I wrote this story about 10 years ago, when there were other possible election results, but somehow part of it seems relevant again. So with apologies to my more conservative friends, I hope folk enjoy it.
I should probably also admit that the “Matt” in the story is my fantasy for me. I try to stay naked as much as possible, and feel it would be entirely appropriate if I were enslaved, tortured, and snuffed. So if you have story ideas on how that might happen, let me know.
Matt stood at the bus stop and waited somewhat anxiously for the next bus downtown to the industrial district. Buses didn’t run very regularly anymore, so he wasn’t sure when it would arrive. He was apprehensive and optimistic about the day, and it was important that he made his appointment. He was also self-conscious, and hoped there wouldn’t be very many other people who would arrive and stare at him. That was an aspect of his status he particularly hated.
At least it was a warm day, so Matt wasn’t shivering. People sometimes misunderstood that reaction, and thought it was a sign of fear. Matt wasn’t afraid. When the weather was colder his body simply reacted to the cold. That’s what happens when you’re legally required to be completely naked at all times. Being also required to maintain an erection whenever possible added to the self-consciousness, since Matt was actually somewhat shy and nearly everyone would point at his manhood when they saw him, making comments or just laughing. But he stroked himself to keep his cock hard, knowing there would likely be someone who would show up at the bus stop and he’d risk trouble if he was not displaying an erect cock for public viewing. His shyness made it a little more difficult, but being 23 meant his sexual energies helped him comply with the law. He did enjoy playing with himself, and was actually kind of proud of the size of his cock as well as his exceptional level of fitness and good looks.
Matt remembered when the buses ran very regularly, and there was a strong transit system. Tampa had been much more vibrant then, with lots of public services and real tolerance for diversity. Of course, all that had changed with the election of President Palin in 2012 and the complete takeover of Congress and the State of Florida by the religious right. Public services like mass transit had been massively cut back. There were no protests any more, and unions had been abolished so no one protested either the lack of transportation or the newly oppressive working conditions. The huge corporations that bankrolled the new government could do whatever they liked with employees, all in the name of keeping jobs in the USA. With 90% pay cuts, longer hours, no benefits, and no safety rules, there were enough jobs, but they were pretty awful. Mat had originally enjoyed his job as a quality expert, testing new software, but it was no longer any fun at all and it was clear the new owners of the company didn’t really care much about quality.
Matt heard some people behind him approaching the bus stop. He didn’t turn around, and as he stroked himself to be sure he stayed hard he hoped there would not be any problems. He did look over his shoulder to see who it was. It turned out to be an old woman with her grandson. They also looked somewhat poor given their shabby clothes, so maybe they would even be sympathetic. But that was not to be.
“Look, Todd,” the old lady said. “Can you read the words branded on the back of the live meat?”
The boy was about seven, and apparently not much of a reader. That wasn’t surprising, since schools were now all private and if you couldn’t pay for an education you didn’t get much. The boy struggled to read as his grandmother had instructed him. He realized he’d seen the phrase before, and it was certainly large enough on Matt’s naked back to be discernable. Matt remembered how painful it had been when he was dragged to the front of the assembly near the end of his senior year in high school, stripped naked, and tied to a large frame while the huge, red-hot branding iron was applied to his flesh, burning in his status for all to see. The cheering and laughter in the auditorium had been almost as painful as the seared flesh, since so many of the students had once been his friends. The President had only been in office eight years at that point, and there had been some hope among those who opposed the administration. But it was still too dangerous not to join in when there was a public event. Names were taken of those who didn’t, and retaliation was severe.
“I know this one,” the boy exclaimed, bringing Matt back from his memories to his place at the bus stop. I’ve seen it on TV, when the First Dude displays the meat he’s going to hunt on his show. You know, “Hunting and Cooking with the First Family.” It was branded on the back of the animal he hunted last night and it says “Fag Sinner.” It was a really a great show last night. He nailed the guy with an arrow right through his heart, and he started skinning the meat even before the guy was completely dead. The First Dude explained that since the guy was going to hell anyway, it was useful for people to see him suffer a little more so others would learn from it. But I don’t know what the words mean. Will this guy get killed by the First Dude too? That would be fun to watch.”
Matt listened to the kid jabber on, knowing that he was probably turning red with embarrassment. But he knew enough to just stand there and not to say anything.
