Mentoring Kenny

“Eddie—hey, bro!  Eddie!”

Hearing his name from the pavement, Eddie stepped on the brakes.  He knew that voice.  He glanced into the rearview mirror.  Sure enough, it was Kenny.  Eddie didn’t mind; he liked Kenny.

He’d met the boy about a month ago at the gym.  He’d just finished up his routine when he became aware he was being watched.  He’d paused and the boy approached him.  Naturally enough, Eddie was immediately on alert, his rampant loathing for homos surging so strongly he could taste it in the back of his throat, like bile.

But as Eddie discovered, there was no faggotry about Kenny—he was sure of it.  The kid was about eighteen, with a lean, firm body that was just starting to show signs of muscle development.  The youth had sandy blond hair, a sweet, shy smile, and an upturned nose.  He’d complimented Eddie on his physique and asked some questions about his routine.  Eddie had responded with some useful workout tips, and a friendship had developed.

Now, as Eddie pulled over to the curb, Kenny came running up eagerly.  He was wearing a tight black tank top that displayed his lithe adolescent torso admirably.  His Under Armour split running shorts displayed his long, firm legs down to his ankles, where ped socks peeped out just above his white Nike Metcon 4 sneakers.  He’d obviously been working out; his smooth skin was slick and glistening with sweat.

 “Hey,” the teen panted, clutching at the driver’s door of Eddie’s truck, “Man, am I glad I saw ya!  Look, dude, I been workin’ on those squats like we talked about, but I’m startin’ to get this pain in the back of my hip…”

“Aw, yer not doin’ it right,” Eddie drawled with a grin.  “In the Marines, they taught us to—” He broke off as Kenny’s eyes got wide.

“You were in the Marines?” the adolescent gasped, his teenaged fascination with the military coming to the fore.  “You never told me that!”

“Yeah, well, that was a couple of years ago,” Eddie mumbled.  “Anyway,” he continued hurriedly, “I wasn’t in for long.”  He flushed, his face burning at the memory of his infuriating discharge on mental grounds.  He regretted mentioning it and desperately sought a way to change the subject, but Kenny had moved on anyway.

“Whatcha doin’ later, man?”  Kenny asked.  “You gotta free moment?  I was kinda hopin’ you could come by and show me the right way to do it.  I really, really wanna get the move down.  Hell, man, someday I might even get as swole as you!”

His slip of the tongue smoothed over, Eddie smiled at the boy’s youthful enthusiasm.  “Sure.” He replied warmly, “I gotta coupla errands to run, but I should be done in about an hour.  You’re over on Eleventh Street, right?”

“Right.  Coronado Apartments.  I’m in 112.  Turn right when you come in; it’s in the far back corner.  See ya in about an hour—and thanks, bro!”

A little over an hour later, Kenny responded to the knock at his door.  When he opened it, his jaw dropped.

Eddie had decided that since he’d outed himself on his time in the service, and the kid seemed to like it, he might as well dress to impress.  As a result, he was sporting an olive-drab t-shirt so tight his nipples appeared to be cutting holes in it.  Between them was nestled a jingling pair of dogtags—he’s always worn them but had kept them inside his shirt.  Not this time.

Below his waist, tightly wrapped in a nylon mesh belt, he was wearing fatigues in a desert camo pattern tucked into tan combat boots.  With his crewcut and the hard, almost cruel expression that he habitually wore, Eddie looked mean and ready to inflict maximum damage on anyone who crossed him.   It certainly didn’t hurt that his tight clothing emphasized his amazingly well-developed muscles.

The man radiated power and Kenny was blown away.

“Dude,” he gasped, seeming a loss for words for the moment, before remembering why Eddie was there.  “C’mon in—I, uh, I work out in the bedroom.  Got a few weights and things in there.”

The apartment was small and none too clean.  The living room had a sofa and a recliner, both second-hand at best, facing a small TV standing on a folding table.  What there was of the kitchen—it wasn’t actually partitioned from the living area—had a pile of pizza boxes and beer cans that seemed impossibly large for the two square feet of counter space.  A door at the far end led into the bedroom; Eddie followed the kid through it.

