because that’s what gets me off. And somewhere in all that pain, you’re gonna cum too. So are ya ready, ya little fuck? Ready to ride my cock down into your grave? Let’s saddle up!”

I grab his hair again and gently lift his head, laying the cord under his neck. I lower his head, pick up the ends of the cords and cross them at the front of his throat, just under the adam’s apple. I position myself for maximum traction; my boots are digging into the carpet with each thrust of my tool and my elbows support my upper half. I wrap the cord ends around the palms of my hands and yank as hard as I can.

It sinks in so deeply that I can barely see it. The boy’s eyes are huge now; the expression on his face is terror. His voluntary nervous system is slowed by the drugs but not the involuntary. His face starts to go red immediately as he arcs his back in a vain attempt to draw in air.

“That’s it. You can feel the pressure building in your head, can’t you? Yeah, that’s gonna get real bad, fuckmeat. But we’ve only been doing this for a few seconds. It’s gonna be three minutes before death takes you, punk. It may not sound long, but it’s gonna be three minutes of agony and I’m gonna be fucking you each second of it. By the time your thrashing, dying body works the last drop of cum outta my rod, your brain will be so damaged you won’t feel the hot seed I plant inside you.”

He’s able to move some now. There’s no strength or focus but he can bat his arms weakly against me. Perhaps his panic is allowing him to overcome some of the paralysis effect. It’s not strong enough to inconvenience me.

His face is darker and his bloodshot eyes are bulging slightly. His lips are swelling as well and have a distinct bluish tint. His involuntary movements are stronger now; he’s writhing under me, his body lubed by the thin film of cold perspiration that’s covering him.

“Whaddaya say, fuckmeat, time to take it up a notch? Yeah, bitch? Don’t think you’re hurtin’ enough yet. Fuck yeah, let’s see if we can fix that.”

I start to pull tighter on the cord. My biceps are beginning to bulge and tendons are standing out. But I keep my breathing regular, timing it with each thrust so I can speak clearly.

“You’re gonna hear a crunching sound in a moment, fuckmeat. Gonna fuckin’ feel it too. It’ll be the sound of your hyoid bone breaking and your esophagus collapsing. Once that happens, you’re dead. Even if I undo this cord, you still won’t be able to breathe. But I’m not gonna undo the cord anyway, because you’re not completely dead yet and I can tighten it even more before you die. “

I grin cheerfully into his terrified, pleading eyes. His tongue, black at the tip, has protruded beyond his puffy cyan lips. It’s moving slightly; the punk dealer is trying to speak, to beg for his life, to plead on behalf of a sick mother or younger brother or some such bullshit. All he’s actually doing is pushing out a stream of foamy drool that trickles down his cheek. The sound came, more like a twig snapping, really.

“Fuckin’-A, yeah! Die, motherfucker, die on my dick. Fuckin’ shoot your punk-ass load and die so I can fill your worthless meat with man cum before I throw it out to rot. C’mon, dude, give up your wad and it’ll all be over. Die, you pig fuck. It won’t hurt after you’re dead.”

His arms flail around my body, hands scrabbling against my sweaty back and sides. He’s completely covered in a sheet of cold sweat himself; it’s the cold sweat of serious body crisis. The canvas of his shoes scratches at my cheeks as his feet jerk with approaching death.

I’m bent down close to his face now. This is the finale; this is what I’ve been waiting for.

“Soon, fuckmeat, it’ll all be over soon. Your only purpose on earth was as a sack to hold my cum. Let go and stop fighting. You’re helpless against it anyway. Let it come and let it be.”

His face is almost black and the whites of his eyes are blood red with hemorrhages. Some part of him hears me though—hears me in the depths of massive brain damage and accepts his fate. He becomes less frantic. His arms slow, his hands caressing my back as they wrap around me.

Suddenly the punk’s grip tightens around me as his body arcs up, pressing his smooth, flat, sweaty belly against mine. His shoes press against the side of my head. But it’s his ass that tightens the most; it clamps down on my cock like it’s getting vacuum-wrapped.

His body thrashes a moment, then something flies between us. The dying boy has shot a wad; it splatters on the back of the seat, above his head. It’s the first of several; most land in his face. Soon his own cum is dripping off his thick swollen tongue and seeping into pools covering his dull, half-lidded eyes.

As he shoots, random nerves fire throughout his body, creating a rippling effect in his rectum. I cum so hard I hear myself cry out incoherently. I jerk the cord so tightly around the meat’s neck that it sinks to a circumference only a little larger than his spine. After I empty myself into the meat’s guts, I fall asleep with my cock still up his ass.

I can’t sleep too long; this is too public a place when I still had the meat in my possession. But I’m horny again when I wake up, so I decide to use the meat one more time.

I flip it over and fuck it from behind this time. I ride the meat like a bronco, using the cord that I’d left around the neck as reins. I get a little carried away when I have my second orgasm; I yank back a little too hard and snap the spine. By the time I stop shooting; the meat’s glazed, blackened face is bent over backwards and staring at me upside-down.

Oh well. This meat is fucked out anyways. Time to throw it away and find another one.

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