“Very good, Todd,” the old lady complemented her grandson – who was obviously named after the President’s husband, as were so many boys these days. “That was a very good show, and it was generous of the President to share one of her recipies for cooking human meat. They are such a generous couple, and it was such a positive family scene watching them eat the fellow who had been shot. Next week I understand they are going to feature some techniques for eating a slave while it’s still alive, which should be even more fun.”
“But won’t the First Dude get to shoot one? That’s the best part of the show, watching the guy squirm and listening to him scream, and then watching the First Dude cut up the meat for the President to cook.” The young boy was afraid his entertainment wouldn’t be complete.
“Don’t worry, Todd,” his grandmother laughed. “Your namesake always finishes his hunting, and gets his kill. Maybe they’ll just carve up another live slave for the recipes once he finishes hunting. In fact, I think he’s going to use an AK-47 for this week’s kill, so maybe they’re just taking into account the fact the body will be ripped to shreds by the weapon. I think you’ll enjoy watching that, and it will help promote sales of those kinds of guns. After all, there are lots of meat slaves to dispose of.” This assured the boy.
“But what does “Fag Sinner” mean?” the boy asked. At this point the tone of the grandmother’s voice changed, and she addressed Matt.
“Hey fag, turn around and explain to my grandson what you are and why you’ve been branded and required to go around naked with your penis hanging out.” It was not a request, and Matt knew there would be trouble if he didn’t comply immediately and with the appropriate respect. He turned to the grandmother and her grandson, and realized that a third person had now joined the group, a tough looking but handsome young man in his thirties, who was wearing the uniform of the Jesus Police. Matt was now more nervous than ever. He had to be very careful.
“Of course, ma’am,” Matt began respectfully, careful to keep any sarcasm out of his voice. “I am a homosexual, which is another word for fag. That is a sin against the law of the Old Testament, and therefore against the law of the United States now that the Old Testament is officially the law of America. So I am also a sinner, condemned to go to hell when I die. As a lesson to others, I have been branded for what I am and required to display myself as an object lesson for people like your grandson. It is a kindness greater than I deserve to allow me to be of some use beyond what I can contribute in my role as a slave worker at the local Halliburton factory and in my eventual role as meat. I am displayed at churches on Sundays and whipped during the service, again as an object lesson. Also, since the Old Testament permits slavery, and that overrides the prior constitution under the rulings of the Supreme Court, I am reduced to the status of slave and am actually the property of Halliburton. They have decided to cut costs, so I will no longer live in an apartment with other slaves. I will now live and work at the factory until they decide I am of no further use and sell me to one of the meat packing plants. This is all as it should be, and I look forward to that day so I can make a final contribution to the society I have stained by my existence. Once I am cut up and eaten, my soul will of course reside in hell, which is what I deserve.”
The grandmother looked satisfied, but the JP trouper wasn’t. “Nice try, fag, but it’s not good enough. You forgot to explain why your cock is required to be hard, and for that matter you’ve let it pretty much shrivel up.” He turned toward the boy.
“What the fag meat left out is that he has to keep himself sexually aroused at all times, which means his penis gets large and sticks out. You’ll learn all about that someday, although thankfully it’s not permitted to be discussed in school any more. But this is done to shame him, and to highlight his sin. Remember, the Supreme Court ruled that the original intention of the Founding Fathers was to follow the Old Testament, and therefore all those silly amendments that created rights, eliminated slavery, and limited the number of terms of the President were not valid. So we finally have the rule of Law the way it was intended, and the President has agreed to serve for life, the way King David did.” That was far more than the boy could understand, but the JP was proud of himself for the history lesson he had delivered.
Meanwhile, Matt quickly began stroking himself, but with the stress of the scene he was having trouble getting hard again. There was no way he could fake a hard-on while being naked. Events were not going well for him, and this had been a day he was really looking forward to.
“OK, fag. Up against the bus stop. You know the rules and the position.”
Matt did as instructed, leaning against the bus stop and clutching the two rings that were fastened near the top of the small structure, which caused his arms to be spread out above his head. The JP quickly used handcuffs to assure that his wrists were held firm to the two rings, and then kicked Matt’s feet apart to better position him. Matt’s exposed backside was now spread-eagled and positioned for receiving punishment. The JP took a whip out of his belt (one of the standard pieces of equipment JP troupers carried) and began vigorously lacerating Matt’s back and butt. Stroke after stroke hit its mark while the grandmother and her son watched, with the boy counting the strokes and giggling. It was not long before Matt was bleeding from numerous welts. After each stroke, as required, Matt thanked the JP for the punishment and requested another stroke since Matt was a sinner. The trouper obliged for quite some time, but eventually grew a little tired.