The bedroom wasn’t much better.  A twin bed with mismatched sheets and a stained blanket, a matching nightstand and chest of drawers that looked like they’d started life decades ago as the furnishings of a cheap motel, and a weight bench with a single barbell.  A couple of weights and a pair of dumbbells sat on the floor next to it.

Beyond the bed was a small closet; the door was ajar, and Eddie could see a mound of clothes on the floor.  On the other side of room was a smaller room enclosing the toilet and bathtub.  The sink was part of the bedroom.  When Kenny was in bed, he’d be able to see himself in the mirror above the sink.

Kenny noticed Eddie’s glance around the room.  “Yeah,” he said with a self-conscious shrug, “It’s a dump.  Bad area, too—place is fulla niggers and towelheads, but it’s all I can afford right now.  See the knife over there?”  He nodded at the nightstand; a ten-inch Bowie knife with a wicked-looking serrated blade was resting on it.  “Keep it in reach when I’m asleep in case any of them fuckers tries to break in.  But you wait, though—one of these days, I’m gonna be as ripped as you.  And guess what, man?  I gotta friend who’s a bartender over at the Golden Gazelle strip club.  Says if I get swole enough to look the part, he can get me job as bouncer there.  Pays a shitload more than I’m makin’ now!”

There was just a hint of contempt in the smile that Eddie gave as reply, but it was so slight that Kenny never noticed it.  Poor kid—he really did need some help.  Well, Eddie was glad to give a straight boy a hand.  Fuckin’ pansies out there making millions—the boy deserved better.  He headed over to the bench.

“Ok,” he said, “Let’s get started.  Show me whatcha ben doin’.”

Kenny complied eagerly, showing him how he’d been working on his squats.  Eddie stopped him almost immediately. 

“Whoa, whoa, man.  You got yer feet all wrong.  You gotta place ‘em like this, see?”  He demonstrated by planting his combat boots firmly on the thin, worn carpet.  “The way yer standin’, yer gonna throw yer balance off—no wonder yer back’s hurtin’!  Try it like I showed ya.”

“Like this?” Kenny asked, anxious to follow his mentor’s guidance a closely as possible.

“Yeah, that’s better.  Try it some more.  Build up some muscle memory so it gets to be automatic.”

Kenny did as he was told.  Watching him, an idea occurred to Eddie.  “Hey, while yer at it, show me how you been doin’ curls.  Standing up, not seated.  If you been puttin’ yer feet wrong doin’ that, too, you can really fuck yer back up.”

Rising to his feet, flushed and sweaty, Kenny approached the end of the bench and grabbed the barbell; twenty-pound weights were attached.  Eddie carefully noted how the youth’s Nikes were placed as he began to lift the weights.

“No, no, stop,” the ex-Marine barked, “Yer gonna hurt yerself.  Here’s gimme that thing—and watchThis is how you should be standin’.”  Eddie curled the weights with ease, the swelling of his thick biceps his only sign of effort.

Well, not the only sign.  He was starting to sweat, and his t-shirt was sticking uncomfortably to his skin.  “Hang on a sec,” he said, and quickly peeled the shirt off, utterly unaware of Kenny’s gaping jaw as the older stud revealed his ripped abs and awe-inspiring pecs.  “There—that’s better.  “See?  And if you squat while yer liftin’, you’ll work yer legs, too.”

Kenny was standing behind him, staring.  There was something about the way the muscles were rippling under the smooth, glistening skin of the ex-Marine’s back that had struck him.  The initial sensation had almost been like being hit by lightning; only gradually did he realize that it had centered itself in his groin.  He began to move closer, as if being led forward by his erect dick.  Involuntarily, his hand had extended itself, reaching out to the flexing, grunting alpha. 

It was a bad idea, and he knew it.  It’d likely destroy his relationship with Eddie.  Even worse, he didn’t know why he was doing it.  He wasn’t no fuckin’ faggot—but yet, he felt compelled to clutch and fondle that magnificent body, to worship its hard muscles with his hands, if not his tongue.

Driven forward by his rampaging hormones, the teenage was horrified and enthralled.  He didn’t want to do this—and then again, he did want to.  Very much.  And anyway, maybe it wasn’t so bad.  Eddie might even like it.  He decided to stop resisting the urge.

It was the worst decision of his life—and one of the last.  Within seconds, he’d lose the ability to make any decisions, about anything.  