“That’s all you get, fag. You deserve a whole lot more, of course, and it would be the right thing to do for me to whip you to death. But I don’t have time for that, and you are probably useful to your owners for a while. But I sure would like to cut you up for a little mid-morning protein.”
The JP took out a small scanner, like a TV remote control, and proceeded to scan Matt’s bleeding ass. The device beeped and the JP read what it said.
“What makes you think you have permission to be on the streets, anyway?” the JP asked. The chip embedded in your butt says you do indeed belong to Halliburton, but it shows you’re supposed to be at work. Not only that, the psychological profile says you’re a suicide risk and you’re part of some sort of experimental group of slaves. Explain yourself.”
Matt was now extremely nervous. He knew how vulnerable he was in every way. The JP was perfectly entitled to arrest him, and might even get a reward from his owner for nabbing a stray slave.
“I am on my way to work now, sir,” Matt responded. “I was required to clean out my former apartment and assist in the sale of my possessions before heading into work. I will now be kept in my cubicle except for any permitted exercise periods, which will allow my owner to get more productivity from me and prevent me from any ability to kill myself before I am sold for meat. As part of the experiment to increase productivity I will have a pail for my waste, and my dog dish will be filled to the extent my owner determines I am worth feeding. This will increase profits for my owner, which is the American way.” Most of that was true, but Matt was holding back some key information. He was extremely worried that the JP would apply a lie detector. If so, he was really doomed.
Fortunately for Matt, the bus the grandmother and son were waiting for arrived at this point, and they departed. That left him alone with the JP trouper, who had a better idea than arresting Matt. He released Matt from the restraints, and told him to kneel in front of him and suck his cock. Matt observed that the guy had gotten a pretty good hard-on while whipping him, which was apparent through his tight uniform. Matt quickly obliged as the policeman unzipped his pants and thrust the aroused cock into Matt’s mouth. Matt was indeed gay, and pretty expert at sucking cock, so this was no problem. Indeed, Matt’s own cock quickly regained its required status.
“My girlfriend is mad at me, so I didn’t get any sex this morning,” the JP trouper explained, needing to make it clear he wasn’t gay. “So you’ll have to do for now.” Matt was used to JP types who pretended they weren’t gay, and was smart enough to ignore the fraud. He sucked expertly and even eagerly (the guy was pretty good looking, and the cock pretty large), bringing him close to orgasm. But then the JP ordered Matt to let go and to present his butt so he could shoot his load up Matt’s fag asshole. Matt of course obliged, feeling the large cock being roughly inserted and concerned he might shoot his own load as the guy thrust in and out. This was clearly not the first time this JP had fucked another guy, and he was obviously enjoying it. He came quickly, and Matt was able to restrain himself. After that, Matt also obliged by using his mouth to clean the guy’s cock and then to swallow a large load of piss sent down Matt’s throat.
Matt was extremely relieved. He knew that the JP would not now arrest him, since there was cum inside Matt that could be traced back to the JP. And the lie detector test Matt would surely receive upon being arrested would reveal this transgression, which might even get the guy exposed as a fellow fag. There were tests for that too, and in fact that is how Matt had been exposed.
“OK, fag. You can go when your bus comes. You’ve got a nice tight ass, so if I get cut off again maybe I’ll track you down. Or maybe I can get permission to cut you up for snacks. Either way, you better hope we don’t meet again.”
The JP trouper left, and to Matt’s relief his bus arrived shortly thereafter. It wasn’t the bus to the factory where he worked, but there was no one at the bus stop to observe that fact.
Of course, being naked and without possessions of any type, Matt had no way to pay for the fare. That was handled by the bar code branded on Matt’s arm, which would result in a small charge to Halliburton. This was one area where things had gotten more efficient. The large corporations knew how to process and control their slaves. As a slave, Matt wasn’t permitted to sit down, of course, and he stood at the front of the bus displaying his excited cock for the amusement of the other riders. Several also commented on the welts still shining on his backside, and he was obliged to explain that he had been (as appropriate) whipped by a member of the JP. The other riders, of course, fully approved and one guy amused himself by hitting Matt in the balls and then in the belly, which also was well received by the other riders. Matt was grateful the beating wasn’t so severe it would cause him to throw up (as many of them did), since he then would have been required to lick up his vomit and that would risk him missing his stop. So it was a good bus ride, all things considered. Maybe the day would be OK after all.
Matt got off at a dodgy part of town where even the JP were cautious and wouldn’t show up except with overwhelming numbers. This was the really bad part of town.
The contact from the underground had given Matt very explicit directions on which streets to walk as he headed to the unmarked warehouse. “Trust me, there are worse ways to die if you stray from the safe route,” the guy had stressed. Even though Matt’s goal today was to get himself killed, he knew the kinds of people who occupied this part of town had some far too entertaining ideas on how to make that happen. He had arranged what he hoped would be a relatively quick death, with his body then turned over to one of the meat plants for dog food. It was the only way he saw to escape his latest fate. Being chained in his cubicle for two years without any relief was more than he could endure. It had been bad enough already, working 12 hour days seven days a week, being hauled in front of churches for ridicule and torture, being laughed at whenever he was in public, and (most of all) being deprived of sex with other guys. He would get relief when he turned 25, since that was the age at which slaves were processed for meat to make sure the meat was nice and tasty, but he knew even then that he ran a high risk of being processed as live meat – sold to a restaurant to be eaten alive. There was no other reason they would keep him fit, and he was well aware that he was unusually handsome and therefore of greater value in the restaurant market than as just a used-up slave to be slaughtered and butchered. Those were the lucky ones. Matt desperately needed an end to all this, and he had encountered another guy who told him that there was a group in this part of town that would be willing to accommodate him.
“You’ll get tortured first, and raped and such. They pretend to be straight, but they’re all actually gay guys who are into extreme S&M. But the tortures usually last only a couple of hours, and it’s a whole lot better than what awaits you otherwise. If you cooperate it will go quicker, and a lot of gay guys manage to get off big time during the sessions, which pleases the gang and encourages them to let you die sooner. Then they cook up the good parts of your body, enjoy lunch, and sell the rest to a nearby pet food factory. It’s a pretty straightforward process.”
Matt thought about it, nervous about the torture session, but concluded this was the best available option for him. He agreed, and got directions and a time to meet the “gang” who would be generous enough to torture, rape, and snuff him. As he walked toward the warehouse and thought about his fate, he actually got a bit more aroused, even dripping a little pre-cum. He had been into S&M, and that part kind of turned him on.
Matt saw the sign the guy had described, which read “live meat deliveries.” He knew what it meant, and knocked on the door. When it was opened, he was horrified to see the same JP trouper who had whipped and raped him just an hour or so earlier. Matt didn’t know what to say and just stood there staring.
“Hi, fag, remember me?” the JP sneered. “I’m your worst nightmare. I know what you’re after, and I’m going to make sure you don’t get to die yet. But you do get tortured.”
With that, the JP grabbed Matt and pulled him into the hallway, and then forced him into a large room where about ten JP troupers had gathered. There was a naked young male tied to a post in the middle of the room, and it was obvious that they were enjoying torturing him. All the gang wore their JP berets but most were otherwise naked themselves, their large cocks fully aroused and their bodies glistening with sweat from the effort of whipping, beating, fucking, and otherwise abusing their victim. The guy’s back was so covered in welts from whipping that the “fag sinner” brand was hardly readable. His screams were not very audible, and Matt suspected that was because he had lost his voice from the audible entertainment he had already supplied to his torturers.
“Hey guys, here’s the one I was telling you about,” the JP announced to the group, who all stopped what they were doing (mostly either beating the victim or sucking each other off) and stared at Matt. “We don’t get to snuff this one, but we can play with him for a while before we return him to his owners. He’s part of an experiment and they want to see how it plays out.”
The gang was delighted with the fresh handsome meat, even if it wasn’t going to be another snuff party. After all, it was clear the guy they had been working over was pretty close to dead, and he had enough meat for a great meal for the entire group. Matt was just an added benefit to their fun.
The JP laughed at Matt, who was completely confused and terrified. “Here’s the deal, fag. Halliburton wants more productivity from its slave workers, and someone figured having you guys work and live in your cubicles would be a way to do it. That way you only stop working when you require sleep, or maybe some exercise. You can work through feedings and you can piss and shit in a pail in your cubicle that can be emptied by another slave every few days when it’s full. But the problem is suicide. The psychological tests show you ungrateful shitheads will try to kill yourselves, and that reduces productivity and throws off the schedule for when you’re sold for meat.