Kenny laid his hand on Eddie shoulder and slid it down, caressingly.  The motion was smooth; Eddie’s skin was slick, as if it’d been oiled.  And almost immediately, the adolescent understood he’d made a terrible mistake.  Eddie went rigid, the powerful trapezius and rhomboid muscles of his back growing taut.  He turned slowly and transfixed the hapless teen with a look of such hatred that Kenny was stunned.

“What the fuck do think yer doin’?” he hissed, “What are ya, some kinda goddam faggot?  Huh?”

The boy was speechless.  He’d known that there was a possibility that Eddie might not want to be touched in that way, but he’d had no idea that his simple gesture could provoke such rage.

“You sonovabitch, are you a fuckin’ homo pervert?!?” the ex-Marine roared, “Answer me, goddammit!!”

His face slack with fear, Kenny shook his head.  “No, man—I, uh, I just…er, I just…”  But he had no way to finish the sentence.  Deep inside, he knew that something sexual had motivated him and his voice faded.

Eddie seemed to swell, to actually grow physically larger with incandescent rage.  “You’re goddam cocksuckin’ pansy—fuck!  And I thought you were one of the good guys.  I trusted you, ya motherfucker!”

Then he swung.  Kenny saw the huge fist coming at him but was frozen like a deer in headlights.  The blow hit him with such devastating force that he wasn’t even aware he’d been knocked off his feet; his entire sphere of existence had suddenly been reduced to profound pain and an explosion of bright lights in his field of vision.

“Get back on yer feet, faggot,” Eddie snarled.  “I’m just gettin’ started on you.  Get up, asswipe.  I’m gonna beat you till ya can’t stand—then I’m gonna stomp yer worthless ass into the floor!”

Kenny heard him but didn’t move.  Eddie wasn’t taking any of that shit, though.  Bending over the boy, he grabbed his shirt, gathering the fabric of the tank top in his fist and jerking the kid upright.  The thin cotton began to tear but held together long enough for the enraged alpha to force the teen back onto his feet.

Kenny swayed, gazing at Eddie with a stunned look.  Absently, he wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, not noticing how he’d smeared the blood that was trickling from his split lip.  He was trying to gather his wits together enough to process what had happened—but Eddie didn’t give him the chance.

Cranking his arm back, he let another one fly at Kenny.  This time, the punk’s reflexes kicked in; as he saw the thick bicep begin to flex, he threw his arms up in front of his face.

That wasn’t where Eddie was aiming.

The buff sadist drove his fist into the teen’s belly like a cannonball.  “HURGH!” Kenny spat out as the air in his lungs was violently forced past his vocal cords.   Clutching his abdomen, he doubled over and slumped to the ground, caught desperately between the need to inhale and the need not to vomit.

“Fuckin’ pansy,” Eddie sneered, “I shoulda known ya couldn’t take what’s comin’ to ya like a real man.  It don’t matter.  One way or another, you’re gonna take it.  Ya hear me, boy?  You’re gonna take it.  I fuckin’ promise.” 

Again, he threw a punch.  Again, Kenny tried to duck, throwing his arms up.  Eddie saw the homo’s defensive move and swung low, his doubled-up fist connecting with the teen’s flank with a loud, beefy thud.  Kenny grunted as the phenomenal power of the impact bruised his rib.

The boy stagged and fell to his knees.  Eddie snatched at him, catching his shirt again.  This time, the collar tightened briefly around Kenny’s throat, then parted, allowing the kid to sink down in a daze.  Enraged, Eddie tossed the mangled scrap of fabric to the side and approached the swaying, moaning adolescent.  Bending over him, the psychotic ex-Marine could see the youth’s eyes starting to roll back in his head.

“Stay with me, faggot,” he snarled, “You need to be awake to feel this shit.  I’m gonna hurt ya, bitch, and I’m gonna make goddam sure you feel every fuckin’ second of it.  Fags deserve to be punished, and there ain’t no way you’re gettin’ off easy.” 

Kenny looked up at Eddie, bewilderment written all over his face.  Not five minutes ago, this muscle-bound dude had been his friend.  Yeah, he’d made a mistake and expressed a sexual feeling he hadn’t even been aware he was experiencing—but that didn’t explain now.  It didn’t explain the way the hard-bodied older man was looming over him, heaving, his massive pecs gleaming with sweat, his large nipples jutting and hard.  It didn’t explain Eddie’s glaring expression of fury, of hatred and contempt and—lust?  No, that couldn’t be right.  Nothing was making any sense—

Eddie kicked him in the balls.

The moment the sadist’s thick-soled combat boot slammed into his crotch, Kenny screamed—a shrill, high-pitched shriek that spiraled up until the teen’s voice cracked, leaving him emitting nothing more than a hoarse, ragged hiss.  “Fuckin’ cunt,” Eddie growled as Kenny curled into a fetal position, gagging and retching, “Betcha liked that, huh?  Goddam pansies always solve gettin’ their junk fucked with.  Disgutin’ pervert!”

He spat on the teen youth as it writhed and gasped helplessly, then began to kick it.

Slowly and methodically, he circled the body curled on the floor, looking for vulnerable areas—and making some himself.  A sharp kick to the small of the back made the punk go rigid and roll on its back, leaving the serial killer an opening to stomp its firm belly, leaving a perfect imprint of the tread of his boot in the soft, smooth skin of its gut.  The fag jerked its head up off the ground only to have Eddie stomp it in the face, slamming the head back down as he ground his heel into the pulped mass of cartilage the had been the kid’s nose.

After a few more kicks to the gut, Eddie paused, heaving and panting.  He needed a break.  And there was a sensation of discomfort and pressure in his groin…

That was easily solved.  Unzipping his crotch, he released his enormous rod, swollen, pulsing, and oozing.  There, that was easy.  Now he just needed to find something to make the homo piece of shit understand its proper place in the world.

There—on the bedside table.  The knife.  Eddie’s handsome face distorted, his lips curling into a heinous sneer as he headed for it.  He held it up to the light, admiring the vicious sheen on its razor-sharp edge and the way the light glinted from the barbarous-looking serrations.

His cruel smirk grew broader.  Yeah, by the time he was done with it, the cocksucker wouldn’t have the slightest doubt in its mind about its perverted uselessness.

In fact, it wouldn’t have anything left in its mind at all.

Eddie turned back and paused for a moment in bemused contempt.  It had rolled onto its belly and was crawling away.  The brutal alpha gazed its weak, pathetic attempt to escape.  As he watched, friction with the carpet caught the fabric of the homo’s shorts.  The cunt was slowly stripping itself as it inched painfully towards the door.  Like any typical dick-hungry faggot, it was freeballing.

Once its smooth, rounded ass was revealed, the sadistic ex-Marine felt his stiff, enormous shaft throb with hatelust.  It wanted to get fucked by a real man?  He’d give the worthless pansy what it wanted.  He’d show it that no fucking faggot could handle the seed of a genuine alpha.  Oh fuck yeah—he’d make it learn.

The only way to teach these dumb fucks was to put them in pain.  He closed in on it.  It heard him and panicked, as evidenced by the increase in its moaning and squirming—but it did no good.  The older man easily overtook the teen fuckmeat and stood astride it, one combat boot placed place on either side of its waist.  He squatted over the adolescent cunt with one hand wielding his cock like a bludgeon.  He slapped its pulsing ass with his thick tubesteak, his hot precum splattering over the punk’s bare back.

“Ya want it?  ‘Course ya do—yer a goddam cumsuckin’ faghole.  Well guess what—it’s yer lucky motherfuckin’ day, you pervert.  I’m gonna give ya everything yer sick little mind has been cravin’—but ya gotta earn it.  Wanna know whatcha gotta do to get my dick?  You gotta fuckin’ suffer, ya fuckin’ homo sack of shit.  The louder you scream, the harder my dick gets, hear me?  Huh?  See, that way, I know yer gettin’ exactly what cunts like you deserve.  Aw fuck, just the thought of puttin’ you in pain is gettin’ me stiff.  C’mon, fag, let’s get it the fuck on!”

He slammed the knife down into the meat’s back.  Ten inches of serrated steel pierced the teen’s flesh and plunged into its kidney with as little resistance as if it had been warm butter.

The young fag went rigid in agony.  First gasping, then emitting a high-pitched screech of pain.  “Aw, shaddap,” Eddie sneered, and kicked it viciously in the side of the head.  As it groaned and writhed, he squatted back down over it and grabbed the hilt of the knife.