“The slave resources department decided to do some experiments, and you’re part of one of them. They wanted to see if you’d try to get yourself snuffed, and sure enough they were right. But it won’t work, and now they’ll watch you even more closely. We’ve been tracking you all day. Also, you’ll now be in the experiment to figure out how much pain a slave can endure, and how that affects productivity. That experiment will last the full two years until you’re sold for meat. So you get to be sort of useful after all.
“But don’t worry. The torture part that my buddy told you about is correct. We get to do that before we turn you back over to your owners. And we get a bonus. We just don’t get to kill you.”
Matt was quickly tied to a fuck-horse and the gang wasted no time enjoying a vigorous gangbang at his expense. The JP from the bus stop took another turn, bragging about his prowess. They made sure Matt watched as they finally finished off the original victim, tying him on his back to a large table by his wrists and ankles, and then tossing dice to see who got the first bites. They didn’t bother to cook the guy, since that would kill him too quickly, and they simply cut off parts and ate him raw and alive. They expressed disappointment that he was too hoarse from his earlier screams to provide a sound track for their lunch, but on the other hand there was no objection when one of the guys cut out the tongue, a favorite delicacy of that JP trouper. The major contest, of course, was to see who got to cut off the cock and the balls, which were removed separately and slowly so three of the gang could enjoy the fun of cutting and eating while the rest cheered them on. The victim didn’t actually last all that long after that, since the gang was hungry and not very careful where they cut. Matt saw the relief in his face as he finally was able to die. Matt envied him greatly.
Matt’s own fate was even worse than he feared. After lunch the gang was horny again, so there was another gang rape. Then they tied him up and whipped him to the point there was almost no part of his body that wasn’t cut. He doubted his own branding was legible any more, and could see the welts on his chest and belly. Even the bar code on his arm that identified him was scarred, but he realized there would be no more bus rides.
“Anyone want desert?” the leader of the group asked jokingly. When everyone laughed and answered in the affirmative, Matt was tied to the same table as the prior victim. He had a slight hope that maybe they would get carried away and snuff him, but that was not the case. Instead, they once again rolled dice to see who the three winners would be. The JP who had “managed” Matt explained to him that his owners were appreciative of the gang’s efforts and wanted to reward them. Since Matt wouldn’t have any use for his cock and balls, they were being donated to the gang as a thank-you gift. Now, when Matt was displayed on Sundays (which he assured Matt would still happen), the congregation would have another reason to laugh at him. And Matt would not be able to engage in any more actual sinning, so this was really a favor to him.
The pain from having his cock slowly cut off, and then his ball sack sliced open so that each testicle could be removed, was beyond anything Matt could imagine. He could not help but watch as his manhood was slowly eaten in front of him by the winning gang members, and he passed out as they sewed him up to make sure he didn’t bleed to death.
Matt was returned to the factory, and a collar was attached around his neck that allowed easy administration of electricity to his exposed body. When the scars from his scourging finally healed, he was re-branded with “fag sinner” so that it would remain prominent. If his productivity slowed down, the collar would be activated and he would feel intense pain, which in due course converted him into the Pavlovian dog that his owners desired. The few hours of sleep each day were his only relief, and of course that did not come with the usual pleasure of masturbation that had been his only solace before the experiment began. Since restaurants didn’t buy eunuchs, there was no point keeping him all that fit, so the daily exercise was minimal. Being displayed on Sunday was the worst, as he was now not only laughed at for being a branded eunuch and then whipped but, to show the nature of his sin, he was now also sodomized with whatever happened to be available in the church, or brought in by enthusiastic members of the congregation. At one time that might have carried at least a little pleasure, but without his manhood and his man-seeds there was only pain and humiliation.
The Halliburton slave resources group ultimately declared the experiment a great success, pointing to the increased productivity from test subjects like Matt. In fact, they even won a presidential award for improving US efficiency. Matt was hauled out in front of the cameras as an example, his body no longer fit and, like his spirit, completely broken. The reporter from Fox News, the only remaining news channel, made it a point to focus on the gap where Matt’s cock and balls had once been proudly displayed. But at least he was 25 then, and figured that things would be over at long last when he was sold for meat. But, to his ultimate despair, Matt heard the reporter state that the experiment was so successful they had decided to keep the slaves alive for an added 5 years. After all, the meat would still be eatable, and the productivity over that time would be highly profitable.
Matt was led back to the cubicle that was his world and his prison. That day at the bus stop had not turned out well at all.