“Dumbass cunt—this ain’t nothing.  This is just to may sure yer payin’ attention.  Ain’t even fatal.  Sure, ya might bleed out, but you ain’t gonna last that long anyway.  Fuckin’ paper cut don’t even hurt.  Now this—this is gonna hurt like all fuck!”

He twisted the knife in the wound, slowly at first, then increasing both the speed of the movement and the diameter of the opening, as if he were trying to bore a hole into the kid’s back.

Kenny wailed, a desperate shriek of pain.  Leaving the knife in the wound, Eddie leaned forward.  Grabbing a hunk to the fag’s hair, he jerked its head back with one hand while using the other to swing wide, roundhouse punches into its face.  He pounded it five times; by the time he stopped, its screaming had subsided to a muffled sobbing.

“First lesson over,” the merciless older man hissed.  “Guess we should start the second before yer stupid ass has time to forget, yeah?  Roll over, bitch.  Yer gonna learn this one while ridin’ my shaft.”

He gave the slut a good hard kick to the ribs, int the same spot he’d hit it earlier.  This time, he was rewarded with a satisfying cracking sound as the reinforced to of his boot snapped the bone like a twig.  The homo responded by grunting—it was too far gone in shock to scream by now—and rolling onto its back.

Eddie grinned.  The fag had positioned itself perfectly.  It was time to show it the sole reason for its existence—getting tortured to death while milking the nutjuice of a true man.  He knelt and true to force its legs apart.  It whimpered and tried to resist.  Eddie pried them open forcefully, but the moment he let go, they snapped back together again.

Enraged, the muscled ex-Marine brandished the cruel, blood-smeared blade.  “You goddam piece of shit,” he spat, “Ya know what?  I ain’t gonna kill ya for that.  I’m gonna fuck you up so bad yer gonna be beggin’ me to kill ya!”

Grinning insanely, the handsome, hardbodied sadist stood up and placed his desert combat boot on the teenager’s crotch, the heel resting on the large semen-filled testicles that were cradled in a nest of wiry black pubes.  Smirking, he began to apply pressure, grinding the cunt’s balls into the floor.

As Eddie watched, the faggot’s long, limp boycock began to swell.  The pain must have been phenomenal, but the harder he pressed down with his boot, the stiffer the kid’s dick got.

“Like that, dontcha, ya fuckin’ cocksuckin’ queerboy?  You need this.  Ya know you need it.  That’s why you been hangin’ ‘round me, huh?  You knew I was a real man who’d treat ya just like the worthless sack of shit you are, yeah?  Good call, bitch—yer right.  Ya like the pain?  Ya want more?  I’m just the dude to give it to ya, motherfucker.  Fuck, I’m gonna give ya even more than your perverted homo ass can take!” 

Dropping back to his knees, he slammed the knife down into the adolescent’s flat smooth belly with such force that it completely pierced the unfortunate boy’s body, exiting through the back just to the left of the spine and embedding itself in the wood subflooring under the thin carpet.

This time, the meat reacted, howling in horrific pain.  Tsking advantage of its distraction, Eddie forced the lags apart.  Before the teenaged fagmeat could respond, the hardbodied serial killer was balls-deep in its ass, reaming its rectum like an auger.

Kenny was in a kind of hell he never imagined could exist.  This man who’d beaten him and stabbed him twice had been one of his best friends not ten minutes ago, and his adolescent mind wasn’t able to deal with the sudden, profound alteration of the relationship.  He’d gone completely rigid, so full of nightmarish agony that if felt like the slightest movement would make him shatter as if he were made of glass.

He stared up into Eddie’s face, his eyes huge with shock and ringed with grey.  The expression on the older man’s face was terrifying, the look of cold handsomeness almost—but not quite—twisted by rage and insane lust past the point of being recognizable.

But it was still Eddie, and that was the worst thing of all.  And if, deep down inside, Kenny really had wanted Eddie to fuck him in the ass, he damn sure didn’t want this.  It hurt.  It hurt so fucking bad—the bruises, the kicks, the broken rib, his mangled colon and traumatized scrotum, it was all so bad that the kid’s fragile psyche was on the verge of snapping, and he knew it.

…and the thing that was bringing him the closest to utterly losing it was the awareness that despite everything, even despite the holes Eddie had stabbed into him, his own dick was so hard it ached…

Eddie leered with hateful lust when he saw the look of utter horror on the scumfuck’s face as he reamed it out.  He’d snuffed enough faggots by now to know what to expect.  There was something about the meat’s utter bewilderment that stoked his ire—they knew what disgusting perverted asswipes they were; they shoulda known that getting the punishment they both deserved and desired would get their queercunt dicks hard, but they never seemed to get it.

And that was another reason they needed to suffer and die—they were just too fucking stupid to be taking up space on the planet.

With a renewed sense of rage burning in his heart, the cruel ex-Marine plowed his shaft relentlessly up the teen’s asshole, his profound anger the impetus behind the increasing brutality of his driving thrusts.  The knife was still buried in the punkfuck’s belly, pinning it to the floor like an insect.  No matter how it writhed and squirmed, it was unable to escape the ongoing nightmarish pain it was enduring.  That only made it writhe and squirm more.

Every time it did, it massaged Eddie’s raging, throbbing cock; he loved it.  The fagcunt didn’t deserve to live, but it could make a slight atonement for its unforgivable sin by giving some pleasure to the Real Man who was doing the world a favor by ending the homo’s miserable existence.

Of course, it still needed to learn why it was dying.  Deep down inside, in the primal animal part of its brain stem, it knew, and it was probably too stupid to comprehend it on any higher level—but it was still the alpha’s duty to try.

And besides, the mindfuck made it squeeze its ass muscles even tighter.

“Take it, bitch,” Eddie hissed at the sobbing fuckmeat, “You know ya need this.  That’s why you been tryin’ to hook up with me, ain’t it?  Bet yer fag dick got all hard once ya figured out you’d found someone who could put ya outta yer misery the way you deserve, yeah?  Goddam right I can.  In fact, I been goin’ easy on ya—think it’s time I showed ya just how much I really hate cocksuckin’ homos!”

Eddie leaned forward, placing one hand on the teen’s smooth, heaving chest, his dogtags falling in between the kid’s pecs with a jingling sound.  With his other hand, the buff older man got a firm grip on the hilt of the knife.  He jerked it out of the boy’s body in a single move, his face stony and expressionless as the adolescent screamed in agony.

Holding the knife up, Eddie examined the pinkish strips of flesh caught in the serrations.  “Ha!  Now ain’t that funny,” he said in a tone of contemptuous amusement, his low voice cutting through the meat’s wailing, “Didn’t think ya had any fuckin’ guts, fag, but I guess ya do.  Wanna see ‘em?”  He held the knife in front of the teen’s eyes for it to admire the pieces of its own intestines dangling from the blade.  For some reason, the fagmeat didn’t seem to appreciate the sadist’s kindness.

Kenny had had enough.  The physical and psychological torture were too much; this last action on the part of the man he’d invited into his own home as a mentor broke him mentally.  Even as his lithe young body was jerking and shuddering from the way Eddie was slamming his fuckhole, Kenny began to beg, screaming his pleas for mercy at the top of his voice. 

The punk was no longer rational enough to evaluate its position and realize what a big mistake it was making.  Eddie didn’t appreciate the accompaniment and made damn sure the cunt knew it.   “Aw, shut the fuck up!” he bawled as he jammed the blade straight down into the front of the boy’s throat, spearing the larynx and annihilating the vocal cords.

“ACKpththp!!” the meat cried out, a wordless articulation of agony immediately followed by the spitting of blood that was welling in its throat.  The knife had nicked both the carotid and the jugular, but not deeply enough to fully open them.  The fag suffered nightmarish pain, but it wasn’t granted the mercy of the swift unconsciousness that comes with the loss of blood pressure after having the throat cut. 

Eddie had been trained to kill—but’s he’d also been trained in how not to kill.  Sometimes it can be handy to inflict pain without killing the subject.  This was one of those times.

It certainly had the desired effect on the fagmeat.  Its torn sphincter clenched involuntarily around the base of Eddie’s cock, tightening like a rubber band.  The homo’s dick had responded as well, becoming so stiffly erect that it was poking Eddie’s ripped abs like a bar of iron.

Frustratingly, though, the useless fucktoy was also fighting back.  It was obviously an instinctive reaction to its suffering since it wasn’t capable of forming any coherent idea of resistance.  At first, its flailing hands went for the hilt of the knife, but it instantly learned that the slightest movement of the blade was excruciating beyond endurance—simply the way the knife was bobbing back and forth as the kid’s lean body got plowed was bad enough.  Seeking some other target for its mindless panic, the questing fingers soon found Eddie himself.

The hardbodied alpha had just gotten into the groove, his throbbing shaft swiftly and smoothly reaming the fuck out of the fagcunt’s asshole.  It had been nice and responsive, too—until the punk-ass fucker began clawing at his face.   That shit wasn’t acceptable, and the cocksucker needed to learn the fact ASAP.  It was easy enough to catch one of the asswipe’s thrashing hands—the left one.  Eddie leaned over his fucktoy, staring it straight in its huge dark eyes that already had the glazed, distant look of meat that has checked out of reality.

“Pay attention, faggot,” he snarled and bent its little finger back until it popped out of its socket with a wet cracking sound.  The cockmeat wordlessly gurgled its agony, but the sadistic ex-Marine was remorseless.  He moved on to the next finger, then the next.  By the time he got to the index finger, the adolescent homo was bucking and kicking, trying desperately to escape the relentless torture. 

Eddie erupted in fury.  “Goddammit, stay down, you stupid fucking cunt!” he screamed, his voice cracking with rage as he began to beat the teen’s face in.  Each time his fist struck the fucker’s head with a meaty thwack, its rectum gripped his enormous, oozing rod like that was its only hope of release from the living nightmare.  Its mangled left hand was lying uselessly by its side, but it kept trying to block the blows with its right.

“Fuck it—I’m done with ya,” the psychotic killer growled, “You’re too stupid to learn what a cunt you are, anyway.  Only thing you’re good for is to be my cumdump—and I don’t need you alive for that.”  Slipping his arms under its legs, he pulled them up onto his shoulders, bending the kid double under the weight of his thick muscles.

What happened next happened so quickly the meat didn’t have time to react to Eddie’s individual movements.  Even before it felt the pain of the knife being yanked out of its throat, the blade had been slammed up under its throat.

That it felt.  It was pain of a different order, of such a magnitude that there were no words in the English language to describe it.  It was so bad that for a single brief moment, it snapped Kenny back to lucidity.

 He knew.  He knew that his good buddy Eddie was raping, torturing, and murdering him.  He could feel Eddie’s long hard cock and long hard blade both buried inside him, causing unspeakable agony.  He could feel his own shaft, inexplicable erect as it oozed and pulsed to the same tempo as the ruthless assrape he was enduring.  He couldn’t see the pink foam bubbling out of the hole in his esophagus, but he could feel the blood trickling down the sides of his throat, and he could hear his inarticulate, anguished wheezing. 

Worst of all, he could feel the razor-sharp blade as it pierced his tongue and punctured the roof of his mouth.  He could hear the Eddie’s faint grunt of effort as the cruel killer shoved the knife through the base of his skull—and he could hear the cracking, crunching sounds as it ripped upwards through his sinuses.  Everything went dark as its serrated edge sever his optic nerves—and then Kenny felt nothing at all.  Kenny, as a viable human being, had ceased to exist.

The meat that had been Kenny was still alive, though.  Eddie had made a meat puppet out of it, a brain-dead human vegetable that was riding his cock, gripping it and squeezing it for all it was worth.  “Fuck, so close,” the vicious serial killer whispered to his shuddering cumrag, then brutally reamed the knife into its skull.

If Kenny had still been capable of brain function, it’s possible that even in his intense suffering, he could have found some pleasure in the explosive eruption of spunk that was triggered by Eddie’s knife skullfuck.  The sadist had shredded the pleasure center of the teen’s brain, inducing an orgasm so intense it couldn’t have been caused by any ordinary means. 

The teenmeat clutched its killer tightly with its one good hand, its Nike Metcons kicking the air above Eddie’s shoulders as it spewed hot boycum, load after deathload in a seemingly endless series of spurts.  At the same time, Eddie emitted a deep, guttural grunt and began to pump his own potent, seething manseed into the mindless adolescent fucktoy.

He hosed its guts, unloading huge wads in an experience so intense that he never noticed that the dead teen’s final spasmodic act was to release his shoulder, inadvertently clasping at his dogtags instead and pulling them off, breaking the chain.  He was too engrossed in the powerful release of his own hate and lust to notice his surroundings.

Eventually, though, he managed to empty his massive balls.  Regaining his bearings, he sighed deeply with the pleasure of a job well done.  One less faggot to desecrate the earth, even if it had been to stupid to appreciate why it needed to die.  He shrugged its still-quivering legs off his shoulders and withdrew his gigantic tool from its ass.  Quickly rising to his feet, he glanced around to reorient himself, locating the bathroom.

He moistened a towel at the sink, using it to clean the still-oozing head of his cock before disgustedly wiping the fagcum from his chest and belly.  He tossed the towel carelessly on the floor and headed back to the body.

The corpse lay on its back, legs spread, cum still trickling from its ravaged asshole.  One of its feet was twitching, the Nike sneaker making a very faint scratching sound against the floor.  A small pool of blood stained the carpet around and under its head, giving it the appearance of a crimson halo, but it hadn’t bled much.  Eddie hadn’t wanted it to bleed out, after all, and he’d known how to make it last under torture until he was ready to snuff it.

Tucking his huge tackle back into his camo pants, the buff ex-Marine located his shirt and slipped it back on.  He didn’t want to draw attention to himself by leaving a fag’s apartment shirtless—and anyway, he’d already sweated into it.  A little more wouldn’t matter; it needed washing.

He took another glance around and felt proud of his accomplishment.  He strode quickly through the messy living room and out the door, leaving it closed but unlocked.

He never noticed that the dead teen had his dogtags clutched tightly in its hand by cadaveric spasm.

“Hey, Sarge, the coroner is here—ya done with the body yet?”

“I am but you’ll want to ask Chandler—we’re letting him take charge on this one.”

“Yer lettin’ him run it by himself?  Just made detective, didn’t he?  Seems a little soon…”

“Yeah, but the captain wants to see how he handles it.  Anyway, he’s back in there.”

The beat cop headed back to the bedroom.  Craig was kneeling on the floor next to the corpse.  He was young, in his early twenties, with a solid, well-developed physique, wavy red-gold hair and eyes of a deep, scintillating green. 

“Hey, Chandler, the meat wagon’s here.  Ok to let them in?”

Chandler jumped as if startled.  At the moment, he looked flushed and almost embarrassed, but the uniformed cop put it up to his excitement at being in charge on his first big case.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, “Crime labs folks are with them, yeah?  Don’t think there’s anything more here for me—they’ll note the details.”

As the cop left the room, the detective looked down at the dogtags in his hand.  Even if the lab boys noticed that the corpse’s hand had been pried open after death, they’d figure the killer had done it.  But this was a tangible clue, something that might help him crack his first case and become a star.

Deep inside, Chandler knew he’d never admit his real reason for stealing a piece of evidence from a crime scene, his real reason for wanting to find the person who’d committed such a brutal sex murder.  But when he’d looked at the dead body of the reamed-out, mangled teen, he’d felt…something.

Something that had horrified him but had also titillated and intrigued him.  Something he felt driven to explore.  He didn’t know where his quest would lead, but he knew where it needed to start. 

He had to find the man who did this.

5 thoughts on “Mentoring Kenny


    Fuck yeah, another perfect story, i can’t wait for the day a Real Man does this to me, too! Looking forward to our new detective seeking out his own end, too.

    Liked by 3 people

  2. M3M scores another masterpiece! And Eddie is GROWING into our new favorite PSYCHOPATH. His anger is INTOXICATING. Aw FUCK! And then, Aw GODDAMN – to end this with a new red headed cop who…likes what he sees…

    We just witnessed a HOT BRUTAL MURDER yet all I can think of now is this potential NEW DEVIANT and the twisted and sick path he’s about to take.

    Dick RAGING again thanks to M3M and this super awesome world of his!!!!!

    Liked by 2 people

  3. charmed238

    Damn, that is such a great story! Amazingly brutal. Killing his ex-friend with his own blade was awesome, but the best part (besides the knife to the face) was the cop waking up to his new killer interest. Can’t wait to read what he gets up to. You are a genius.

    Liked by 3 people

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